#me when I gain weight issues through thinking about my own body in a group setting

[milo-is-rambling]

Weight talk tw I guess idk how to describe the post sorry im a little high

It’s so weird being around people who talk about weight problems (IOP) and like idk it brings up weird shit in my brain almost anxiety that I should feel bad about myself somehow like I’m doing this wrong being confident idk. Weird self doubt thing that happens when you’ve loved yourself (hmm. Rephrase. I don’t care about being fat. let’s say that.) and then you’re in a room full of people having a group discussion about how they avoid living their life in happy ways because they don’t want to become like you. But you love yourself. But everyone in your life since you were little has been dieting and talking about weight and specific numbers (someone was anxious about gaining seven pounds! SEVEN. If they saw my scale they would shit themselves. I put on seven pounds taking a big bong rip Jesus fucking Christ seven pounds. I wanted to rip my hair out.)

Next time weight issues come up in IOP I’m stepping out of the room. Like idk how to explain it cause it’s like not a trigger but I guess it is ? But it’s just so weird like the way I’m triggered makes me want to cry why does the world hate me for being fat what the fuck !!!!

[thisisthinprivilege]

A Long Talk About Growing Up & Living In A Larger Body (as well as a smaller body).

::Trigger warning - abuse, eating disorders and weight loss/gain ::

I grew up relatively aware of thin privilege, though I didn't have a label for it until recently. I spent the first 8 years of my life skinny, but my mother has always had a struggle with her weight and has been gaining and losing in that endless cycle since long before I was born, and has struggled with bulimia since she was in middle school in the 60's. She tried her best not to pass on any issues with food to me, but it never occurred to her that I would internalize how she thought of and spoke about her own body. Her attempts were also complicated by the fact that she tended to share too many of her struggles with me. She would talk about how my Dad's business partner didn't like her hanging around the animal hospital (my dad is a veterinarian). She told me that he said to some of the employees that "he doesn't know how Dave (my dad) stands it" in reference to my mom's weight. There was also someone at church that told my dad once that he basically got shafted when it came to his wife's looks. Thankfully, my father is a wonderful man and told the man that he thought my mom was gorgeous and to NEVER speak like that about her to him again. I loved that my Dad had said that, but I also figured out very, very young that fat meant everyone thought you were ugly and horrible and disgusting and that your life basically ended when you gained weight and started again when you lost. 

I myself started gaining weight toward the beginning of my 9th year. In all honesty,  I was mainly just hitting an early puberty, but since it was so early and my mother wasn't in a place to reassure me that what my body was doing was normal, I started to pathologize it right away - especially when I got asked by an older girl how much I weighed and when I looked to her for reassurance she just shrugged and said 'yeah, you're probably fat." That was my first experience of that awful worthless & ugly feeling I get when someone says those dreaded "you're fat" words, and when I told my mom she just said unconvincingly "no, sweetie, you're not fat." The problem is, I had already started getting told by people how much I looked like my mother, and well...if she thought her body was so disgusting, and my body was starting to look like hers, how could mine not be disgusting, too?  There are a number of other factors that played into the beginning of an 'Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified"- the sexual abuse that occurred the previous two years, my family joining a cult that took me out of school (it was a Christian homeschool-based group) and prohibited girls from being too active (while simultaneously being obsessed with girls not being too fat) and my mother going through a period of intense depression that left me largely on my own much of the time, with none of my old now-not-Christian-enough friends to keep me company...so food started to be the best distraction. Since then, I've gained weight and lost weight in the cycle most (maybe all?) of us go through, and have found that it's so much easier to be fat positive when you're thinner.  I think the most difficult thing for me is the clothes. I'm 5 feet tall, and have yet to find one SINGLE plus size clothing item that isn't inches and inches too long for me. I'm right on the edge of straight sizes and plus sizes, but I can only comfortably wear an XL height-wise, which means I can only wear clothing cut to be very loose and stretchy. When I was a size 0, 2, 4, 6, 10, 12...(you get the idea) I could go to cute used clothing boutiques and spend $100 and get an entire season's clothing items, all of which made me feel so good about myself and got endless compliments from strangers. Now, it's t-shirt and stretchy jeans land, and I'm in that invisible too-fat-to-be-pretty, too-thin-to-be-stared-at place, and though I'm intensely aware of just how much privilege I have being able to squeeze into a size 16, fly comfortably and know that chairs will always be big enough, I still walk around in constant shame. It's almost worse that I spent a number of years being actually "thin." (Although i spent that entire time obsessing about every single bite I took, asking anyone that I knew well enough if I had just eaten too much and if they thought I was gaining weight again.) Now I've gained probably 50lbs, and I don't know how to love my body. I don't know how to stand that automatic I'm-lower-in-status-than-the-thin-girls. I don't know how to stand the I-to-feel-so-great-about-myself thing, and the compliments that don't exist anymore. 

I broke my ankle 3 years ago - a really bad break from twisting my ankle while wearing stilettos - and that's when I noticed the lack of thin privilege the most. It started with when I woke up from surgery (I needed two plates and 3 huge screws to put my ankle back together because I basically just broke my foot off the bottom of my leg) and in the haze of the warm fuzzy feeling of waking up from anesthesia, the nurse with me said "Hey, sweetie, do you mind if I give you a little advice?" I was curious and absolutely clueless about what she might say so I said of course...and she said "Well, just make sure you don't gain any more weight, OK?"  I don't know if you've ever woken up from anesthesia, but you're in a very vulnerable place emotionally, so I just started to sob as soon as they wheeled me away from her (I didn't want her to see me crying). I cried big, ugly sobs all the way upstairs and when I got to my hospital room where my best friend, mother, and girlfriend were waiting for me I just cried even harder. The hospital attendants didn't know what to make of it, but my partner immediately asked me what was wrong and I told her what the lady had said (though it took a few tries because none of them could understand me at first, I was crying so hard.) My partner - who is very fat-positive - went storming downstairs and spoke (well, I think yelled-at is more accurate) the nurse, telling her that I had an eating disorder and I had been working very hard on self image, etc etc, but my self esteem has never gotten back to where it was beforehand. Following that, I had a visiting nurse tell me that it was my fault that I broke my ankle because I was too fat to wear high heels - even though I told him that the heel of my stiletto had been coming off the shoe and I got it caught in a crack in the pavement.)

Around the same time I had a roommate that was naturally very skinny, though she ate about as healthily as I did. She had the audacity to tell me that she thought it was JUST AS HARD to be too skinny as to be "too fat." I just looked at her, stunned. This, coming from the girl that bragged to me about all the times she's been asked to model, or has modeled, for people. The girl that everyone asks out, that can find clothes the second she walks into virtually any clothing store. But yeah, sure, it's totally just as difficult...even though you have no idea what it's like to be told that your serious injury is your own fault because you're too fat to wear what you were wearing. I tried to explain thin privilege to her, how everyone she sees on TV is her size, that people my size are portrayed as stupid, lazy, ugly, dirty, etc, but people her size get cast as "the beautiful ones." 

Then there's the therapist issue that someone else mentioned. They all seem so clueless about how to help me. When I tell them "I don't want to loose weight; I just want to love myself no matter what size I am" they say "OK! So how do you think you can eat healthier?" "How can we get you to move your body?" It's like, I pay you $100 a week for you to LISTEN to me. Did you not even hear my last friggen sentence? If I lose weight, I'll still be just as obsessed, I'll be unhappy all the time, worrying about whether or not I'm going to gain weight again. I don't want to be that way, so please, help!"  So...I keep going onto blogs like this and reading books about fat acceptance and try to tell myself that my worth isn't tied up in my weight and neither is my beauty, but how do you keep that up when the entire world undermines it? I can't even watch movies or TV without encountering the "well she gained weight so now she's ugly" or "she's ugly cuz she's fat" (etc etc) idea. I've spent a months at a time feeling good about myself, but it's just seemed to evaporate in the past 3 months or so, and I don't know how to get it back. I want to scream a giant "F-YOU!" at the world and wear bikinis and tank tops and shorts and feel great doing it, but I feel like I've tried everything and can't let go of my intense insecurity. I've missed a dear, lifelong friend's wedding because I felt fat. I never leave the house, and I never ever hang out with people that haven't seen me since I've gained weight. It seems to dictate my entire life, and I don't know how to get it to let go of me...or how to get myself to let go of it. So I guess I'll keep talking about it, keep reading about it and try to surround myself with supportive people and images, and be comforted by the fact that all of you are out there, and you know how it feels, and we're in this together.  <3 

[gemsbian]

Lore post about my Pokemon Horizons OC, Paprika, major wall of text ahead

She's part of the Amethio, Zir and Conia squad so I'll also be talking about the Ametrio's relationships to each other

To start, there will be a discussion of weight as it's a fairly large part of Paprika's character development and story, so sign off now if you aren't comfortable with that.

As briefly mentioned in my other posts about her, Paprika meets Zir after he accidentally scares her and she bites him, and then he takes them out for ramen. But, there's a bit more behind that interaction.

Aged roughly 17-19 and refusing to tell other people her real name, Paprika/Serrano/Cayenne has been on the streets for a few years and is very guarded as a result. She's fairly decent at physical combat due to taking up street fighting as a ... lifestyle, though when she meets the Ametrio, she's very underweight and in pretty poor condition. She's around 5'4" to 5'5" but is just shy of 100 lbs when when meets Zir. In short, she's about 20 lbs / 9kgs less than what is healthy for her, and this has a pretty profound impact as to how she interacts with and views other characters in the show.

When you go so long without proper nutrition, you don't exactly think straight. Paprika's immediate jump to violence when Zir accidentally bumps into her is 100% a result of being hungry, confused, scared, and more or less alone aside from her Zoroark. Some of the other physical symptoms of her malnutrition manifest in how she dresses. Her starting outfit is a pair of jeans with leggings underneath, and a million layers of jackets. She has a short sleeve t-shirt with a flannel over it, then a hoodie over the flannel, followed by a jacket over the hoodie. This is to help her deal with her decreased tolerance of the cold, and also serves to hide the severity of her condition from strangers. While she doesn't outright refuse help, she is definitely not in a position where she's asking for it.

Zir didn't intend to scare her when they met, and part of why he's so quick to take them out for ramen instead of brushing off the encounter is because he can see through the violence and recognize the scared teenager in front of him. This is where I also theorize about the past of Amethio, Zir, and Conia. In one of the episodes, Zir/Conia say "after all we've been through, you're going to brush us off?" / something along those lines, which makes me believe that Zir and Conia were in a pretty rough position when they met Amethio. This explains their loyalty to him, and why Amethio appears to be the only Explorers admin with subordinates. This is also why I believe Amethio wouldn't have any issues letting a new member travel with them, despite her not working for the Explorers (and being violent)

Without a proper amount of body fat and muscle to cushion your joints, even laying down can be uncomfortable. It takes Paprika a little while to become relaxed around the Ametrio group, but she's faster to warm up to them because for the first time in many months she can get used to regular meals and a warm bed. Physically, she also becomes more comfortable in her own body with her slow but steady weight gain and recovery.

She starts out violent, scared, and hungry with bad habits to kick, such as hoarding food where she can and being hostile towards any and all strangers, but she's a character that holds a special place in my heart because I get to write the human equivalent of a stray street cat being socialized and slowly morphing into a lap cat.

Thanks for reading all this! As always, it's okay to reblog/reply and you're welcome to send any asks about this character

P.S. - Paprika does eventually get to a healthy weight, and by that point she is the world's most affectionate and clingy teenager. Zir likes to show off the results of his work out routine by carrying her around, and at some point in her recovery, Paprika realizes she likes to be carried (laziness) so it works out.

Also, she gets her pepper nicknames after she bites Zir and he goes "... well, she's spicy, pepper-themed names it is" which happens to be the same sentiment I have towards feral kittens

[colorisbyshe]

What are your thoughts on fat celebrities who gained a platform with body positivity/diversity/being a fat icon™ and after building their career on that they suddenly go thin and/or get plastic surgery? I don't have strong feelings about it, tbh. I know it's a touchy subject for some and I get that feeling of "betrayal" but at the end of the day I don't think everyone has to be an activist or symbol of visibility and one person will never be able to represent diverse groups of marginalized ppl.

I have to frank about this up front--I have lost a substantial amount of weight. I have talked about it here before but I don't like bringing it up often. I went from over 210 pounds at 5 feet tall to about 130ish (mid-size, just about). I originally started losing weight for health reasons (had to rapidly change my diet because I had gall stones and developed an unhealthy fear of eating for several months, so the diet change wasn't about losing weight but I did lose weight from it) and then, to be frank, I kept losing weight after I got my gallbladder out because... it wasn't just society that treated me better when I lost weight, it was friends, family. People who had never, ever done anything outright fatphobic had revealed themselves to maybe be fatphobic on a more subtle level. And... I won't lie, as much as I know that this newfound kindness is very conditional and is in many ways VERY cruel (and as much as that upsets me on a near daily basis), I do not want to lose this social capital.

And I'm not saying this all to humble brag or frame myself as like The Good Weight Loss Person but rather to be very clear about what point of view I have. (And it is absolutely fine if my point of view is one that doesn't matter to you or anyone because, yes, as someone who is no longer "fat" or is maybe on the precipice of "fat" and "Average," I am out of my lane.)

So, that point of view... is split.

I am wholly, WHOLLY for radical bodily autonomy. If you want to lose weight, gain weight, redistribute weight, gain muscle, lose muscle... godspeed. I just want that within a simple framework--I want everyone to be willing to first understand WHY they want said change, to pause, look inside themselves, and see if they're doing this for themselves or other people (or a combination of the two). That doesn't mean the answer has to change what they want, I just want some internal processing to happen first. And I want people to know the risks of what they're doing and how they're trying to get there--FULLY informed consent, in a way.

So if a celebrity wants to lose weight, cool. You're right, it isn't on them to stay fat or any other size for other people.

My issue is that celebrity's tend to "promote" their weight loss in unhealthy ways. They shill weight loss teas (DANGEROUS scams) or water fasting (DANGEROUS) or say "With a doctor's supervision, I didn't eat for two weeks" (STILL DANGEROUS, DOCTORS ARE FATPHOBIC AND DO NOT HAVE FAT PEOPLE'S HEALTH IN MIND). They promote dangerous methodology, some of which is a lie (and instead they got weight loss procedures done and only lost a small portion of weight through diet and/or exercise while the rest was sucked out or whatever).

In framing their weight loss as "progress," as an "improvement" to their body, they are reaffirming fatphobia and thus pressuring their audiences to seek out similar methods to lose weight too. And when those scams or lies or "only if you have access to high quality food and a personal chef and a nutritionist and a personal trainer with top quality work out gear" routines don't work for the average person, they resort to even more extreme disordered eating or over-exercising. It becomes "It worked for X celebrity, why isn't it working for me? There's something wrong with me, I need to starve myself."

The lack of honesty means their more vulnerable fans are being set up to pursue their own weight loss with an incomplete understanding of the risks involved. AND the rewards involved. (I'm gonna be honest, a lot of things people said "would feel better" when I lost the weight feel JUST as fucking shitty. I don't have more energy. I don't get fuller faster. It's fucking lies, my dude.)

Some of those celebrities say outright fatphobic shit and turn on fat people, as if to say "I could lose weight, what's with you where you can't do it," but EVEN THE ONES WHO DON'T end up furthering fatphobia.

That is a fucking problem.

So, how does a celebrity lose weight without doing this? It's fucking hard. Frankly, I don't think any of them should talk about methodology because nine times out of ten it's either a lie, an eating disorder, or something the average person can't even attempt. And it ignores the fact that different people are fat for different reasons, therefore for MANY people NO weight loss methods are possible for them (short or long term) and that there is really only a very small group of people where "diet and exercise" will do anything for (and an even smaller group of people where that change is permanent and isn't gained back).

Secondly, they HAVE to commit themselves to STILL UPLIFTING FAT PEOPLE. Be honest about how FUCKED the fatphobia they experienced was and how it's fucking TERRIBLE that they had to change themselves to receive kindness. Talk about the societal pressures they felt and how... in some ways, they took the easy path, especially now that the path was made easier by their wealth.

Celebrities don't "owe" anyone that vulnerability but it's the only way to limit the fatphobia that rises up to meet anyone who loses weight, intentionally or not. (People were SO fucking "kind" to me when I lost weight due to developing a temporary fear of food when I had gallstones, and I had to explain to them that this wasn't a fun self improvement thing, my body was changing because I was SUFFERING and I was MISERABLE.)

Of course, they are free to betray fat people by embracing the fatphobia, but I don't think that's necessary when you lose weight. Weight loss isn’t inherently fatphobic. Talk about weight loss as a bodily change, not a bodily improvement. Talk about how a lot of time weight loss stems from losing to pressure. Talk about how most weight loss doesn't actually stick and remind people up front that you are the same person you were 20, 50, 100 pounds ago and that you'll be the same person you are now if you gain that 20, 50, 100 back (and often more! (The majority of people who lose weight gain at least some of it back and many, many people end up at heavier weights than they started out at.)

If a celebrity can't do that, they go from "Person just exercising their bodily autonomy to feel the best they can personally, which is neutral" to a fatphobic person. Who didn't just work to be less oppressed but worked to then become the oppressor.

This isn't a perfect 1:1 but it's sort of like... you can work your way out of poverty without exploiting people. You can have a comfortable amount of money without hurting other poor people. But once you gain that money, you can't suddenly think that other poor people deserve to suffer or just aren't X Y Z enough to stop being poor. You need to continue to understand and HIGHLIGHT the systems in place that exist to continue to make poor or fat people be treated like shit and suffer. And how that's wrong.

Everyone deserves a good standard of living and you aren't a better person for finding a way to more easily get better or kinder treatment from the world.

Wow, I wrote a lot. And didn't really say anything new. Just "Yeah, anyone can do whatever they want with their body, even if it's unhealthy, so long as they understand it's unhealthy and don't try to trick anyone into thinking what they did is anything other than what it is. Also, we need to be aware of how we frame our bodily changes lest we inadvertently pressure other people."

Y'all should hire someone to take my hands off the keyboard.

[desultory-suggestions]

Hello, um, first time I'm actually asking for advice on a blog so I'm very sorry if this is breaking your boundaries in any way.

I've suspected that I've had an eating disorder since I was a teenager due to various reasons, but every single doctor shrugged me off and that it's good that I'm thin. I've known that since I was a child I've felt...self-conscious about my weight, but not in the expected way: I feel too thin. I've known for years my eating habits are unhealthy and there's no one but me to support me through this, with all my friends wanting to become thinner and doctors ignoring me.

Self-awareness in time has allowed me to try and change my habits, try and eat more, and although I struggle I've somewhat consistently eaten recently even if money is hard to come by nowadays. But a few weeks back I had to undergo two heavy surgeries to fix worrying issues with my mouth, and now that I stopped the antibiotics I've been incapable of eating enough due to pain and fear of messing something up and have lost significant weight. I feel ashamed that I feel so thin when everyone around me, especially coworkers I don't know very well, are praising me for looking "healthier" when I can barely communicate and getting back to my usual work routine is still difficult in post-op recovery. It scares me.

Is this actually a thing? Maybe I'm not looking hard enough but I can't find anything on "feeling like I'm too thin with a suspected ED" in my own research. Is it just body dysmorphia?

Hello dear,

It is absolutely okay to ask for advice and support, that’s why I’m here! I’m so sorry that you’ve been ignored for years and years because of others people’s perceptions. Prejudice, fatphobia, and body shaming run so deep in our society and medicine, and radiates into everything we try to do. It is deeply upsetting that those around us equate thinness with health so much so that they would praise our illness.

We often reduce eating disorders to a person becoming obsessed with losing weight. However, there are a myriad of different eating disorders that happen for vastly different reasons. It’s a disorder about eating, so at the end of the day it doesn’t matter what causes the issues. If your eating is consistently disordered, you have an eating disorder. It is not uncommon to struggle with feeling too skinny, in fact many people ask me about the same concern. Body dysmorphia isn’t defined by thinking you are fat, but by having an altered perception of your body. So it is absolutely possible and even common to have dysmorphia surrounding feeling too thin.

NEDA is always a great resource for learning about eating disorders and seeking the right help. Here are some articles that may help:

When it comes to the issue of self perception, it is treated much the same as it would be if you were struggling with feeling fat rather than thin. There is no moral weight, the fear comes from around us and within ourselves. Therapy is incredibly helpful, as are support groups. However, even just small changes in mindset build up. Practicing affirmations to change the mindset around your body and eating is important. You don’t need to eat to gain weight, you need to eat to sustain yourself. Intuitive eating is your friend!

It sounds like your struggles with eating are an ongoing mental health issue, however with your recent surgeries it seems to have been heavily exacerbated. The immediate concern is eating at all. Consulting your surgeon will be vital, ask what is safe and appropriate to eat when and start making a sort of meal plan. The approval of the surgeon may help ease some anxiety. If all you can comfortably get down is protein drinks than so be it! That is still nutrients for your body. However it will be important to practice pushing those boundaries of fear. As someone who just underwent a major surgery, it’s so scary to do anything that could mess it up! But it also isn’t nearly as easy to mess up your results as you feel it is. Trying to gave liquids like smoothies or soups is great, then eating small pieces of food or mashes, then working up to bigger bites and meals. It will take time but it’s worth the effort.

Overall, seeking professional care will be important. It’s not always easy, but there are ways you can find support. I’m here to chat if you ever want to or need some advice! Take tender care.

-Evan

[phawareglobal]

Joellen Brown - phaware® interview 465

Joellen Brown shares her experience with pulmonary hypertension (PH) on the 15th anniversary of her diagnosis. Joellen was born with a hole in her heart and had her first open heart surgery at the age of two and a half. She believes she may have had PH since birth, but was not aware of it due to limited research in the 1950s. Joellen emphasizes the importance of having a supportive medical team and family, as well as being proactive in advocating for one’s own health. She encourages newly diagnosed individuals to seek out support groups and emphasizes the need for early and appropriate treatment.

My name is Joellen Brown. I am in Newport Richey, Florida now. I was diagnosed 15 years in May with pulmonary hypertension. I was born in 1956 with a hole in my heart. Back then, there wasn't much information on correcting it or how they were going to go about doing it. I was about two and a half when I had my first open heart surgery and they put a patch on my heart. I went through the majority of high school, not being able to take gym, because they really didn't know if that patch was going to be pliable to exercise and all that. I was also told not to have any kids, which thankfully, I didn't listen to that. I ended up with three girls and no issues, and they were healthy. I've got three older sisters. I was the only one with the heart issues, so it wasn't anything like hereditary or anything like that. When I was about 40 years old, they told me that I needed to have another open heart surgery, because I had a tear in my aortic valve. So they went in and I have a cadaver valve. In my early '50s, I started noticing major weight gain and really breathlessness, tired all the time. I had been seeing a cardiologist all my life and nobody had ever mentioned that it was any kind of a lung or heart issue, it always had to do with the heart. I finally went to my regular doctor and she had me walk around the hall. At that time, my oxygen was 67%. I was sent home on oxygen. That's how my journey with pulmonary hypertension went. They first thought I had asthma, so I was put on an inhaler with the oxygen. That didn't work. I went to another cardiologist who was also a PH specialist. He's the one that diagnosed me with PH. But he had told me too, that I might have been born with it. But then again, back in the 1950s, there wasn't a lot of research on PH. So who knows? I might've had it all this life and not even realized it. So all that time, it's always been the heart thing. I'd always gone to the doctors. I didn't really have to worry about my weight, until after I had my kids and I had my second open heart surgery. That's when my weight started creeping up on me, which might've been back then, part of PH, I don't know. So now 15 years later, they're saying that my PH is from congestive heart failure and scoliosis, which is what I was born with. I was born with scoliosis, with the hole in my heart, so I have that against me as well. I think at the very beginning, I had a wonderful PH doctor. My team is what really got me through everything. But then again, that's well and good, but you also have to have that family support as well. Great, the treatment is helping you and everything, but you really need that mindset of having the support of your family to be there. Everything kind of fell into place when I was diagnosed. I want to think that I was one of the lucky ones. I didn't have to go through years and years and years of doctors. I was a special case, because of my open heart surgery at such a young age, on top of having the pulmonary hypertension. My cardiologist at the time, was also a pediatric cardiologist, and that kind of helped. Whenever I went in for any kind of test, they always had to work with my body and my issues. It wasn't like the same thing that they would do with somebody else. I want to think that it was all to do with the doctor I had at the very beginning. I am divorced. I'm pretty lucky that I'm able to still take care of myself. I'm a mother that I tell my kids everything. I don't want to keep it secret, because I want them to know that if anything ever happened to me that I can't speak for myself, I want them to know what I would want. So I know there are some other people out there that are like, "My family has no idea what I'm going through." I tell my kids pretty much everything. They've gone to doctor's appointments with me. They've been there when I've been in the hospital, and that has been wonderful. Right now since I'm in Florida, I have two of my daughters that live very close. That's been really helpful. But I'm not driving now too, so that's been a challenge in itself. But moving to Florida, my health has gotten so much better. My sister and I live together now. My lifestyle is much better because I do feel better. I think this was a great move for me health wise. I've lost weight finally after a year and a half. I have a great team. That's been probably the hardest part, moving. I look back at several years ago and how my health was at that time, which was not very good, and how much it is today. It's really has improved. I'm really thankful for that. I think that's a lot to do with your mindset and the team and fighting for what you need. It's definitely a journey I don't wish on anybody. The one thing that I always tell people that are newly diagnosed, because I've been on several sites on Facebook, is everybody is different. What's going to work for me might not work for you, but getting the right doctors is the best thing. But my biggest thing that I tell people is, everybody is different. You need to get that treatment right away. It's not a wait and see type of disease. It's not going to go away on its own. You need to get that right treatment. You have to be your own advocate. You have to be out there and ask questions. There's no right and wrong answer, but you need to know, because you only have this body once. You need to figure out how it's going to affect your everyday life. I had some great mentors when I first got PH, on Facebook, that are no longer here, so I try to remember what they told me to tell other people. I was born sick and I had to overcome a lot of stuff when I was little. I think that has gone on to me as an adult that is sick. I'm on oxygen now 24/7. I will always be on oxygen, so I try to be an advocate for getting the right type of oxygen I need. I don't know what would've happened if I didn't have the hole in my heart when I was little and all of a sudden, I'm 52 years old and I've got this life-threatening disease. I don't know if things would be different. It's still a shock, but I've always had people telling me, especially when I was younger, they were cruel to me at school, telling me I was going to die when I was 13. You live through that and you're like, "Okay, well, I'm 14 and I'm still here." I have more appreciation for my mother as I'm older, because I can't even imagine what she went through in the 1950s, taking me on the bus to go to the hospital and all that stuff. I can't even imagine that. What brought me here was my grandson. He lives across the street. That's my motivation to be well enough to see him grow up. That's me doing what needs to be done to keep me well. If it means staying in a lot more to stay healthy, then I'll do that. That's my motivation and just to be in spite of everybody that said, you can't do something. Just moving from Ohio to here was a trip and a half, having a friend of ours that had a horse trailer that moved all of our stuff here. Of course, I had to fly because I couldn't do the long trip. I still think we've been here two years and I'm like, "Did we really do this?" A couple years ago, I probably wouldn't have. But it's one of those that you wake up and you're like, "I'm ready. It's time." Where I used to live in Ohio, it was kind of an independent living senior place. Out of all those people, there was one lady in there that had PH at that time. I'm like, "I can't believe that I lived with somebody in this building that has the same thing that I do." She was on oxygen as well. Well, she ended up passing away. She was older than I was. One thing I would like to tell the people that are newly diagnosed, the best thing is to get into a support group. That really helped me, being around other people that have the same disease. I went for many, many years, took my mom with me. She enjoyed it. Learned a lot about pulmonary hypertension. I have not been able to find one here in Florida, so that's going to be on my bucket list for this year is to find a support group near me, or at least someplace I can get to. My name is Joellen Brown, and I'm aware that I'm rare.

Learn more about pulmonary hypertension trials at www.phaware.global/clinicaltrials. Follow us on social @phaware Engage for a cure: www.phaware.global/donate #phaware Share your story: info@phaware.com

Listen and View more on the official phaware™ podcast site

[robbydelosangeles]

A Subtle College Life in SPUP

Hey there! It's me again😁 the most handsome gentleman in the Psychology Department😉. It's been a long time since I posted here, I have been busy living my life lately. Today, in this sacred 21st century thingy called blog, I am going to be talking about what it is like to be a Paulinian college student🤩. This will take a long time, so if you are interested, get yourself a cup of hot coffee - or tea, whatever you prefer- sit back, relax, and join me as we go on a journey of a Paulinian student's life.

Are you ready? All righty then, let's go!

St. Paul University Philippines, a school known for their magnificent infrastructures, Christ-centeredness, aesthetic gardens, and of course, slippery tiles😂. Too bad my college journey did not start there. Nope. It was pandemic back then so my college journey started in an app. A lot of grown-ups would think, "Oh that's great, your college life would be easy since it will all be done online for a while. You'll be at home, you don't have to go outside, you won't be spending money, you kids should get through this with ease!"

Yeah, right😐.

I guess when it comes to learning and academics, some things will just not escape you. And those are hardships, struggles...and math. Seriously, I thought this course won't have any math subjects LOL. But anyway, now that we are growing up, life won't get easier from there. Even though it was flexible learning, we still get to deal with too many house chores, too many requirements, deadlines, quizzes, and who said we won't be spending any money?🙄

Nevertheless, all of this hardships and conflicts have shaped me into the best of who I am. Truth is, I was a slacker at the beginning, but because of the pressure, I got up my feet and started working harder than before. And I am soooo thankful for choosing to be a better student.

During my first year, I was very shy about making new friends. But I'm glad that my friends are wise, hard-workers, logical thinkers, and full of good influence. Well, kind of🙊. LOL Now that face-to- face class is finally back, I became closer to them than online.

Speaking of face-to-face, during the first days of third year, one of my classmates told me "You know, you look so much thinner online. You're actually chubbier in person." And here is how I reacted:

Well, it's true, I will admit it. I actually got too carried away with my laziness and eating too much that I gained so much fat. I got my interest back on weightlifting at the beginning of year of 2022. My progress was actually better than before. I can lift heavier weights now, my physique is getting toned, and even though my body weight was actually getting heavy (it's because of the muscles😎) my clothes are starting to fit better.

The issue was, because my top priority was my academics, I barely even have time to do a set of push ups. And with that, I adjusted my priorities. At first, I must finish all of my academic related requirements that must be done. And when I finally have a free time, only then will I go back to lifting heavy weights. And since then, with my diet on track of course, the balance between my favorite hobby and my academics are doing very well.

That's one of the life changing lesson that I have learned and will forever apply it till my last breath. Know what you want and what you need, set your priorities straight, and just flipping do it. You are probably thinking, "Oh wow, Robby, you prioritize your study and you go to the gym? That is s alpha of you😍". I don't really like that term to be labelled at me😂. An alpha is more of dominant type of person, the one who has the ability to lead and influence people.

Throughout my college life, I have become a leader of a group more than once. And the first time I ever became a leader, I was a hot head. Like if one of my groupmates won't do their work on time I would rant the heck out of them in our own group chat. 😂

But hey, that was back then, now I actually learn to become better with leading and influence people. When it comes to being a leader, logical thinking comes first, empathy comes second, emotions come last in silence. In other words, be stoic.

A lot of unexpected conflicts will come, especially when a lot of responsibilities are passed on to you. And no matter what, we must learn to endure and cope our emotions in silence, and never let them affect the way you think and the way you act. So always be logical with the way you think. Speaking of that, the best thing about college life is that my mindset have been shifted. Almost as if my brain was callused. The thing is, whenever I feel anxious or afraid of something, I face it. One of my oldest enemies is my anxiety. Whenever I feel like butterflies are going crazy in my stomach, I took a deep breath and just go. That is why I joined and volunteer whenever I get a chance to do so, such as performing along with the mob dancers, singing in a chorale, and speaking in front of a class.

These are some of the lessons that I have learned living as a college student in St. Paul University Philippines. If I could go back in time to meet my younger self who said "I can't wait to be a college student, it must be exciting", I'd go back and slap him on the face. LOL

All jokes aside, I hope that my sharing have entertained you, and I also hope that you learn something valuable because every thought that I have said, every lessons, are all based on my experience as a college student.

With that, thank you so much for your time and have a great weekend💖

PEACE✌

[fatliberation]

I’m Abandoning Body Positivity and Here’s Why

In short: it’s fatphobic.

“A rallying cry for a shift in societal norms has now become the skinny girl’s reassurance that she isn’t really fat. Fatness, through this lens of ‘body positivity’, remains the worst thing a person can be.” (Kayleigh Donaldson)

•  •  •

I have always had a lot of conflicting opinions about the body positivity movement, but it’s much more widely known (and accepted, go figure) than the fat liberation movement, so I often used the two terms interchangeably in conversation about anti-fatness. But the longer I’ve been following the body positivity movement, the more I’ve realized how much it has strayed from its fat lib origins. It has been hijacked; deluded to center thin, able, white, socially acceptable bodies.

Bopo’s origins are undoubtedly grounded in fat liberation. The fat activists of the 1960s paved the way for the shred of size acceptance we see in media today, initially protesting the discrimination and lack of access to equal opportunities for fat people specifically. This early movement highlighted the abuse, mental health struggles, malpractice in the medical field, and called for equal pay, equal access, equal respect, an end to fatphobic structures and ideas. It saddens me that it hasn’t made much progress in those regards. 

Today, the #bopo movement encapsulates more the idea of loving your own body versus ensuring that individuals regardless of their weight and appearance are given equal opportunities in the workplace, schools, fashion and media. Somehow those demands never made it outside of the ‘taboo’ category, and privileged people would much more readily accept the warm and fuzzy, sugar-coated message of “love yourself!” But as @yrfatfriend once said, this idea reduces fat people’s struggles to a problem of mindset, rather than a product of external oppressors that need to be abolished in order for fat people to live freely.

That generalized statement, “love yourself,” is how a movement started by fat people for the rights of fat people was diluted so much, it now serves a thin model on Instagram posting about how she has a tummy roll and cellulite on her thighs - then getting praised for loving her body despite *gasp!* its minor resemblance to a fat body. 

Look. Pretty much everyone has insecurities about their bodies, especially those of us who belong to marginalized groups. If you don’t have body issues, you’re a privileged miracle, but our beauty-obsessed society has conditioned us to want to look a certain way, and if we have any features that the western beauty standard considers as “flaws,” yeah! We feel bad about it! So it’s not surprising that people who feel bad about themselves would want to hop on a movement that says ‘hey, you’re beautiful as you are!’ That’s a message everyone would like to hear. Any person who has once thought of themselves as less than beautiful now feels that this movement is theirs. And everyone has insecurities, so everyone feels entitled to the safe space. And when a space made for a minority includes the majority, the cycle happens again and the majority oppresses the minority. What I’m trying to explain here is that thin people now feel a sense of ownership over body positive spaces. 

Regardless of how badly thin people feel about their bodies, they still experience thin privilege. They can sit down in a theater or an airplane without even thinking about it, they can eat in front of others without judgement, they can go the doctor with a problem and actually have it fixed right away, they can find cute clothes in their size with ease, they do not suffer from assumptions of laziness/failure based on stereotype, they see their body type represented everywhere in media, the list goes on and on. They do not face discrimination based off of the size of their body. 

Yet diet culture and fatphobia affects everyone, and of course thin people do still feel bad about the little fat they have on their bodies. But the failure to examine WHY they feel bad about it, is what perpetuates fatphobia within the bopo movement. They’re labeled “brave” for showing a pinch of chub, yet fail to address what makes it so acceptably daring, and how damaging it is to people who are shamed for living in fat bodies. Much like the rest of society, thin body positivity is still driven by the fear of fat, and does nothing to dismantle fatphobia within structures or within themselves.

Evette Dionne sums it up perfectly in her article, “The Fragility of Body Positivity: How a Radical Movement Lost Its Way.”

“The body-positive media economy centers these affirming, empowering, let-me-pinch-a-fat-roll-to-show-how-much-I-love-myself stories while failing to actually challenge institutions to stop discriminating against fat people. More importantly, most of those stories center thin, white, cisgender, heterosexual women who have co-opted the movement to build their brands. Rutter has labeled this erasure ‘Socially Acceptable Body Positivity.’

“On social media, it actually gets worse for fat bodies: We’re not just being erased from body positivity, fat women are being actively vilified. Health has become the stick with which to beat fat people with [sic], and the benchmark for whether body positivity should include someone” (Dionne).

Ah, yes. The medicalization of fat bodies, and the moralization of health. I’ve ranted about this before. Countless comments on posts of big women that say stuff like “I’m all for body positivity, but this is just unhealthy and it shouldn’t be celebrated.” I’ve heard writer/activist Aubrey Gordon once say that body positivity has become something like a shield for anti-fatness. It’s anti-fatness that has been repackaged as empowerment. It’s a striking double-standard. Fat people are told to be comfortable in their bodies (as if that’s what’s going to fix things) but in turn are punished when they’re okay with being fat. Make it make sense.

Since thin people feel a sense of ownership over body positive spaces, and they get to hide behind “health” when they are picking and choosing who can and cannot be body positive, they base it off of who looks the most socially acceptable. And I’m sure they aren’t consciously picking and choosing, it comes from implicit bias. But the socially acceptable bodies they center are small to medium fat, with an hourglass shape. They have shaped a new beauty standard specifically FOR FAT PEOPLE. (Have you ever seen a plus sized model with neck fat?? I’m genuinely asking because I have yet to find one!) The bopo movement works to exclude and silence people who are on the largest end of the weight spectrum. 

Speaking of exclusion, let’s talk about fashion for a minute.

For some reason, (COUGH COUGH CAPITALISM) body positivity is largely centered around fashion. And surprise surprise, it’s still not inclusive to fat people. Fashion companies get a pat on the back for expanding their sizing two sizes up from what they previously offered, when they are still leaving out larger fat people completely. In general, clothing companies charge more for clothes with more fabric, so people who need the largest sizes are left high and dry. It’s next to impossible to find affordable clothes that also look nice. Fashion piggybacks on the bopo movement as a marketing tactic, and exploits the very bodies it claims to be serving. (Need I mention the time Urban Outfitters used a "curvy” model to sell a size it doesn’t even carry?)

The movement also works to exclude and silence fat Black activists.

In her article, “The Body Positivity Movement Both Takes From and Erases Fat Black Women” Donyae Coles explains how both white people and thin celebrities such as Jameela Jamil profit from the movement that Black women built.

“Since long before blogging was a thing, fat Black women have been vocal about body acceptance, with women like Sharon Quinn and Marie Denee, or the work of Sonya Renee Taylor with The Body Is Not An Apology. We’ve been out here, and we’re still here, but the overwhelming face of the movement is white and thin because the mainstream still craves it, and white and thin people have no problem with profiting off the work of fat, non-white bodies.”

“There is a persistent belief that when thin and/or white people enter the body positive realm and begin to repeat the messages that Black women have been saying for years in some cases, when they imitate the labor that Black women have already put in that we should be thankful that they are “boosting” our message. This completely ignores the fact that in doing so they are profiting off of that labor. They are gaining the notoriety, the mark of an expert in something they learned from an ignored Black woman” (Coles).

My next essay will go into detail about this and illuminate key figures who paved the way for body acceptance in communities of color. 

The true purpose of this movement has gotten completely lost. So where the fuck do we go from here? 

We break up with it, and run back to the faithful ex our parents disapproved of. We go back to the roots of the fat liberation movement, carved out for us by the fat feminists, the queer fat activists, the fat Black community, and the allies it began with. Everything they have preached since the 1960s and 70s is one hundred percent applicable today. We get educated. We examine diet culture through a capitalist lens. We tackle thin, white-supremacist systems and weight based discrimination, as well as internalized bias. We challenge our healthcare workers to unlearn their bias, treat, and support fat patients accordingly. We make our homes and spaces accessible and welcoming to people of any size, or any (dis)ability. “We must first protect and uplift people in marginalized bodies, only then can we mandate self-love” (Gordon).

Think about it. In the face of discrimination, mistreatment, and emotional abuse, we as a society are telling fat people to love their bodies, when we should be putting our energy toward removing those fatphobic ideas and structures so that fat people can live in a world that doesn’t require them to feel bad about their bodies. It’s like hitting someone with a rock and telling them not to bruise!

While learning to love and care for the body that you’re in is important, I think that body positivity also fails in teaching that because it puts even more emphasis on beauty. Instead of saying, “you don’t have to be ‘beautiful’ to be loved and appreciated,” its main lesson is that “all bodies are beautiful.” We live in a society obsessed with appearance, and it is irresponsible to ignore the hierarchy of beauty standards that exist in every space. Although it should be relative, “beautiful” has been given a meaning. And that meaning is thin, abled, symmetric, and eurocentric. 

Beauty and ugliness are irrelevant, made-up constructs. People will always be drawn to you no matter what, so you deserve to exist in your body without struggling to conform to an impossible and bigoted standard. Love and accept your body for YOURSELF AND NO ONE ELSE, because you do not exist to please the eyes of other people. That’s what I wish we were teaching instead. Radical self acceptance!

As of today, the ultimate message of the body positivity movement is: Love your body “despite its imperfections.” Or people with “perfect and imperfect bodies both deserve love.” As long as we are upholding the notion that there IS a perfect body that looks a certain way, and every body that falls outside of that category is imperfect, we are upholding white supremacy, eugenics, anti-fatness, and ableism.

[bump1nthen1ght]

Deep Blue Sea (Shark Merman x Reader) Chapter 2

Pairing: Gender Neutral! Reader/Shark Merman

Genre: Urban Fantasy, Soulmate AU

Warning: Slight description of Animal Violence. Nothing too graphic, but if the genre of stuff you see on Shark week isn’t for you, skip over the part denoted by the *******

Word Count: 3530 words

Summary: You learn more about Cruz and about yourself

Prologue

Chapter 1

“-and then he just leaves. What do I even do with that?”

“Uh-huh, uh-huh,” Your roommate hums, refilling up your glass of wine. “And you don’t have his number, so you can’t call or text him right?” You take a large sip, nodding and trying not to spill wine on your pajamas.

Well, kind of.

You hadn’t told anyone about Cruz, not even your family, because frankly you didn't know where to start. But when you walked into the apartment, sullen and dragging your feet, your roommate, Caitlyn, had offered wine, ice cream, and a willing ear. That's when the floodgates opened (with some modified details, of course).

“We’re meeting at our usual place in a couple days, I just…”Another sip of wine,”...hate sitting here, not knowing what he’s feeling, what I did, how I’m feeling.” You set down your glass and throw yourself back against the couch, sinking into the cushions. “I feel so stupid, like a fucking teenager, and I hate it.” Caitlyn sets her own wine glass down and nudges the half-empty ice cream carton towards you.

“It’s for the best your feeling all this now, then you can come at ‘im all composed and articulate. Really throw him off his game.” You grab a spoon and the carton, Caitlyn patting your shoulder as you take a pathetic bite.

“You’re right but I-I don’t even know. I’ve never done anything like this before.”

“Sounds like this guy’s got you hooked. At least that’s a start right?” Caitlyn hums, pressing her chin into her palm. “To be completely honest, Sam took a couple days to warm up to me. And I never told her this, but she gave me hardcore pretentious vibes on our first date.”

Caitlyn gives a long spiel about her awkward first soulmate date (“Seriously, who brings up ‘the superiority of vinyl’ on the first date!”), and if you were in the mind to be a good roommate, or hadn’t heard this story before, you might’ve listened closer. But only one question was occupying your thoughts; Did Cruz like you?

--------

You arrive at the boardwalk an hour early. You don’t immediately go to the tidepool, instead choosing to take a long walk on the beach, taking a moment to calm your racing heart and collect your thoughts.

You like Cruz. You like him as much as two people who just met can, despite a less-than-romantic first impression. But does he like you?

You never thought you would have to ask your soulmate that.

There’s a small thwap as you slap your cheeks, heat simmering your skin even as the cold water laps at your feet.

This is ridiculous. You’ve talked twice. Caitlyn and Sam have a thriving relationship (You should know, you share a wall with Caitlyn) and even they got off to a rocky start.

The pit grows in your stomach, thinking of Cruz’s disinterested stare as he swims into the open ocean. The weight of it almost sinks to your toes.

You shake your head, slapping your cheeks once more.

Today is a new day. Just go through the motions _____.

You reach the tidepool, setting down your picnic blanket and bag. You grab one of your notebooks and prop it open as you bite into an apple. You’re 30 minutes early, might as well get some reading done.

The waves crash and pull against the rocks, pleasant studying ambience, but is interrupted by several clicks and abrupt, out of rhythm, splashes. You look up, immediately in awe of the sight.

About 50 feet away from the entrance to the tidepool is a pod of dolphins, breaching out of the water. You grab a pencil, your phone, and your notebook, tiptoeing through the tidepool to get a better look.

Good choice wearing water shoes today.

From closer up, you notice the distinct lack of dorsal fins and realize they must be Northern White Whale Dolphins. 60 of them have congregated in a group, most likely scouting for easy food or taking a rest.

Their pod is pretty small though. What are they doing so close to the shore?

The pod continues to play as you take shaky photos with your camera, trying to balance your notebook and pencil in the crook of your elbow. Through your viewfinder, you spot a familiar shape, not 30 feet from the pod, peeking his head out of the water. Cruz’s black eyes narrow into focus before he fully submerges. Your eyes widen as you lower your camera.

The water above Cruz rushes as he swims closer and closer to the pod. You tuck your phone back into your pocket as you finagle your way up to a nearby rock. You need a better view, and it might be best to be out of the water while this happens.

The dolphins haven’t noticed Cruz yet, still gliding along the waves. There's a quick flash of his strong back before he dives even deeper into the water. The rock slightly digs into your stomach as you lean over to get a better look.

What I wouldn’t give for a drone right now.

Before long, there is a burst of clicks, the largest dolphins quickly surrounding the group and issuing them away. They’ve spotted Cruz, but one is a little too slow.

Cruz’s dorsal fin cuts through the water, close enough to the surface that you can make out the details of his determined face. His eyes have latched onto the slowest dolphin and his speed increases exponentially. His long tail flicks back and forth as he gains on it.

*******

The dolphin flips into the air, trying to gain distance. But like a flash Cruz’s large hand shoots out of the water, getting a hold of the dolphin’s tail, and pulls. You see his shoulder and tricep bulge as the dolphin thrashes in his grip. His head once again breaches the water as he digs his other clawed hand into the dolphin’s side, raking into it as he pulls the dolphin closer to him. The two tussle and wrestle against each other, going in and out of the water as the dolphin tries to push Cruz away.

But Cruz is limber, keeping a tight grip on the dolphin as he maneuvers his body alongside it. His torso raises up as he pushes the dolphin down under the water and into submission. Cruz then yanks the dolphin’s front upwards and out of the water, grip still tight on it’s rear, before opening up his maw and tearing into the dolphin’s neck. He rips his head back and forth until the dolphin stills, a large pool of red slowly cascading around them.

*******

Your pencil hangs loosely in your fingers as you watch, eyes locked on Cruz. You think the struggle must’ve lasted only 20 seconds, but in the moment, it felt like hours. Cruz’s chest heaves as he takes another bite, serrated teeth easily ripping the flesh, as casual as the lobster roll from your last meeting.

Blood drips from his mouth and covers his claws. His cards his fingers back through his hair, leaving crimson streaks that shine against his black locks. Cruz bites off another mouthful before heaving the dolphin onto his shoulder.

As a large science nerd, you’ve always enjoyed watching nature in progress. But a new, exciting, vaguely uncomfortable feeling stirs in your gut as you watch Cruz suck in his fingers, picking out stray bits of meat from his large, sharp teeth. A feeling like a shiver rushing down your spine and heat in between your legs.

Oh my god. Why was that the hottest thing I’ve ever seen?

Cruz turns away and submerges himself, giving you a nice shot of his defined back muscles as he sums up his hunt. You can’t take your eyes off his form moving just below the water, even as your 5 PM alarm goes off.

You knew Cruz was larger, and far stronger, than you, but seeing him in his element reminds you just how easily he could tear you apart.

God, and I kind of want him to.

As he swims further away from the shore, you see two black dots in the distance. You take out your phone again and open up the camera to zoom in.

Speaking of huge. Holy shit.

The focus is a little blurry, but it’d be hard for you to miss the massive mermaids. With only their shoulders and up out of water, they still tower over Cruz by at least a head each. Both have long black hair, intertwined with what looks to be seaweed and various types of shells. The one on the right is holding two larger masses over her shoulders, positioned the way a lumberjack would hold a fallen tree. Cruz reemerges with his dolphin in tow, frighteningly small.

Cruz’s gestures indicate they’re having a conversation, mostly one-sided. The dolphin on Cruz’s back bounces as he talks animatedly, his hunt small when compared to the two weights the right mermaid carries. With your old phone you can only catch a glimpse of the left mermaid’s lips moving. Cruz’s energy dims as she continues and he seems to sink deeper into the water.

The left mermaid holds out her hand. Cruz hesitates, then throws his dolphin into her arms. She swings it over like it weighs nothing and then shakes her hand as if to shoo him away. The right one rumbles with laughter. Cruz nods, solemn as the two submerge and swim away.

Cruz stays there for a minute, looking out at the horizon. When he finally turns, his movements are lethargic as he swims towards the tidepool.

You scramble down from the rock and quickly tiptoe  back to your blanket, fumbling to stuff your notebook and pencil back into your bag.

Cruz glides in, his eyes not meeting yours, locked in thought.

“Hey Cruz.” You wave, struggling to catch your breath from your impromptu rush.

Cruz slowly looks up at you, still slightly downcast.

“Hey. Sorry I’m late.” You  shake your head furiously.

“It’s no problem! I got her kind of early, and then I saw you hunting and didn’t want to bother.” Cruz’s eyes widen a bit, before her recoils into himself and sheepishly rubs the back of his neck.

“Oh, sorry. You probably didn’t want to see that….” You once again shake your hands and head back and forth.

“No! No I-, I actually thought it was super cool!” Cruz quirks his eyebrows.

“What?”

“Yeah! It was like my own personal Shark week. Like wow, you looked amazing out there.”

Cruz’s cheek tint a cerulean blue, the corners of his lips turning up at the sides as he fiddles with his fingers.

“And those dolphins are the fastest kind around here, but bam! You were on them like a firecracker, kind of wish I had a slow motion camera.” You laugh, before realizing Cruz probably didn’t understand half of your analogies. “You looked uh, you were really good at it.”

Well duh, you idiot. He’s a shark.

“Thank you.” Cruz shoots you a tiny smile, blush still running across his face and down his neck. The ensuing silence is only slightly uncomfortable, as Cruz’s blush stays strong and you're sure you develop one of your own. You try and focus on something else to calm down, but catch a glimpse of his biceps, and fail miserably.

“Oh, that’s right.” Cruz reaches over and sticks his hand in between two nearby rocks. His brow furrows before his eyes light up, and he pulls out a….handbag?

It’s loosely sewn together with kelp, made of some sort of seal skin and closed with a seashell button. Cruz pops it open and begins to rummage inside.

“Gotcha.” Cruz pulls something out of the bag, before turning and hiding it behind his back.

“Uh, whatcha got there?” Cruz smiles, his blue blush painting his face from top to tip.

“I found this thing and thought you um….might want to look at it?” Cruz pulls his arm in front, revealing a reflective white shell, just a bit longer than his palm.

“It’s not a crab, but I thought it was neat looking so….”

You slowly move towards him, gesturing to ask if you can hold the shell. Cruz nods, almost shoving it into your hand.

The color is completely white, sharp, almost polished-looking. It carves into several rings before sloping into a point. It’s empty, the inside free of any sand or tiny algae.

“Do you know what it’s called?”

You look back to Cruz and nearly brush your nose against his. You realize how hot his body heat is as he leans over you to look at the shell. Your shoulders just barely touch.

As if dipped into boiling water, your face alights into red and your body convulses to jerk away from the heat.

“Yeah-Yes! Actually I do, it’s-it looks like a Kellets W-Welk. Well, the remains of one’s shell anyway.”

Cruz stays close, letting out a small “Ohhh.” as he squints his eyes to get a closer look. It’s the most on-land you’ve seen him, with the water lapping at the base of his tail. Sitting down, your head only comes to his clavicle. The uncomfortable burning stirs in your gut.

“Is it a hermit crab?”

“Not, it’s a sea snail. They're not really on land like crabs.” You brush your thumbs over the shell’s ridges. “There are quite a few varieties of sea snails around here, lots of beautiful shells. Their babies look pretty cool too.”

Cruz nods, eyes intent, and it reminds you of the elementary kids you saw when working at the aquarium. Your heart skips as you futilely try to fight the smile on your face.

“Can you eat ‘em?”

You chuckle and Cruz’s face grows a darker shade of blue. “Yeah, you can. You’ve got a good eye for snacks huh?”

Cruz pouts playfully, blue still awash on his cheeks. “Maybe, but I’m not always thinking about food.” Just as he finishes, you hear his stomach rumble. You stifle your laugh with your hand and Cruz grabs his stomach angrily. “Sh-Shut up! It’s almost dinner!”

The two mermaids flash in your mind. You see Cruz handing over the dolphin as they swim away. Then you see Cruz, furiously cracking open crabs with a single-minded purpose. The smile drops from your chin.

How often does that happen?

Cruz was small for a Great White. You hadn’t even thought about why. You don’t even know if you want to.

“They’re pretty tasty, but their shells are a lot more fun.” Cruz furrows his brow again. “Here, let me show you.” You scoot yourself closer to him, putting the white shell against his ear. His eyes widen and he leans backwards a bit from your closeness, but the shell still lingers by his ear. “Do you hear it?”

Cruz stills, furrowing his brows even deeper, but then they rise in surprise. He leans back towards you, tentatively grabbing your wrist and pulling the shell closer.

“Its-”

“The ocean.”

The same childlike wonder from before flushes on his face as he looks at you, bringing your stomach a flutter. Cruz presses his head down closer to the shell, the bottom of his cheek now touching your palm. Cruz’s skin is cool against yours, slightly damp, and you feel the hint of roughness as his chin brushes against your wrist.

“How-How did you-”

“My mom showed me once. I mean, technically it’s the echo of the blood coursing through your ear, which reverberates and sounds like waves crashing. But it’s still a neat trick.”

“Oh, I see….”

From this close, you can see the small freckles which dapple Cruz’s cheeks, peppering across the bridge of his nose and up onto his forehead. Specks of dark blue, black, and green contrasts against his light gray skin, like the setting sun catching the pulling tides.

In the moment, you long to touch them.

So you do.

It’s so….soft.

As your thumb brushes up his jaw, the mottled colors are overwhelmed and overshadowed by Cruz’s furious blush. Cruz moves away so quickly that he unfurls his grip on a nearby rock and loses his balance. He braces himself and hisses as his thin skin nicks the corner of a rock.

“Oh my god, I’m so-so sorry! I just- oh my goodness are you okay?” You retract the shell closer to your chest, your other hand outstretched to steady Cruz. When he flinches away, you pull it back. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have invaded your personal space like that.”

Cruz's chest heaves but he doesn’t move or say anything. From the corner of your eye you spot a tiny bit of blood leaking onto the rock.

“Oh shit, wait I-I should have something.” You whip around to your backpack, shuffling and pushing aside your notebook to find your emergency first aid kit. Water wells in the corner of your eyes as you frantically search. You desperately try to will the tears away.

Stupid, stupid, stupid stupid-

Your inner insults are interrupted when your fingers brush against the familiar plastic fabric pouch. Before turning back to Cruz, you hastily wipe your eyes.

“Here, this should help.” You hold out the small thing of gauze and an antiseptic wipe. Cruz slowly takes them, fiddling with the gauze until it's undone. He picks up the antiseptic package with the tips of his forefinger and thumb, eyes squinting as he tries to read the small text.

“That’s to clean the wound with, to get the gross stuff out.” Cruz’s eyes narrow even further, brushing his thumb over the paper wrapping. Tentatively, he plops the unwrapped wipe on his wound. He looks back, clearly confused. “You have to unwrap it first, then wipe it.” His blush returns as he jerks his eyes away from you, embarrassed with you watching.

“I could do-”

“I’ve got it.” Cruz snaps, finding the perforation and ripping it off quickly.

“Okay, but it’s gonna sting-”

“Ow, shit!” Cruz curses as he presses the wipe against the apex of his cut, whining and biting his lower lip.

“If it’s hurting that means it’s working.” Cruz nods, but he hastily wipes the wound and sighs as he crumples it up.Cruz wraps his cut with medical precision, reminding you of boxers right before a match. He cuts the gauze short with a snip of his teeth

“Wow, you're really good at that.” Cruz snorts.

“I don’t need any jackasses going into a frenzy anytime soon. That would be the perfect end to this shit day.”

Your heart freezes as your stomach drops, and you recoil into yourself. The nausea of guilt washes over you. And then that makes you feel even worse, and so the cycle continues.

Cruz notices your sheepish, downtrodden stare, and frantically waves his good hand.

“Wait, shit, no, thats-thats not what I meant. Uh…” He loses track of his sentence, mouth agape as he looks for words. “I mean….thank you.” He fiddles with his claws. “For the bandage, a-and the food a couple days ago. This is...nice.”

You’re almost embarrassed by how quickly his praise perks you up, rolling over your tense muscles like a masseuse.

“Thank you for the shell, it was very thoughtful of you.” Cruz sputters.

“I just passed by it on a swim, it wasn’t a big deal. The reefs got a ton of them, so, y’know.”

You don’t know, but it’s cute watching him fumble with his words. He’s so bashful for an apex predator you saw kill a dolphin not 20 minutes ago.

“I could even-well, it’s close that we- we could go sometime? You and me?” Cruz fiddles with his claws once more, and you wonder if it’s a nervous compulsion. “It’s a little ways away from the coast but with me carrying you, we could probably see a lot.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, really.” Cruz’s nervous smile is much more lopsided than his regular one. It accentuates the dimple on his left cheek.

“I would love that.”

-----------

You decide to meet up early on Saturday to get a head start on the sunlight. You leave the boardwalk giddy, your nerves tingling pleasantly with pre-plan jitters. All this energy means you might have to spill to Caitlyn once more, just to let it all out. You’ll most likely tell her you two are getting breakfast by the beach, maybe stop by an aquarium.

Looking at all the coral and the crustaceans. Just me, in Cruz’s arms-

You stop, your nerves bubbling up under your skin, like steam is blowing out of your ears as you think about what is in store for Saturday.

You’re still not sure how Cruz feels about you. But there isn’t a show of a doubt now; You have a crush on him.

----------

Cruz sits in the water, cracking open a leftover oyster he had left in his bag for emergencies. Emergencies like being so flustered he can't possibly go back to the pod, not without looking incredibly suspicious.

He brushes his thumb over his cheek, and it’s almost like you're there again.

So….soft.

[specialagentsergio]

all we can do is keep breathing || chapter two

summary: Spencer’s doing better, but recovery isn’t linear, and some scars run deeper than either of you knew.

pairing: spencer reid x gn!reader

category: angst (eventual happy ending)

content warnings: swearing, drug abuse & addiction, substance use disorder, ptsd, descriptions of panic attacks/ptsd episodes, recollection of past bullying, unhealthy coping mechanisms, yelling/fighting, negative feelings towards other team members, body image issues

a/n: i was so taken aback by the response to chapter one--i didn’t think anyone would even read it tbh. thank you all and thanks for being patient with my lack of an upload schedule. i'm so sorry the word count is massive again. you get tummy appreciation, though, because 1) we all love spencer’s tummy, and 2) i personally gained weight when i was in residential treatment and it can be a bit of a mindfuck lol.

a/n 2: repeated disclaimer that i'm not a doctor, psychologist, psychiatrist, etc., just a direct care staff, past rtc patient and trauma recovery enthusiast. the horse therapy is pretty much entirely based on my own personal experience from nearly a decade ago, so don’t expect it to be an accurate portrayal of equine-assisted psychotherapy.

word count: 7.3k

song: you will be found from dear evan hansen

fic masterlist || masterlist

He’s been looking forward to the start of equine therapy since he got a spot in the program. But instead of being excited the morning of, Spencer ends up crying for an hour straight.

The day started off fine. It wasn’t hard to get up with the horses to look forward to, and he was able to get an extra plate at breakfast, so he could keep the pancake syrup from touching the eggs and sausage. Art therapy was a few hours later. He’d started to actually enjoy the pottery project—the recreational therapist had brought him a box of disposable gloves to use so the feeling of drying clay on his hands was no longer a problem.

Everyone’s projects were coming out of the kiln today and the next step was painting them. He’d been planning out the design and colors he wanted to use since the project started and was excited to finally start applying it.

Then he dropped his item, it broke into pieces, and he burst into tears.

He’d fled the room on instinct alone and curled up in a corner of the hallway, pressing his knees to his forehead. He was upset about the pottery, and upset that he was so affected by it breaking. He felt stupid and silly for crying over it, which only made him cry harder.

He heard distant laughter and he clapped his hands over his ears. He was being laughed at again for being a crybaby. He didn’t want to be a crybaby. He wanted to stop crying, he just couldn’t. The goalpost was cold against the bare skin of his back, and his wrists were starting to burn from the ties.

I want to go home. Just let me go home, please, I’ll do anything. Let me go, let me go--

“Spencer, it’s okay. You’re safe here. Can you repeat after me? I’m safe here.”

Safe here. Safe here.

Art therapy was over by the time he came out of it.

He has lunch at his therapist’s office instead of with the group. Lara asks what his flashback had been to.

He picks at his food. “It happened a long time ago. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Alright. Can you tell me how it felt instead?”

Spencer isn’t really hungry, but bites into his sandwich to stall for time. She doesn’t rush him. Eventually, he asks, “Do you know what alexithymia means?”

“No words for feelings,” she replies.

He nods. “That’s all.”

Lara opens one of her desk drawers and pulls out a composition notebook, which she then hands to him.

“What’s this for?”

“I want you to start trying to notice your feelings and sensations throughout the day. Make some kind of note, even if you don’t exactly have the words to describe it.”

He sighs. “Why?”

“Just noticing what you feel can help you develop emotional regulation,” she explains. She’s always been honest with him about the why of what she wants him to try and do. “It’s going to help you stop ignoring what’s going on inside you.”

I don’t want to do that.

“I know you don’t.”

“I didn’t mean to say that out loud,” he blurts. “That either. I—god.” He quickly takes another bite of food before he can say more.

“It’s fine. I didn’t expect you to like it,” Lara says with a small smile. “I’m sure the thought of confronting what you’ve been suppressing and avoiding is scary. But getting better requires you to do a lot of scary things.”

Spencer wants to protest. Being strapped to a chair in a shed and dosed against your will is scary. Your mother being diagnosed with Alzheimer's is scary. Being sent to prison for a crime you didn’t commit is scary. Feeling things? That’s not scary.

Isn’t it?

He tries not to think on it too much.

Despite the unpleasant thoughts running through his mind, Spencer finds himself nodding off on the van ride to the horse ranch. His eyes unfocus, his blink rate slows… and then he jerks back awake at the sensation of his head falling forward.

A frustrated noise escapes the back of his throat. He’s sick of feeling tired all the time. He’s getting enough sleep in theory, but still finds himself drowsy at least once a day. It’s to the point that he’s regularly wearing his glasses instead of his contacts to keep his eyes from feeling quite so dry. He pushes them back up now as he tries to tune back in to his surroundings.

“… don’t get how seeing some horse is supposed to make me feel better.” That’s Aiden’s voice. He’s Spencer’s new roommate. He wasn’t happy when he found out he was getting a new one, having much preferred having the room to himself, but it’s been okay so far, mostly because they keep out of each other’s way. Aiden seems uninterested in making friends, and that suits Spencer just fine. Lara’s been encouraging him to talk to fellow patients instead of just the direct care staff, but he’s resisted it. The last time he befriended someone, they ended up--

Spencer’s fine with the two of them keeping to themselves.

Melanie, one of the staff accompanying them, is leaned over the back of the middle seat as she talks to Aiden. “Well, I couldn’t tell you why exactly, but I’ve seen this program help a lot of people in my time here,” she says. “Spencer?”

“What?”

“You’ve been reading a lot about horses, right?” At his nod, she continues, “What have you found out?”

“Equine-assisted psychotherapy lacks the rigorous scientific evidence to demonstrate if it provides benefits in mental health treatment. Horses have been used to aid in psychiatric treatment since the 1990’s, though,” he says. He intends to stop there, but can’t stop himself from continuing. “It doesn’t necessarily involve riding, but may include grooming, feeding, and ground exercises. The goal is to help the client in social, emotional, cognitive, and or behavioral ways.”

He can feel Aiden’s eyes on him and takes a breath before meeting them. He knows all too well that his infodumps aren’t always well received. He doesn’t want to be friends, but would prefer for his roommate to not view him with disdain or annoyance. But Aiden looks interested, and says as much--”that’s interesting.” He looks like he wants to say more, but doesn’t, and there’s silence between them for the remainder of the drive. It’s not uncomfortable, though.

When the van pulls into a parking spot and everyone starts to get out, Spencer begins to feel nervous. He’s read everything he could get his hands on, but as a relatively new therapy, there’s no standard program; it varies by facility, so he doesn’t know exactly what to expect. He’s been looking forward to this, but what if it turns out to be a bad fit for him? What if the people here don’t like him? What if the horses don’t like him?

He hangs at the back of their group of ten—six patients and two staff—as they’re led to a shaded area. They’re introduced to the program director and assistants, and are given an overview of what they’ll be doing over the next six weeks. They won’t be riding the horses, just doing groundwork (he’s not sure if he feels relieved or disappointed). Then he learns that intention of this specific program isn’t just for the horses to help the clients—the clients are to help the horses as well. The animals all have the gentle temperaments suited for therapy, but also have their own struggles. A lot of them were adopted out of poor situations.

They’re led to a circular corral next and spaced equidistantly around the edge. Spencer’s heart rate picks up as the horses are brought in—the animals will be picking their therapy partner, the director says. As they’re let off their leads a jolt of anxiety runs through his body, making him twitch slightly. This feels uncomfortably familiar to school P.E. when teams were picked. No one wanted him then. What’s gong to happen if none of the horses want him, either? He looks down at his shoes.

But just a few moments later, he hears his name, and looks up to see one of the horses approaching him. “Looks like you and Chance are our first pair,” the director is saying.

First?

Chance is almost entirely black, save for a spot of white between his eyes and above his nose. His size is a little intimidating, but his demeanor is gentle. One of the assistants comes up to Spencer and instructs him to hold out his hand so the horse can sniff it.

His hand trembles slightly as he lifts it. Warm breath hits his fingers as Chance sniffs at it. Then the horse presses his nose completely against his hand. The moistness would usually bother Spencer, but for some reason it doesn’t. Instead, a smile slowly spreads across his face. The assistant tells him he can pet Chance now. He runs his hand up and down the horse’s snout, and despite the slight coarseness of the hair, finds it soothing.

The horse shuffles closer when Spencer is given his lead to hold. A startled laugh escapes him when Chance presses his nose into his neck. He pats his head a few times, then takes a tiny step back. He’s thrilled that at least one of the horses likes him, but feels a little crowded by the large animal. To his surprise, Chance seems to understand, and takes a step back of his own.

He absently pats his horse as he watches the rest of the group pair up. He still can’t believe he was picked first.

The rest of their time with the horses is very simple. They’re taught how to lead them, and after practicing in the corral, they take the horses back to their paddocks. Spencer’s disappointed to say goodbye already, but understands the need to not overwhelm the horses or even themselves. “I’ll see you next week,” he finds himself whispering to Chance.

There’s ten minutes left in the session, and it’s spent with the director telling them more about each horses’ specific background. Chance was poorly treated by his previous owner, mostly kept locked up in a small barn and not properly cared for. He has many talents and abilities, the director says. He needs to learn that he didn’t deserve to be treated the way he was, and be told that he is brave.

Spencer rests his chin in his hand and stares out the window on the drive back to the treatment center. He knows from his reading that horses are emotionally intelligent creatures, but he’s still… well, amazed by how the horses all picked who was most similar to them out of the group instinctively.

He feels more understood by an animal he’s interacted with for twenty minutes than he has by a person for months.

Before bed that night, he chews on the stem of his pen cap, thinking over the events of his day. Slowly, in a manner that could almost be described as cautious, he picks up the empty composition book Lara gave him and opens it. His hand hovers over the blank page for a few moments, then he puts pen on paper and begins to write.

---

You made dinner reservations for his visit this Saturday. You’re getting ready for it when there’s a knock on the front door.

“I’ll get it,” Spencer calls from the living room.

You return to fixing your hair up. You’re not expecting anyone, so it’s probably just a package or a neighbor. But just a few moments later, you hear Spencer raise his voice.

“No! No, I don’t—don’t touch me, please.”

You’re only half dressed, but hurry out to the living room anyways. When you round the corner, you immediately see what the problem is: JJ has dropped by unexpectedly.

It’s not that Spencer doesn’t want to see his team. They just bring memories with them, and he had decided shortly after his birthday that he wasn’t ready to confront that yet.

He’s standing a little ways back from the door, staring at JJ while she looks back with hurt on her face. “Spence--” she starts before she sees you.

At Spencer’s side, you place a hand on his arm and he takes a step behind you. “JJ, what are you doing here?”

She struggles to keep her eyes off of him as she answers. “(Y/N), I’m sorry, I just—Will and I made cookies with the boys today and we had a lot of extra, so I just wanted to drop some off for you. I—I didn’t know Spence was here. I didn’t mean to--”

You hold up a hand to stop her. “It’s okay, JJ. You couldn’t have known. You were just trying to do something nice.”

She nods, relieved at your understanding. “Yeah. Yeah, I….” She blows out a breath, then holds out a plastic wrapped plate of cookies to you. You take it from her with a quiet thank you. Then she looks back to the man that’s essentially hiding behind you as best as he can, despite how tall he is. “Spence, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you wouldn’t want me to touch you.”

There’s a tug on your clothing as he curls his fingers into the fabric on the small of your back. You tilt your head to look at him, but his gaze is on the floor. “You…” he glances up once, then looks back down. “You should ask next time,” he says quietly.

“Okay,” she replies, just as softly. “I will.”

You bite down on the inside of your cheeks to hold back a smile. Spencer often struggles to advocate for his needs, especially with his friends and colleagues, in fear of being a burden or more of a nuisance than he thinks others already perceive him as. He did it a lot with you when you first started dating. It took a lot of time and reassurance that yes, you really did want to know his wants and needs, for him to open up. Telling JJ to ask before touching him may seem small from the outside, but it’s a big deal for him.

After a rather awkward silence, JJ speaks again. “Well, um, I should get going. Just… let us know if you need anything, okay, Spence? We—the team, we’re all here for you.”

“That’s rich,” Spencer mutters behind you and you freeze. You recognize that edge to his voice. It’s usually accompanied by sharp words and remarks that he’ll regret later.

Please please please tell me JJ didn’t hear that.

“I’m sorry?”

Fuck.

“I hate to rush you out, JJ, but we have dinner reservations, so--” you try to interject but Spencer speaks over you.

“I’m just saying, why should I believe you’re here for me when you weren’t last time?”

JJ’s eyebrows come together. “I… don’t understand, I’ve always--”

“No, you haven’t!” It’s like Spencer can’t get the words out fast enough, the way he keeps interrupting before either of you can finish a sentence. This is clearly something that’s been weighing on him. You just wish he was unloading it onto his therapist rather than poor JJ, his best friend outside of you, who’s just trying to be nice. “Ten years ago I was shooting up in police station bathrooms and Emily is the only one who said a damn thing.”

His grip on your clothes tightens, forcing you to take a step back. You move the plate of cookies to one hand and reach back with the other, circling it around his wrist. “Spencer.”

Realization dawns on JJ’s face and she crosses her arms. “Spence, I couldn’t--”

“You couldn’t.” The little laugh he lets out derisive. “Yeah, I’ve heard that before.”

You don’t know where all this is coming from or what he’s referring to, but JJ does, her expression hardening.

“You know what would have happened if the higher ups found out,” she says. “I was protecting your job. We all were.”

“You shouldn’t have!” he cries, emotions other than anger seeping into the words. “This damn job is one of the worst things that’s ever happened to me! I got anthrax poisoning, I still have issues with my knee from being shot. I nearly died from a shot in the neck, and let’s not forget, I was framed for murder by a psychopath I arrested, who then kidnapped my mother while I was in prison! Oh, and what else? Oh right, this job is the reason I’m a fucking addict in the first place!”

JJ’s clearly trying to hold back tears now, but one slips out and your heart aches for her. You close your eyes briefly and take a deep breath, then speak quietly but firmly. “Spencer, you need to leave the room.”

You can hear him breathing shakily behind you. “(Y/N)--”

“Now.” You squeeze his wrist and he finally lets go of your clothing. He takes a few steps away, stops, turns back and opens his mouth to say something, but at the look you give him, shuts it and continues on his way out.

A sniffle draws your attention back to JJ, who’s looking up at the ceiling and swiping at the tears sliding down. “Sorry,” she mutters. “I shouldn’t have come by without giving you a heads-up. I’ve just made things worse.”

“No, JJ, don’t be sorry. It--” There’s thumping noises from further back in the apartment so you step forward and shut the front door behind you. She has her arms wrapped around herself when you turn back.

“It’s not your fault,” you continue. “You were just trying to be nice. You’re a good friend to him. He’s just… everything is really raw for him right now, if that makes sense?”

She nods, wiping at her eyes again.

“It’s, uh, not an excuse, though,” you clarify. “That’s not what I’m trying to say. You didn’t do anything wrong. That was all him, so please don’t blame yourself.”

JJ is quiet for a bit, staring at the floor. Then she says, “I should get going.”

“Yeah, that’s probably for the best,” you agree quietly. Realizing you’re still holding the plate of cookies in one hand, you lift it slightly and add, “Thanks for these. And, um… I’m so sorry about that.”

She shakes her head and glances at the door. “Don’t be. Like you said, it was all him,” she murmurs.

You know she’s right, but you’re still barely able to stop yourself from apologizing again as she descends the stairs. You can’t help but feel like you should have done more, stopped him somehow, even though you don’t know how you could have. The way his behavior changed… it was like he wanted to get it all out, and when Spencer Reid wants to say something, it’s nearly impossible to get him to stop.

The apartment isn’t quiet when you walk back in. There’s the scraping and clatter of a desk drawer, followed by frantic footsteps and the thud of books falling off the shelves. You know what he’s doing, and you know he won’t find anything, so you just lock the front door and continue on to the kitchen to put the cookies away.

You lean on the counter and cover your face with your hands. It doesn’t matter if you mess up your hair or face, or anything, really, because you’re not making it to dinner anymore.

You stay like that for a while, eyes closed, trying to think of a place to even start with Spencer after all of that. When the sounds of him tearing through the apartment stop, you lift you head back up and promptly jump—he’s staring at you from the nearest doorway.

“Jesus, Spencer--”

“Where’s my stuff?” he asks, and the seriousness in his tone of voice makes your anxiety spike. You know exactly what he means by stuff.

“It’s gone. What did you think was gonna happen?”

“Yeah, but it’s…” he trails off and his expression puzzles you. It almost looks like he’s confused. “It’s all gone.”

Ah. “Yeah, well, I know you think you’re sneaky, but you’re very much the opposite when you’re not sober,” you reply. “Finding your hiding spots wasn’t hard.”

He drops his gaze to the floor, frowning. “I don’t like it when you move my things,” he says quietly.

“I don’t like it when you use,” you counter.

He visibly flinches, then his hand tightens on the door frame. “I’m not going to—to take it, I just want to hold it. Where’s my stuff?” he repeats.

“Holding it, right,” you sigh.

“It’s comforting,” he argues.

“Even if I believed that, it wouldn’t matter, Spencer. I threw it all out. There’s none here.”

The humming noise he makes is angry, and he rocks back and forth on his feet in an agitated manner. “You shouldn’t… I don’t….”

I don’t have the energy for this. It’s a thought you feel terrible about as soon as you have it, but it’s the truth. Lara had cautioned you before his first visit that he was going to be hypersensitive to disappointment and frustration until he learned how to cope with the feelings he’d been using the Dilaudid to block out. Unfortunately, the information, while useful, didn’t always make his emotional extremes easier to deal with.

You run a hand down your face. “Spencer…” you start. You’re not sure what to continue with, but you don’t have to—for whatever reason, that sets him off.

He tears his eyes away from the floor to glare at you. “Don’t—don’t touch my things ever again!” Then he turns and all but runs to the bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

You suck in a breath and drop your head to the counter. The marble is cool and you thump your forehead against it gently a few times, focusing on breathing in and out slowly to calm down. When you’re ready, you walk as quietly as you can to the bedroom door and press your ear against it to hear the unmistakable sound of Spencer sobbing into his pillow.

Part of you wants to go in and comfort him, but you suspect that you’d just make it worse right now since some of his frustration is directed at you. And truth be told, you’re frustrated with him, too. So you retreat to the living room, flopping down on the couch and pulling out your phone to call the restaurant to cancel your reservations. Doing so is more upsetting than you expected; a few tears of your own slide down your face after you hang up. Before you know it, you’re calling Tara.

“Hey, what’s up?” she asks you.

“I…” You swallow down the lump in your throat. “Spencer’s… we’re having a bad day. If you’re not busy, can I talk to you about it?”

“Of course,” is her gentle reply, and you pull yourself to your feet, moving to the farthest point away from the bedroom in the apartment so Spencer won’t overhear.

“He got angry when you told him you got rid of everything?” she guesses when you reach that part.

“Yeah. He told me that he doesn’t like it when I move his things. I already knew that; that’s why everything else is where he left it. I think he was mostly just caught off guard that I knew all his hiding places.”

“If he’s having a trauma response to seeing JJ, he’s not going to be thinking clearly, either,” Tara points out. “I wasn’t there, so I could be wrong, but from what you’ve said, it sounds like she was some sort of trigger for him.”

“That’s more than a fair assessment. It’s just… confusing,” you say. “He wasn’t like this with her when he first got home from prison. He actually spent a lot of time at JJ’s house before his relapse. He’d go over and hold Michael when he couldn’t sleep. Why is seeing his best friend suddenly such a bad thing?”

“I don’t know, but it doesn’t have to make sense to us. It only has to make sense to the traumatized part of the brain,” she explains. “He may not even know why himself.”

“Hmm.” You ponder it for a moment. “I think I’d find that interesting if I wasn’t living it.”

Tara laughs out loud at that. “Yeah, I’ve found that to be rather commonplace sentiment in the field of psychology.”

You take a deep breath and let it out slowly, feeling calmer. “Thanks for listening,” you say. “I feel better now.”

“Anytime, (Y/N).”

You exchange goodbyes, making plans to catch up properly over lunch next week. You hang up, then tiptoe back to the bedroom door. It’s quiet now; Spencer seems to have stopped crying. You knock softly. “Honey? Can I come in?”

When he doesn’t respond, you try the door handle. It’s unlocked, which is a good sign—he’s upset, but not upset enough to completely shut you out. You open the door just enough to look in.

Spencer’s on the bed as expected, huddled under his weighted blanket. His back is to the door and you see his shoulders shuddering in the little breaths that follow him crying. In your experience, he usually seeks out comfort before this stage, often having the breakdown itself in your arms or stumbling into them halfway through. This is a bit of uncharted territory. You know that after outbursts of negative emotions, he tends to need reassurance and touch from someone to help him decompress and feel better. You just don’t know if that’s going to hold true for this kind of reaction. A trauma response, Tara called it. You hope it will, because you don’t know what else to do.

“I’m going to come in now,” you tell him before taking a step inside. You leave the door open behind you so he won’t feel trapped, then slowly approach him, looking out for signs that he doesn’t want you near—tensing muscles, slight rocking, shaking his head—but he stays still.

Once you sit down on the edge of the bed you can see his face. His eyes are puffy and his cheeks are red and raw from wiping away tears. A few are still slipping out, sliding sideways down his face and dropping onto the wet patch on his pillowcase as he stares blankly at the wall across the room.

Hesitantly, you reach out and touch his arm as lightly as you can. He takes in a deep breath, but does nothing to suggest that he wants you to remove it. After a few moments to ensure that he’s okay with touch, you start running your hand up and down his back. He whimpers a little in response, closing his eyes and titling back into your touch.

“Are you okay?” you ask softly.

You don’t get a straightforward answer. He chews on his bottom lip for a bit before speaking in a scratchy voice. “Can you…?” he mumbles, lifting his head up slightly from the pillow, then dropping it back down. You don’t know what he’s asking for until you see some of his fingers poking out from under the blanket and the stroking motion they’re making.

You maneuver across the mattress to sit against the headboard, jostling him as little as you can, and he shifts to place his head in your lap. When you start carding your fingers through his hair, his eyes flutter closed and he lets out a little sigh.

“What’s going on?” you ask once the tension has faded and his body has settled fully into the mattress. He just shrugs and you press your lips together to hold back a sigh. You’re familiar with him going nonverbal and you know that he can’t help it, but it’s discouraging. One of the main things he’s been working on is being more open about his emotions. It’s been a welcome change to not have to pry things out of him. But he seems to have gone right back to old habits tonight and it’s… well, it’s disappointing.

The silence carries on for a long time as you continue to run your hands through his hair. He’s so still and relaxed that you think he may have fallen asleep until he takes in a deep, shuddering breath and clears his throat. “I… I want to go back,” he whispers.

“Back whe--” you start, then your heart drops as you realize what he means. “Oh.”

Your hands fall to your lap as he sits up and clambers out of bed, muttering, “gonna get changed.” He shuts the bathroom door behind him—for whatever reason, he’s not always comfortable with you seeing him changing or in the shower anymore—and you sit still for a few moments, processing what he just said. After over a month of listening to him express his desire to come home—begging you, even, in the beginning—you were unprepared to hear the opposite.

You shake your head slightly to try and clear it, then follow his lead, leaving the bed and changing out of your fancy clothes, trying not to think about how much you had been looking forward to wearing them to the restaurant.

Spencer remains quiet for the drive back to his treatment center, staring out the passenger side window, legs pulled into his chest. He mumbles a quick “bye” to you when you check him back in—no hug or kiss on the cheek like you’ve grown accustomed to. Instead he turns right back to the nurse and staff member running the process and asks, “Is Matt working tonight? I need to talk to him.”

At least he wants to talk to someone, you tell yourself as you leave, trying to soothe the sting caused by the fact that the someone isn’t you.

---

The next time you see him is six days later, on Friday evening. You’ve only talked once since Saturday, over the phone on Wednesday night, and it wasn’t a long call. He was upset about the horse therapy appointment being canceled that afternoon because of the weather—it had rained hard all day—and didn’t say much else. He ended the call before the ten minute mark, saying that he was tired and wanted to go lie down.

He also didn’t request a visit for the weekend—he either didn’t think his treatment team would approve it or he just didn’t want one. So you’re visiting him at the center today. You’ve brought dinner with you—you cooked one of his favorites yourself—but before you eat, you’re having an appointment with him and his therapist.

Spencer glances up only briefly when you enter the office, quickly looking back down. One of his knees is bouncing.

You sit down on the other side of the couch, looking between him and Lara in the chair across from you. “So, um, what’s going on?” you ask.

Spencer looks to Lara and she gives him an encouraging nod. He takes in a deep breath before speaking. “I… I wanted to talk to you about what ha—happened last week,” he says quietly, keeping his gaze on his lap.

You don’t know why exactly he wants to do it here, with his therapist, but wanting to talk about it at all is a good sign.. “Okay. I’m listening.”

“Right, um. Seeing… seeing JJ, it--” he stops abruptly, and his hands tremble slightly as he runs them down his thighs. “Sorry, doing… doing this is making me really anxious.”

“Take your time,” Lara says and you nod in agreement.

“Okay.” He runs his hands through his hair a few times before continuing. “Se—seeing her brought up emotions and, and memories I wasn’t ready to, um, confront. It… it really tri—triggered me.”

“Yeah, I could tell,” you say quietly.

Spencer grimaces at the words. He lifts his hand, puts it back down, then lifts it again and rubs at one of his eyes. “I…” he starts, then fixes his gaze on the floor and goes silent.

“(Y/N).” You tear your eyes from him and look at Lara. “Is there anything you’d like to say to Spencer about Saturday? Maybe what it was like for you?”

“Oh. Um.” You chew on your bottom lip for a moment. You’ve worried about how what you say could effect him since his relapse—one of your biggest fears is saying something that would drive him to use. But it’s stressful to keep up with, and with his therapist is probably the best place to start ridding yourself of your new habit of… well, of walking on eggshells around him.

“I think it would be good for him to know,” Lara says.

“Alright.” You lace your fingers together in your lap. “I guess it was just… startling to me. JJ’s your best friend and you’ve never acted that way to her. Or anyone, really, other than your father.”

Spencer stays silent, but flinches at the mention of his dad.

“Do you have anything to say to that?” Lara prompts. He shakes his head, so she looks back to you. “How did seeing Spencer like that make you feel?”

You take in a deep breath and let it out slowly; you’re a little scared to say, not wanting to make him feel worse. “It was… distressing. Especially when he got mad at me for getting rid of his Dilaudid. I know he doesn’t like having his things touched without permission but I don’t think it was reasonable to expect that I wouldn’t have done that.”

Lara nods. “That makes sense. But our feelings aren’t always logical.”

“Yeah, I understand. I guess I just wish he would have told me what was wrong instead of being silent--”

Spencer finally speaks up then, in protest. “I couldn’t help it!”

“I—I know that,” you argue back. “I just—I’m just telling you how I felt.”

He looks away, folding his arms and sinking further into the couch.

“Spencer,” Lara says gently. “You wanted to know how (Y/N) felt, remember? And we talked about how you were probably going to hear things you wouldn’t like.”

You blink, taken aback that this was his idea. And with that comes the realization of just how long it’s been since he’s asked how you’re feeling. Thinking back, you realize that the last time you had a conversation that wasn’t only focused on his feelings and well-being was the day you found him asleep and tied to his mother. This… it’s Spencer before prison.

You’re drawn out of your thoughts by him sighing and muttering, “Yeah, I remember.”

“Alright. Anything else?” Lara asks you.

There’s a lot else, you’re discovering, but you’re not sure you can unpack it all right now. “Maybe…” you say. “Maybe he could just tell me what I can do to help when he’s… triggered?”

“I don’t know,” he says dully, and when he catches the small frown on your face, insists, “I don’t.”

“Yet,” Lara adds.

He sighs again. “Yet,” he repeats.

“I know it’s frustrating,” she says. “Your solution to these kinds of feelings before was denial or using. A solution, not just a problem,” she emphasizes. “I want you both to try and think of it like that, and get comfortable with the fact that it’s going to take awhile to overcome those habits.”

A solution, not a problem. It’s… weird to think of his addiction that way, but you can try, so you give her a nod.

“Yeah, yeah,” Spencer mumbles. But behind the defensive body language, he just seems tired.

He seems to relax a little when the meeting wraps up and it’s only the two of you in one of the rooms used for visits. He remains quiet, but when you place the plate of food you dish him across the table from yours, he slides it back and sits in the chair beside you. “Sorry,” he whispers as soon as you take a bite of food.

“For what?” you ask once you’ve swallowed.

“For yelling at you on Saturday,” he says quietly. “I was upset but I shouldn’t have yelled.”

His leg is bouncing under the table; you put your hand on his knee to still it. “Apology accepted,” you say softly.

He shakes his head slightly. “You don’t have to. I was awful to you on Saturday.”

You frown at his skewed interpretation of events. “Spencer, you really weren’t. You yelled at me, yes, but other than that, you were fine.” And you’ve said much worse when you’ve been high.

“I ruined dinner. And don’t say it’s not a big deal,” he adds before you can speak. “You mentioned it every time we spoke in the week leading up to it. You were really excited about it, and I ruined it.”

Spencer’s read you like a book—that was exactly what you were going to say. “Yeah, I was really looking forward to it,” you admit. “And it sucked to have to cancel the reservations. But there will be other dinners, and it’s not like you did it on purpose.”

“But what if I did?” His voice is so quiet that you wouldn’t have heard him if he wasn’t right next to you.

“What do you mean?”

“I just mean…” he rocks slightly in his seat, which you immediately recognize as one of his self-soothing behaviors. You move your hand from his knee to his hair, lightly running your fingers through the curls covering the nape of his neck to try and help. His head tilts forward a little at your touch and after a brief silence, he continues. “I just mean that self-sabotage wouldn’t exactly be something new for me.”

“Oh.” You take your time considering it; he won’t believe you if you give in to your knee-jerk reaction to protest the negative feelings he harbors towards himself. But he grows agitated at your silence, rocking a bit harder and rubbing at his eye. You tug his hair lightly without really thinking about it in response.

“I’m just thinking,” you assure. “You deserve an honest, thought-out answer.”

After taking a deep breath, he nods. “Okay. I understand. Maybe you could just, uh… to help c--comfort…” He swallows and his voice drops back to a whisper. “Could you do that again?”

“Do what?”

“Um, pull… pull my hair. You did that a few moments ago. Please?”

You almost want to tease him—a year ago, you would have. But he’s been so timid and unsure when asking for any intimate touch other than cuddling since he got back from prison. You don’t want to discourage him from asking any more than he seems to be discouraging himself.

“Of course, baby,” you answer softly, and do just that. He closes his eyes and drops his head onto your shoulder. “As far as the self-sabotaging goes, you’re… not good at lying to me,” you muse. “And after six years with you, I feel like I’m pretty familiar with all the ways Spencer Reid self-sabotages. This never even crossed my mind until you brought it up, so I don’t see that as being what happened.”

You can’t tell if he believes you. A neutral “okay” is all you get from him, but at least he’s not outright disagreeing.

You gently pull his hair a few more times. “You should eat before it gets cold and we have to heat it up again.”

He takes the suggestion, picking his fork up, but you’ve never seen him less enthused about eating one of his favorite foods. He’s only cleared half of his plate when you’re done with all of yours.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

You can’t help but sigh at the habitual response, and consider your next words carefully. “Spencer, I don’t mean to be pushy, but you told me you were working on not dismissing people’s concern for you when they express it.”

“I am,” he mutters, but doesn’t say anything else, just continues to push his food around his plate aimlessly.

“Well, is something wrong with the food?” you ask. “Did I get the texture wrong, or--”

“No, no,” he interrupts, shaking his head. “It’s not the food. The food’s great. It’s… it’s me that’s the problem.”

Your eyebrows come together. “I don’t understand.”

“I…” He starts to blush. “I’m not eating it all because I think I need to lose some weight.”

“Don’t you dare,” you say immediately without thinking. He makes a startled noise at the same time you clap your hand over your mouth. You definitely don’t want him to lose weight, you just hadn’t meant for it to come out like that.

On the day he came home and agreed to treatment, you’d seen just how underweight he’d become as you helped him unbutton his shirt. The stark outline of his ribs against his skin had been scary, and you had no desire to see that again. It was a relief when he started to gain back what he’d lost in prison and afterwards. And you were happy to see him continue to put on even more than that.

You clear your throat. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to say it like that. You were just so skinny when you got here. You look good like this.”

“I’ve never weighed this much before,” he says, and the distress in his tone makes you think that this is a fact that has been bothering him for a while. “Some of my clothes are getting too tight.”

“We can buy you new clothes.”

“But we don’t know how much longer the insurance will cover my stay here. Residential treatment is expensive. We don’t need to be spending extra money on clothes when I could just lose the weight instead and not need them.”

“Hey.” You put your hand on his cheek. “I don’t want you to worry about money. The insurance is covering it for now. If they stop, that’s a problem to deal with when we get there. Just focus on getting better.”

He looks away from you, down to his lap. “I should still lose some weight,” he says eventually.

“Have you medical staff told you that?” you inquire, raising an eyebrow.

“No,” he admits with a sigh.

“Then you’re not allowed to worry about it,” you say firmly. “Finish your dinner.”

Spencer hesitates, but picks his fork back up. The corners of his mouth turn up just slightly when he starts eating again, telling you that despite his fretting, he’s happy not to stop himself from eating as much as he wants.

He seems to be in a much better mood at the end of the evening than he was when you arrived, though a bit more subdued and quieter than normal. He also appears to be very tired. It’s only 7:30 but he keeps yawning. He denies dozing off with his head on your shoulder while you were talking after dinner, but you’re sure he did.

During your parting hug, he nestles his face into your neck just like he always does when you’re sleeping in bed together. “Try and get some good sleep tonight,” you encourage, smoothing your hands down his back. “And Spencer?”

He pulls back to look at you and you settle your hands lightly on his waist. “I meant it, you know.” You squeeze slightly. “When I said you look good like this.”

It takes him a few moments to catch onto what you’re implying; when he does, his eyebrows shoot up and his breath catches. “Oh. O—okay. I’ll, um…” he glances down shyly. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“You better.” You look over your shoulder as you leave, and the small smile he’s wearing prompts one of your own.

--------------- 

tell me what you thought here!

i'd like to put it out there that i don’t hate jj and i really hope it didn’t come across like that. i hadn’t even planned that scene; it just wrote itself. i promise it’ll be resolved before the end of this fic.

another shoutout to the book The Body Keeps the Score for helping immensely with the planning and writing of this. i literally have pages of notes from it. 

you can also find irl pictures of spencer’s therapy horse here.

all we can do taglist: @thatsonezesty13 , @jhillio , @elitereid

general taglist: @calm-and-doctor

[matthewtkachuk]

feel something pt 1 - jj

On the outside, you’re a kook princess with a seemingly perfect life and a perfect family. The expectations are suffocating you, to the point where the only thing you feel is numb. You’re chasing different coping mechanisms in order to feel something. Until a chance encounter with a certain blond pogue you know you’re supposed to hate gives rise to a different kind of feeling.

Warnings: angst, toxic behaviour, poor coping mechanisms, drug usage, mentions of sex, mentions of suicidal ideations (brief), Rafe being a grade a asshole, shitty parents

Pairings: JJ x reader (eventually), Rafe x reader (slight), Topper x reader (slight)

Words: 3.1k

A/N: I accidentally deleted this, ugh sorry if you see this again!! I started off wanting to write a supremely angsty one shot, turned into a supremely angsty multi-chapter fic. This is a slow burn, babyy. Here’s the set up, let me know what you think! :)

series masterlist

You stand teetering on the edge of the balcony railing, barefoot and facing the waves as they crash onto the beach. You’re not thinking about jumping. At least you’re pretty sure you won’t actually jump. Really you’re just looking for even a flicker of an emotion to stir up in your chest. Lately you haven’t felt anything more than mild annoyance at your parent’s constant bickering and pestering. You know you’re too young, but all you feel anymore is numb. You lift your left leg, balancing precariously on the right for a minute before lowering it and returning to the balcony and slipping your heels back on.

You don’t want to die, you just don’t want to live like this. Kook princess, paraded and practically pimped around by your parents, looking for you to find an advantageous marriage, have 2.5 kids and further accumulate your hoarded wealth. “Why don’t you date the Cameron boy? He’s quite good looking and your father would love it if you married his business partner’s son” and “The Thornton boy would be a good match, the family mansion is the largest” and “Jacob Kane’s father is a name partner at a successful law firm on the mainland”. Your mother’s incessant nagging about finding the perfect husband only further cements your lack of value as a human being, your usefulness tapped out at your ability to be someone’s wife.

You don’t understand the wealth accumulation thing, your trust fund probably equals the national budget of a small country already, and there’s no way anyone could blow through the entire family fortune in a single generation. At this point, it just feels like generating wealth for the sake of generating it. What good is money if it just sits in a bank account or investment portfolio, earning passive income and not being used for anything.

You recognize you’re very privileged, you’ve never once had to worry about where your next meal would come from, you have a closet full of designer handbags and red bottom shoes the value of which could feed several families on the Cut. But what’s the cost? You feel suffocated by the pressure bestowed upon you by your parents. You’re the eldest sibling, primary heiress to the Y/L/N family fortune and expected future successor of the family business. Truthfully, you couldn’t give less of a fuck about retail development or whatever it is that keeps your father so busy that he missed every single one of your piano and ballet recitals growing up. You like the idea of studying Shakespeare’s sonnets and soliloquies over learning about mergers and acquisitions and tax avoidance laws at college, but you know your father would sooner cut you off than let you pursue your own passions.

Sometimes you let yourself fantasize about leaving it all behind, running off to some college like Columbia, moving to New York and living in the city that never sleeps. With your 4.0 GPA and stellar extracurricular activities, you could probably get a pretty good scholarship. Or maybe Paris, where you would sit in a cute little caf�� flirting with French boys and writing poetry by the Seine River. But it would be hard, and you’re too much of a coward to see if you could make it on your own without daddy’s money. Not to mention the little voice in the back of your head that sounds suspiciously like your mothers telling you that you’ll never amount to anything without their help.

Later, you’re wandering the party, both hands curled tightly around the cup you hold to your lips, eyes staring out at the crowd over the rim. Unfortunately, you catch Rafe Cameron’s eye as he’s sat around the coffee table with a freshly cut white line ready on the surface. He’s surrounded by the idiots he calls friends and more than one pretty little rich girl making eyes at him. The left corner of his mouth turns up in a smirk as he realizes you’ve sized up the company around him.

“Hey Y/L/N, want a line? First one’s on me, babe.” He calls out at you, but you just roll your eyes and keep moving forward. As desperate as you are to feel something, you’re not sure you can cross that line just yet. Partaking in the occasional joint or bong rip is one thing, but hard drugs is another. You don’t think trading in the empty feeling in your chest for an addiction is worth it. Seeing the blown out pupils of some of your peers, and the way they not-so-discreetly sniff and wipe at their noses you realize you’re likely alone in that assessment. “Your loss!” he calls out at your retreating form, and you don’t even bother to look over your shoulder. You know he’s not really interested in you beyond making you a customer and maybe a quick fuck.

You snort to yourself, wondering what your mother would think about the boy she wanted you to pursue offering you a line of coke at a party. Knowing her, she would focus on the fact that you had gained his attention and ignore the illicit substance.

Making your way through the cluster of bodies is harder than you had initially thought, everyone was on everyone. Every kook party ends up this way, a certain subset of the group coked out and the rest so drunk they can’t function, and you begin to wonder why you even bothered coming.

You’re not totally sure what you’re looking for, your best friend and Rafe’s younger sister Sarah doesn’t really associate with this crowd anymore ever since she started spending all her time with the less fortunate side of the island. Rafe had called it ‘slumming with those dirty fucking pogues’ the last time Sarah had partied with you. Maybe it isn’t right to call her your best friend anymore because not only does she not associate with this crowd, she doesn’t really associate with you either.

You know she’s hanging with Kie again, there are a lot of watchful eyes on the island and even more flapping lips. It’s kind of ironic, Sarah was the one who convinced you to drop Kie, and you had let her. Now the two of them were spending all their time together on some dilapidated boat named after the inhabitants of the Cut and you were alone at some lame party with a heavy weight on your chest and under your eyes.

Sighing deeply, you down the rest of the contents of your cup and grab a refill before turning your attention back to the crowd of people in the middle of the living room. As your brain starts to fog further with the familiar feeling four vodka crans give you, you let Topper put his hands on your hips and pull your bodies close together, your back to his front. A voice in the back of your mind wonders if you’re supposed to feel guilt over Sarah’s ex’s hands all over your body, but you don’t feel anything and Sarah clearly doesn’t give a fuck about you either.

The next morning you wake up with Topper’s hands around your bare waist. There’s a pain radiating against your skull and you have cotton mouth, but you quietly gather your clothes and sneak out of the room before the sleeping blonde can wake up and give you that regretful look he gets in his eyes every time you hook up. You know he still loves Sarah, in his own fucked up way and though you don’t regret where you woke up, you know you’ll just be annoyed if you have to deal with his issues this early in the morning with this bad of a hangover.

You’ve almost successfully left the large mansion, quietly walking through the living room to the front door when a voice remarks dryly, “Really, y/n? I thought you were better than my sister’s leftovers.”

Inhaling through your nose and out your mouth sharply, you spin on your heel to face Rafe with a blank expression on your face. He sits at the kitchen island, bare-chested with his hat on backwards, casually eating a bowl of cereal. The thought of why exactly Rafe is sitting half naked in Topper’s kitchen, eating Topper’s cereal briefly flashes through your mind but you decide you don’t care. “What do you care Rafe?” you ask, only half interested in his response. There’s a moment of silence, and you pick at your fingernails rather than meet his gaze.

“I’m just saying, I thought you were better than that,” he shrugs, bringing another spoonful to his mouth.

You roll your eyes, already tired of the conversation, “And who, pray tell, is better for me?”

“Me of course,” he smirks at you, and you huff out an annoyed laugh and raise an eyebrow silently asking him to explain. “Come on princess, I know your parents want you to marry up. ‘m your best option on this island”.

Mildly annoyed, you roll your eyes and turn back towards the front door, eager to leave this conversation behind. “C’mon baby, we both know how this thing ends, with you on my arm as the perfect trophy wife.”

There was a time those words might have brought butterflies in your stomach. Growing up best friends with Sarah meant you also grew up with Rafe, and you used to have the biggest crush on him. Forbidden by Sarah after a late night game of truth or dare, you didn’t use to mind when your mother would spout off about Rafe being the perfect boy for you. He used to look out for you like he did for Sarah. But that was a long time ago, and he no longer cared about either of you anymore and you had to admit you couldn’t remember why you had ever thought him anything but repulsive. That was before the drugs and the untethered rage that always rests just under the surface of his skin, ready to be unleashed at the smallest slight. You might have married the little boy with the gap toothed smile who once punched Jacob Kane when you were in the second grade and he wouldn’t stop bothering you, but this Rafe wasn’t good for anything beyond a quick meeting in the dark.

If you had been able to feel anything, you might have snapped back at him, but you had no energy and honestly all you wanted was to shower in your own shower and collapse in your own bed, so you ignored his comment and slipped out the door.

It was a quick walk back to your house, and you snuck in quietly through the front door hoping no one was home and your dreams of slumbering until the early afternoon could be realized. Unfortunately, your mother sat on the cream colored chaise in the sitting room, clearly anticipating your arrival. Her eyes quickly scanned your appearance, your manolos held by the straps in your right hand, your sex hair and décolletage you were sure was covered in bites and bruises caused by overeager lips, before sighing.

“Y/n, darling, you have to stop this silly behaviour and settle down. Boys aren’t going to want to lock you down if they’ve already had you.” She criticizes, effectively slut-shaming you. You roll your eyes at that, briefly wondering if the old wives tale was true and you’d end up with your eyes stuck like that. You decide you don’t mind, it would save you some time as your base reaction to most interactions is to roll them.

“I had a rough night mom, I’d like to go back to bed,” you tell her as you try to slip past her. A cold hand circles your wrist, stiletto tipped manicure digging slightly into the skin stopping you from moving any further.

“I’m serious, y/n, you’re better than this.” She throws the same words Rafe had at you. Exasperated and exhausted you rip your wrist from her grasp and head to the stairs. “We’re not done talking about this!” she shouts but you ignore her and continue towards your nice shower and bed.

Rolling over to an empty bed several hours later, you grumble as you try to identify the source of your wakeup call. Cursing as you smack your arm against your side table, you finally manage to grab your ringing cell phone. Seeing RC flash as the contact calling, you groan loudly, before hitting the decline button and rolling back over. A minute later your phone chimes again, indicating a voice mail.

You figure there’s no point in drawing out the inevitable, so you unlock the phone and listen the voicemail Rafe left. He’s invited you to hang out with him and his friends on his dad’s yacht. Before you can talk yourself out of it, you’ve sent him a text to say you’d be there in an hour. Despite there being no love lost between you and Rafe, you really don’t have any better options and maybe if you tell your mom who you’re hanging out with she’ll get off your back and not subject you to The Lecture. You and Sarah used to laugh and joke about The Lecture, about how being a Y/L/N means being perfect and obtaining a perfect husband. The two of you would mock your mother, exaggerating her southern drawl that slipped out as she lectured you on the importance of propriety and ‘leaving something to the imagination’.

As you slip on a navy sundress with a deep neckline, you laugh, thinking to yourself that there’s not much left to leave to the imagination. You take the time to curl the ends of your hair to create a bouncy wave and apply a few coats of waterproof mascara and lip gloss. The humid heat of the OBX keeps your makeup routine light in the summer.

“And just where do you think you’re going?” Shit. Your dad’s home, he knows you stayed out all night, and he’s pissed. You don’t think your mom told him the full story, because he’s not frothing at the mouth mad, just his typical disappointed mad.

“Rafe invited a couple of friends to hang out on his dad’s yacht, daddy,” you reply back, not meeting his eyes.

You can tell your dad disapproves, because the lines between his eyebrows are more pronounced with his narrowed eyes. As he starts to give you what you’re sure is an impassioned lecture, your mother pops up out of nowhere, gushing, “Rafe? Well of course you can go sweetie, isn’t that right hon?” she turns to your dad, a single eyebrow raised daring him to defy her. Your parents are the ultimate power couple, wielding power and guilt over each other almost as easily as they try to do to you.

He sighs, realizing the fight with his vengeful wife isn’t worth the lesson you’re not going to learn anyway and nods, “Alright, just be back for supper, we’re going to sit down as a family tonight. And tell Sarah we said hi.”

If either parent noticed your stiffened back, they don’t comment on it. You hadn’t told them that Sarah dumped you like yesterday’s news just yet. Why blow a perfect cover story? Again, the lack of guilt should probably concern you, but you’re more focused on the very expensive, very good quality wine that you know is waiting for you on the Cameron’s yacht.

An hour later, you’re sitting between a very uncomfortable Topper and a disinterested Kelce with a full wineglass in your left hand. Your right hand slides your sunglasses back onto your eyes to shield them from the harsh sunlight that beats down directly on your face.

You can’t find the energy to strike up a conversation with either of them, and they don’t seem very inclined to start one either, so you turn your head to the side and look out at the water until you see a familiar beat up boat approaching. You visibly tense as your eyes lock on your blonde former best friend laughing with her arm around John B as their stupid friends talk and laugh around them. “You okay, y/n?” Kelce finally speaks, noticing your change in posture.

“Never better,” you drily reply moving to turn your head back to the other side of the yacht, as if the other boat on the water didn’t exist at all. Your eyes briefly flicker to the other blond on the boat, taut muscles on display beyond the ratty cut-off tank top as the pogue known as JJ attempts to wrestle with his friend Pope. You feel a drop in your stomach that perplexes you as your eyes scan his sunkissed skin. Startled, you turn your head quickly and take a huge sip of your wine.

You anticipated some sort of confrontation, maybe a thrown insult, but their boat simply eclipsed the yacht and they continued on their way. You were annoyed by the concerned look that Kelce threw your way after they had left, so you downed your glass and grabbed Rafe’s hand and all but dragged him inside the cabin.

The second the door shuts behind you, you’re on him, mouths mashing in a hungry kiss. He smirks against your mouth and leads you into the bathroom and proceeds to rid you of your clothes.

As you’re letting Rafe Cameron fuck you in the bathroom of his yacht, your mind can’t help but think you’re fucking over Sarah, too.

“Fuck baby, you feel so good,” he praises in your ear as he thrusts into you from behind. You don’t even have the energy to fake a moan, you just lean your head back against his shoulder.

When he’s finished, you simply slip your dress back on, refill your glass and sit back between Topper and Kelce as if they didn’t just hear you hook up with their best friend.

You go to bed early that night after a “nice family dinner” that consists of back-handed compliments and your mother fishing for details about your time on the yacht. You don’t think she’d be too pleased about letting Rafe ‘have you’ before ‘locking you down’, so you keep it to a minimum. Both parents drill it into your head that as a Y/L/N, you’re held to a higher standard than your peers. Perfect grades, perfect life, perfect daughter. You don’t know how to tell them you don’t even feel human anymore, so you smile and nod as they pester and nag. Your little sister sits quietly the whole time, looking at you with an emotion you can’t quite decipher.

[grace-sully]

Jealous

* this is not my gif; all credit goes to the owner.

Paring: JJ Maybank x Fem!Reader

Warnings: swearing

Word count: 2667

Summary: JJ likes you but hasn’t asked you out yet because of the rule, but he sees someone flirting with you and gets Jealous.

Requested: yes! - Can you do a jealous jj maybank imagine??

A/N: this is by far the most i've ever written but it was a fun request to write. Hope this was what you were looking for!! <3 also im very, very sorry it's taken so long pls forgive me 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

You had joined the infamous Pogues after moving to the Outer Banks when you were 9 and lived in the neighbouring house of JJ. He first spoke to you when he and John B were climbing trees in his back garden. Curious as to what the two boys were playing, you joined in. Back then it was just you, John B and JJ against the world, and you would make in known. 

Pope later joined the three of you after being in some of the same classes with you and the boys, and were instantly drawn to his honesty, charm and it also didn't hurt that he was so smart, you could get him to help you all out with your homework.

Then came Kie and as much as you loved the boys, you were so glad there was finally a girl around. You and her became best friends almost immediately when you saw her surfing one day alone, and later invited her to join you with the others. You then learned that she was technically a kook, but was surprised when she was completely different from the stuck up rich that occupied Figure 8, and was actually bearable to be around.

And from then on, you had always been the voice of reason within the Pogues.

However, anyone could see there was clearly something special between you and JJ. Everyone in the town believed you two already were together or would  end up together eventually. You had been one of JJ's closest friends his entire life, behind John B that is, whenever you two were together, the space would just be filled with laughter, constant bickering and just enjoying each other’s company.

You couldn’t see him that way, or so you told yourself. You were both completely different, and would never work as a couple. And besides, even if you did like him, he would never want to date you anyway. And due to the ‘no Pogue on Pogue macking’ you never thought of him or any of the other Pogues in that way and tried to avoid having a romantic relationship for obvious reasons.

It was a typical summer evening for the Pogues. After spending a day on the water, swimming, listening to music and being around each other's company, Kie suggested getting food at her parent’s restaurant. And the thought of free food made you and the other Pogues agree instantly.

Once Kie persuaded her dad in letting you all eat the leftovers, Mr, Carrera banished you all to a secluded table at the back of his restaurant, away from any of the actual paying customers. 

Sitting down with JJ to your left, you conversed with the other Pogues before you saw Kie return with a tray of food and jug of water for you all to enjoy.

You shrieked in shock as you felt something cold being smeared across your cheek, turning around you saw JJ sat beside you, owning a smug look on his face and  ketchup covering his fingers.

Grabbing a spare fry that was lying on the table, you threw it in his direction. Hitting him directly in the chest, he faked being hurt, holding his chest.

He then retaliated by throwing another fry at you. Soon it became a full on food fight between you two, while you giggled until you were out of breath.

“Can we not be kicked out by my dad please,” Kie spoke, trying to stop the chaos that you and JJ created.

He chuckled, stopping his movements before sipping his drink and digging back into his food that sat in front of him. You followed suit, still giggling.

“Shit!” John B squealed, quickly picking up a cup he knocked over in the chaos of yours and JJ’s spontaneous fight, and moving a few things out of the way from the spilled water to not get wet.

“Really John B, right in front of my salad,” Kie said, staring at the brunette boy trying to clean up the mess he made.

“Don’t worry I get some napkins” you sighed, John B gave you a nod in thanks and you found yourself walking up towards the countertop to grab the napkins. 

As you grabbed a pile of napkins from the bartop, you felt a hand on your waist and a head lean against your shoulder while feeling someone breathing against your ear.

You were surprised when you turned around to be greeted by a very familiar face.

“Hi.” Harry, a colleague from your work greeted you as he leaned in to kiss your cheek, “I wasn’t expecting to run into you in this fine establishment.”

The flirty banter between the two of you is not new. You had met Harry when he started working during your second month of being at the Figure 8 Country Club. He was a natural flirt, some people would call it cocky, but everyone knew he was harmless.

You haven't seen him in about a month due to the hurricane that swept through the island a few weeks back, and then scheduling issues kept you apart from most of your work friends.

“I could say the same to you.” you reply, still a little surprised to see him here. 

“It’s my parents anniversary.” He said simply, looking over his shoulder to a group of people all sat at a table on the opposite end of the building, chatting amongst themselves.

You nodded, coming to terms that it wasn’t just you and your friends at the Wreck, like it usually felt like when you were all together, stealing the scraps from Mr. Carrera.

He chuckled, leaning his elbow on the countertop to get a little closer to you, focusing all of his attention on you, “So, how have you been since the hurricane and all?”

“I’ve been alright. Helping out folks where I can,” you chuckled, before pointing behind him to the table where you all sat “and hanging out with my friends how about you?”

“Been good, time away was fun, missed your beautiful face though” he said through a smirk

“Easy, ” You warn, rolling your eyes and smacking his arm playfully before shaking your head and walking back to where your friends were, but you noticed Harry following after you.

As you approach the table, you noticed how JJ’s knuckles were gripped into a fist. His eyes were following behind you to where Harry was, which caused you to raise your eyebrow slightly at him. He saw your wandering eye and just scoffed, ignoring the look you were giving him as he took a sip of his water and sighed, watching as you proceed to introduce the Pogues to Harry.

“Guys this is Harry who I work with. Harry this is John B, Kiara, Pope and JJ.” you introduced pointing to each appropriate Pogue.

You had spoken fondly about Harry to your best friends. He was a great stress relief at work and it was nice to interact with someone different from who you usually hung out with. He was a few years older then you so you didn't share any mutual friends and never saw him around at parties.

“Hi. It’s so good to meet you all.” Harry grinned, extending his hand out to Pope and John B, who both returned his polite greeting, Kie gave him a small wave from across the table, while JJ let out another loud sigh obviously meant to be heard.

“You too.” JJ replied, voice full of sarcasm, as he waved his right hand while taking a sip of his water with his left.

Sitting yourself back down in your seat beside JJ, you gave him a slight nudge with your shoulder to ask him what was the matter as you knew he was a lot more polite when he met people so it certainly surprised you when his expression towards Harry seemed a little dry. You assumed that he was just tired, as his dad had been giving him a hard time recently and he had been living at John B’s for a few days now. But unbeknownst to you, JJ’s blood had been boiling the moment he had witnessed Harry approach you at the counter top.

Harry made friendly conversation with John B and Pope, while you focused all of your attention on the way JJ had been when you were talking with Harry. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Harry walk around the table and stand behind you, feeling him lean his body weight against the back of your chair that you were sitting in, causing you to focus back in on the conversation happening around you.

“Well I just can't wait to have Y/N all to myself again!” Harry placed his hands atop of your shoulders massaging them gently as all of the Pogues around you chuckled, including you to try and make it seem like you have been listening all this time and not thinking about the blonde boy next to you .

Watching Harry's hands remain on your shoulders, he was not happy about the way Harry had been acting around you. It was a strange feeling being jealous, he definitely wasn’t used to it. Deep down he knew he had no reason to feel this way because you weren’t his.

That was it. He had had enough. He slammed his fist against the table, gaining the attention of the other Pogues and marched in the direction of the exit, leaving you just as confused as the others who all sat with confused faces, they watched as JJ stormed out of the building, baffled as to what had caused his sudden tantrum.

You quickly turned over to Kie with a confused look on your face, mouthing a 'what the fuck’ to see if she had picked up on something you didnt, before getting up from your seat to quick to follow after your best friend. Curious about what caused his sudden outburst.

You found him standing outside by the deck, his back to you. His knuckles were still white as they gripped the wooden railing in front of him as he huffed, raking his fingers through his own hair.

“What the fuck was that?” You called out to him as you walked up to him. You stopped a few meters behind him waiting for him to answer, “What the hell has gotten into your head?”

He wasn’t his usual carefree self right now, that was obvious. You crossed your arms across your chest, a stubborn stance that couldn’t even come close to the outrage that sparked in your eyes. 

He quickly turned back to look at you and you noticed that his jaw was tightly clamped shut, his fists would stay firmly by his sides and was trying to regain his composure by controlling his heavy breathing, but failing miserably.

“I don't like him,” he said firmly, shaking his head lightly. The tension in his body made him stand rigid as he continued to stare at you with steam coming out of his ears.

“What are you talking about?” you asked him confused.

"The way he put his arm around you. The way he talks to you. The way he acts around you, Y/N, okay i don't like it! He was flirting with you!" he practically yells at you as he begins to pace back and forth on his feet, his body still completely rigid as he moves back and forth not even bothering to look at you.

“Is that what all of this is about?” You shook your head, raising your eyebrows to try and challenge him as you crossed your arms against your chest. “You’re jealous of Harry?”

“Y/N, I’m serious,” He paused his movements, looking at you dead in the eyes to hint what he was really trying to say to you when not knowing exactly how to express what he had been feeling for years now. To be honest with you and not wanting to ruin the beautiful friendship that you've had over the years. 

“No, tell me why it bothered you so much.” you ran your hand through your hair, and rolled your eyes, Unable to believe how childish he was being,

"He was flirting with you!”

“That’s just him JJ. He’ll flirt with a rock if he could!” You shook your head and took a deep breath. From an outsider's position, it may look like Harry was trying to come on to you, but anyone who really knows Harry, knows that it's completely harmless, and anyone who watched you knows your heart truly belongs to the boy stood in front of you now, “Are you telling me that you’re mad because someone was flirting with me in your presence?”

“Yeah i'm mad, i'm mad that they are gunna get your attention and you'll go off with them!” he said hanging his head low, finally letting some of the tension leave his body from partially admitting his feelings for you.

You remained silent, waiting for him to elaborate on what he meant. A part of you knew what he was about to say and you were hoping he would say it. You had been dreaming about it for years. But another part of you refused to believe that it was even possible that he had reciprocated feelings for you.

He sighed as he lifted his head to watch your reaction to what he was about to say, “I’ve liked you. For a long, long time now. And I know the rule, no Pogue on Pogue, so I never said anything about it. But this summer has made me realize how much I liked you more than just as a friend. And I know I probably fucked up our friendship for good now but… I don’t think I can keep it to myself for any longer.”

JJ liked you. Hearing him say this made you feel a huge weight lift from your chest, as you no longer needed to keep it to yourself either.

“JJ,” You bit down on your lip as you moved closer to him so you were now standing a foot away from him. “I like you too.”

With a huge grin plastered across your face, you let out a slight giggle, watching the smile on JJ’s face was the most amazing sight you had ever seen.

He put a hand on the back of your neck and pulled you to him, his lips against yours with his other hand at your waist. You were hit with the reminder of how it felt to have his soft lips on yours. 

You had only kissed him once before. A Touron at a boneyard party was being super clingy to JJ and he just wanted to shake her, so he claimed that you were his girlfriends and weren’t interested in her. She, of course, didn’t believe him so he kissed you to make it more believable. You had been comfortable with doing so as you had been wanting to get rid of her all night. This was a real kiss, filled with love and passion. You melted into the kiss, holding JJ closer. Wanting to pinch yourself to make sure this wasn’t a dream.

After a few moments, you both pull away, pressing your foreheads together, out of breath.

“Oh my god.”

You quickly pulled away from JJ and turned to see John B stood with his eyes wide, staring at the two of you still wrapped up in each other’s arms, shocked at what he had just  walked in on.

“Dude, it's not what it looks like,” JJ tried to explain.

“Pope!, you owe me $20!” He exclaimed as he ran back the way he came

You giggled. “I think we have a lot of explaining to do.”

“Sounds like they already know,” JJ smiled and kissed Y/N’s forehead before wrapping an arm around her and leading her back to the rest of the Pogues.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed it, please give it a reblog and leave some love <3

[bunnyywritings]

perfection

dabi x fem!reader

[a/n: I’m gonna be honest, I’ve been feeling super crappy lately. I’ve just been insecure about my body, my mental health has gotten somewhat worse and I’ve just been wanting to sleep and stay in bed 24/7 so I decided to write something with one of my comfort characters, I know having Dabi as a comfort character may seem weird but it was between him, tsukishima, kuroo, shoji, and shoto and I haven’t written for a villain yet so...yeah, enjoy- yours truly, bunnyy ps. sorry that was really personal lol ]

Being part of the LOV was a weird existence. Sure sometimes you’d wreak havoc for no reason but that came with a stern talking to from Shigaraki so it didn’t happen often. It usually just came down to planned attacks and whatnot. There were times where you all did ABSOLUTELY nothing. It varied from time to time.

The most recent ‘villainous activity’ you guys had done as a group was rob some bank because you were all short on money and that just seemed like the logical way to solve the problem, the bank had insurance...they’d be fine. It was a simple job, especially with Kurogiri’s quirk. Just a quick in and out. It was the first time in months that you’d been back at the LOV headquarters, which meant that you finally had your own room and it’s not that you minded sharing a room with Toga but you just needed your own space sometimes.

Lately, you had been feeling pretty down about yourself. You had a small slip up a mission or two ago but it seemed to be something you were constantly reminded of. Whether it was Shiggy passive aggressively telling you to ‘not screw up this time,’ or just being betrayed by your own brain when it brought up the memory at 2am and you spent the entire night and into the early morning just thinking about what you could’ve done better. It had been one of those nights so you had stayed in bed till 5pm. You weren’t sleeping though, you were just in bed drifting in and out of a sleep like state. You had gathered enough strength to shower and  throw on a pair of sleep shorts and one of Dabi’s shirts.

As you walked out of the room, you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror and walked back to it. Frown creasing your forehead as you examined yourself. Looking at the way your lower stomach had bulged out a bit despite not having eaten an actual meal in a while or how ugly your thighs looked in shorts. The battle scars that littered the skin, as well as stretch marks and a bit of cellulite. Heaving a sigh, you ran a hand down your face and changed into some sweat pants before finally heading to the bar. Dabi was sat on a bar stool while nursing a glass of whiskey.

“Hey Giri, you have any food hidden back there?” You asked quietly as Dabi wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you into his side. 

“I think I can whip you up some onigiri, how’s that?”

“Sounds great, thanks.” You smiled gratefully.

“I haven’t seen you all day baby.” His deep voice was comforting as his thumb rubbed circles into your hip.

“ ‘s cause I just got out of bed.” Your voice came out slightly slurred with fatigue.

“(Y/n), you look different? Did you gain weight?” The question made your eyes  widen and turn to Twice, he was standing beside Toga. There was a somewhat thick silence before he realized. “Oh I’m so sorry! I don’t know why I said that?!” Panic clear in his voice. Now usually something like this wouldn’t have really bothered you since it was normal for Twice to say something out of pocket like that but today just wasn’t the day.

“Nevermind Giri, I think I’ll pass...sorry.” Your voice was quiet and cracking as you patted the bar top as Kurogiri had returned with the food you’d asked for and peeled yourself out of Dabi’s hold before trudging back to your room.

“You idiot! Why would you say that?! You know (y/n) is self conscious about things like that!” Toga scolded as she smacked Twice upside the head. Dabi had shook his head and grabbed the plate from where it was abandoned, reaching over into the cooler and grabbing two bottles of water.

“Thanks Kurogiri.” He muttered before he walked the familiar path to your room.

His heart broke as soon as he entered and heard your crying being muffled by your pillow. Setting his things down and locking the door, he knelt down by the head of the bed.

“What’s wrong, baby doll?” The quiet rumble of his voice and the feeling of a gentle hand brushing your hair back did absolutely nothing to quell your tears. He waited patiently, hand continuing to run through your hair. Once he heard your cries were starting to reduce to small sniffles, he got up and sat on the edge of the bed. His heart constricting painfully as he watched you hesitantly pull your face from the pillow and quickly wipe your tears with the back of your hand.

“What’s gotten my pretty baby so upset? Hmm?” He knew that it wasn’t necessarily Twice that was making you feel like this.

“Why are you with me, Dabi?” Your broken voice came out as a whisper.

“I’m with you because I love you, (y/n). You make me feel like no one or no thing ever has.” He responded without missing a beat.

“But I’m gross. I have these disgusting marks everywhere on my body, I’m not pretty...at all, I have issues and I’m just a horrible villain.” This caused him to chuckle a bit, which earned him a deadly glare from you.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry I-I thought you were joking.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Come here.” He patted his lap. “Come on.” He urged. You slowly crawled over to him and hovered over his lap but he wasn’t having it. He gripped your waist and pulled you down onto him. “I’m sorry I laughed, okay? I really thought you were joking.” He swept a strand of hair behind your ear. He studied your conflicted features as you avoided his gaze, choosing to stare down at your lap.

“You wanna know what I think?” He asked as he tucked your chin in between his forefinger and thumb, tilting your head back to look at him. “I don’t care about any of that.” You bit your lip. “I mean, you’ve seen me. All of me. I have these nasty scars and staples all over my body. I have severe daddy and mommy issues. I still don’t have complete control of myself and I’m also a horrible villain. You think I have any right to judge anyone else?”

You had opened your mouth to argue but he cut you off, lips engulfing yours in a hungry kiss. You melted into it, the combination of his rough bottom lip and softness of his top one was dizzying as you reciprocated with the same hunger. He ran his hands down your sides, running his hands up and down your thighs.

“I love your thighs. I love how soft they are, how they feel when they’re wrapped around my head when I’m down in between them.” His blunt confession causing your cheeks to flush a deep crimson. “I love your tummy. I love how it feels against my scars when I wrap my arms around you.” He cupped your warm cheeks and placed a kiss on your forehead. “I love your mind. No matter how messed up you think you are, it’s beautiful. I love how whenever you and Kurogiri come up with a plan, you always make sure everyone is in a position where they’ll be safe if something goes wrong.” He pecked your lips three times. “I especially love that evil grin you get whenever you get excited while on a mission or the downright sinful look in your eyes whenever you get what you want.” His voice was filled with lust as he muttered the last part against your lips. You had tears slipping down your cheeks, ones that he instantly kissed away.

He pulled back to get a good look at you. “You know what I see when I look at you, baby doll? I see perfection. Nothing you say or do can change that for me because you’re stuck with me.” He smirked.

“I think I like the sound of that.” You wrapped your arms around him and cuddled into the crook of his neck. “Thank you Dabi.” You pressed kisses against the scarred skin of his collar.

“Anytime baby. You know I love you, right? You can lean on me whenever life gets rough. You’re never alone.” You ran your hands up his neck and into his hair as you sat up and looked him in those beautiful sapphire blue eyes. The eyes that you often got lost in. The ones that bring you comfort.

“I know.” He rested his forehead against yours as you spoke. “I love you too.”

It was a strange existence but it was never a lonely one.

[k7l4d4]

Midnight Striga: Fairy Tail/Owl House Cross Fic Episode 5 Part 10

Hello, and once again, I welcome you to Midnight Striga. Please, enjoy.

Perry Porter strode into the Covention Center, eyes easily panning across and compartmentalizing the tragic sights around him, a skill he picked up by virtue of sheer experience. Clinically, he noted the amount of bodies present, living and dead, as well as the brow-raising sight of what could only be human corpses, if the ears were any indicator. He felt a sinking sensation within his stomach; whatever had occurred today would rock the Isles to its core, of that he had no doubt.

Shaking his head, Perry scanned the crowd again, eyes widening at the sight of a hand waving him over. Rushing over, he slid to a stop in front of his son, Augustus; his silly, energetic, passionate, brilliant son, Augustus, alive and well. “This is Perry Porter, on the scene saying,” He started, before pulling Gus into a hug. “I am so happy you’re alright.” He sighed, relieved, feeling Gus relax into his grip.

“I-I am really glad you got here so quickly dad.” Gus choked out, a light sprinkling of tears in his eyes. “A lot’s happened, and I really, really want to talk with you about it, but something more important came up, and I think you can help out, you know?” He put on his bravest smile, trying to hold in the scream that was building ever since he had managed to process that yes, everything that had happened to today was all but over.

“I really think it would be best that I try and talk with you about what happened here,” Perry began, before noticing the stubborn expression on his son’s face, “But I can see that you won’t budge on this. So, shall we?” He calmly asked, gesturing for his son to lead the way, which he did with a beaming smile.

As they walked through the clinic, Perry idly noted the general behaviors of the people around him; there was his son’s friend, Willow Park, tearfully talking with her parents, a relieved smile on her face. There were the Blight Children, the two eldest tightly squeezing themselves around their younger sister, a baffled look on her face. He saw the crowds of crying, pleading, nervous faces all around. As his son led him into a backroom of the small clinic that had been established, Perry came face to face with three figures; the Emperor’s Coven Head Lilith Clawthorne, Eda the Owl Lady, and a human girl, all seated around a central table, gesturing for him to sit. As his son quickly saw himself out of the room, Perry had the sinking suspicion he was in a bit over his head.

After they explained the situation, as much as they could at least, Perry took a deep breath, holding in a sigh. They wanted his help to spread this information, which he could see the basis behind it- a group that invested this much effort into an attack wasn’t going to just stop and people needed to know about them- but the sheer depth of this reveal would completely change the social landscape of Bonesburough. “Very well, I agree to help with this. Do you have a plan for how we go about this?” He asked Lilith, who seemed to be trying a bit too hard to hold authority over this meeting, despite the lack of resistance from the other two.

Lilith nodded. “We have two real options at this point.” She said, holding up two fingers for emphasis. “We can either do multiple takes and present them later, or we can have this meeting broadcast live as breaking news.” She ticked off the options on her fingers, a grave look of contemplation upon her face. Lilith pursed her lips. “Personally, I favor the second option.”

That caught the group by surprise. “Huh, I honestly thought you’d prefer to get this all perfect and have it presented later.” Eda commented, arching a brow.

Lilith snorted. “Please, sister, give me some credit. The longer we go without addressing this, the more severe public unrest and hysteria will become. While the release of this information will certainly have its own consequences, those are still preferable to the people being left in the dark, and drawing more unsavory conclusions.” Lilith calmly stated, gaining impressed looks from the others.

Perry calmly assembled the equipment he would need, adding in his own take on the situation. “While an official report would normally be prepared by the Emperor’s Coven,” He carefully ignored Eda’s derisive snort, “that would be contingent on them possessing factual information to present. Without it, anything they provided would be woefully inadequate for informing the people. While a Live Report of this interview will most certainly cause a stir, it will ultimately be a mere fraction of what would result if the Emperor’s Coven issued a report that ultimately proved to be false in some capacity.” The group blinked, but, after mulling it over, agreed with what he said; it made sense, if people placed trust in an organization and it failed them, whether as a result of malice or otherwise, there would be backlash.

Perry clapped his hands. “So! Let’s begin, shall we?” They all shared a look, and nodded.

As they gathered around the table, Lilith leaned forward. “Now then, human, it’s time for you to answer my questions. The People of the Isles are dying to hear what you have to say.”

Luz gave a challenging grin. “Ask away. I’m all ears.”

Taking that as his cue, Perry started up the broadcast. Turning the camera to himself, he began, voice grave. “To all the citizens of the Boiling Isles, this is Breaking News, Live from the Covention. I am Perry Porter, reporting on behalf of Emperor’s Coven Head Lilith Clawthorne.” He paused, allowing the prepared footage to play across the crystal balls of all watching; the broken walls and shattered stands, the caged prisoners held under guard, and the bodies of all those who’d died, some gathered together for examination, others… not so much. He continued. “Today, tragedy has struck. For the first time since Emperor Belos’ ascendancy, an organized attack on our people has been committed. Of the over 2000 attendees, approximately half have been slain, and a third of the remainder have sustained moderate to severe injuries. Many of them were children. Of the 300 Coven Guards assigned to the Covention, over half of them have died, with all but a quarter sporting severe injuries.”

“What is most shocking, however, is that those claiming responsibility, a group known as the Black Dog Squadron, working on behalf of a group or individual known as Oroboros, are humans. That’s right, humans!!” Perry exclaimed, milking the drama a bit more than he liked, but needing to keep the audience invested; tragedy could only captivate for so long. “During the attack, all displayed some form of magic, but none, bar a handful who commanded Plant Magic, utilized any of the Nine Magics. How is this possible? Why did this happen? What will we, as a society, do next? To help answer these questions, Lilith Clawthorne has initiated an interview with a human who fought on behalf of our people, one Luz Noceda.” He knew that the girl’s image was now emblazoned across every crystal ball on the Isles at this very moment, leading further weight to his broadcast, in theory at least. “I am here with Coven Head Lilith herself,” He indicated the prominent Witch, who raised her hand to the audience. “To broadcast the interview to you all. Please be advised, some of what may be discussed may be shocking to some viewers.” With his part finished for the moment, Perry fell silent, allowing the broadcast to focus on the interview, more of an interrogation really, going on in the room.

“To ensure that what you say is true,” Lilith began, cutting right to the chase. “I must insist that you swear an Unbreakable Vow to that effect. This way, none can claim you are attempting to deceive us. Is that acceptable?” She asked, holding her hand out to begin forming the spell.

Luz raised an eyebrow, but saw no problem with the spell. She shrugged. “Sounds fine to me.” She said bluntly, prompting a nod from Lilith as she formed the spell. When the circle was completed, the two shook hands through it, sealing the oath. Luz was blissfully unaware of the shock rippling through the Isles, as now none would be able to refute or deny her words without looking insane or foolish. She had effectively solidified her legitimacy irrefutably in a single instant.

“Excellent.” Lilith replied, a grim smile playing across her face. She began. “First of all, I must ask, for how long have humans been capable of magic?”

Luz gave a shrug. “I can’t give you an exact figure, but at least 700 years, most likely more.” She said, unaware and uncaring of the shock that erupted at her statement. Even Lilith wasn’t totally immune, managing to school her features, expertly concealing the bewildered shock at the girl’s reply.

Lilith cleared her throat, forcing her instinctive urge to dive into the historical implications of that statement. As calmly as she could, she continued. “I see. How is magic utilized in Human Society?”

Luz tilted her head a bit. “You’re gonna have to be a bit more specific than that. There are a lot of Human Societies, all of whom have magic capable individuals, and all have their own ways of doing things. A benefit of being the dominant species in our world, is that we can afford to divide ourselves into a LOT of individual cultures and communities.”

Lilith paled at that, unable to stop the question that bubbled up in response. “Just… how many humans are in existence, exactly?”

Luz pondered that for a moment before replying. “I can’t give you an exact number, but I’d say there’s about several hundred million of us. Our world is big, and there are very few places we can’t survive on it.”

Internally shaking her head, and forcing herself not to focus on all the implications that came to mind, Lilith continued with her questions. “What is this Oroboros that the attackers claimed to be working for?”

Luz’s eyes sharpened, a burning hate filling her eyes, enough that even those watching at home suddenly felt very unsafe at the moment. “Oroboros is a criminal organization; specifically, they are the single largest Dark Guild active in the world right now. Oroboros prides itself on its ability to seize control and orchestrate things to its own benefit, without any regard for the harm and chaos that erupts in their wake. Cruelty and brutality are prized and cultivated among their members, almost as much as magical power is. No crime is too heinous, no line too sacred for them to cross.” She hissed out, the pure malicious hate coloring her tone forcing Lilith to gulp in nervousness.

“I see.” And Lilith did see. She had personally borne witness to the aftermath of that cruelty and indifference; however, Luz’s response brought another question to mind, one she felt she needed an answer to. She narrowed her eyes. “Edalyn told me you would be an excellent source of information for this. So far, you have proven to be so, even if my questions have not been exacting enough to gain satisfactory answers as of yet. But that response of yours has me thinking. How do you know about Oroboros, Miss Noceda?” Lilith inquired, eyes focused.

Luz raised an eyebrow, stood up, and turned around. After ensuring her back was presented to the broadcast, she reached back, and pulled down at the back of her outfit. Seared into her flesh lay a symbol, a serpent arranged into a Sideways eight, biting its own tail. “I used to be a member.” Luz said, voice dead and hollow. She turned a heartbreakingly sad smile towards Lilith. “Specifically, I was a member under protest.”

“Elaborate.” Lilith ordered, voice hard and unrelenting. She could feel the urge to bring out her staff and blast this child into oblivion, but tamped it down. She didn’t have all the information yet.

Luz gave a chuckle, bitter and full of the kind of spite that made people glad for what they had. “Oroboros has no limits to what they are willing to do, and that extends to what lengths they are willing to go to for recruits. Whenever someone with a useful skill or magic appears in their information network, they send out recruiters. For those with a few too many morals, such as myself, they like to employ a more… decisive argument.” She turned an empty smile upwards, oblivious to the daggers Lilith was glaring her way. “Oroboros kidnapped my sister, and used her as a hostage to keep me in line.” Lilith froze, unblinking.

Luz continued, oblivious. “Whenever I talked back, Vee was beaten. Whenever I failed an assignment, she had a bone broken. Whenever I completed a job, she got a good meal, after having been starved and deprived of water to just short of death that is.” She smirked, an angry, tired thing. “I hated myself. I wanted to die. I only kept living for her. And then she died; one of her guards decided they wanted to have a little fun with her, and the next anyone knew, the guard was dead, and my sister had a knife in her liver. I was free in the worst way possible.”

Stunned silence rang throughout the Isles, such that even Lilith herself was rendered speechless. Forcing herself to speak, Lilith asked the next question on her mind, one she felt the Isles would wish to know. “Should we consider this an act of War from the Human Realm?”

Luz blinked. Then, she laughed; a deep, cackling laugh filled with so much loathing and misery it was genuinely astonishing a living being could make such a sound. “No. Or at least, not the way you’re thinking. Oroboros is in no way affiliated with any form of Government or Ruling power. It’s a criminal organization that supports itself alone.” She gave a poisonous smile. “While I have no way of knowing if any Human Governments know about the Isles, I can assure you that none of them were involved in this.”

“Well, that’s something good at least.” Lilith said dryly. “What can you tell us about Oroboros in regards to how it is structured?”

Luz leaned back, gathering her memories on the subject. “Oroboros originally began as a Dark Guild that took jobs that other Dark Guilds shied away from, stuff that was extremely messed up and depraved in what was involved to go about them. When the big three Dark Guilds were dismantled, Oroboros clawed its way to the top of the heap after all the infighting died down. After that, they started breaking down and assimilating other Dark Guilds that they thought might be useful. You actually met one of them out there.” Luz offhandedly mentioned.

“Truly?” Lilith broached.

“Yup.” Luz nodded. “Before they became the Black Dog Squadron, the Squad was originally a guild in its own right, Barghast. Barghast was a mercenary guild at first, selling the services of its members as soldiers and fighters to the highest bidder, with an emphasis on fighting in wars. But when the local groups started fighting less, Barghast decided it would be better to start the wars they fought, and sell their services to both sides to keep the conflict going longer.” Luz smiled at that. It was not a nice smile. “When their little scheme came to light, they were branded a Dark Guild and went on the run, before being absorbed into Oroboros.”

Luz leaned forward. “Oroboros likes to present itself as one big unit, and while it can act like one in the field, Oroboros is full of splintered factions and units. The Black Dog Squadron is one of the neutral factions, actually; they don’t care which faction is using them, just as long as they can cause as much suffering and bloodshed as possible. I was an unaligned member, mostly because none of the Squadrons trusted a conscript like me not to stab them in the back, so I didn’t really work with any of the Factions or Squads outside of being paired with them for missions. My jobs were assassinations, thefts, and… less savory things.” Luz admitted, eyes downcast. Tears pooled in her eyes, dripping onto the table.

Lilith pursed her lips, feeling unwilling to judge the girl for compromising herself in the name of her loved ones; if anything, she was impressed the girl had the sense of self not to justify the atrocities she had done as anything other than what they were, a means of sparing the life of her loved one at the expense of others, and felt remorse over having done so. Still, she had two pressing questions to ask. “I must ask, you keep referencing Oroboros as a Dark Guild. Just what is a Guild?”

Luz slumped, feeling spent from the roller-coaster of loathing that always came when she thought about… all she had done. “Guilds are the Human Version of your Coven System, if far less restrictive. I won’t go too far into it, that would take way too much time, but Dark Guilds are essentially guilds that flout the laws that govern what Guilds can and cannot do, and actively have their members engage in crimes. If I had to give a close equivalent, Dark Guilds are basically for us what an Assassin Coven or Thief Coven would be for you. An organized effort to commit crime with little to no regard for who would be hurt as a result.”

Lilith felt a chill run up her spine at the thought. The idea of the Coven System being twisted like that, perverted into a warped, criminal mirror of itself, made her shudder; the implications of what such a thing could do, producing criminals whose magic was specialized to enabling criminal acts… it was a horrifying thought. Lilith swallowed, before jumping into her last question. “I thank you for agreeing to this; some of what you’ve revealed could not have been easy for you. But… I must ask you this; can we count on you to aid us against Oroboros?” She peered forth, unknowingly mimicking the apprehension of many of the citizens watching.

Luz gave her a smoldering glare. “You don’t have anything to worry about. I’ve already seen enough misery because of Oroboros. I won’t let them do as they please anymore, not while I can do something about it.” Luz paused, a thought coming to mind. “Huh, this reminds me of something my teacher said while I was training.”

Lilith raised any eyebrow. “Oh?”

Luz gave Lilith a soft, tired smile. ���Yeah.” She reached up, rolling back her sleeve; Lilith recoiled at the sight. From her elbow to her shoulder, Luz’s arm was a maze of scar tissue, deep gouges and rents woven through the veil of poorly healed flesh; the fact she could use her arm without issue was awe-inspiring, when one considered the pain she must feel every day from such an injury. “I got this when I first tried using my Magic in a combat situation. I was fighting a monster that was bothering some of the fields near the village I was staying at during my training. I had barely been training for a week, having only just barely made a proper spell for the first time less than a day ago. The monster dashed me against a cliff, driving my arm so deep against the stone that it started scraping bone. If my teacher hadn’t intervened, it would’ve eaten me.” She turned to Lilith, sober eyes burning with shame. “I was an idiot. My teacher made sure I remembered that. What they said to me that day, I’ll never forget.” Luz leaned back, before reciting something with the air of quotation. “‘Magic is an unreasonable force. It is wondrous and horrific. It cares nothing for good or evil, or the intentions of those who use it. If you wish to put your skills to such a task as fighting for truth and justice, grow strong. Otherwise, you’ll never be anything more than prey for those with less moral compunctions than you.’” Luz gazed fondly at the ceiling, tears pooling at the memory. “Ever since that day, I swore I would never let myself be too weak to stand up for myself, or what I believe in. I would be strong enough that I could protect others, but also to protect myself.” She gave a chuckle. “Things didn’t work out too well for that promise.”

Lilith just looked on with pity, before turning to Perry. “I think that would be a good point to end the interview. At least for today.”

“Indeed.” Perry nodded. “Well then, you heard it here first, Citizens.-”

“What are you doing?” Lilith queried.

Perry blinked. “I’m… ending the broadcast.”

Lilith shook her head. “Not yet. I still have one thing left to do.” She beckoned her sister forth, who had been silently looking on as the interview went on. Eda’s mind was brimming with questions for Luz, but she was willing to put it aside for when they got back home. For now, she had her sister to deal with. Lilith gazed upon her sister, an unreadable look in her eye. “Earlier, when you defeated me in a Witch’s Duel, your request for your win was that I would tell the truth about your curse to the public, dispelling the official story. We even swore an unbreakable vow over it.” She held up her arm for emphasis, her arm flashing with a white ring. An ominous smile graced her features. “Well, I do believe a live broadcast all across the Isles is certainly public, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Yeah, it is. And I’m glad you’re not putting it off, I am! But… are you feeling okay sis? You seem a little out of it.” Eda asked, genuine concern coloring her voice. The hysterical laugh Lilith gave just added to that concern.

“Oh Edalyn, if you only knew.” She said, wiping away a tear from her outburst, before sobering. “But then, I suppose you will in a moment.” Turning to the broadcast, Lilith braced herself, fully willing to bear the backlash her actions would cause against herself and the Coven from this. “Citizens of the Isles, I, Coven Head Lilith Clawthorne, stand before you to reveal a bitter truth. For years, the story of the Owl Lady has been told, how her defiance and dismissal of the Coven System was punished by the Titan. That story… it is a lie.” She bluntly stated, almost feeling the gasps rippling through the Isles. “The Emperor’s Coven itself has no knowledge of how Edalyn was cursed, but it was most certainly no work of the Titan, or its will.” A mysterious smile, almost beatific were it not so filled with pain, crossed her features. “The one responsible for Eda Clawthorne’s curse was a witch. Specifically… the one responsible was myself.” Lilith felt more than saw Eda freeze up beside her. She could see it now on Perry’s own face, the look of horror, accusation, dumbfounded shock. 

Lilith turned to Eda, feeling an almost spiteful glee at the look of horror, denial, and hurt that crossed her features. “Y-your lying, Lily. You-” Eda stuttered (Edalyn stuttered!), denial and shock filling her voice. Lilith slowly stroked Eda’s cheek, an almost tender gesture.

“Edalyn, we both know that, for all your hatred of the rules and authority, you are far smarter than this. You know I can’t be lying.” Lilith said, just barely loud enough for the broadcast to pick up. “Think about it, you’ve surely pieced it together after all this time. Who else could’ve gotten into your room to curse you? Who else would’ve had reason to curse you?” Eda shook her head, denial still burned across her features, backing away from Lilith.

“Why?” Eda hissed out, forcing it through the denial. “Why would you do this!? To me!? TO YOUR FAMILY!?!?” She screamed, hurt and rage finally making themselves known in full.

Lilith chuckled, the same bitter, empty laugh Luz herself had used previously when discussing her failings. “Because you were going to win, dear sister!” Lilith cried, almost relishing the horror on Eda’s face, were it not for how sick she felt at it all. “We were set to fight for a place in the Emperor’s Coven, and you would win!! I knew you would!! You were the prodigy, the gifted genius that everything came so easily to when you bothered to try, the powerhouse who could already level buildings at the age of TWELVE!!!” Lilith felt the tears coming, the bitter, hot tears of her own weakness surging forth. “I was the one who wanted to serve the Isles, I was the one who wanted to help people!!!! You only cared about joining the Coven so you wouldn’t have to give up any magic! So why should I have given up my dream, my future, for you!?”

“I ONLY WANTED TO BE PART OF THE COVEN TO SUPPORT YOU!!!” Eda cried, her own angry, hurt-filled tears flowing. “All I wanted was to support you, to give you the future you deserved!!” She shook her head, anger and shame filling her heart.

“I KNOW!!” Lilith shrieked. “I Knew it then, and I know it now!!” The tears were like waterfalls now, bitter pain coating her every word. “But I couldn’t accept it, the idea that you, someone who so effortlessly and deliberately flouted the rules, would have what I wanted, what I dreamed of! How could I have known that you would forfeit, how could anyone!? A position in the most prestigious and influential of covens, and you throwing it away for me!?” She shook her head. “No. I didn’t believe you could be that selfless.”

Eda gave a bitter snort. “And I didn’t believe you could be that selfish. I guess we were both surprised.” Not staying to hear another word, Eda grabbed Luz, who wordlessly followed her, and stormed off. Luz shot Lilith a look of empty disappointment. It was exactly what Lilith deserved.

Lilith turned to the still running broadcast, a blank smile on her face. “And you’ve heard it here first, folks.” Lilith mockingly imitated the standard reporter line. “The Enforcer of the Emperor’s Will is a cheat, scum who would betray her own family, and a fraud. What a shocking revelation, is it not?” She wandered off, tears still streaming. Perry wordlessly cut the broadcast. He suddenly felt the need to give his son the biggest hug of all time.

All across the Isles, people were reacting to the horrifying news. Some focusing on some parts over others, of course, but none could deny that the Special Report was on everyone’s minds.

“This is unacceptable!!” Kikimora cried, frantically pacing in front of the Emperor’s Throne, heedless of her standard deference. “How could Coven Head Clawthorne reveal such sensitive information through a broadcast of all things!? Your Highness, this mutiny cannot stand!!” Normally, Kikimora would never be so blatant and emotional in front of her lord, but she felt now, of all times, was the best moment to voice her worries.

“Hmm… it seems I must adjust some of my plans.” Belos murmured. While Lilith publicly revealing the secret she so fervently guarded was certainly a surprise, if anything the revelation of her obsession should make her even more fervent in her future attempts to apprehend her sister. The revelations of Human Realm Magic now infesting his realm… oh he would definitely need to broach this carefully, but his ultimate goal remained unchanged. Wild Magic would be PURGED from the Titan, that was non-negotiable. But the revelation of Human Magic would certainly prove a useful tool for later…

“My lord!?” Kikimora frantically pleaded.

Hunter contemplated the revelations he had just witnessed. Humans were capable of magic, something deemed impossible. If it was possible for them… could it prove possible for himself? Something to think about for later. Right now, he had to attend to his Emperor. He owed the man everything, and this did not change that fact. He would probably have to keep a closer eye on Lilith though,

Alador calmly adjusted the latest adaptation to the Abomiton project, carefully tuning out his wife’s frantic screams and rage. She would burn herself down, if not out, in a little while, and then he would intercede. For the moment, he needed to properly calibrate the Coiled Composition System, truly a marvel really; if it worked properly, even the lowest quality of Abomitons would be a force to be reckoned with.

Odalia slammed herself down across from Alador with a huff, blistering rage burning in her eyes. “Well, at least now we know who our mysterious clients are.” She bit out, forcing herself to calm down with a cup of tea. Alador merely raised an eyebrow. He would see what she said in full, before replying. Odalia chuckled, a nasty, angry sounding thing. “It truly makes sense, you know. Such mysterious customers, wanting such a variety of goods and supplies! And they turned out to be murderous criminals. Fitting.”

“Will we stop supplying them, then?” Alador faux-absentmindedly asked. He had a feeling as to what she would say, but it was still imperative he hear it in truth first.

Odalia snorted. “No. We’ll keep selling to them. We’ll just covertly sabotage the goods we grant them, and use our dealings to pump them for information. Once we’ve gained everything we can, we use the resources we’ve acquired in our dealings to crush them.” Her eyes sharpened. “They endangered our children. Our FAMILY. They will not be allowed to survive for this offense.” Alador gravely nodded. Oroboros had made a crucial mistake already. They’d tried to challenge the Blight family, and harm their children. There would be a reckoning for this sin, of that neither Blight had any doubts.

Raine Whispers was conflicted. On the one hand, they now knew who had cursed Eda, and their heart went out to their old flame about what she must be going through. On the other, more clinically minded hand, the revelation that Humans could wield magic was in itself a massive blow to Belos’ authority, particularly in regards to his edicts on magic and the Titan. It was certainly something to explore for the future. For the moment, they had to get to their meeting. If all went well, they would finally, finally have prospective members willing to step out of the shadows with them. To be honest, that Katya girl had seemed almost too eager to join up, but they would at least give her a chance to step back and explain before making… hasty judgments.

Eda slammed the bottle of Appleblood back, her tears pouring down as fast as the heavy beverage went down her throat. It still hurt. Luz cuddled up to her, lending a comforting presence, King sitting on her lap. Words could wait. The three of them had enough pain to work through. Eda allowed a small smile to cross her features. At least they had each other to share the burden.

[electricbluebutterflies]

Could you do an 'I didn't know I was pregnant prompt' where somehow Abby, who's a doctor and won't ever live it down, doesn't realize that she's pregnant until she's in labor. Possibly with it being conveniently when she's alone bar delinquents, and someone has to go track down Kane and inform him of what's going on.

Canon-divergent from early s3 ish. Also featuring Raven being awesome and Clarke trying not to have a breakdown, so hopefully I wrote those two darlings okay. Content warning for vague / non-graphic and questionably medically accurate descriptions of childbirth. PG13ish for that and also swear words. Also on ao3.

The thing about quiet is it doesn’t last. She should’ve knownbetter.

It’s been a year, maybe a little more than that. Time flowsdifferently here, but one of the kids – and Abby knows they are not that anymore,most of them are so much more capable than her, but in her mind they are stillso small – is pretty sure they saw a snowflake yesterday. So, bit more than ayear. And about a year since she broke down and let herself be reckless and…

All of this hits her in the worst way as she realizes whather body is doing. This pain is not cramps, but she can’t blame herself forgetting confused, it’s been a while since she’s had her normal cycle and-

Yeah. This is what she gets for ignoring her own body aswell as she does. Dammit.

The worst part is, Abby thinks as she paces across herworkspace because so help her she is not letting this nor anything else stopher, she justified everything. Her last implant had expired shortly after shewas widowed, and she’d passed on getting another one because she was on theedge of forty and had zero plans to ever let anyone else touch her and she didn’twant to waste resources like that, and she’d just… forgotten about that detaila year and a half later when she’d gone and taken a new lover anyways. With orwithout the implant, her cycles were always erratic and she stopped trying topredict that ages ago. Nausea got justified when she wasn’t the only person whoate bad meat (turns out mutant might’ve-descended-from-a-raccoon needs to be cookedlonger than that attempt was); a little weight gain because she iseating more, because that’s a possibility now. Said weight pooling in herabdomen is normal enough for a woman her age, right?

She justified everything, she was wrong, and now she is-

Fuck.

Okay, so right now pants are a mistake. They’re soakedthrough anyways, and somehow the idea of someone wandering in and seeing hernaked from the hips down is one of the less embarrassing details of this wholedisaster. Normal people have seven or eight months to process imminent parenthoodbefore it comes. She won’t even have that many hours. Supposedly births getquicker the more a person has had, and given her track record there…

Another wave of pain hits and she grabs the edge of the tablefor support. At least she’s having this crisis – she is trying to use everyword for it but what it is, and she will go through the guilt spiral later – inmedical. Ideal place for this nightmare. If she has to give birth on herown, as is looking more and more likely, at least she is doing so in a safeplace. That’s about the only thing going right here.

There is, after all, the small issue of her partner havingno damn clue about any of this.

Last she checked – and she tries not to hover, she is notthat kind of woman and their more recent trust in each other has eliminatedsome of her tendencies – Marcus is out on a hunting / scavenging daytrip. Whichmeans he may or may not be back before this is over. Either way, explaining howshe managed to be oblivious for close to nine months about something so significantis not going to be a good time and she is more than a little nervous about thatand-

Abby hears the door open behind her. Great. Now thenightmare is complete.

“Are you…” Raven, thank goodness, at least the intruder issomeone who occasionally has common sense. “Screw that, you’re not okay.”

“How willing are you to believe things right now?” Abbyasks, turning her head to look at her friend. Group bonding across generationsis rough, but she sees a different kind of potential in the younger woman thanmost people do. Like this one, if she doesn’t accidentally kill herself beforeshe turns thirty, has some serious untapped leadership potential. And moreimportantly right now, Raven is extremely well-connected and has a highertolerance for crazy than most people. So, again, ideal person.

“From you, pretty cooperative,” Raven shrugs. “What happenedslash who do I need to electrocute?”

“I somehow managed to ignore being pregnant and… it’scoming.” And saying it out loud sounds even more damning than realizing it herselfhalf an hour ago, dragging another person into this mess with her and puttingthat weight on someone who doesn’t need it. “Feel free to judge me.”

“Nah. Not sure what you need me to do but…”

“Get someone. Anyone. Nothing against you as a person but Ido not trust you to-“

Another contraction hits before Abby can sufficientlyexplain why she’d rather not have someone who interacts with technology betterthan people as her backup here. Great. If she factors in the number of timesthis has happened that she really did think were cramps, and how long it’s beensince closing her legs felt like a good idea… shit. Yeah no. There will be noexplaining this to her partner before it’s too late.

“What I’m hearing is radio your idiot and tell him to gethis ass back here as soon as humanly possible but do not tell him whybecause that’ll break him, grab the first person I can find who I’d trust tocatch something and send them in here to help you, and go through the storageroom and hope there’s still baby clothes in that one box I found some in lastmonth. Anything I’m missing?”

If Abby were more mobile, and/or felt less like her body wasabout to explode, she would hug Raven right now. “Yes. I… yes. Thank you.”

“And try to keep this on a need-to-know basis. Far as anyoneelse is concerned, you figured out you were incubating at a normal enough timebut you decided to keep quiet about it because you hate attention. That work?”

“I’m not sure that’s going to be believable when-“

“It’s believable if you’re a couple weeks before your duedate and you can pass that particular dramatic shitshow off as being more aboutthe timing.”

“I’m not sure if you’re an angel or an evil genius.”

“I’d like to think I’m both,” Raven laughs. “Now, if youthink you have enough time here for me to do that, I’m gonna go.”

Abby assesses herself quickly. Unless something somehow goeseven more wrong, she’s got at least half an hour here. “I’ll be alright.”

And again she is alone, she thinks as the door closes behindher. This is… not an absolute worst-case scenario, but pretty damn close. At best,she’s got a lot of explaining to do when it’s all over. At worst…

Describing this as an accident is a serious understatement. Therehas been no conversation about whether or not to have kids together. It neverseemed necessary. They’re older enough that the risk seemed so low, and therearen’t restrictions on that here, and she didn’t think…

She didn’t think. That’s what this all comes down to. A temporaryvacation from her normal instincts and look what that got her. No time tomentally prepare for a tiny vulnerable creature, no time to think about theimplications for her relationship, no time to even find out if her partnerwants this enough to stick around for it, no time to-

Getting closer. She is not attempting to measure herself butshe can feel the process. Timing-wise, she probably is a few weeks earlyhere, in that comfortable space where that won’t mean any problems for thelittle creature and a normal person’s biggest concern would be not being quitedone with their preparations. Whereas she has done no preparations, whatlittle of her fate isn’t in her own hands right now has been entrusted to atwenty-one-year-old who has even less of a baseline for this, and-

It’s all too much, and Abby starts crying. Most confusedemotional release she’s ever had, not sure if it’s stress or fear or pain oranticipation or probably all of those at once. Overload enough that the nextcontraction feels muted by comparison, overload enough to overlook how uncomfortablethis all is.

It’s just a little ironic that this started bent over atable and it may well end that way too, at the rate she’s going. That’ll be funny,in a couple months when any of this can be, maybe.

She hears the door open again and this time multiplefootsteps, this time she is too exhausted to even turn her head, this time-

“Mom? What the hell?”

Limited options, Abby reminds herself. Limited options ofpeople she would trust to be her backup here, and her own – possibly soon to beolder? – daughter is one of them.

“Clarke, I can-“

“Raven filled me in,” Clarke mutters, sounding so familiarlydisapproving. Abby’s always thought her daughter takes much more after her latehusband, but sometimes there are familiar flickers in there. “You basicallyneed me to catch it.”

“Basically, yes. There should be some towels in-“

“I know where things are. Learned my organization systemfrom you.”

“And I can grab stuff,” Raven adds. That would be the secondset of feet, the bright-red jacket Abby can see in her peripheral vision. “Iwould rather not see the nightmare fuel here but I can hold things or whatever.”

“Any luck with-“

Abby swears she can somehow hear Raven roll her eyes. “Wrongperson picked up, but we tried. The group at least knows something is goingdown here and hopefully I yelled enough to-“

The next pain is strong enough to blur Abby’s vision. “Nextone is it.” She’s amazed she can even talk clearly right now, but her presenceis not going away just because she’s in a crisis. She’s gotten through worse. Rarelybeen on this end of it, rarely felt so helpless, but she will not let anythingstop her. “Be ready.”

Around her, the girls attempt as much prep as they can. Abbydoes not know what they’re doing, does not think about it. There is only this. Thereis her, and the little creature that is about to exit her body, and her olderchild who is surprisingly calm about all of this, and another member of theirfamily who is at least trying to do the same, and a black hole where herpartner should be and-

She screams.

She lets it be a blur. She does not want to remember thesefew moments.

She knows one of the girls is hovering under her with alarge towel in hand, and the other one is yelling, and she doesn’t know whichis which and she doesn’t care. She knows that this is at least a familiar pain,and the first part is the worst, and the little creature – now officially hersecond child, she will let herself process that later – is slick andcooperative and how the child of two such stubborn people is so easy to dealwith in its first moments she does not know but-

“I have a little sister,” Clarke says somewhere in thebackground.

Abby wants to collapse. Wants to sleep for a very long time.She focuses on her body, on all the things she knows. There is still pain, waitingfor the afterbirth to come out. She suspects she’s torn but not as badly as itcould’ve been, and her breasts ache and at some point soon that too will beuseful, and-

She fades out. Exhaustion is a wonderful thing. She knowsher body will do what it needs to, and she trusts the girls enough, and… shecan’t do this anymore.

When she wakes up, she’s somehow been moved to the cot –which means someone else has seen her questionable condition, great, just whatshe doesn’t need – and she’s in a clean shirt and someone has placed cold clothbetween her legs to help the hurting and-

“You really didn’t know?”

She’s not awake enough for this shit.

Abby turns her head and yep, there is her partner (but howmuch longer can she call him that, she wonders) in a chair someone must’vebrought in, looking at her like he does not know where to start but he has alot of questions. It’s been a while since she’s had to interpret that look, andshe is concerned.

“I didn’t know,” she repeats. “You’ve known me since we werechildren, you know I can justify anything, I thought-“

“Alright.” And now for the scary-calm. That particularversion has evolved over the past year and a half or so, as Marcus has learned howto be more of a person, but she still knows it too well. He’s harder to readthis way, and more dangerous to those around him. “When I found out… I thought…”

“Do you really think I would’ve hidden this from you if I’dknown?”

“I had to ask.”

“I wouldn’t… I just went through hell,” she hisses. “Involuntarily.Again. And I wouldn’t have had to if I’d paid more attention to myself but youknow I don’t-“

“I believe you.”

She’s not sure she believes him right now, but she isstill too exhausted to move so that fight can wait a day or two. “Where is…” Shedoesn’t know the right word. My daughter? Ours? Which of those will hold longer?

“Raven��s looking after her. You needed to rest, and… I canlook after you here, Raven can keep the baby in her workshop except when sheneeds to feed.”

Abby rolls her eyes. Yeah, keep a newborn in the mostdangerous place in the settlement, great idea. On the other hand, Raven’sspace is at least warm. “And you’re…”

“Still processing,” Marcus finishes. “Someone tried to radious but we were a few miles out, and when we got back I didn’t have time tothink before someone shoved what looked like a bundle of towels in my arms and…”

“It is yours. If that was going to be your next question.”

“It wasn’t. But good to know.”

“I just… I ignored everything, and I…”

He reaches out for her hand, and even that feels like toomuch physical contact right now but it’s a nice gesture anyways. “I’m notblaming you.”

“Well that’s new,” she mutters. He’s been decent for a year,she should have more faith, but… “Are you going to stay?”

And now for the look of stunned horror, the wide eyes and haltedbreaths and for a moment she’s broken him. “Am I… how is that a question?!”

“You are aware how many bad choices I’ve made here…”

“You’ve always been a little impulsive,” he counters. “And stubborn.And usually right. And I don’t know why you think this kind of innocent mistakewould push me away.”

“It’s a screaming liability of a mistake?”

“It’s ours. And I want… if you want…”

“Yeah. You’ve never done this before. You do not realize thehell you’ve just volunteered for.”

“I’m with you. How bad could it be.”

He leans down and kisses her forehead, and the scratch ofhis beard is way too much, and… yeah. They’ll be okay.

[honeypwark]

[ Riverside ]

  ↳ Gone Days era

       ↳ Xiang interrupts Chan and Jisung. She and Chan take a walk. She finally tells someone.

Note: Maybe reread Quitter and Turbulence before reading?

TRIGGER WARNING: This chapter contains a detailed explanation of how Xiang developed and lived with her eating disorder. Please do not read if this is triggering for you.

m.list

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Chan sits at his desk with Jisung beside him, explaining how different chords in the same spot will change the feel of the song and he should choose based on what vibe he wants the song to have.

“I kind of want it to not just cut off. Like it’s leading to more even after the song’s ended.”

“G7 might work better then.”

“G7...?”

Chan plays the chord on the keyboard to his left.

“Oh, got it.”

“As opposed to G.” He plays said chord.

“Alright. And for the second verse I wanted to-“

There’s a soft knock on the door, “Chris?”

Chan turns in his desk chair, his attention immediately going to the girl that walks into the room.

“Hey, Sophie.”

It’s been three days since Xiang’s breakdown in the bathroom at four in the morning. The next morning, Xiang had promised she’d talk to Chan about what caused it but she’d need time. He gave her time, not even mentioning what had happened. Of course, without any kind of explanation, Chan has been left to worry about every little thing and see all the worst case scenarios for the last few days.

“Do you wanna go for a walk?”

“What? Is he your dog or something?”

Xiang’s eyes land on Jisung, who she hadn’t noticed when she’d entered, too tunnel visioned on finally growing a pair and talking about her issues. It took her nearly an hour to knock on Chan’s door and ask to go somewhere to talk privately. Her momentary false bravery crumbles visibly on her face as she realizes Chan is busy.

“Oh, sorry. You’re busy.”

“No, it’s fine,” Chan says quickly, stopping her from leaving. He turns to Jisung, “We’ll finish later, alright?”

Jisung is confused but nods slowly, “Uh, yeah. Sure.”

Jisung watches as his leader saves everything on his computer without his usual attention to detail, scrambling out of his chair after Xiang as she walks back out of the room. He blinks after him confusedly, rolling his eyes before packing up his laptop to return to his own bedroom.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

After taking a bus to Han River and walking along the riverside for about five minutes in silence, Xiang is still struggling with beginning to lay it all out for Chan. She squeezes the linings of her jacket pockets, the joints of her fingers aching from the strength behind it.

“Do you want to sit?” Chan asks, pointing toward a bench they’re approaching.

“Not really.”

“Okay.”

Xiang takes a deep breath in. She breathes it out slowly. She relaxes her hands in her pockets.

“I have an eating disorder.”

Chan wishes he could say that her admitting that makes everything fall into place. That he can say he’s noticed her acting strange. That he can admit he’s been worried about her weight loss. But he can’t. Because he didn’t notice those things. He’s aware of her weight loss (she‘s trended on Naver a few times because of her light weight) but he never thought of it as the outcome of something terrible. Dammit, he should have.

“Y-You do?” he stammers.

“Yeah. It probably started when our manager told me the company wanted me to lose weight. I don’t blame him, I really don’t. He was just doing his job. But... it got me thinking and I decided to eat less and work out more and that’s where it all started. It wasn’t that bad to begin with. I had control of what I was doing and it was like being in a diet. I’ve never been the most mentally sound person; I have clinically diagnosed anxiety, depression, and depersonalization but that’s a whole other can of worms.”

Now that she’s started, it’s easier to lay it all out.

“After I decided to eat less, I started skipping meals. In my mind it made sense. To lose weight, eat less. So I did. I started lying to you and the others about eating, saying I had when I hadn’t or that I wasn’t hungry when I was. It went on like that for a while, just not eating and working out a lot more. But I felt so guilty when I did eat. When I couldn’t avoid it.

“So I started making myself throw up. It all piled on top of each other and I barely ever ate and kept it down. I probably started eating a meal or two every three or four days. For a while that’s what I did. I lost so much weight. It was so unhealthy. I weighed myself before we left for tour in America and I was 37.6 kilograms.

“I felt like I was going to pass out during the entire performance in New York. I only woke up at six in the evening the next day. I was scared that the next time I went to sleep, I wouldn’t wake up. That my body would just give out on me. So I went and ate pizza with the younger boys. I started eating at least once a day because I had to do my job. I still didn’t eat enough but... it was something.

“And that should have been good. I should have been proud of myself for starting to take care of myself but I wasn’t. I hated myself for eating. I started gaining weight. I realized one night that what I thought I had control of I didn’t because I can’t control how much I hate myself.

“I went out with Yeosu one night and I ate more than I had in such a long time. I felt so guilty and I started rambling to her about my problems. But I ran away before she could even respond. I tried to stop on my own because Yeosu is so amazing and so famous and she’s mentally fine. And I got a little better. But then the company asked for an update on our weights and they told me not to get heavy again.

“It felt like doing what was best for me wasn’t what I needed to do. Like maybe this is the cost of being who I am and doing what we do. I just spiraled and I got worse than I’d ever been. That’s when you found me. I hadn’t eaten in two days and I was so hungry but I couldn’t make myself keep what I’d eaten down. I don't know how to stop doing this to myself and I want to stop but I just can't.”

Xiang takes a breath, closing her eyes for a moment.

Chan is impressed with how well Xiang has handled her emotions while explaining everything to him. Simultaneously, his heart is aching from the story she has told him and how well she’s handled her emotions. Chan can’t help but wonder how many times she has felt like the world is crashing down around her and he was none the wiser.

“When did this start? When did our manager- When did the company say you should lose weight?”

“... Late June?”

Nine months. Nine months Xiang has been dealing with her eating disorder. And before that, anxiety, depression, and personalization. Chan has his own qualms with anxiety and depression occasionally but he’s not even sure what depersonalization is. But as Xiang said, that’s a whole other can of worms.

“It’s just-,” Xiang looks for the right words to continue. “I’ve developed so much self-hatred. I never feel good enough. I never feel pretty or talented. Even with the mess my mentality has always been, I used to be able to be content with the music I make or the performances I give. Now, I just hate everything about myself. I wish I could just deal with this on my own and I'm sorry I've dragged you into this mess. But believe me I won't hold it against you if you want to back out now-"

"Sophie.”

Chan steps in front of Xiang to face her.

“I don't know how to prove to you that I will always be here for you.”

It hurts more than he would have thought when she lets out a tiny, humorless breath of a laugh, disbelieving. She takes a deep breath and looks up at the overcast sky.

“I‘m so tired of everything.”

She closes her eyes.

“I just want it to stop.”

“It will,” Chan says. “And you’re not going to deal with this alone anymore.  Know why?"

When Xiang lowers her head, Chan can see she’s barely holding back tears. She gives a minuscule shake of her head.

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Nearly two and a half years ago, Xiang stood in front of Chan in a recording studio. She’d come to tell Chan she should leave the group. He’d called her a quitter and wouldn’t let her walk out on the group.

“Why can’t you just let me do this?” she asked, not understanding how Chan can’t see the problems she’s causing.

“Because I’m not giving up on you,” he responded.

Xiang swallowed, trying not to let her emotions get the better of her. Chan stood and wrapped her in a hug.

“And I’m not gonna let you give up on me.”

Xiang hesitated but looped her arms around Chan.

“We’re in this together, understand?”

Xiang smiled and let her head rest on his shoulder.

“I understand.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

“Because I'm not giving up on you."

At the riverside, Chan pulls Xiang into a hug, wrapping his arms securely around her shoulders.

“And I’m not letting you give up on me. We’re in this together, understand?”

Over two years later, Chan has kept his word. Before she’d started starving herself, before her mental state depleted further than it had ever been, he’d told her that they are a team and he won’t let her quit on him. And he’s kept to that.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

On the plane ride home to South Korea from America, Chan had comforted Xiang when she’d been anxious and fearful during turbulence. She’d thought about Chan. What he’d done for her and how he’d treated her.

Despite her self-loathing and her anxiety. And the way she’s convinced herself she’ll never be good enough. Or how she can only ever feel pretty on an empty stomach, hunger clawing at her insides in a painful way she’s grown fond of. Amidst it all, being next to Chan makes her feel safe.  Chan makes her feel safe.  Safety is something Xiang has been having a hard time finding for months now.

She realizes that if she could, she would never leave his side.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Here, beside Han River in Chan’s arms, she feels safe. She feels... loved. And the idea- the fact that Chan cares for her and has been by her side, even unknowingly, through all of this brings her to tears.

Xiang buries her face in Chan’s shoulder and wraps her arms tightly around him, crying hard into the material of his jacket. And Chan lets her. He holds her tighter against him and lets her cry, a hand coming to cradle the back of her head comfortingly. She’s safe here. She’s safe with Chan.

And she realizes that if she could, she would never leave his side.