#i am in a constant state of guilt for eating/not doing work

[lazybutsmexy]

NOOO NO NO NO TAKE IT BACK APOLOGY W TEARS RN IM SOBBING CRYING DON'T DO THIS TO ME THIS IS A PERSONAL ATTACK(it was delicious, scrumptious wow i love seeing sadness) MAKE IT BETTER OW OW BRING THEM BACK(it was so good i love your writing eating it up yumyumyum) I crave more of them all being platonic (HURT/COMFORT?!??!) plsplspls begging for crumbs in tears ill do anything

Hmmm... I am a slut for hurt/comfort myself...

Task Force + affectionate reader Pt. 3

Pt. 1 Pt. 2

Warnings: HURT/COMFORT, bit of cursing.

The people who smile the most are often the saddest. The people who share the most love often don't feel any towards themselves.

Or: it's your team's turn to show affection

It was one of those days.

One of those days where you didn't have the energy to care about yourself. You were able to keep up with your little routines around base, somehow. But it was dimmed, a matte finish to what was once all shiny and sparkly.

Because it was one of those days.

You always became like this after taking leave for longer than two days. You'd visit your family during that time - or rather, they would come to you as soon as they realized you were at your place downtown and not the barracks - and bombard you with anything they set their minds to.

No matter how grueling your missions were, your family always managed to make you feel even more drained during leave. Their constant demands and mental games, the guilt-tripping and manipulation, always made you feel as if you were walking on eggshells around them.

Tracking down and dismantling human trafficking rings seemed like a walk in the park compared to dealing with them.

You personally tried your best to keep your personal problems away from your work, greeting everyone around you with the same cheery tone, and going about your little routine with the others as usual.

But they had started to notice how your smile didn't reach your eyes, and how you seemed unable to shake off the frown in your brows.

And to avoid unwanted questions that you were too ashamed to answer, you simply chose to distance yourself.

Price shared a look with Ghost, who stood across the room from him, and he shared the same concern in his eyes as they watched you walk into the debrief room

you sat yourself at the back, whereas you'd usually choose to sit in the middle of your team

they immediately knew what was going to happen, you were about to start isolating yourself.

they were having none of that.

Price had always kept a close eye on the family relations of his team members.

it was a security measure, after all, to make sure that not only they weren't targeted by dangerous people, but also to make sure they were no connected in any way to their missions.

but in your case it was different, he monitored your family to make sure they never stayed close to you for too long.

it seemed it hadn't been enough this time, and he saw your haggard state as the consequence of that failure.

he would definitely fix that

he began talking to both Laswell and his superiors to get you one of the smaller houses within base

even though you were unmarried and didn't have any children, he knew it would be impossible for those pesky family members to get close to your home without permission

your parents had managed to talk your landlord into giving them access to your apartment - that would not happen under Price's watch

he would actually blacklist them if he had the chance to do so

he wouldn't let you know he was trying to get you a house, at first - he didn't want you to feel like a burden

but he was not exactly subtle when he began asking what colors you preferred on your walls, if you minded only having a shower head or if you preferred a bathtub, etc

Soap wasn't subtle at all, oh no

boy got you hooked in a one-arm hug for as long as you'd let him

that could be a few minutes or all day long, he didn't mind one bit

endlessly squeezed and smooched on your hairline whenever he caught you lost in thought

definitely the one to (lovingly) manhandle you into a blanket burrito and snuggle you into his lap to watch movies

surprisingly a great cook, he would go all out and cook you whatever your comfort food was

it didn't matter if it was 3 AM

you would be fed, and you could almost taste the love he poured in it

definitely wore a 'kiss the cook' apron to make you giggle and try to get a smooch from you

Gaz is the king of self care

you would not let your skincare/hair routine go under his watch

he would do it for you if you didn't have the energy to do so

he would just sit you on the toilet and he'd take care of all the steps of your skincare routine

if he didn't have all the steps memorized, he definitely had a bulletpoint list of specific instructions to guide himself

same with your hair - trust this man with your hair, you won't regret it, ever

this man had magic hands for scalp massages fight me if you disagree

if you aren't comfortable being nude in front of him, he would simply put a chair in front of the sink like a makeshift hair wash basin and work like that

if you were comfortable being nude in front of him, he would make it into a full-body wash

after working with your hair, he would scrub your body down

every now and then he would massage your tired muscles while telling you how much he appreciated you as both his teammate and his friend

after shower cuddles were a must

you would very likely doze off in his arms while he held you impossibly close to him

Ghost didn't see himself as a person capable of comforting others

but all doubts flew through the window the moment he saw your downcast gaze and a tired hunch of your shoulders

at this point in time, you had become about 80% of the team's moral incentive

of course he knew it was quite unfair to dump all of that on you, he supposed you would have your down days too

but you were part of a team, and no one fought alone - be it terrorist organizations or their own inner demons

he would work alongside Price to get you a new living place

any person trying to ask you stupid and/or unwanted questions would find themselves at the other end of one of his famous death glares

or at the aim of his fist

when you approached him to pat him on the shoulder like always, pretending that everything was all right, he placed his own hand on your shoulder

he looked into your eyes and spoke to you with such sincerity that you were shaken to the core

"...You know that you are just as deserving of love as everyone else, right?"

moments later, you were clutching his middle, with your face buried in his chest while he hugged you tightly

he didn't mind that his shirt felt a little wetter with your tears

he focused on stroking your hair and rubbing your back, while glaring at anyone who dared to look at you questioningly

he would let you hug him until your arms fell off if that's what you needed

more cuddles!!

...he wouldn't mind it too much either if Soap and Gaz joined in a cuddle pile - he pretended to be annoyed, but he thought it felt nice

imagine how much nicer it would feel for you :)

[magpod-confessions]

it seems like a lot of people, when discussing avatars, fixate either solely on their villainy and how completely bereft of morality they are, or how they are just a poor manipulated pawn of their patron. there’s a large focus on avatars either having malicious intent or a lack of control. and i feel like the thing a lot of fans are missing is that the fears don’t work like that. avatars don’t work like that. yes, a few of them are just shitty people, but the majority of them? what they do isn’t out of malice or cruelty. they are a thing obeying its nature. they hunt and hurt and kill because it feeds them and feeds their power.

as to how much of their actions are taken of their own volition and how much are the influence of their fear, i don’t think it matters that much. free will doesn’t really exist. people make choices based upon their life, circumstances, emotions, situations, and a hundred other factors. it’s a complicated knot that’s impossible to untangle.

but we know that the fears both

a. build off of and enhance what’s already there, what people already desire and feel and do

b. ramp that up to insane levels and twist it around to fit their own agenda (food and rituals)

c. make their avatars unable to back out of servitude without death, and detach them from both their own humanity and the rest of humanity to the point where choosing between their own lives or the lives of their prey is a simple decision.

basically, it’s like a rabbit who becomes a fox that must eat rabbits or die. the fox may be haunted by guilt in the early days, for eating what used to be its kin. maybe the occasional fox is even grief stricken enough to starve itself. but in the long run, that fox is a fox. the rabbits are no longer a peer with the same thoughts and feelings as them, to be sympathized with and understood. they are simply a food source, and the fox is not one of them anymore.

if the fox spends years and decades and centuries killing and eating rabbits, it might feel the occasional twinge of pity or amusement at their antics, but ultimately, they’re just food. feeling guilty about eating it gets them nowhere. after all, they had a choice in what they became, and they made it a long time ago.

it’s kind of like helen and jon’s conversation, where she explained that she felt the same guilt jon did at first, but it wasn’t getting her anywhere and eventually, she had to let it go and choose to eat to survive. jon started this process, too. in season 4, mainly, and also in season 5, but in season 5 he has the constant buffer of martin’s presence as a safeguard so it’s a little more complicated. but within months of his transformation, he started willingly taking live statements, uncaring for the victim’s state, just wanting to eat. it’s either eat or die, and any living avatars chose to eat. there is a reason they all admit that they did what they did not because they were under someone else’s control, but because they liked it and needed it and chose it.

so, trying to assign this narrative of avatars being either innocent pawns of their power with no choice in what they’re doing, or an evil entity with malicious intent who wants to be cruel, just doesn’t work. both could be viewed as part of the truth, but also, neither is really accurate, for the simple fact that anyone who serves the fears is operating off an entirely different mindset and lived experience that human morality just doesn’t really translate well to.

ironically enough, i think michael phrased it best- “There was a great evil, she said, and Michael was going to help her fight it. Am I evil, Archivist? Is a thing evil when it simply obeys its own nature? When it embodies its nature? When that nature is created by those which revile it?”

anyways, this is getting pretty long, sorry if it doesn’t make much sense. i’m just irritated by fandom trying to find a Morally Correct way for avatars to exist, and ignoring the fact that being an avatar doesn’t just give people a few spooky powers, it completely upends their entire existence and mindset and priorities and morality.

yeah exactly . morality and avatars is such an interesting concept that a lot of people simply handwave !! i . have thoughts but i can't word them right now but . i do agree with you anon - deceit

Im eating this anon - rosette

[creepycombo]

Bonnie info-dump/psychoanalysis

(Everything that I am going to reference has been directly taken from the offical Bonnie's Bakery Twitter account and I'm just here to spill my guts about it because I love this character with all my heart and soul.

Bonnie never came to the city from another town to start up her buisness, she's actaully lived in that town her entre life, but despite that she's also stated to not have any family for reasons unknown but probably has something to do with the fact other humanbeings slowly began filtering out, leaving perominantly animal folk left. Either that or Bonnie's parents are dead.. which could be a possiblity just judging on how she says it, but that's not confirmed.

I've always lived here.

I don't have any family.

I used to see humans..

Bonnie also just seems to be a major workaholic. She does everything on her own and doesn't bring in any other help, stating that she 'Doesn't need that much help' and while she does manage on her own, she also more than most likely refuses the extra set of hands due to the fact she can't risk having anyone discovering her little serect and is thus consumed by her work; lacking very few other hobbies outside of baking.

I don't need much help

Other hobbies?

Free time

Bonnie also seems to be haunted by the sins she's committed. Despite claiming that she's now, 'truly happy' now that her buisness has taken off, also confesses that her crimes eat at her day by day and just tries her best to ignore it.

This, likely combined with the lonliness Bonnie feels from the lack of contact with other humanbeings has seemingly manifested itself into a state of mild existentialism.

'truly happy'

I suppose it's been eating me

Very lonely and very small

Bonnie, in my eyes, has proven to be living in a permanent state of denial about her own happiness that is just going to get worse as time moves forward. She pretends the guilt that she feels from doing the things she's doing doesn't effect her when indeed it's going to be the thing that likely becomes her undoing.

The reason she was so desperate as so resort to this kind of carnage was probably because she was desperate to be happy. Living in a state of constant boredom the majority of her very uneventful life with no friends, no family, and nothing to really call her own. (As refrenced above)

She didn't even meet Bear until she finally got her bakery up and going, likely making him her first friend.

Bear

The actions she took to becoming as happy as she is right now are going to be her misery's hubris and to cope with this inevitable development, she will either;

Learn to enjoy the crimes she commits as to dissasociate herself from her victims and choose to see them as objects. ( Which seems to be her on-going method, seeing as she's already embracing an alt-persona for her crimes, ie; bunnie)

Becomes so overwhelmed with guilt that she lets the animals go or flees town (Or both).

Confesses to her crimes to free herself of the weight on her shoulders.

[iwannabeastarstarrockmann]

I DID IT!! I LEFT HER :)

I bought a plane ticket and flew for the first time (which was so fun and I got to sit by the window both times!) to be with my extended family who I don't know all that well but my grandma is here too and my grandpa is on his way, so I feel more comfortable since they practically raised me. it's been so fun this past week getting to know all of my cousins and aunt and uncle! there's so much to do here too! I've been hiking, biking, riding atvs, riding my aunts boat, attempting wakeboarding although failing miserably, shooting my uncles guns which was a rush!! and it turns out I'm a perfect shot lmao. and on top of all that, this family really likes to do stuff together which I'm not used to at all so I swear I've been getting invited to one thing after the other every day I've been here. there also happens to be a whole lot of positions open up right now in this area which is great because I was mostly worried about how I was going to find a job last minute.

my uncle and I seem to have a lot in common which is comforting. he also grew up in the desert with nothing to do and also had a crazy mom so were getting along very well. we seem to have a lot of similarities in other areas as well. he took me for a day to show me some of his favorite things to do and also show me what a day of work is like for him and put me to work for part of the day so that he could get a feel for what im skilled at. were surrounded by so much forest so he took me to some of his favorite spots close to a cabin he's been fixing up and we got to explore an abandoned mine shaft!!! OMG it was so cool! he also took me to a really nice cemetery near where he works and it was so beautiful and mystical and we saw a whole lot of deer all throughout it which just enhanced the whole experience. I'm having so much fun

I've never been so relaxed in my entire life. its sad to think that this way of living was always available to me lol. oh yeah, the coffee here is absolutely amazing! and there are so many options, its almost overwhelming. now that im able to be more active, I've fallen back into my coffee addiction to stay energized throughout the day lol.

id say the only con is that my aunt is a lot like my mom so sometimes it can be difficult to be around her but other than that, this is like heaven :))

obviously it's not perfect, as I'm still trying to cope with the guilt of leaving my mom and fighting the urge to cut or starve when my guilt gets to be too much but id rather this lingering feeling than the constant torture of living with my mom in a place with nothing to do and nowhere to go, you know?

plus side from all this trauma is that I've lost 14 pounds since I left her and that's just from all the hiking and walking I'm doing during my free time lol

I'm still in a calorie deficit most days but its not really that low compared to how I used to restrict.

I'd say right now the only thing that's really stressing me out is my need to constantly body check, its definitely gotten worse since I moved out here, and its because I really cant tell how others perceive me.

I'm also fighting with myself most days since I got here cause I keep catching myself saying things inside my head like "you dont deserve to eat", "dont be a fat pig", "no one will love you if you get fat", you know, the cliche signs that you are not completely recovered yet, but I think I'm also going to be starting my period soon and I often fall into a depressive state right before, and it often starts with self hatred and then fades halfway through my period.

anyway I've gotten way off track, obviously the move cant solve all of my problems but I am so happy right now despite my mental struggles and still cant believe that I'm lucky enough to be so easily accepted by a family who doesn't even really know me yet! I wouldn't have been able to escape if they weren't so welcoming from the very beginning.

[sylvyspritii]

Perhaps a bit of a vent post?

Hello everyone I know i don't usually like, make actual blogposts But lately, things have just been very hard (NOTE: IF YOU ARE A MUSIC CLIENT, OR A POTENTIAL MUSIC CLIENT, STOP READING THIS RIGHT NOW AND PRETEND YOU HAVE NEVER SEEN THIS EVER) You know what really sucks? Work life seperation When you're a freelancer without a working location, you have to do everything at home, but my apartment is a mess, and i keep being disturbed Lately, i've been feeling worse Not just with work i mean, but like, in general, mentally speaking, i've felt like i've been struggling hard, especially with my ADHD lately, it feels like i've been in a state of "overwhelmedness" for the past 3 weeks or so (NOTE TO THE CLIENTS OR POTENTIAL CLIENTS WHO DIDN'T LISTEN TO THE FIRST WARNING: THIS ISN'T ABOUT YOU, DON'T FEEL GUILTY, I CAN SCHEDULE MY OWN WORK HOURS AND THERE WILL BE NO ISSUES) Like, basically, i've been feeling like i've been having a constant state of more than 30 thoughts at once, all at the same time, and they consist of various things; daydreaming, loud sounds, worries, fears, music, guilt, and so much more, it's like, a constant state of being overwhelmed and overstimulated, and i'm so worried about resting and cancelling stuff or regressing in my attempts to improve my sleeping, eating, and work schedule (which are the things i priortise), it's all been so complicated lately, not because things are /actually/ complicated, but because i experience everything to be far worse than it actually is right now, and i'm having a lot of trouble finding the right things i "need" to focus on when i have these constant barages of thoughts and overstimulation inside of me It's been really difficult... I know i appear weak by saying things like this, it's VERY unprofessional (CLIENTS AND POTENTIAL CLIENTS, IF YOU'RE STILL READING THIS; AGAIN, THIS ISN'T ABOUT YOU, DON'T WORRY, I WILL FINISH EVERYTHING IN TIME AND DELIVER THE QUALITY I PROMISED, STOP READING THIS) I just wish i could like, stop time, and like, transport myself to a different dimension, something less cruel than our world, because that's another thing i'm struggling so much with right now; all the worries about how fucking cruel the world is, it's really overwhelming Don't worry, i do have medicine and other professional help and stuff, but like, still, i remember, you know, back in the old days of Tumblr, where i would actually be honest sometimes, and right now, i just feel like it could be nice to have a bit of that feeling, that feeling that perhaps some of you understand There's too much wrong right now, i don't know where to begin describing everything, but i'm doing my best, and there's no need to worry too much about me, i am an adult and i can recover from this, but i need time, and some patience perhaps I'm doing my best okay, i really am, and i'm sorry for not being perfect, i really can't be

[beelmons]

lil personal ramble

today is mother's day in mexico and my mom isn't here since she's in another city for work

I am not, in the slightest, bothered by it

my main source of concern right now is that I feel so enstranged from the concept of having a motherhood to celebrate. I don't have the need to call her or wish her anything.

My mother hasn't been a bad mother, she's a provider, she's constantly checking up on us, safety, physically and economically speaking, is something she cares about.

It's the mere presence of my stepfather, who has been nothing but a conceited narcissist since he arrived to our lives 15 years ago, that has damaged our bond beyond repair.

It's the fact that she keeps chosing his comfort over ours, no matter how badly it affects our state of mind, the fact that she gave him a word to call the shots, no matter how unreasonable they were. It's the fact that whenever a conflict arose, it was the fault of the 14 y/o rebelling against an authority figure, that inherently had no reason to be an authority, instead of the 45 y/o that decided to have an ego fight with a child.

It's the fact that there are no marks in our skin, but our souls are scarred to a point of no return.

I see my friends celebrate the bonds and love they have created with their mothers, and I'm absolutely happy for them, but it's a reminder that I'm in a constant state of mourning of the relationship I could have had with mine.

A reminder that I will never have the complicity and comradery they do, that she doesn't know me as a person, only as an asset of a broken home, a role that I fill. That if I were to ask her what my favorite anime is, or my favorite band, or the videogame I play for hours at a time, or something as common as what I do for a living, she wouldn't be able to answer.

To this day she hasn't met a single one of my partners, I could only come out as bisexual four years ago, and she was only okay with it because I admitted I tend to hover towards men.

And I'm especially nervous this year since I'm moving out, and I have a real, palpable fear that I will not see my mother in quite a while. You might say 'you could if you wanted to!' and that's the thing, I understand, but the thing that's eating at me is that my only desire to see my mother is the conventional societal need that I should keep a relationship with her, I have no emotional willingness to see her, I don't think I even miss her.

It's eating at me a little at a time.

I will bring it up with my therapist, family bonds is one of my areas of work with him, but until that happens, I just needed to let it out, because on top of the guilt that I already feel for having this sentiment, there's the fact that said out loud sounds even worse.

My mother is a loving, caring mother, she has just never shown it in a way I could understand. She loves in her terms, even if you yell for change. She loves inspite of the pain her love can bring.

And it's her very own love for me that has made mine falter.

And I wonder if one day I'll get it back.

[fillyourwounds]

father's day

the term "i am my father's daughter" has never applied to anyone more than me. i was born made to be his mirror image.

when i was younger, it was fire all the time. i spent much of my time afraid. i remember he would shake the walls with his anger. he would spark at any moment over anything at all--loud noises, cleanliness, interruptions of his time alone. i did everything i could to save us all from what was to come. i would clean consistently, i would be as quiet as possible, i would try to warn my siblings of how they could avoid the impending anger. there would be good weeks and then one of us would tip the scales. all the work i did to prevent and protect would fall. it followed the classic pattern well until my adulthood: good weeks, followed by horrific ones, then repentence (rare) or a standstill between parties, until things repeated. then on sundays, he would get up and advise others how to live their life. no matter how bad the week was for me, he was sought after as a teacher. he was upstanding to society. he was the confidant of the downtrodden. and i was his perfect eldest daughter, who loved her dad, and was devoted to him.

depression in men presents in two ways: the sadness we often allocate to depressed people and sometimes, only through anger. he was in a constant state of distress, leading to the weeks that put me in a position of taking a verbal barrage. the amount of times my mother would tell me we must give grace because it's something he cannot control, it is his sin, that i must forgive him and his words because he cannot help it. it was countless.

there are things he has said that i don't think i will ever forget. it's one thing when you make stuff up that people think about you, it's another when there are clips of your life that can play back, the inflection of their voice etched into the memory.

i remember them all the time. i am unsure if i can ever forgive them.

something shifted when my brothers moved out of the house when i was 21. the realization of adult children spurred long term reflection. i think he began to feel intense amounts of guilt.

he began to notice the things we would say to him as a natural response for the way he conditioned us to be. he would apologize and say we shouldn't feel that way, that he was wrong to make us feel that way in our youth. the outbursts of anger are not gone but they aren't as intense--he doesn't use words in the sense of weaponry as openly, he doesn't move in for kills the way he used to. the cycle that i have been caught in my entire life seemed to dissipate, and now at 23, they are few and far between. he began to garden and paint on the weekends and text me I love you at random. he has never missed an opportunity to eat lunch with his children if he could help it. he writes books where he makes little maps and he actually talks with me about them, we sit at dinner and talk about life circumstance at length, we can have productive conversations about ideology without him telling me something i will never forget. he has softened in the face of ever continuing change. he has never been this way.

many days, i don't know what to do with it. i don't know how to convey the unfairness of having the dad i always wanted right now instead of when i was just a young girl. i was emotionally and verbally abused my whole life just to come to a place where i don't have to try so hard. the hurt, the shame, the never being good enough, never being right enough, never being important enough comes to a clearing where he paints on saturdays and he tries to not be as loud. where he says "it's okay" when i say things to try and fix something he may find broken.

i am my father's daughter. he taught me how to be in the world, and he sewed me tight into my skin. i know the value of being on time. i know that honing your mind and skills will always be worth your effort. to pursue a hobby takes your entire being. always try to get a job done even if you don't know how to do it, because you are smart enough to learn along the way. education is a joy of life. public speaking is easy and so is writing. you should enjoy old video games, listen to people talk about their interests, and when it's all said and done, finish well.

today my dad wore a hawaiian shirt with photos of my brothers and i as kids on it. he wore it in front of everyone, all day, and he said it was the best gift he has ever been given.

happy fathers day to everyone who is realizing your dad is just a human. may we all find forgiveness for things said that shouldn't in the corners of a life we can't go back and change. there is always time for them to finally paint on saturdays.

[ghoulgums]

I'm really sorry to hear about May. Please talk to someone though don't bottle up these feelings again. And life definitely isn't wasted on you you bring so much happiness and love into the world it would be so much worse without your light in it

I haven’t spoken to anyone online in days, I feel so empty, I have almost nothing to say to anyone, funnily enough though this is the first time I haven’t felt lonely, it’s kinda odd?

social media is triggering me hard at the moment, I’m getting tired of reading posts and statuses of people expressing a desire for an eating disorder so that they can lose weight, I had acute anorexia from my early teens and received a formal diagnosis of anorexia nervosa a couple of years ago, every day I am battling my head/body and there are people actively WISHING that they had the illness, it’s knocking me sick.

everyone seems to be depressed and suicidal at the moment, and I’ve since realised that I don’t have the mental or emotional capacity to take on anyone else’s problems when I’m trying SO HARD not to end my life on the daily.

these next coming weeks I’m going to be a full time carer for my partner as a result of a surgical procedure he’s having done, and I’m looking forward to feeling ‘needed’ as that’s a driving factor for my survival, if I’m not needed then I don’t see the point of being.

my independence is so limited due to my financial and mental health struggles, and also the fact I feel extreme guilt at doing nice things for myself so I won’t do a lot of things without ‘permission’.

I don’t see a light at the end of the tunnel despite the medication, therapy sessions, and support I receive. I believe I’m always going to be tormented by my traumas even though I’ve been trying to manage them on and off for 17 years.

the hard work I’ve put in to reach recovery has proved ineffective, and the thought of having to live with these conditions for the rest of my life is exhausting and terrifying.

I feel like all I’m doing is making the people around me miserable because the joy has been sucked out of me, and I don’t want to be that guy in any way, shape or form.

I feel like I’ve let everyone down, people have these expectations of me that I can’t always meet and as a result I get grief, I’m sorry but I can’t live my life catering to people who don’t even know what’s going on in my life.

I’ve had an absolutely garbage year and it’s felt like I’ve been dragging boulders, the heaviness is so physical that it hurts.

not to state the obvious, but I am alive, I’m existing just about.

I don’t feel like I bring much light, and it devastates me because all I ever wanted was to be happy and spread love and acceptance, but I’m not happy and it just doesn’t look like it’s in the cards for me. yes, there are things that make me feel happy, but overall I’m not happy in the slightest regardless of my efforts to change it.

I just feel like I’m surrounded by constant reminders of the fact that my life has been different to the people around me, and I get envious and bitter as a result.

I’m holding on, but something has got to give at some point, it just has to.

[angelsnake99]

TW: Disability, pain, anxiety, depression, judgement, trauma, self harm, prescription medications

Dude, it takes so much for me just to get to normal. Like, baseline. Where everyone else naturally wakes up at. Between the rheumatoid arthritis and fibromyalgia pains combined, on flare up days (caused by stress, over exertion, extreme heat or cold), the pain is like torture. Every joint in my body, every finger and toe, between every vertebrae; my fucking FACE; skull joints like jaw and base of skull/neck...it feels like they are filled with glass and poisonous thorns, and someone has a vice gripped around each one, slowly tightening and loosing it at completely irregular and unpredictable intervals. Then the fibro...every nerve. In patches surrounding the sore joints that are sometimes so large that they cover my entire body. Tender pain, like I'm covered in bruises. Like I was beaten. Sometimes, the weight of my clothing on my SKIN is too much to bear. The RA fatigue and fibro fog make it so hard to do anything. But you know what's worse than all that? What it does to me psychologically, and how it impacts those around me. The anxiety and depression, the shame and guilt and embarrassment when I don't live up to normal people's expectations, because you can't always see my pain with your eyes, and I'm very good at hiding it by now. When I can't cook dinner for my husband because I can't lift the bowl. When I have to ask a stranger to help me do my job at work because I can't lift the equipment and I'm out in the field working alone so I can't ask for a coworkers support. When my husband's family doesn't understand so they think we're just lazy. When my son wants me to play with him or pick him up and he doesn't understand why I can't. When I want to see a friend but I have to cancel because I can't lift my arms to drive. And the constant effort I have to expend to function, to just go to work and do basic things like laundry, dishes, showers, driving, sleeping...eating. I cant eat sometimes because of the pain. But when I express it, everyone around me is miserable too. So I hide the pain. Because the truth is, I am legally disabled, but I'm too young to accept it so I refused disability from the state. So I did this to myself and it's all my fault. Because I couldn't be honest with myself and my loved ones about how bad it really is. I've wanted to cut recently but I already hurt so much and I've stopped doing it for so long I can't go back. But I am overwhelmed. My add is out of control lately too because of it. I can't take medications for pain and ADHD at the same time. Too much. Plus I already think people don't understand how severe the pain is anyway and how badly I need my meds. I'll be annoying and spacy and unfocused and unmotivated over more pain. #rheumatoidarthritis #fibromyalgia #anxiety #depression #adhd #selfharmrecovery #younganddisabled #ptsd #trauma #venting #disabledbutable

[littlexdancersblog]

I am deep and I don't want to let you go

Summary: What if they couldn't bring Rhys back? What if Feyre suddenly found herself high lady of the Night Court without her mate by her side?

Word count: 2k

Note: Title taken from De Diepte by s10 (English translation)

Because his own chest... it was not moving.

~~~~~~~~

The mating bond. It wasn't there. It was gone. 

And Rhys was dead...

"BRING HIM BACK."

"For what he gave," Tarquin said quietly. "Today and for many years before."

It wasn't working. Why wasn't it working?

"I'm sorry Feyre. He's gone."

He's gone. He's gone. He's gone...

--------

Feyre had forgotten what it was like to not have the bond. To not have Rhys.

It had been a constant, always there, always reassuring her.

And now- it was just empty.

A soulless void. Even when she tried to sleep, she could feel it.

Feyre missed Rhys. Missed him so terribly that it hurt.

And she missed his voice in her head, that goddamn smirk, everything about him. 

Even after a month, she was unsure if she could survive this. If she wanted to. Maybe she would just- 

A knock sounded on her door, pulling her out of the spiralling dark thoughts.

She wished they could go away.

Wished they could just leave her the fuck alone.

Slowly, the door opened and Azriel walked in. He held a vacant look, mirroring her own. He paused at the doorway, rubbing a hand over his chest. 

His attention was on her, taking in her awful state. She couldn't remember when she had last eaten, and there had been countless nights of throwing up. Her hair was a mess, clothes weeks old. 

"Come on Feyre, you need to get up."

A rush of anger built up, the first emotion she had felt in days. "I don't know if you've forgotten, but Rhys is dead. My mate - your high lord is dead. Forgive me if I don't feel up to doing anything," Feyre snarled. 

As soon as the words left her mouth, she didn't feel relief. No, she just felt guilt. Especially as she witnessed the moment the words hit Azriel, his eyes darting away to stare at the wall, tension lining his shoulders.

"Shit, Azriel. I-"

Another figure appeared but this time it was Mor, she looked as wrecked as she was but a fury lined her face. "No. You're not doing this. It's been too long of this spiral. We lost Rhys, we can't lose you too. Now get up, and eat something." 

Feyre was in half a mind to resist, to maybe snap again but the look with which Mor pinned on her forced her to move. As they moved towards the kitchen, Feyre averted her gaze from the sad and pitiful looks.

She forced herself to take a deep breath as she sat and a moment later a bowl of soup was placed in front of her. Under her friends watchful gazes, she obediently ate. But as she did, she felt a wave of nausea roll over again.

It had been worse the last couple of weeks, every morning without fail. And just when she thought she was moving towards some kind of... normalcy.

Conversation shifted around her and she half listened to one, "One of my friends, she found out she's pregnant."

Pregnant.

Feyre paused, the world ringing her head. No, no. Surely not, I mean they had intended to wait but...

"Feyre. Are you okay? You've gone a bit pale?"

She looked up, unable to fully meet Mor's eyes. "I need to talk to Madja." 

Mor fetched her, to which she spoke in private with the healer. Cassian, Amren and her sisters had made an appearance, hearing them outside the door but she put a shield to stop them from listening in on her conversation.

She was quiet as Madja worked, then she glanced up at Feyre, offering a flash of a smile that didn't quite meet her eyes. 

No.

A moment later, Feyre was bursting through the door, feeling like the walls were getting smaller, crushing her. 

Her breathing was heavy, tears streaming down her face as she aimed for her bedroom. But it was like her legs gave out as she collapsed against the wall, tugging her knees to her chest and sobbing into them.

There was quiet footsteps and then a soft hand was on her arm. It was Elain, her face calm, watching her closely.

"Breathe, Feyre. Deep breaths."

She showed her and Feyre copied until she could finally draw air into her lungs. The others were gathered, heads half titled and Cassian was rubbing his neck almost nervously. 

"I'm pregnant." She whispered, speaking the words somehow made it more finale.

Sharp intake of breaths, as Mor practically stumbled back, rapidly blinking as if she couldn't believe what she had just heard. 

"Did Rhys-"

Feyre shook her head before the question could be finished. "No. We were going to wait. I didn't expect this to happen."

Silence settled upon the room as her own mind whirled. This should have been such a happy moment but not without Rhys here, he should have seen his child. Absently, her mind drifted to her stomach as the rising panic began to set in again. 

It was Azriel who noticed her spiralling as he crouched in front of her, taking her hands in his scarred ones. Next to her, Elain was the first to speak.

"I know you wish Rhys was here, that you could share this moment together but he's not. And now, you have to fight for your child Feyre. You have to look after yourself. This child is both of you, he or she will always be." 

She was right. 

The grief would likely never stop, but maybe she could learn to live with it. Maybe their son could be the one to save her.

As she thought the words, it actually sunk in. She was pregnant, and now she would always have a part of Rhys. Even if he wasn't here. 

It was like the haze, the void in her soul had cleared. "You're right. But I can't do this alone."

Cassian spoke first, voice thick with emotion, "We're your family Feyre. You'll never be alone." 

Feyre could do this. For Rhys, for their child, she had to do this.

---------

Five months later

Every day was a little bit easier.

Once she wrapped her head around everything, had a good cry in Mor's arms, she forced herself to live. Starting with taking over the Night Court.

It had been hard, with a lot of resistance of the idea of a women leading a court. She hated that the fact she was having a son swayed them to accept her as High Lady.

Upon taking the role, she realised she had no real idea about ruling the Night Court so she buried herself in books, learning all that she could. Meeting with some of the other high lords to learn what they knew. They had been happy to help her and Feyre found she enjoyed the politics.

Maybe Rhys had subtly influenced that. 

It was a winters night and Feyre was sat reading more politics books when Azriel appeared at the house, a tight look on his face. He paused when he saw her though, face softening just a bit.

"Feyre. I didn't expect you to be awake."

She smiled, setting down her book and rubbing a hand over her stomach. "Yes, this little one is causing a riot. I couldn't sleep." 

At that, a real smile spread across his face, small as it was. "Come Azriel, sit. I want to talk to you." 

A frown tugged on his lips but Azriel didn't dispute as he took a seat across from her. Feyre went to speak when he asked, "Have you thought of a name yet?"

Feyre rolled her eyes, laughing softly to herself. Good try at deflection. "I have. And I am thinking Nyx. To mean night. Now, I know what you're trying to do and it won't work."

Azriel sighed, leaning back in his seat. But there was too much tension in his body, his hand flexing against his leg. "I assume you didn't have a good conversation with Eris?"

His blink was his only sign of confusion before fear flooded his features. "Eris? Feyre, I don't know what you mean..."

She cut him off with a bored stare. "Azriel. You know how I catch onto things fast, I know. You don't need to lie to me. Nor fear what I may think. It's okay." 

He sat up straighter now, still tense as if preparing for a fight. She imagined a lot of different questions but he seemed to settle on, 'How?"

A small smile at that question, remembering the day she figured it out. The surprise. "The high lords meeting. I noticed the small, fleeting looks. And that outburst, it wasn't just because of what he said about Mor, was it?" 

Azriel barked a laugh, disbelief in his eyes. "You're right."

She tilted her head slightly, smiling softly. "Tell me what happened."

He sighed, shifting in his seat. "I don't know how it happened. I hated him. One day, I was with him on business and it just happened. We had it out, about Mor. And I learned what really happened with Mor, that he did it to help her. We kept it a secret. Certain things happened before the high lords meeting, which was why I snapped. Then Rhys died and I went there so often, and he helped me through my own pain. Helping me to talk to Mor, we did and promised to help each other.  And then we resolved to help you, that we needed to come together as a family."

Feyre was glad he had Eris when she couldn't be there. "And today?" 

Azriel half smiled. "Coincidently, it was about you. And the others. Telling you about us, I was nervous about how you'd react. Seems I had nothing to fear." 

"Azriel, you know I won't judge. Are you and Eris mates?"

He laughed again, shaking his head. "Lord no, not everyone has mates Feyre. I- I love him for him. No bond forced us together and I am glad of that fact."

She understood. Bonds could work out well, like her and Rhys but sometimes they didn't. And sometimes the bond could force people together when they did not necessarily want to be together. 

"Is that all?" Azriel asked, half beginning to stand up.

Feyre shook her head, leaning forward and her face becoming serious. "No. Do you trust Eris? Specifically to become high lord of Autumn?" 

"Why?" 

"Because I've spent a lot of time thinking. We need a better world than what it currently is. And my situation proves of that. But with the changes I need to make, I can't do it with Beron in the way. So I need him gone. I already have a plan but I need to speak to Eris and his mother. I'm hoping you can get that meeting for me. Under discreet circumstances."

Azriel looked taken aback but once her words settled, he nodded. "I can. How soon?"

"As soon as possible." 

A week later Feyre was sat in her office, looking over some information when a knock sounded on her door. "Come in!"

Azriel stepped into her room and she sat up in her seat. "My High Lady, I have some troubling news. There was an assassination attempt on Eris and Beron's life. Poison." He paused as Feyre gasped,

"Are they okay? How did this even happen?"

"We are not sure, they are still looking into it. Eris is safe, they were able to provide him with an antidote. Beron, however, passed away this morning. They were too late. Eris Vanserra is now High Lord of Autumn." 

Feyre smiled, well aware any potential ears would not see. Only listen of her first hearing the news of Beron's death.

As for who did it, no one would know. No one would suspect. Not when Eris' mother had been on a walk with her son, witnessing his collapse. And as for Feyre and Azriel, she had a very important pregnancy check-up.

She needed Azriel there for moral support.

Azriel returned her smile with a smirk, equally as pleased. "Thank you for telling me Azriel. Now leave me, I must write a letter to the lords and to Eris."

He left her alone, closing the door with a soft click. 

Now that he was gone, it was finally time to bring about a world she had fought for. As well as Rhys. 

She vowed to make his sacrifice worthwhile. 

-------

Thank you for reading!

If you enjoyed this, feel free to find the work on ao3 under the same title but under the username EndureAndSurvive6 :)

[itsalwaysthelatter]

I'm in a loop. They say consistency is key. Well, wait until you're stuck in an unhealthy and unproductive routine. After years of being a breadwinner and finally being able to break out of it, I decided to take a sabbatical. Lately, I have a somehow fixed time to eat, watch animes or series, "exercise", cook, bond with my partner and her siblings etc.. It was fine at first and then of course I started to have this enormous feeling of guilt for not doing anything that brings in money. It stresses me out so bad I barely enjoy my so-called vacation or time out. It made me think its probably time to get back to work. Although that only made me recall the burn out I had and it gives me the same dread. I think I got used to the constant worrying about food and bills of everyone in our house.

Haaa! How I longed for the day that I only have myself to dwell on. And now that I am in it, it gives me a different level of suffering. I feel like nobody needs me and it feels like I have no purpose. Useless, that's what I am, for me at this point. I know, it's bad. I was told that I must think of it as a way to improve my mental health so that I can be more productive and positive when I get back out there. Problem is, HOW? How can I improve my mental state when it constantly bothers me that I am not earning while at the same time it pains me to go back to work? How can I unlearn the guilty feeling every time I take a time off?

I need motivation of some sort. More self-love, perhaps? I don't know. Ugh, the brain is such a powerful tool that can make or break you. Unfortunately, I feel like mine is declining. Anyway, its too early to give up. Randomly read from someone in my newsfeed about helpful research in human design. To possibly get to know myself more. If I don't know where or how to start, I guess I just have to start somewhere or anywhere.

[detoxtrembles]

13.10.2022

Something you may not know about me is that my gut feelings are something to be listened to. Often I ignore it in hopes of pleasing my mother, whose mood will effectively decide the kind of day we all have, what food we will eat, if any, and what anguish will continue. But I listen when I can.

There’s this one gut feeling that’s pestered me since I was a child. It’s the feeling that I’d be dead before I reached 30. Age 26, to be exact. But I always knew I’d kill myself. I never saw myself as an older person, not even as a 40 year old, let alone a 90 year old. I don’t think it’s who I am or who I’m meant to become. But since I was young, my soul aches for an out. It would have been free, had my family not engrained and woven pure guilt into my very being. But here I am. Suffering. Every day is mental suffering. Every day my body relives a trauma. Every day my mind scrambles. Every day my mother pokes and prods, as does everyone else, hoping to get a reaction out of me.

Even my girlfriend does it, poking my sides when I ask her not to, when she knows I’m. It’s overwhelmed. I’d hate to one day burst into tears in front of her. The thought alone is mortifying. But this last time, I almost started crying at work. It would have absolutely torn me apart to have people chasing me down to convince me to just be nice to everyone when I’m on the verge of a mental break. On the verge with no one to lean on. I have absolutely no one who can physically support me. Life is just going to shit and I feel like it will never get better.

My emotional state is a wreck lately. I’m starting to think a relationship isn’t for me. That maybe I’m too mentally ill and too ontologically scarred to obtain something as fickle and soft as love. I’m a painted dog and a love like this is thorns in my palms. I grin and bear because humans are flawed, but the constant jabs about me “preferring” my best friend I over her and about me disappearing when I get overwhelmed and the fact that the time I told her I needed a break because what I was gonna do was Roblox myself keeps being brought up…

I don’t know what to do. I’m lost. I’m hopeless. I’m exhausted. I have a gnarly burn on my left wrist and I’m honest to god at my wit’s end. Maybe tomorrow will be better.

[mammonshuman92]

- It Takes Two - Pt. 2

(Mammon x Gn!MC)

Genre: angst to fluff (the fluff is coming I promise lol)

Warnings: cheating, not proof read , if i missed any TW’s I apologize

“We’re a little busy right now.” A familiar voice, biting and arrogant, came from his lap. His eyes widened, whipping his head around to look at you in his lap. Except it wasn’t you. It was her. His heartbeat accelerated as panic began to set in.

“No, no, no, no, no.” He chanted, standing up in an instant, causing the succubus to fall to the floor with a thud and a few profanities. As events began to unfold and the puzzle pieces started fitting together; when it was already too late, he realized what he’d done. A hard lump instantaneously forming in his throat. He turned to you, eyes wide with terror, hands on either side of his head tangling in his hair.

“MC..I..I-It’s not wh- I thought-” He choked out.

He followed your line of sight, which was glued to his undone pants and obvious arousal. With shaky hands and fingers unwilling to cooperate, he fumbled with his zipper, struggling to get it up. Arms from behind snaked around his middle, gently clawing at his chest. 

“Shall we finish what we started?” She hummed seductively, staring daggers directly at you.

You shook your head, a sob escaping your lips as a fresh wave of tears streamed down your cheeks. You brushed past Asmo, disappearing out the doorway.

What’s goin’ on..? ...This can’t be happenin’..

He shoved the girl’s arms off of him without saying a word, a scowl spreading across her face. He made a beeline for the door, Asmo quickly stepping in front of him to block his way. “Don’t. You’ve done enough..” With venom lacing his tone, he looked the succubus up and down. He turned his glare on his brother for just a moment, the utter disgust they held was evident, before running out the door after you. As his figure disappeared, Mammon could feel the reality, the weight of the situation setting in.

His heart was pounding against his ribcage, breathing becoming erratic. The lump in his throat was unwavering, choking him as tears streamed down his cheeks. The gravity of it all bringing him to his knees.

“How moving.” The voice behind him scoffed, reminding him of her presence, “It almost seems like you love them.”

His head whipped around to see her, lounging casually on the sofa as if nothing had happened.

“You.” He growled, harshly wiping his face with the back of his hand as he stood up.

 “Stay the fuck away from me!” He snarled.

She laughed lightly as she stood from the couch, crossing the floor until she was right in front of him. “Don’t be like that. Ten minutes ago you were ready to nail me on that couch.” She purred, her finger trailing down his chest, quickly moving lower. Like a flash, he grabbed her wrists and held her hands up in the air in front of her.

“Let me make one thing very clear to you right now. I don’t want ya. I only made out with you and shit because I thought ya were MC. I would never willingly do anything to hurt them.” He glared at her, making sure she caught that emphasis, before dropping her hands. “Your jealousy bullshit, and making moves on me while I’m drunk just made me lose the one thing that has ever been good about me..” He trailed off, releasing his grip in her.

She rolled her eyes, “Why are you getting so worked up over a human? There’s nothing special about-”

“Excuse me?” He growled. 

Mammon has always been the level-headed one when it comes to altercations, believe it or not. He never usually lets his anger get the best of him. After thousands of years of being the scummy brother, the thief, the loser, he got used to just letting people’s words fall upon deaf ears, so to say. But, that was not the case this time. You see, anyone could say whatever they wanted to about him, he didn’t care. He could handle whatever was thrown at him. 

You, on the other hand? Well, you’re flawless. In every miniscule way, you were perfect. That’s not saying that you don’t make mistakes, or drive him crazy sometimes, but to him there was absolutely not a thing about you he would change. Everything you did, everything you were, was absolutely immaculate.

Rage bubbled in his gut.

Leaning in closely, he towered over her, radiating ire. “I’m not gonna sit here and discuss why you’re wrong, seein’ as how it’d take all day, but what I am gonna to say is for a lesser demon, ya might wanna reconsider who you’re talking to. He spat, “Say one more thing about MC, and it’ll be the last time ya speak..” He whispered, glaring at her for a moment before taking a step back.

“Stay away from me and MC.” He warned once more, daggers in his eyes as he turned and bolted through the door.

If he had any shred of hope left, it was that you would talk to him and let him explain everything. He knew it was shitty, after everything that just went down, to even consider the possibility of you forgiving him, but he held onto that little shred of hope. Had he been in the right state of mind, had she not taken advantage of the situation and the state he was in, he would’ve never even stayed in the same room with that girl, much less go as far as he had.

He felt awful. Whether he was so drunk he was convinced it was you on his lap or not, he felt an overwhelming sense of guilt. After seeing the horror, the heartbreak on your face; the tears that stained your cheeks because of something he’d done, he kinda didn’t want you to forgive him. He didn’t want to lose you, couldn’t imagine continuing on without you in his life, by his side. But if you hated him now, he wouldn’t blame you. He deserved it. And he would live with it for the rest of his existence, knowing that he messed up his only chance at true happiness; at spending his life with his soulmate.

-

You bobbed and weaved as quickly as you could through the crowd of club patrons, needing to get far away from here as fast as you could, as your impending breakdown was sure to be a sight to see.

You were already so out of it; physically present but mentally, your brain had already shut off. Not quite sure how to handle the current situation. All the faces in the club were just a blur; you could feel the bass of the music reverberating inside your chest, but you couldn’t hear anything. Kind of like when you’re somewhere so quiet, the absence of sound feels so heavy, deafening.

You had to get out of here. Heart hammering wildly, you felt as if you couldn’t breathe; like the walls were closing in on you. A panic attack was setting in. Finally free of the sea of people, you darted out the front door of the establishment, running as fast as your legs would take you back to the House of Lamentation. Hoping that no one else would be home to see you; becoming witness to your unraveling.

-

*bing*

*bing, bing* *bing*

Your D.D.D. continued going off with near constant notifications well into the night. You could’ve just put it on silent, but you just couldn’t seem to move, frozen by heartbreak. Apparently several pictures were going viral on Devilgram, leaking this rumor and that regarding the second born and the succubus. Further making you look and feel like a complete fool.

Mammon had also been blowing up your phone since you made it back to the HOL. He had even come by your room in an attempt to talk to you but once he realized the door was locked, which had never happened the entire time you’ve lived here, he sat outside the door begging you to open it as loud sobs escaped him. As much as you wanted to, you didn’t budge.

Of course you still love him. How could you not? Hearing his desperate pleas and heartbroken sobs was almost too much for you. Although you were the one who had been betrayed, you wanted nothing more than to fling the door open, latch yourself onto him and never let go. But you couldn’t. Cheating is a dealbreaker. It’d happened before, in previous relationships, but shit this one hurt so bad, worse than any other heartbreak you’d had.

He had his faults, much like everyone, but he was so perfect for you, and treated you like you’d always dreamed. This couldn’t really be the end could it? Over, just like that? Completely smitten and in love two days ago, to heartbroken, crying on the bathroom floor. 

How are you supposed to move on from this? He’s your best friend. Or, was. How are you supposed to pass him in the hall, or eat dinner, or have House movie nights in the common room? How are you supposed to act like you're not still in love with him..?

-

The next week was pretty rough, to say the least.

You stayed locked away in your room when you weren’t at RAD; replaying the moment you saw them together, crying until the tears no longer fell; effectively torturing yourself. They’d all come knocking at your door countless times, trying their best to make you feel better. And while you appreciated it wholly, it didn’t help.

Avoiding Mammon was probably one of the hardest things you’d ever done, seeing as how you kinda live together. While it was extremely hard not to just run up to him and latch onto him like you always did, it seemed harder to just avoid him in general. 

During the first few days, he left small presents outside your door, had a couple of his brothers slip you notes, and waited for you after class a few times. After using every ounce of your willpower to avoid him, he left you alone. He still messaged you several times a day though, apologizing profusely, begging you to talk to him.

But, it was better this way right? Like ripping off a band-aid? 

That’s what you’d always heard anyway. Instead of asking questions and demanding answers as to why someone else chose to hurt you, you just cut it off right there, ghosting them; removing yourself completely from their life. Because if they truly cared, really loved you, they wouldn’t make the conscious decision to do something that they know would hurt you, that stepped outside the boundaries of your relationship. Their reasoning doesn’t matter. Aside from living in the same house and attending the same school, you had pretty much ghosted him.

In public anyway. In the privacy of your room, where you could feel everything to its fullest, you’d spend hours going through pictures, skimming Devilgram for any new gossip about the two of them. Re-reading your old text messages, finger hovering over the send button of the text you’d typed out a hundred times before deleting it and tossing your phone, a new wave of tears pricking your eyes.

-

Unable to sleep, he’d tossed and turned in his bed so much that his body ached and one of the corners of his sheet had popped off the bed. With a heavy sigh, he rolled over and grabbed his D.D.D. off the nightstand. Squinting his eyes harshly when he unlocked the phone.

“3:41am” He groaned, tossing the phone back onto the nightstand. He turned back over, facing the empty side of his bed. Sure, he didn’t often share it before you, but once you started sleeping together, he wasn’t sure how he’d ever slept before you came along. It just felt right. Your body molded against his, sleeping peacefully in his arms.

His hand trailed down the cold, empty sheets; the slight disruption releasing your smell. A hard lump formed in his throat as tears pooled behind his lash line. He sat up quickly, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his palms. With a heavy sigh, he stood up and grabbed a pair of pajama pants, making his way to the door. If he had any hope of being able to fall asleep again, he’d need some help drowning his thoughts.

He quietly made his way to the kitchen, fully intending to turn up the bottle of Demonus Lucifer kept hidden in the dark recesses of the pantry. As soon as he stepped foot in the kitchen, he froze.

It had only been seven days, but it felt like a lifetime. Seven days without being in the same room as you for more than just a moment before you ran in any direction as long as it was away from him. Not that he could blame you. He wanted to run away from himself..

Which is exactly what he was determined to do with Demonus, had he not stumbled upon you sitting with your back to the fridge, crying into a half eaten container of chocolate frosting. 

Immediately alerted to the figure in the doorway, you jumped up, attempting to wipe at your face as you muttered an apology, but paled when you saw who it was that disturbed you. You slowly sat the container on the counter, keeping your eyes fixed on the man in the doorway.

What was left of his heart, shattered at the sight of you. Your eyes were puffy and red with dark bags underneath them. The same eyes that looked at him with such deep burning love, were now dull and lifeless as you stared at him. You were visibly broken, anyone could see that. He was the reason you looked like this; like an abandoned puppy, beaten and abused. He hated it. Hated himself.

He moved out of the doorway and into the kitchen, freeing up the only way out in case you wanted to run. Not that he blamed you. If he could run from himself right now, he would.

But, now you were in the same room together for the first time in a week and he didn’t want to waste the opportunity. Maybe if he just started talking you would listen, even just a tiny bit to what he had to say.

“MC, I-”

“Don’t.” Your voice trembled slightly as your eyes began to sting.

“Please, just hear me-”

“And what are you going to say, hm? That you’re sorry? Sorry you did it, or sorry you got caught?” You hissed with tears in your eyes. Mammon slightly recoiled from the tone of your voice, a tone he’d never heard from you. You hated being this way; angry and bitter, wanting him to hurt like you did. It was surely petty, but you didn’t care.

“MC, listen, I swear I didn’t do anythin’, okay? I was still goin’ strong from an all night drinkin’ binge, an-and she just showed up in the VIP lounge. I told her to fuck off but she didn’t listen. I was already pretty out of it when things started happenin’ and I thought it was you. I thought it was you the whole time! I-I didn’t know it was her till I heard you and Asmo and realized what happened! She took advantage of the situation, of me bein’ way too drunk..” He was talking so fast, trying to get out the words he’d been wanting to say to you. 

Narrowing your eyes, you stared at him suspiciously.

What if he really didn’t do it on purpose..? If all of that is true, it would explain why he looks so rough..

Having barely stayed in the same room as one another for several days and not wanting to look at him, wanting to remain strong and now cry in front of everyone, you hadn’t noticed but how awful he looked as well. He clearly hasn’t been sleeping well, judging by the giant bags under his eyes. Not to mention that he is also currently awake at 4am, looking just as much like shit as you did.

“Then why is it all over Devilgram that it’s been an ongoing fling?” You questioned, a few tears escaping.

“I would never do anythin’ like that, MC! She’s just jealous or somethin’, I don’t know what her issue is.. But, I-I love ya, more than anythin’ in the three realms. Even Goldie!”

You could feel yourself caving in with every word he said. It made sense, judging by how she’d randomly confronted you after school that day after whispering about you with her friends all day, it seemed like jealousy could be plausible. But what proof did you have? It was his word against what you saw with your own eyes. Not to mention everything on Devilgram.

“Funny, from where I was standing, it sure looked like I was the last thing on your mind.” You hissed, causing him to flinch; but he wasn’t backing down yet.

“Just let me prove it to ya, okay? I-I’ll do whatever I gotta do. Please, MC?” His deep, sapphire blue eyes bore deep into yours; the sorrow, the agony they held was immense. The crack in your armour deepened.

He could see that you were wavering, but that you were hesitant, scared to believe him; to trust him. He couldn’t blame you. If he were on the other side of all this, he wouldn’t believe his words either. He didn’t expect you to just hear him out then jump into his arms and ride away into the sunset. He knew better. He knew he’d have to prove it. He was more than willing to do whatever it would take for you to trust him again, to believe that he’d never hurt you intentionally.

He took a step toward you, careful and anxious, as if you would bolt if he moved too suddenly. He reached out for your hand slowly, reluctant at first but upon realizing how much you’d missed his touch as his warm, much larger hand enveloped yours, you caved so easily.

He squeezed your hand lightly, looking down at your entwined fingers, gently rubbing the side of your thumb. You felt something wet hit your hand a couple times, realizing quickly that they were tears, you attempted to swallow the lump in your throat that was quickly forming.

“Please? I’m miserable without ya..” He asked, voice cracking slightly.

Even after everything that’s happened the last week, you couldn’t stand to see him in such pain; miserable and broken. Just like you.

Sure, he was always stand-offish about his feelings and the like before you got together, but once it was all official, that was it; the walls came down. There had never been a single time that he lied to you or went behind your back with anything. He lasted exactly twelve minutes after buying your birthday present before he couldn’t take it anymore and spilled the beans. 

He’s always a goofball, sometimes has bad timing and isn’t always the best with words, but he’s never given you a reason not to trust him before; he’s never been anything but an amazing boyfriend that genuinely tries his hardest to make you happy.

“One.” You whispered, barely audible. His head snapped up, deep blue eyes scanning yours. You closed your eyes, taking a deep, yet shaky breath.

“One chance. That’s it.”

No sooner than the words left your lips, Mammon was pulling you flush to his chest in a bone crushing hug. Had you not been utterly craving his touch, to be held by him, you would’ve pushed him away. That’s what you told yourself anyway.

“I won’t make ya regret it, MC.” He earnestly swore, squeezing you gently.

For the sake of your heart, you hoped he was right.

~ taglist ~

@ithinkimdekubutreallyimdenki

@maybe-nott

@bandaged-despair

@bokuto7stan

@aliackerman

- part three coming soon -

[i-like-sparkly-things]

Beautiful?

A Halstead!Sister

'But they don't know. They don't know what it's like to be you. They didn't know what it was like to wake up everyday, to a body you never asked for.

A body nobody wanted.'

Warnings : eating disorder, body insecurities, body dismorphia

Requested : Yup, by anon , 'could u do a fic where she has an eating disorder? and doesn’t tell jay but then one day she passes out at school and has to tell him?'

Word count : 1.7k

Note : this took too long I don't know why 😭but yall Guess who's thankful that yall bear with my English ? me. :) and ps this is my first request!! And yall please please know that all of you are so freaking beautiful and worth fighting for. Know that you are loved and it is never, ever weak to ask for help.

**************************

The constant pain and sleepless nights were paying off. Your eyes sparkled when you saw your new numbers. It was working.

You took your diary, crossing out breakfast on the to do list after eating a banana.

This was going to be simple. check what you eat, check your weight and repeat . You knew that if you tried really hard, you would be the one in control.

Control. That's all you wanted. Such an easy, yet painful thing.

You looked to the mirror, as your hands hovered over your ribs sticking to the skin . You'd never felt so beautiful in your life. But your eyes roamed down to your thighs. The flesh of your legs were touching. It wasn't enough.

It was never enough.

'' Y/n , come on ! Move your ass! I need to get to work!! '' Jay shouted for you, from downstairs.

'' Shut uppp I'm comingg'', you yelled back.

Ever since your mom had died, dad always kept to himself leading you to stay with your brothers. It had become a routine. Jay  would drop you off at school and Annie's mom would give you a ride home.

Lucky for you , Jay was constantly busy with cases. He hadn't noticed your new diet or the mood swings.

**************************

Your teacher had started the lesson. And slowly you sensed something wrong. Your head was pounding. God why is she so blurry? You look to Anne sitting next to you and she's Blurry too. You felt your body giving up to the swaying ground.

'' y/n!! '' Annie shreiked as your limp body crashed to the floor.

****************************

'' Chuckles!? '' Trudy called out,climbing the stairs to intelligence. "Do I look like a cocktail waitress to you? Where have you been??"

"Morning to you too, sarge" Jay sighed. "and its detective"

" Well , Detective , Y/n fainted at school and wanted you to pick her up"

"What ?" he asked shocked, aldready beginning to pick up his jacket.

"Sarge" he said, looking to Voight for approval, although he would leave nonetheless. "Go."

*****************************

"Mr. Halstead" the school nurse addressed him, as he entered the clinic.

"Call me jay. Y/n, are you okay? what the hell happened?" he asked you worried.

You had never fainted before and apart from the flu every couple of years, you had a clean bill of health, as far as he knew.

"Jay, I promise I'm fine. Just got a little dizzy, that's all" you answered knowing how overprotective he can get. Now all you could hope for was that he would let this slide.

"I tried getting some food in her but she told me she was fine" the nurse explained to Jay.

God No. the the salad she offered you had so many calories.  you had made too much progress nothing was going to stop you especially a simple fainting episode. It was a minor setback but you were sure you could continue your weight loss diet.

" What, WHY? " he questioned, but just  as you were thinking of a better reply " You know what, I'm gonna take her home." he interrupted your thoughts as he spoke to the nurse.

" Only if you are sure, you're good"

" I am Jay. One hundred percent." you replied, happy to skip the rest of the school day.

It's not like you've been paying attention any ways. You'd zone out a lot during class and  your constant hunger and cramps didn't help either. But you drowned these feelings away with small sips of water and occasional slices of cucumbers.

You Craved the Emptiness. the feeling of being lighter. The feeling of being....... perfect. It was intoxicating.

Taking your school bag, Jay wrapped a study arm around your shoulders , guiding you through the school corridors and towards his truck.

"God, I can't wait to go to bed", You said climbing the truck and fastening your seat belt.

"Yeah right. I'm taking you to med" he stated. "WHAT? Jay, what the hell ? I told you, I'm fine!!"

You knew Will was working and didn't want either of your brothers to know about your new diet or how much weight you had lost. It was too late to quit. The disgusting image in the mirror was slowly getting better..... getting thinner, prettier.

"You've never fainted before Y/n, and I promise I'll get Will to run the exams and do all the tests" he assured you.

****************************

"Y/n, I thought I told you I never wanted to see you here again.", Maggie greeted, pointing a finger at you.

"Awwww  but I missed you", you pouted, " No don't do that. your brother's waiting in treatment room 3 so you better get going." she instructed and you dropped your school bag near the nurses station.

You and Jay enter the room, to a very worried Will. "Y/n, what happened?" he asked , gesturing you to sit on the bed.

"did you hit your head when you fell? Did you fall in the bathroom or something like that?", he continued, not giving you time to answer.

"what did the nurses say? are you stressed about school?" " Will-", you interrupted his rambling " I'm fine, just..... got a little dizzy."

You watched , as he took his pen light to your eyes. "Ah! Will, stop!!" You said, trying and failing to refrain him.

"You know, it'll be easier if you stop squirming" Jay commented with a smug smile. "Your not going anywhere"

"Shut up" you groaned.

You need to get out of here. What if they gave you food. What if they found out you were hungry all the time. They'd never stop making fun of you. They'd tell you that you were overreacting and that all this was so unnecessary.

But they didn't know. They didn't know what it was like to be you. They didn't have floppy arms or fleshy thighs. They didn't know what it was like to wake up everyday, to a body you never asked for. A body nobody wanted.

******************************

"Jay" Will called out, seeing him outside your room. It had been a couple of hours since you were bought in.

Will had ordered some tests, being the ass he was.

Wonderful. You just hoped that all the tests would be normal and you could get the hell out of there.

"yeah man? just needed to text Hailey, Why, what's wrong?" Jay asked, studying the worried expression on his brother's face

"It's Y/n. "

***************************

You were fiddling with the hem of your t-shirt when your brother's walked in, staring at you, as if you were a ghost.

"Y/n," Jay croaked out his voice laced with dread, "how long?"

No. No. No. This can't be happening. God, you knew that they were going to hate you forever.

"what the are you talking about?" you needed to try to get them to back away."Is something wrong?"

They were standing on either side of your bed. Jay came closer and sat down on your right the beside your knees, eyes never leaving yours.

"Your tests-" Will started, "They came back showing you have severe deficiencies. That your body is struggling to survive. That it's not getting enough food." he broke away from your gaze.

"We um-" Jay, as if almost on queue, continued."We looked through your school bag and found your diary. "

You sucked in a sharp breath and shook your head. No. He knew. They knew.

All your calorie counts, the amount of calories you can have in a day, your research on diets, workouts, to do lists, hell, even your Period Tracker was written down. (although you barely had it anymore)

That book was the reason you were finally becoming happy with yourself. Your body.

'I'm sorry', you mouthed "I'm so, so sorry" This was it. Your voice hitched, as tears flowed down your cheeks. "I was finally happy"

In an instant, your brothers were by your side.

Jay engulfed you into his chest, your words circling his mind. 'Finally?' God, you lived together! You were his sister! His baby sister! How could he have let this happen to you? How could he not have noticed that you were drowning? That you were starving yourself. What kind of brother was he?

Will rubbed your back, until your sobs became quieter. He was a doctor. A damn doctor! God knows how long this has been going on, but at the end of the day.... he failed. He failed to be there,..... when you needed him.

"Y/n, you don't have to do this. You're beautiful Y/n. You really are. And I'm sorry that anyone else has convinced in otherwise" Jay breathed out, hoping you heard him, in his embrace.

"It felt good, Jay" your voice was muffled by his shirt, but to your brothers, your voice was loud and clear.

"Did it?" You turned to Will, "Did the hunger feel good?" his heart broke saying the words out loud.

'Yes', you wanted to answer. Of course it felt good. You were getting so many compliments from your friends at school. Boys started acknowledging you now.

It was like you finally existed. You felt...... worthy.

But with all the strength you could muster up, you couldn't get the words out. Because there was always one voice that told you to quit. The voice you'd been drowning out for so long. The voice that told you, that you were in fact, beautiful.

Your mother's.

"No" you said, realizing that Will had tears in his eyes as well.

But you couldn't find a hint of shame in them, no matter how much you searched. Instead, you were met with the immense worry and guilt of your brother.

"We can help, Y/n" Will said, as he took your hand in his, "We will help and we'll be there every step of the way."

"Every step" Jay assured and you turned to him. "All you need to do, is let us in"

You weren't prepared for this. You had no idea what to say.

You didn't want to feel tired all the time, always craving for food. But the idea of going back - back to all that shame - that's what scared you.

"Y/n," Will spoke up, seeing as you were struggling to answer, "I promise you, we are going to make you feel better...... and we'll fight those thoughts of yours together."

You took a shaky breath.

Thoughts.

Your thoughts.

You had let them consume you for a long time now. Too long. maybe..... Maybe the right voice to follow, was your mothers'. "okay-" you sobbed, "okay", and once again you found yourself in Jay's arms.

You, clinging to him like your life depended on it and him holding you tight, because it did. His hand rested on your head, tangled with your hair.

Will saw a tear make its way down his brothers cheek, something he hasn't witnessed often.

Your brothers sat silently, listening to you cry. Taking in the conversation, only having a glimpse of the pain you were in.

You had a long, long road ahead but as you sat in your brother arms, you felt a sense of peace, comfort maybe.

******************************

Masterlist

[iliveiloveiwrite]

Bloom // H.P.

Summary: Healing doesn't happen overnight. It’s a process that can take months, if not, years to come to terms with. It’s been five years since the Battle of Hogwarts and the end of the Second Wizarding War. Harry finally feels ready to confront feelings that have long been sat, growing unattended in the recesses of his mind and soul.

A/N: This was inspired by the made-up fic title that I did a few weeks ago. I got so stuck on this, I couldn't get any further, but inspiration somewhat struck and here we are. I know this is long, but I am so so proud of this, I would love some interaction with this. Take a chance, please.

Warnings: feelings of sadness, grief, worthlessness, more visits to graveyards, talks of death. This sounds dark, and parts are, but there is so much fluff and comfort and pining in this.

Word count: 9.4k

Harry’s Flat, London, England, October.

For the fourth night this week, sleep evades him. Deciding to surrender this particular battle, Harry sits up in bed and reaches for his glasses on the bedside table.

With clearer vision, he turns to the digital clock next to where he places his glasses. He hangs his head in his hands when he reads the time. not even two hours of sleep before he awoke; his mind unwilling to alleviate him long enough for him to fall into a dreamless sleep.

He supposes it could be a good thing, or at least, that’s what he tells himself as he throws the covers off his body and swings his legs out of bed. As he sits on the edge of his bed, Harry gives himself a moment.

He gives himself only a single moment to give into the tidal wave threatening to drown him. A single moment simply to feel everything before he packs it all away into corresponding drawers in his mind.

A heavy sigh leaves him as he plods into the living room and through to the kitchen. As he boils the kettle, he thinks of you and your ingrained belief that everything can be put to rights over a cup of tea.

Settling in the living room, he grabs the remotes for the television. Turning it on, he switches the volume to mute, not wanting loud noises, but rather the comfort of monotonous moving pictures. Harry cannot tell what the programme is; a muggle show dedicated to archaeology, he thinks, but he pays it little mind.

He runs a hand down his face; feeling the tiredness deep within his bones. The insomnia had started in the months after the end of the war; beginning with repetitive nightmares in which he would suffer through the deaths of his friends countless times before being awoken by the sounds of his own screams. From there, it shifted into a fear of sleep, a terror of closing his eyes and seeing Hermione’s or Ron’s lifeless bodies. He knows – he knows they are alive and well, but the fear remains.

He wonders how long he’ll continue to feel like this should do nothing; how long he will deal with the sleepless nights and the nightmares that greet him when he does close his eyes.

However, as he watches the soundless pictures play on the television, he cannot help but feel an urge to get better. To do better and to be better in all that he does. At the age of eighteen, he defeated the darkest wizard to have ever walked the earth in the last century. At the age of twenty three, five years later, he feels close to laughter that he has let his life come to this.

But no-one warned him of the aftermath of the war. No-one readied him for the feelings of guilt that twists his stomach; leaving him unable to eat. No-one explained to him just how long the nightmares would last; seeing the faces of those that fell at the battle of Hogwarts and before as he tries and tries to dream of happy things.

Harry’s bottom lip begins to wobble. The tears won’t fall. It’s been years, Harry thinks, since he had cried in earnest.

As Harry sits on his couch for the fourth night that week, he readies himself to start putting his life back together again.

The Burrow, Ottery St. Catchpole, Devon, October.

The Burrow had always, to Harry at least, been a place full of happy memories. The home of the Weasley family physically exuded warmth and happiness. To put it bluntly, it was Harry’s safe haven; the place he could go where he would find no judgement for his state of sleeplessness or lack of appetite. He would catch Molly watching him worriedly, but she knew not to press, and for that, he was thankful. To appease her worries, or at least to lessen them slightly, he visits the Weasley matriarch once a week.

Immediately, Harry is wrapped up in hug after hug. Molly keeping her hands on Harry’s cheeks as she moves his head side to side, getting a good look at him. She clamps her lips together to keep the frown from forming on her face; worry rises in her gut, but she does not voice it.

The food cooking on the stove has Harry’s mouth watering as he walks through the kitchen to the large table in the dining area. There, he finds your eyes. They remain on the door as he walks through, as if you knew it wouldn’t be long before he entered.

“Mate,” Ron greets; pushing a drink into Harry’s hand. Harry nods at Ron, taking a swig of his drink before smiling at Hermione.

He moves to sit next to you; wanting nothing more than to sit by your side so he can tell his plan of which he came up with by himself. All around him conversation continues as if he had never walked in in the first place. He supposes that’s bit big-headed of him to think, but as he looks around those he classes as his family, he comes to realisation that they’ve all started to move on.

It hits him then and there; just how terrified he is of being left behind.

“How have you been?” You ask; voice gentle and caring as you lean into him.

Harry smiles at you; spooning vegetables onto his plate but feeling no pangs of hunger. “You just saw me last week,” Harry reminds in humour; his attempt at avoiding the twinges of fear ravaging his gut.

You roll your eyes, “That means it’s been a while since I’ve seen you. So, how have you been?”

Harry hears the meaning in your words; he hears the undercurrent of worry in your voice, and it only adds to the pit growing in his stomach. After his decision the other night, it was as if all the realisations hit him at once and he came to see just how much of a bad friend he had been to you all. He’d had been so caught up in his self-loathing that he failed to see just how much you were struggling with it all; he hadn’t even noticed that Ron and Hermione had also sought out help too.

Harry nods; reaching for his knife and fork, “I’ve been okay.”

Even he can hear the lie in his voice, and it makes him sick to his stomach. Thankfully, you don’t address it. You simply nod; patting his hand twice before turning your attention to your own meal.

Cutlery scrapes on plates as happy conversation lightens the atmosphere. It isn’t mentioned, but it is there – the absence of Fred’s laughter and his smile, the pointed comments, and his love for his mother. It is there, and it only adds to the guilt pooling in Harry’s stomach and invading his bloodstream.

It’s as if you sense it; as if you sense Harry starting to spiral, his thoughts turning to that dark place that he so often finds himself in. It’s as if you know; changing the hand in which your fork sits to free up your other hand so you can take Harry’s under the table and squeeze. A silent reminder if there is any.

I’m here, you remind him, I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.

Harry squeezes back; unable to do or say anything else, meeting Arthur Weasley’s pained eyes from across the table, and beginning to wish that he had in fact done and said more.

At the age of eighteen years old, harry defeated the darkest wizard in a century. Yet, he had lost a friend he had classed as a brother, and now finds it hard to look Molly and Arthur in the eye.

There is a lapse in conversation and Harry slips his hand free of yours, needing to leave the room before the guilt he’s sitting in drowns him. He smiles apologetically at each Weasley, eyes lingering on the empty chair across from George and promptly leaves the room.

The night air is cold against Harry’s bare arms as he sits on one of the many benches littering the Weasley’s gardens. It’s so cold that his breath is coming out in white puffs, but he doesn’t feel the need to fetch his coat. In fact, he would rather feel the cold against his skin. It reminds him that he’s alive and that he’s breathing. It reminds him of those are who no longer living.

He stiffens at the sounds of footsteps behind him; his hand immediately reaching for his wand kept in his back pocket.

Harry relaxes somewhat when he realises it was you who followed him outside, and not Ron or Hermione. He doesn’t turn, but he smiles when he hears you swear quietly, having tripped on a rogue stone.

You sigh as you sit down on the bench next to him; rubbing at your sore knee.

“How are you not freezing?” You ask; rubbing at your clothed arms, not happy with the chill seeping through to your bones.

Harry releases a breath; it puffs white, “I don’t feel it.”

You raise an eyebrow; running a finger over his arm which is covered in goosebumps, “I beg to differ.”

Harry doesn’t reply; he flashes a smile your way before returning his attention to the night sky and all that he can see of what the Weasley’s own. For a few minutes, no words are spoken between you both. Sinking into a silence that could only be described as comfortable; he doesn’t feel the constant need to reassure you that he’s okay. You check in on him every now and then, but no true pestering takes place.

Truthfully, Harry basks in your attention. He rather likes the fact that you do make a fuss of him when you check in on him because he’s sure that without you, he would be doing a lot worse than the nightmares and insomnia.

Breaking the silence, you broach the subject of Harry’s health, “Harry, can I give you the name and number of my therapist? I’ve made real progress since working with her, and I think you will too.”

Harry smiles at you; feeling grateful for your help but feeling like an awful friend for shaking his head and declining your offer. “I just… I don’t feel ready yet to speak to someone.”

You nod your head, “I get that, but Harry, it’s been five years since the end of the war, and you know how I worry.”

He nods, letting the conversation collapse into nothing in front of him. This is the time, he realises, to tell you his plans for getting better that don’t involve divulging his deepest and darkest secrets to a stranger, even if they are a trained professional.

“I have a favour to ask you,” Harry prompts, “And I’ll understand if you say no.”

“If I can help you, Harry, I’ll do anything.”

“I don’t want to speak to anyone, not yet at least, but I do want to start moving on.”

“So what’s the favour?” You ask; your curiosity piqued with his mystery.

“I want to visit the places where things have happened, whether they’re good or bad. I want to go back, and I want to see them in a different light.”

“That,” You pause; thinking of your next words, “That sounds like a really good idea, Harry. Where do I come into it though?”

Harry smiles at you sheepishly; running a hand through his forever messy hair. “I want you to come with me,” He states as plain as day.

“What?”

“I’d like for you to come with me,” Harry amends, “I don’t think I can do this on my own.”

“What about Ron or Hermione? I’m sure they would help.”

Harry shakes his head, “They’re both so busy, and they’re starting their lives together. I don’t want to dredge up bad memories for either of them if I can help it.”

You sigh, picking at an invisible thread on your sleeve, “How were you thinking of doing this? I have to work too, you know. Not everyone can inherit a fortune, Potter.”

Harry blinks, letting your words settle before a small smile breaks across his face, “You’d come with me?”

“Harry,” You start, “I don’t think there was any chance of me saying no to you. If I can help you in any way, I can. I’m always here for you.”

The familiar burn of tears starts at the back of his throat. Harry has to avert his eyes; glancing up at the night sky as he swallows past the lump in his throat. He should have known you would say yes; you’ve been by his side for everything since Third Year, but the small voice in the back of his mind had him doubting whether you would.

“Thank you,” He whispers eventually.

“So,” You begin, “Where too first?”

Grimmauld Place, Islington, London, November.

Upon the untimely death of Harry’s godfather, Sirius Black, the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix had been passed down to Harry through Sirius’ will. Sirius had no children for the house to go to, but Harry was as good as.

Standing on a residential street in Islington, you watched as the house appeared as if from nowhere. Appearing amongst number eleven and number thirteen as if it had always been there; as if it was part of the furniture at this point.

Thick dust covers each and every surface. Simply opening the door sends a cloud of dust into your face; leaving you coughing and sneezing as Harry battles the enchantments placed upon the home after the death of Albus Dumbledore.

Turning your gaze to Harry, you could remember the last time you had stepped foot in the ancestral home of the house of Black. It hadn’t been long after Sirius’ death; Harry’s gut-wrenching screams still echoing in your ears as you had bundled him up in any blankets you could find and sat him down at the kitchen table.

He hadn’t spoken much; he hadn’t even cried. Instead, his face set in steely determination, his desperate need to avenger his godfather overriding any common sense. That night, instead of comforting him and drying his eyes, it had been argument after argument, trying to make Harry see sense.

It took hours; the both of you tired not only from the arguing but from the grief sitting on your shoulders. It took hours, but Harry eventually agreed with you, choosing to sit back and wait for the right moment instead of lunging headfirst into attack that would surely get him killed.

Memory after memory washes over you, dragging you into its grips. If the memories are this strong for you, it was not hard to imagine how it must be for Harry.

You focus your attention on him, watching him warily as he wanders further down the hallway, heading for the kitchen where you still expect to hear Sirius’ raucous laugh despite years having passed since his death.

“How are you feeling?” You ask; running a finger across the now clean surface of the kitchen table.

Harry releases a shuddering breath. “I thought,” He starts, “I thought by coming here it would help me come to terms with Sirius and what happened in the Department of Mysteries but being here simply makes me hate his family more.”

“What makes you say that?”

Harry gestures to the large room. “He hated being here. He despised being locked up in the house that he left at sixteen, but he wanted to help the Order, so he stayed here and let it be used as the headquarters.”

“That… That is a very noble thing to do,” You murmur, eyes fixed on the man in front of you, taking in his tight fists and clenched jaw.  

Harry laughs without humour, “The noble house of Black.”

Silence lapses and the tension in the room only increases. Biting your lip, you can only think that this was the wrong thing to do, that this is only pushing Harry further away instead of helping him come to terms with the last years of his life.

“We can leave, Harry,” You remind him, “We can leave right now and do this another day, when you’re more ready.”

He shakes his head, shaking himself out of his funk but also steadfastly refusing to go. He’s made this far; he’ll see it through to the end. He throws you a smile; it doesn’t reach his eyes and your heart cracks a little.

Holding a hand out to you, Harry states, “Come with me, I want to show you something.”

The room he enters is one he has told you about countless times; describing it with so much detail that as you enter the room behind him you feel as if you’ve already been inside.

It cannot be denied that the tapestry is nothing short of piece of art. It cannot be ignored that the depth of detail to the Black family tree is not breathtaking, but at the same time it is so utterly heartbreaking to see the scorch marks litter the walls. The consequence of turning against one’s own family, you think as you step further into the room, taking in its beauty but also its darkness.

“The noble house of Black,” Harry spits, gesturing to four walls, pointing at each scorch mark before settling on the one that once showed the portrait of his beloved godfather.

“He got out,” He states brokenly, “He left his blood family to live with his found family. He had a life ahead of him. He had my father, he had Remus. He had his family, and it was all taken away in one night. In one night, Sirius lost his best friend and then his freedom.

“And all I feel when I think about Sirius is anger. At how he was treated. He was good, (Y/N),” Harry states, his tone pleading, full of emotion, “He was good, and he was treated like shit. His real family didn’t care but his found family did and then he lost all of it.”

“He found you, Harry,” You remind him, “Sirius found you. You didn’t have half as long with him than what you should have, but he made sure to be involved in your life. After the Triwizard Tournament and you had come back with Cedric, Sirius would not leave your side in the hospital. I remember seeing him every morning and he would stay every night. He loved you, Harry – remember that.”

“And what did I do?” Harry laughs, “I got him killed. Some godson I am.”

“Harry, you are not to blame for Sirius’ death.”

He scoffs, disbelief and derision echoing off the walls. You stalk over the green eyed man, your determination growing with every step. You grab his face in both your hands, bringing his face to your level, “Listen to me, Potter. Are you listening?”

He nods, eyes wide and voice silent.

“Good,” You smirk before turning serious. “You are not to blame for Sirius’ death. He knew what was happening in the Department of Mysteries. He knew that there was a chance he was not going to come out of there alive and he still went in to find you, to protect you.”

“If I had paid more attention to what Voldemort showed me though… I could have figured out it was fake…”

You shake your head, “You were a sixteen year old boy, barely trained in occlumency and legilimency. You weren’t to know that what you had seen was fake. All you saw, Harry, was someone you care about being tortured. You acted on instinct.”

“Foolish instinct,” He argues.

You roll your eyes, “Not foolish at all. More brave than foolish.”

Harry remains silent; letting your words sink into his skin, binding them to his bones. It isn’t going to be as simple as one speech and all is forgiven, it is going to take time to forgive himself for the death of his godfather. There is always going to be an element of himself that believes strongly that he was the cause of Sirius’ death; if he hadn’t acted so rashly, if he had stopped to think things through, to go over exactly what Voldemort had shown him, Harry might have been able to delay Sirius’ death.

If, if, if.

If, if, if. He repeats that word; hindsight is a wonderful thing. If he had done this, if he had done that. Hindsight was going to be the death of him.

Harry focuses his attention back on you and the warmth of your hands on either side of his face. Gently, Harry places his hands on top of yours, “Can you let go of me now?”

You smile before pursing your lips, pretending to think through the answer. “I don’t know,” You ponder, “Are you going to continue to argue with me?”

“Probably,” Harry admits, “But I’m ready to go now.”

Harry lets his hands drop from yours, his eyes running over your face before stepping back. Your hands drop to your sides, clenching as if they wished to be touching him some more. His face feels cold now that you’ve let him go, as if all the warmth his body carried was in your hands.

“Do you think you’ll come back?” You ask, unable to help yourself.

Harry pauses, closing the door to the Black family tree behind him. He looks up and down the hallway; thinking of the memories he has cherished over the years. He had Sirius in his life for far shorted than he deserved, but he had Grimmauld Place to help him discover the man he idolised.

Meeting your stare, he nods. “I think I will eventually.”

Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scottish Highlands, December.

It didn’t matter how long it had been since your last visit; it didn’t matter how long it had been since you roamed the corridors of the place you once considered your second home, seeing Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry rise out of the Scottish Highlands would never be something you could get used to.

From your spot in Hogsmeade, you can just make out the turrets of Gryffindor and Ravenclaw towers. Slight unease spreads through your chest as you think back to the last time you had been at the school; still a student, hurling curses and jinxes at any Death Eater that happened by you.

Reflexively, you curl your hands into fists, your fingernails biting into the soft flesh of your palms. You gasp slightly as the pain; your mind becoming clearer and your focus becoming sharper. Harry’s hand takes yours; unfurling your fingers and replacing them with him, tangling your hands together.

“(Y/N), are you okay?”

You take a deep breath; mentally working through the exercises given to you by your therapist,. Shakily, you smile at Harry, “I’m okay, Harry, don’t worry about me. How are you feeling?”

His eyebrows furrow as he squeezes your hand. “I’ll always worry about you,” He says gently before continuing, “I’ll be okay though. I have you.”

You smile weakly; letting yourself be led through the well-worn path from Hogsmeade to the school. Small conversation is made; Harry bringing up happier memories of your education at the magical castle. The time when Ron received a Howler from his mother; the time when Hermione punched Draco Malfoy in the face.

Happier times now turned to memories; each one tinted with age.

Hogwarts soon looms in front of you both. Harry’s hand tightens on yours, fingers squeezing to the point of cutting off blood flow as he leads you into the grounds of the school.

It feels like coming home, but it also feels like facing your worst enemy. The Battle of Hogwarts had been hard on everyone who found themselves there; it had been hard for students and teachers. You would never forget the screams and the sound of breaking stone. It would be a long while until the sight of dead bodies could be scrubbed from your mind.

“Mr. Potter,” McGonagall greets from the stairs; voice warm and fond, “To what do we the pleasure of this visit with Miss (Y/L/N)?”

“I was hoping to walk the school and its grounds for a bit, Professor. If you don’t mind, that is. I’m trying to get better,” Harry states; sincerity ringing in his voice so much so that even McGonagall looked to be taken aback by his words.

She nods; finding her voice but needing to clear her throat first of all the emotion he had brought up, “Of course, Potter. Take as long as you need.”

Harry smiles at the beloved Professor gratefully, stretching out a hand towards you. You take it, resisting the urge to tangle your fingers together as Harry leads you to the Great Hall. “Where do you want to start?” You ask; eyes scanning the familiar walls, lingering on the Gryffindor table.

“I don’t know,” Harry admits, sounding lost as his eyes dance around the repaired room.

“It’s strange for me too,” You whisper, voice loud in the cavernous hall.

“It was entirely destroyed,” Harry recalls, sweeping his gaze over the large wall of windows by the Ravenclaw table.

You hope up on the closest table, crossing your legs as you watch Harry work through it all in his mind. He hadn’t been in the hall too long, but even that was long enough to have to branded into your memories.

“The tables were pushed back against the wall,” He states, gesturing to both walls before sweeping his hands above the floor, “And bodies were laid out on the floor, resting on blankets and towels,” Harry turns towards the staff table, pointing to a flagstone just in front of it, “That was where Fred laid – Molly and George crying over his body,” Harry spins, his finger now pointing back in the direction of the Ravenclaw table, “Remus and Tonks rested there. Teddy, my Godson, now an orphan… like me.”

“So many lives lost,” He whispers brokenly; eyes lined with tears that won’t fall, no matter how sad or broken he feels.

You slip off the table, going to his side and clutching his hand. “We lost a lot that day,” You whisper, “There isn’t a person here who doesn’t feel that same loss, Harry.”

“I was terrified of finding you laid out in the Great Hall,” Harry admits though not for his own good; he’s coming too close to admitting his feelings for you, but this is something he had never told a living soul, and he would be damned if he wasn’t going to tell you.

“What?” You ask, all thoughts emptying out of your head as you focus on Harry entirely.

“I was terrified of finding you in the Great Hall. I was so scared that I even hesitated at the door, wondering whether to walk in or walk away. I have dealt with a lot, and will continue to deal with a lot, but if there is one thing I cannot cope with the idea of, it is you hurt or worse,” He takes a deep breath, “The Battle of Hogwarts brought that out of me.”

“I’m here, Harry,” You reassure, “I’m here and I’m whole.”

“I know that now, but then I didn’t and even thinking of it drives me close to madness.”

“I wouldn’t leave without saying anything,” You laugh, “You know that Harry.”

Harry laughs, but there’s no heart to it. “I have you now, that’s something.”

Your heart skips a beat; thudding in your chest so loud you believe that it is entirely possible that Harry could hear it pounding away in your chest. You lean in, hiding your face in Harry’s shoulder – a rare moment of tenderness from both of you. Harry’s hand slips from yours to wrap around your waist, holding you to his body.

Hiding your smile in Harry’s shoulder, you murmur as loud as you dare, “You have me now, Harry. You have me forever.”

Neither of you make it further around the grounds of the castle; sticking to its interiors, wandering the corridors when students are firmly placed in classrooms, not wanting to be a distraction to their education.

Harry’s words continue to play through your mind; how he would not be able to cope if he lost you too. It makes this all more important for you, helping him come to terms with what he has experienced in such a short amount of time.

However, a small part of you rejoices in his admission, the words echoing in your head with a hint of hope. A hope that Harry may feel the same as you after all.

Hogwarts is left with a wave to McGonagall and a promise to write soon. Harry’s muscles relax the further he gets from the castle; the tension leeching away as he breathes in fresh air and Hogsmeade comes into view. He adored Hogwarts; it was his home, but he had to admit that it would be a while before he could face the whole castle without wanting to scream at the walls.

It’s a start however, Harry thinks as he grabs your hands and apparates the two of you back to his flat. It’s a start, he thinks, and now for the rest of it.

Little Hangleton, England, January.

Little Hangleton resides six miles from its paired village Great Hangleton. Little Hangleton was very much a village that was powered through gossip; the rumour mill only grew upon the deaths of the Riddle family. By the time an arrest had been made, the town had become judge, jury and executioner – sentencing poor Frank Bryce to a life of social exclusion even after being proven innocent.

Little Hangleton is made up of one main high street; five or six shops with a pub near the middle. It has a small village green where the local cricket team likes to practice every Saturday morning. It isn’t an extraordinary village; plain in comparison to other dwellings, but it’s history with the Riddle family would go down in wizarding lore until the end of days.

Harry continues to hold onto your hand long after you apparate into the village, landing in side street rather than in the high street as not to attract too much attention from the villagers. You refuse to be the first to let go; admitting to yourself that you rather like the way his hands fits in yours, how it feels like a steady anchor holding you in place.

Taking one look at the dark haired man next to you, you knew in your gut that this was going to be a hard day for him. Harry doesn’t talk about his nightmares often, but form what he has told you, this picturesque village features enough that you can see the tension line Harry’s jawline.

Nudging his shoulder, you smile softly, “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Harry’s hand tightens on yours. He doesn’t reply verbally; nods his head and focuses on finding his destination. He can’t verbalise his gratefulness; he cannot put it into words just what this means to him because Harry is fairly certain there are no words to cover the scope of what he feels for you in this very moment.

He knew he was asking a lot of you to keep doing this; to visit these places and relive his darkest times with him. He knew it affected you more than you admitted, but he still was selfishly grateful you choose to come every time.

He thinks that he wouldn’t have been as half as productive with his feelings if it wasn’t for you. Harry’s feelings for you only having grown through these visits; he remains in awe of you, as he always has been, but now he can no longer deny himself the depth of his love for you. To deny himself that would be a grievous crime.

However, even Harry is aware that he is nowhere ready to confront the idea of a relationship. In the last few months, he has only been able to accept that Sirius’ death and your injuries at the Battle of Hogwarts were not his fault.

He has to keep working on himself; he has to keep healing so he can be worthy of a love like his parents had.

So for now, Harry is more than content to hold your hand with each apparition, to savour the way your hand fits in his perfectly and how each squeeze of your fingers sets his heart racing.

For now, Harry is happy to remain in the throes of puppy love, but still eager for the day when he can proclaim his love for you in the hopes that you feel the same.

Such thoughts are thrown out of his head when his eyes catch the sign for graveyard. His steps falter, before coming to a brief stop by the sign. Your free hand touches his arm and Harry turns to you, seeing the question reflected in your eyes.

“Are you ready?” He asks, voicing the unspoken question.

You nod, “Ready when you are.”

The graveyard looks just as it did all those years ago; dark and miserable.

You shiver as Harry pushes open the creaky metal gate. He holds the gate open for you out of politeness, but he does not return your smile of gratitude. Harry keeps his facial expression neutral as he turns to face the memories that still plague him all these years later.

His eyes run over the gravestones as he puts one wary foot in front of the other. You follow behind him timidly, footsteps slower as you too read over the names written in marble, granite, limestone.

It doesn’t take long to find the place. Harry’s feet take him there automatically despite the fact that the last time he was here, he had been apparated in and did not walk out.

The Reaper stands proudly among the gravestones; his scythe crossed against his body in readiness. Harry stills, coming to a stop in front of it. He tilts his face; staring into the faceless stone hood of the figure that had him trapped like prey all those years ago.

Harry doesn’t turn from the figure as he points directly behind him. “That is where he killed Cedric,” He states bluntly, hearing the thud the Hufflepuff’s body made as he landed lifeless at Harry’s side.

Your eyes leave Harry; body tensing as you make eye contact with the patch of grass that would be the last thing to touch Cedric’s body.

Harry finally turns; gaining control of the anger and upset that had been raging in his body since landing at the graveyard gates. He needs to approach this carefully; he needs to approach all of this carefully, so he doesn’t fall back into the dark pit he found himself in months ago.

Harry gestures to the centre of the small copse and then to the Reaper, “That is where I had to watch as Voldemort rose again.”

“Oh Harry…” You whisper, voice breaking as you say his name.

Harry’s eyes shutter closed, and his bottom lip begins to wobble. He had been fourteen years old; he had not had his first kiss and yet, he had to duel the darkest wizard to have been produced in a century.

“I thought I was going to die that night,” He confesses after a moment; opening his eyes to once again focus on the faceless depiction of Death himself. “I thought I was going to die, and there was nothing I could do about it.”

Resolve steels your nerves and once again, your feet find their way to Harry.

“You did make it out, Harry. You made it out alive.”

“Two of us went in, (Y/N).”

“It can’t be ignored,” You start, “Cedric’s death was an utter tragedy; completely unexpected and blindsided everyone in the school, but you cannot blame yourself for this, Harry. Cedric died at the hands of a madman – not you.”

“I could have done something!” He screams, finally losing all grip on his temper, “I should have done something. Instead, as Wormtail murdered Cedric, all I did was shout his name as if it was going to help. I did nothing, I as good as murdered him.”

Breath leaves your body in one fell swoop; you had never seen Harry like this. He runs both hands through his hair in frustration as he tries to get a hold on his temper, reigning it in. You remain silent as Harry works to control himself; you watch him pace the small copse, flattening the green grass under his feet.

“I’m sorry,” Harry whispers, breaking the silence, “I didn’t mean to shout at you.”

“Harry,” You sigh, “I am more than capable of handling you shouting at me.”

“You’ve done nothing wrong though, and I just take everything out on you.”

You laugh, short and sweet, “I think this is the first time you’ve ever shouted at me, Potter.”

He smiles though it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I try not to make a habit of shouting at my friends,” Harry states, throwing you a look that states the obvious.

Wringing your hands together, you brace yourself for your next words. Meeting Harry’s stare, fixing your gaze on him, you politely demand, “Tell me more about that night, Harry.”

So he does.

It comes rushing out of him in a torrent; words flying so fast that his speech gets muddled up and he sometimes has to say his sentences again. For so long he has been holding this in; there are very few people who know what happened that night in this very graveyard and out of those, many are dead or imprisoned so Harry has been left to deal with the pain.

It feels like a confession. It feels as if he is seeking forgiveness from his crimes; seeking repentance from a priest of his choosing because he needs to get it out, he needs to know whether penance is possible for the sins committed that night.

Harry feels as if a weight is being lifted off his chest as he tells you about duelling Voldemort and the spell that had taken place beforehand. Harry seeks solace in your comforting gaze and reassuring smile as his voice breaks when he speaks of his parents, not having seen them in any physical form since that night with the Mirror of Erised.

Once he starts, he finds it hard to stop. He stutters over his feelings over Cedric’s death, pausing once in a while to let you interject a thought and for the first time since starting this exercise, since asking you to come along with him, Harry feels as if it is starting to work.

Eventually, his voice falls quiet as does his mind.

“How do you feel?” You ask; an expected question that accompanies each location visited.

Harry nods, “Better. Happy to have finally said what happened that night.”

“I’m glad you trusted me enough to tell you.”

“I trust you with my life,” He states honestly and plainly.

You bite your lip, averting your gaze to wander across the dark graveyard once more before finally turning to face Harry. “Are you ready?”

Harry nods: more than happy to leave this place and never return. What happened in Little Hangleton will always remain a heartbreaking tragedy; a life cruelly taken before it even got the chance to begin. The village would always be stained with such misfortune, but now, Harry feels that part of his life come to a close.  

As Harry reaches for your hand, readying himself to apparate you back to your flat, his heart soars at the words you utter with conviction.

“You’re a good man, Harry.”

--------

Landing back at his flat, Harry takes a seat on his couch and hangs in his head in his hands. He had dropped you off at your flat; needing to be alone to deal with the emotions that had been threatening to suffocate him from the inside out. Whilst Harry had accepted that he played no part in Cedric’s death, he still had to confront the magnitude of what had happened to himself.

It hits him all at once; the scale of what he had been through throughout his education. From the ages of eleven to eighteen, Harry hadn’t seen a school year through without injury or battle. It’s as he sits there that he realises the extent to which he was used by the headmaster he looked up to; used as a pawn to further the game of chess being played by Dumbledore and Voldemort.

The waves never cease; his parents, Sirius, Fred, Remus, Tonks, Mad-Eye Moody, and Cedric.

No tears fall; he isn’t sure he has the capacity to cry anymore. Tears haven’t fallen since they fell out relief for the end of the war, but out of sadness for the deaths of Fred, Remus, and Tonks.

Sitting on his couch, shivers overtake his body. His teeth chattering as he reaches for the blanket kept across the back of his couch, wrapping it around his shoulders. Harry bites back the scream that is slowly crawling up his throat; he pushes it down as he fights for control of his mind.

Collecting his thoughts, Harry comes to a conclusion.

He needs to return to where it all began.

Godric’s Hollow, West Country, England, March.

Spring blooms real and true, and Harry feels ready enough to return to Godric’s Hollow. Harry could count on one hand how many times he has stepped foot in the village his parents once called home. He had been born in Godric’s Hollow; at the end of July to two loving parents who adored him just as much as they adored each other.

Out of respect for James and Lily Potter – murdered at the age of twenty-one – the house in which they lived had never been repaired. The thatched roof remains caved in; a large hole in the middle of it, letting the elements now batter the house.

It had been twenty-two years since Harry had stepped foot inside the house he was born in. It had been five years since he stood outside of it with Hermione; only beginning to feel the grief for the parents he never truly knew.

It was this that had plagued Harry from the moment he turned eleven and arrived at Hogwarts. How does he grieve for those he never truly knew?

As crass as it is to say, Harry didn’t know his parents outside his need for food, comfort, and love. The memories of his mother and father are so clouded; he can no longer tell whether they are his own or whether he’s simply simulated a story told to him by family friends.

He was fifteen months old when they were murdered. He was fifteen months old and barely aware of his own shadow.

Whilst he hadn’t visited the house much – it being too painful to see the sight of his parent’s murder – he had visited their graves in the years that have passed.

With you in tow, Harry leads you down the worn, familiar path. He slows his pace every now and then; warning you of an upcoming dip that may make you lose your balance.

All too soon, however, you stand in front of the grave of James and Lily Potter.

Quietly, he asks, “How do I grieve my parents when I never knew them?”

Your heart breaks for him; unable to stop yourself, you wrap an arm around his waist offering any form of comfort you can. Shakily, you answer, “I guess you can mourn what could have been or you grieve the fact that they were so young. Either way, Harry, they’re never going to leave you.”

“I know that,” He whispers; gaze fixed on the grave of his parents, “All I know of them is what I’ve been told. I feel as if my memories have been tainted, and I know that they all mean well, but sometimes-”

He cuts himself off with a huff; kneeling down and drawing out his wand. Silently, Harry conjures a bouquet of Orchids, Chrysanthemums and Lilies and then bows his head in silent prayer, continuing to grieve the parents he would never know.

You place your hand on his shoulder, “Sometimes you what, Harry?”

He sighs, “Sometimes I wish they would stop. I was so young when they died – any memories I have of them are practically gone but sometimes I have these flashes. I have no idea whether they’re real or not, but I feel as if they are. Yet, when friends tell me stories of what it was like to go to school with them or to fight alongside them, it’s like they’re pushing they’re version of James and Lily Potter onto me. Does that make sense?”

Squeezing his shoulder, you answer, “It makes perfect sense. The James and Lily you knew is different from what Sirius knew or what McGonagall knew.”

“I just worry that the more stories I hear, the quicker I lose what I know of them.”

“I don’t think that’s possible, Harry.”

“You don’t?” He asks, shifting to his feet and facing you.

You shake your head, “I don’t. I think you’re going to remember your parents for the rest of your life; their morals and values make up yours, Harry. You might not think, but you are a lot more like them than you realise.”

Harry bows his head, feeling the familiar burn of tears at the back of his throat. He clamps his mouth shut, begging the feeling to go away. Quietly, almost ashamedly, Harry asks, “Do you think they would be proud of me?”

Then and there, your heart breaks, cleaving itself in two for the man standing before you. It’s the only dream of a child; to make their parents proud, but what about children who do not have parents – who grew up in a home that did not cherish them like it should have?

Silver lines your eyes; tears threatening to make an appearance as you reach for Harry’s hands, pulling him into a hug. Against his shoulder, you state with conviction, “They would be extremely proud of you, Harry. So proud of you it would shine out of them.”

Harry sniffles; ducking down somewhat to tuck his head against your neck, hiding his face in the junction between your neck and shoulder. From the outside, it looks as if two lovers are embracing, unable to keep their hands off the other for too long. However, you know that Harry is trying his best to maintain his composure, to try and gets to grips with the emotions that follow never knowing the ones who were supposed to raise you.

Minutes pass and neither of you move; neither of you willing to be the one to break this moment, but for the day to progress, you need to step away from the only man you have ever loved.

Releasing Harry, you send what you hope is a reassuring smile in his direction, “Come on, Harry,” You prompt, “Show me the rest of Godric’s Hollow?”

Framing it as a question, you offer Harry the choice. He is in control of this moment; h can choose whether he shows you the rest of the wizarding village or whether the two of you apparate back to his flat and spend the rest of the day mooching about.

Harry smiles: it’s watery, but fixed as he nods, stepping around you to lead you out of the graveyard.

Hands brush every now and then as the both of you wander back to the high street. A simple brush of hands, a simple twitch of fingers and your heart would start to race, practically shouting for Harry to take your hand and tangle your fingers together.

“I think I’m going to live here,” Harry murmurs; eyes scanning the high street.

“Are you sure?” You ask; worried not only for the fact that you may miss him while you remain in London, but also for any potential setback this may cause him.

Harry nods; his eyes now focused on a small café straight across the road from where you stand. He gestures towards it with an open hand, “Let me explain over some food.”

The bell above the door tinkles as you follow Harry inside. He chooses a table on the left hand side of the shop; sitting at the seat that faces the window and the door. It’s with stark realisation that you come to see that he’s chosen this exact spot so he can have eyes on each entrance and exit point.

You sigh as you sit across from him; old habits die hard, you guess.

Menus are placed in front of you by a teenaged witch looking as if she would rather be anywhere else but here. Her eyes widen slightly as she takes in Harry’s form; the menu in her hand shaking as she places it down before him.

You bite your lip to repress the ever-growing smile on your face as you watch the waitress grow flustered under Harry’s smile and green eyes. She walks away in a daze after having taken your drink orders – coffee for Harry, Yorkshire Tea for you.

You shake your head fondly at the young witches departing figure; noting how she bumps into numerous tables before making it safely to the kitchen. Harry follows your gaze, wanting to know what’s taken your attention from him, “What is it?”

You shift your gaze back to the wizard, “You still don’t see the effect you have on people, do you?”

Harry frowns; his hand reaching up to touch his forehead self-consciously. He had grown his hair longer in order to cover the scar that mars the centre of his forehead; his black hair now fell around his head in curls he didn’t know he had until you had found an old picture of his father. The glasses and the curls along with the smile that could melt even the coldest of hearts; he was the spit image of his father.

“Not your scar, Harry, nor your name. I meant how you look; you have to know you’re handsome.”

Blush paints Harry’s cheeks as your words settle. The last thing he expected from today was to be told he was attractive; least of all, from you. He’s never had the chance before; to act upon his feelings for you. He realised just what he felt for you at the end of Sixth Year, and then the war happened, and he absolutely refused to let anything happen to you. He couldn’t tell you his feelings for you should it put a target on your back, and if anything happened to you, he would never forgive himself.

He laughs, shaking his head, “You’re a flatterer.”

You hold your hands up in playful surrender, “Only speaking the truth. You’ll see it one day.”

“One day,” He promises; eyes earnest as they gaze into yours.

It’s too much; just like that, it’s too much and you have to avert your stare before you end up blurting your inner most thoughts and scaring him away for good. Clearing your throat, you wait for the teenage waitress to place your drinks in front of you before you change the subject, “Why do you want to move here?”

Harry shrugs, picking up his coffee and taking a long drink, thinking over his words. “I think,” He begins, “I want to be close to them, but I also want to start carving out my life properly and this place is so peaceful. It’s so peaceful and it’s beautiful. I think it’s one of those places that if I don’t move here now, I’ll still move later on.”

You nod, “I get that. It is gorgeous here.”

Harry hums, “I’d still be in London every week.”

“You’d commute?” You ask, puzzled in terms of train schedules.

Harry barks out a laugh that turns into silent shaking of his shoulders as the teenage waitress returns, her pad in hand as she waits for your food order. Harry continues to repress his laughter throughout his order. As the waitress walks away, you fix Harry with an unimpressed stare. “Are you going to let me in on the joke?”

Harry smiles at you; as in, he really smiles at you. He beams as he whispers somewhat in awe, “I love you. You’re one of the smartest witches I know, and you still forget about the fact that we can apparate.”

You reel back in your chair, knees knocking into the table as the air leaves your body in a single breath. “What? What did you say first?”

Harry’s smile, if possible, grows as he shrugs his shoulders, “I love you.”

“Since when?” You demand, wondering how on earth he could discuss something as important as this as nonchalantly as one would discuss the weather.

“Sixth Year,” He confesses, blush beginning to paint his cheeks.

“That long?” You ask, voice hushed, “Why didn’t you say anything sooner?”

Harry finally frowns, finger tracing the lip of his coffee cup, “There was a war, and then I wasn’t in the right frame of mind.”

Of course he wasn’t. Of course he wasn’t in the right frame of mind to confess his love for you, you admonish yourself. He had defeated the Dark lord and then had to cope with the survival guilt for years. It had only been in the last year that he finally let himself let go of the guilt surrounding the casualties of war.

“I love you too,” You admit, chewing on the inside of your cheek from nerves.

“You do?” Harry asks, about as breathless as you were when he confessed only moments ago.

“I do,” You confirm, smiling.

It isn’t much in the way of confessions, but the look on Harry’s face says it all. His green eyes remain bright and the smile wide on his face even as the waitress returns with your food. He looks as if no wrong could be done in that moment; the food could be the worst he has ever eaten but it wouldn’t matter.

You love him.

You love him as he loves you, and suddenly it all makes sense. His motivations through the war; not only wanting to rid the world of Voldemort but wanting to secure a safe future in which he can love you.

The food is eaten quickly; the both of you rushing to make it outside where you can talk more, and in private.

The bill is paid. The waitress wanders back to the till; stunned at the sight of Harry’s smile – and you couldn’t blame her.

Harry stands from his seat, reaching for his jacket and waiting patiently for you. Electricity thrums between you; holding promises of more to come, the headiness of it having you gripping the table tightly as you rise to your feet. One look at Harry’s face and you know he’s feeling it too.

Pausing outside the small café, you hold your hand out for Harry to take.

A soft breeze blows through Godric’s Hollow, disturbing your hair and the trees around you. Harry holds onto your hand tightly as the both of you begin to wander down the high street; the blossoms of the trees fluttering around you as they fall to the floor. Harry inhales deeply; the floral of the blossoms mixed with the sweetness of your perfume providing the perfect backdrop to his future.

Harry’s Flat, London, England, September.

Healing is a process. It is neither quick nor slow; it follows its own pace.

Through this process, Harry has realised that he is in fact getting better. He has his bad days; days where he seldom leaves his bedroom and refuses to stare at anything but the wall.

However, those days are becoming scarcer. Harry can sometimes go weeks before he has an episode that leaves him bedbound, and for that, he is proud of himself.

He doesn’t do it alone; he has you by his side through it all as you both prepare for the move to Godric’s Hollow. For both the good and the bad days.

********

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[obi-wkenobi]

Whumptober 2021

Day 5: Comfort (alternative prompt)

Read below or on A03.

“I need to leave for work now,” Bail said, picking up his datapad from the table and smiling at Obi-Wan. “Once I’m back we’ll have some more time to talk about how you could help the Rebellion. You’ve been away from any action for a long time,” he teased gently.

Obi-Wan huffed and nodded, resisting the urge to remind Bail that he would only be on Alderaan for a short while. Luke still needed him on Tatooine, after all.

In the silence of Bail’s home he decided to use the computer to check the HoloNet. 

Ten years ago he never would have had to do such a thing, as a Jedi he was always kept up to date on the latest Galactic news and hadn’t realised just how much he took it for granted until he was forced to live on Tatooine. His homestead in the Dune Sea didn’t offer him close-by access to prominent Senators or the Republic’s capital, instead he barely even saw one individual in a standard week and so the latest news was the furthest thing from his mind.

At first it had been difficult, but as he glanced through the news he found that he didn’t care for any of it. This knowledge wouldn’t affect his life whatsoever, he had adapted himself to a myopic worldview whereby his only considerations were how much water he had, what he should eat next, how he would get that piece of food and if Luke was safe. Why should his focus be on anything else? He was still a Jedi and so he knew that he should still somewhat care for the state of the Galaxy, but he could also acknowledge that he was a bit bitter. The Galaxy had not helped the Jedi and so why should he care? Perhaps if he had the ability to do something about it then he would. He huffed to himself, such thoughts were pointless. 

Soon afterward he went to explore the house, where he quickly found a patio door that led to an expansive garden blooming with exotic flowers. In the distance a winding gravel path could be seen leading to a large, bountiful lake. He stood there in awe, amazed by all the colours, flourishing in an infinity of shades. The lake mesmerized him the most, it’s complete stillness, yet also its constant motion. The ripples that could be seen from a harsh breeze and the small splashes made when wildlife came up for air. They showed that it was a living thing, not just an inanimate object. 

There weren’t such colours or displays of life on Tatooine, all he had to see there was an endless expanse of sand, capable of movement but always the same; coarse, rough, and beige, with no indication that it relied on its surroundings to survive. 

Obi-Wan stood there for a long time, staring at the lake in contemplation. A consequence of Tatooine was that time had become unimportant to him, why shouldn’t he spend a minute or an hour on one task? Other than the darkening of the sky there was no need for him to monitor time. What was the point when there wasn’t even the changing of a season to keep him company? He was unable to say what year he had broken a finger whilst climbing a canyon wall, or what month a sandstorm had blown down the enclosure that contained his Bantha. If asked he could comment on which had come first, but not the exact date that they happened or the amount of time that had passed in between. 

The tedious desert had taught him the one thing that he had always needed to learn, how to live in the present moment. Although, he suspected Qui-Gon had not had such drastic teaching methods in mind when training him all those years ago. 

Therefore, he wasn’t too surprised when Leia turned up at his side sometime later. She stood there with him as he continued observing the boundless swaying of the trees and ripples of the lake, so like his time spent watching the ebb and flow of the Dunes outside his home. He wasn’t disturbed, nor did he mind when she slipped her hand inside his own, patiently waiting for him to start a conversation. 

Eventually though, it appeared that she was unable to contain herself and so she asked, “Do you like the water? I think I prefer space, that way I can fly wherever I want.”

Obi-Wan pulled a face instinctively. “I much prefer the water, flying isn’t something that I really enjoy.” He wondered if he had been exiled to an ocean world if he would have come to hate water, just as he had come to hate sand. 

“You don’t like flying?” she said, aghast. “But you must have flown to loads of planets.”

“I have,” he conceded. 

Still curious, she inquired, “Did you just have people flying you to places then? Like your Padawan?”

He stiffened immediately, his hand tensing within Leia’s. 

“You don’t like talking about him do you?”

Obi-Wan didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing.

“Father told me that he died, is that why? You must miss him, especially after you spent years and years together.”

He battled with his grief before deciding on the truth. “It’s hard to talk about someone who you miss.”

She gazed up at him, innocent and oblivious. “Maybe one day when the Jedi Order is restored you can have another Padawan?”

His eyes closed in anguish. One day the Jedi Order may be restored, but it wouldn’t be in his lifetime. And even if it was, he wouldn’t take on another Padawan lest he failed them as well. 

A tug on his hand drew his attention down and he stared at Anakin’s child, whose earnest eyes only made him think of the young slave boy he had met on Tatooine. 

An unpleasant wave of helplessness crashed over him then. He was the one unifying thread intertwining the fate of the Galaxy together, he was bound to these children—and Anakin, and it was his destiny to bring them together and to ensure that their purposes be fulfilled. It had never been his decision to do so though, that had been taken from him when Qui-Gon had made him promise to train a troubled, young boy. And so he may have been the key to everything, but his life had never been his own and he must bear the brunt of it—of the responsibility and the guilt, for they had always been his alone. 

Leia frowned at him in concern, her underlying Force sensitivity undeniably able to sense his distress. “Ben?”

The soft name roused him from his despair and he scolded himself for being unable to find balance, for letting his fear still hold him hostage even after all this time. Surely he could find some cause for joy here? Leia was safe and happy and that more than anything should have stirred his optimism. But even that didn’t comfort him, who knew what might happen to Leia should he fail in the end.

“Are you okay? Why are you so sad?”

He smiled at her gently, though he was sure it wasn’t convincing. “I’m okay.”

Her lip wobbled threateningly, so he fell down on one knee and grabbed both of her hands in his. “I promise I’m okay,” he reassured.

Irritation appeared on her face even as her eyes pulled down in worry. “You’re lying,” Leia mumbled. “You’re so sad, I can feel it, you’ve been sad since you got here.”

What could he say to that? Obi-Wan knew his shields were strong and so he could only assume that she had a certain talent for detecting people’s emotions, but how does one explain to a child the extent of his grief? The sadness of his Force signature was always present now and he very much doubted that would ever change.

It wasn’t that Obi-Wan hadn’t accepted his loss, he had. He had accepted the destruction of the Jedi and had accepted that it was his pupil that had helped with the genocide of his fellow, but he was a forever changed man because of it and as a result, his presence had changed too.

As with before he decided to be honest, or at least as honest as he could be. “I am sad, but that doesn’t mean that I’m also not happy. Seeing you and your father has made me the happiest I’ve been in a long time.”

In a display of perception that no normal child would have, she narrowed her eyes at him and observed him with quiet interest, “Really?”

“Yes,” he said truthfully. 

Having decided that he wasn’t lying, Leia gave him a nod of acceptance and then launched herself at him and drew him into an enveloping hug. It took his breath away. He had not been touched with such kind intent in nearly a decade and the knowledge that it was Padmé’s and Anakin’s daughter doing so made him want to cry from both happiness and remorse. 

“Thank you,” he mumbled, further sitting on the floor and pulling Leia onto his lap, smiling when she rested her head on his shoulder.