#what irritates me is like. i thought this was the depression worsening when it started happening. so they increased the dose. which made it

[apotelesmaa]

I think the fact that u can just get prescribed ssris without being told about side effects to watch out for and then have your dose raised and suddenly have your mental health absolutely tank is. So funny. Absolutely incapable of feeling emotions to the point where all of my relationships are fucked (unable to feel affection/love) my academic career is fucked (unable to feel any sense of urgency towards assignments/attendance) my Everything Is Fucked (unable to gauge emotional well-being until things are actually hazardous) but at least I also can’t feel the Consuming Despair. Giving zombie realness. Going through the motions pilled. Apathymaxxing.

[ikamigami]

Absolutely WILD that someone told you not to vague post THAT PERSON while THAT PERSON literally BLASTED YOUR NAME for everyone to see while calling you disturbing for relating to a suicidal character which led people to talk horribly about you and plummeted your mental health. But oh no! You're bad for talking about them without even mentioning their name /sarc LIKE??? You have feelings too! Why excuse THAT PERSON??? Because they're a big blog? Honestly fuck that anon and fuck THAT PERSON

Thank you, dear anon 🥹💗

Also yeah.. that anon said that they don't mean harm.. and you know what? I realized that for them it wasn't probably that serious cause even if they said that I'm disturbing.. they had the audacity to tell me that they were laughing at my theories - that person and their friend - and.. it hurt.. cause I was genuinely scared that Sun may kill himself..

But what hurt the most was when that person just when they found out form someone else who tried to defend me but they thought that it was actually me.. when they found out that I was passively suicidal..

They just said that no one knew.. and in the same sentence they felt okay to call me disturbing and that I was dragging everyone to these conversations?! When that's not true!

No one knew.. but when I tried to say that I relate to Sun and explain why I think that he might be suicidal.. they didn't listen, screaming you're projecting! ...

But apparently they can relate to other characters, they can project their own experiences onto these characters long before we learn how things are in canon..

But apparently I can't..

I was spiraling after what that person said.. I started panicking.. my breath was heavy, I was lightheaded and shaking.. tears started falling down my face.. and suicidal thoughts appeared.. but it weren't words.. I saw vivid scenes of cutting my arms with various sharp objects and jumping off high places.. the only thought that crossed my mind was that maybe I really should just kill myself after all..

I was scared.. and I was thinking to myself "you're so stupid, where these thoughts came from? you don't want to do that.." but it didn't change anything.. that I was feeling awful.. I was venting in my blog.. or rather I just wanted to get out just my feelings.. that maybe I should just delete everything what I wrote for sams..

I kept crying, I fell asleep feeling like shit.. I had awful dream where my family found out about my lies.. they found out that I'm not a good person.. because I was hiding the truth.. I was crying in my dream and later I was crying the next day..

I felt awful.. you may think that how can I remember all of this so vividly? I remember most of my dark moments in life.. things that I usually don't remember are if my words or actions were hurtful or not.. but not in the sense - I don't remember so it didn't happen.. no, I wish.. it's usually that "hmm I don't remember but if this person is hurt I mostly definitely said or did something hurtful.."

I just can't tell.. I can't.. I don't know.. especially if something is triggering my delusions I can't tell what's true and what isn't.. "they're all definitely right about me, I am disturbing and awful.."

I was struggling with depression long before this happened but I was in better mental state because I didn't hear that voice anymore.. but in fact I was in denial.. I wasn't doing as good as I thought..

And problems irl.. my own health problems and my family health problems and mental issues.. I was worried about them.. and all of this mixed with how that person and their friend treated me.. it caused my mental state to worsen..

I became paranoid and delusional and I thought that people will jump at me angry because I did something wrong.. because I'm bad.. I was experiencing hallucinations mostly auditory but sometimes visual as well.. but these things weren't anything big.. but I was scared I was jumpy.. I was irritated.. and I was depressed.. I couldn't sleep, I didn't have an appetite.. I couldn't concentrate on anything.. on any work.. I felt like my brain was made of cotton.. and had a really low mood..

And I admit that I was exaggerating about Sun.. because of my own mental state.. but I was afraid that he'll kill himself..

It wasn't the first time when I was projecting onto a fictional character.. but you may call me dumb but I didn't know that I was doing that.. because I wasn't aware that I'm not fine.. I just thought that I like angst and I like torturing my favourites.. only fairly recently I realized that I was projecting.. and I realized that I was doing it to cope.. yeah it sounds stupid that I didn't know that.. but that's how it is..

Also what was awful.. is that even when I apologized for being rude and exaggerating.. it didn't change how people saw me.. there's nothing I can do about it.. it is what it is.. people believed that person because they're famous in this fandom.. and I'm nobody so it had to be true that I'm disturbing, raging and obsessed fan that wants Sun to kill himself - and that was what hurt the most.. that people think that I wanted Sun to be suicidal and depressed.. when in fact I was scared that he is suicidal and depressed.. that he has depressive psychosis.. I was scared about it.. but for people I was awful..

Thankfully I have very loving family and i met caring friends here and even wonderful anons like you.. you all helped through my lowest moments.. I can't thank you all enough for this 💗🫂

I'm sorry for this vent.. I just want to share my feelings about all of this..

I hope you don't mind, dear anon 💗

Thank you and all of you who support me for being so kind and caring and understanding.. thank you 💗🫂

[halfblood-princes-crown]

*drum roll* me again with the dark snape au.

Everyone is desperate at this point and don’t know what to do, Dumbledore starts asking for the ministry to lock outside the country.

They even contact Remus in hopes in wolf senses would come in handy.

Professor mcGonagall is trying not kill albus because she knew it wasn’t a safe for a magical child to live among muggles.

Sirius is still having nightmares but the nightmare changes, he’s Padfoot in them now and he’s following snape and Harry while they walk away to the unknown, so that’s how he sparks the idea of escaping.

Meanwhile Remus knows Harry is not in England anymore, he can’t smell his scent anymore, so he start moving across Europe in secret.

Back Harry who’s now scared shitless from severus, he stays in his room and doesn’t speak, he eats then vomits it later when snape isn’t looking, he cries himself to sleep and Harry is just becomes miserable.

Severus knows he done fucked up but is in denial because what he’s doing is for the boy’s best, right?

It doesn’t last long though before Harry faints on the floor after a week vomiting and not seeing the sun, now severus is panicking just a little bit.

So he shoves potions in the child’s throat until some color comes back to his face then decides that he would actually need to talk with the boy again to avoid this happening in the future, he couldn’t kill the boy now could he?

When Harry wakes up again he sees that he’s still in that same miserable house and his depressed state just worsen.

Severus keeps asking him questions but Harry is completely nonverbal, it pisses severus off and he start threatening to speak or he won’t ever be out in the world.

Harry stares at him then turns around crying softly and muttering how he wants his mommy.

Now severus is devastated, he doesn’t want to hit the boy again and he’s scaring him even more, so he just leaves him alone for now.

As for Harry’s wand, it’s useless now because the boy is in too much distress to pay attention to the spells severus is casting.

Remus catches the scent of Harry finally when he arrives at Switzerland but he can’t locate him where exactly because of the wards.

Sirius escapes but just like Remus he can’t find Harry anymore in Europe.

Coming back to Harry, he’s now allowed to be around severus while he brews in the basement of the cottage, Harry is drained but a child’s curiosity never ends so he lingers around, doesn’t touch anything but watches until severus is irritated enough and throws a beginners spells book at him and tells him he’s allowed to be outside for an hour to practice but don’t bother to try running away because he can’t.

OOUUUUUU

They contacted Remus for his spidey senses 🤧

And AS MINNIE SHOULD! Rip him a new one, girlie 🙄☝🏽

Damn…Sirius escapes and Remus is on the trail…I need a seatbelt for this💀

Severus…my guy…you need therapy. 😭😭

Yea, this plan wasn’t well thought out on his part but he’s trying🤧

And Poor Harry…he’s too smol for this. It’s nice to see that Sev gave him a little spell book and some outside privileges 🥹

Small progress is still progress

We’re making progress!

[kylejsugarman]

Just want to say I love your epileptic Jesse au! I don’t know if you’ve ever talked about it- but do you have any headcanons on how it would affect him during his time with Todd/jacks gang I’m a sucker for some angst

thank u!! thats really sweet :') ive talked about how his captivity arc is colored by being epileptic in a couple of posts just because that arc is one that really really resonates me and as much as i think its genuinely respectful and shows a lot of restraint that there's not a ton of time devoted to onscreen depictions of what his captivity is like, it does leave me wanting to fill in those gaps, especially in the context of being epileptic. ive talked about how one of the first things that jack does once the gang's decided to keep jesse alive and have him continue cooking meth for them is take away his medical id (which gets treated like a weird trophy, like an award for overtaking the heisenberg empire) and how this is the initial separation of jesse from his identity (i mean he quite literally gets a pendant with his own fucking name on it ripped off his neck). he learns pretty quickly that he's not in any position to make requests because the first thing they do is try their best to break his spirits and train him like a dog—don't run away, don't bite back—so getting his medication quickly drops to the bottom of his list. rapid withdrawal from keppra, however, comes with some pretty noticeable side-effects, including irritability, exacerbation of depression/suicidal thoughts, and of course worsening seizures. its only when it starts interfering with his cooking and he drops some product while convulsing that todd in his fucked up way is like ":) guess u need something to fix that huh?" while jesse's like fighting for breath from the physical gymnastics that is having a seizure while chained into a dog run. todd gets his hands on some anticonvulsants and starts periodically dropping them down into the pit with his sustenance ("u know, uncle jack isn't too happy about getting this stuff but i told him its worth it in the long run. like an investment" todd says with a smile as jesse dry swallows that bitter pill and glares up through the grate). its not his prescription and combined with being in constant survival mode/torture/working long hours in the lab, he's basically in absence status epilepticus after a few weeks of captivity, altered, distant, broken, depressed. his hands shake so much that he burns himself on equipment every time. as his time at the compound goes on, he becomes so estranged from his own identity and consciousness and reality that it doesnt even register that he's jerking or absent or even convulsing sometimes. its hard enough just to remember that hes still alive.

[jds-serious-thoughts]

TW: pet loss

As a first post I feel it fitting to do a memorial. I wanted to post this to my main blog but really, it seemed a bit too serious and long winded for that.

.

.

.

.

Months ago, I lost my best friend. He was a pretty large black and white rat. A man came to my work one day wanting him gone. His daughter had gone to college and he didn’t care what happened to the rat. I could feed it off for all he cared. It had been kept in a 20 gallon tank. A small glass prison, not knowing where his human had gone or why he was being given away. My work - a corporate pet store - wasn’t allowed to take him, and I had rats already at the time, so I offered. The same day he was given to me in a small, janky box that was falling apart. He was massive, but sweet. I named him big boy. Not my most thought out name, but he was a big boy.

When I first brought him home, from square one he was way more affectionate than my other boys. Over time we spent all our time together. He became my rock. He spent most of his time outside of his cage. He would periodically explore, but he was a very lazy boy. He’d lay in my lap, or wrapped in my blankets or pile of dirty clothes. When I’d come home, he’d hop across the room to say hi. When he was happy, he’d chew on whatever pile of cloth he’d be laying in. It was irritating at first, but it didn’t bother me too much. He would lay along my back or in my arms at night, sometimes periodically leaving to lay in front of the fan if he got too hot. He’d climb up my legs to lay on my lap while I played games. I’d cradle him in my hands and kiss his forehead. He’d lick the tears off my cheeks when I’d cry. He was my everything. I was reaching new lows in my life and my mental health was getting to the point of constant breakdowns. He was there for me through all of it. I can’t express how much he saved me.

He was my world, and while he did so much for me, he was a rat who was born in a pet mill, destined to live such an unfortunately short life. I knew this about getting rats, which is why originally I had gotten my rats from reputable breeders. I had only a few exceptions to that rule. I knew this and yet I loved big boy more than I had or have ever loved anything or anyone in my entire life. As he got older, and my lows got worse, I started to constantly think about his death. I knew he was getting old for a rat and that, paired with other negative things happening in my life, kept me in possibly my lowest moment ever. My other boys had passed away by that point. I felt like I had nobody left. Looking back, I did, but I felt like my breakdowns and constant need for attention was leading people to hate me, and when you’re depressed and in the gutter, you typically don’t notice the support that’s around you. I felt I had asked for too much and was pushing people away.

In his last couple of months I struggled between grieving his death before it ever happened and trying to embrace our little time together before it was too late. It felt like any day could be our last. Only two days I remember vividly though. I think it was one of his better days while he was getting sicker. I was listening to music and we danced in my room together. Amongst all the horrible, awful, miserable, terrible days was this one good one. I danced with him and for once I didn’t feel like the world was crumbling. Shortly after that day though, his breathing worsened and I had to take him to the vet. They had to put him down. It was possibly the worst night of my life. I had no support as my family was an hour away. I was alone in the waiting room while they put him to sleep. I got to say goodbye, but he wasn’t really in a state to know I was there. They gave me a room to sit in while I waited. I have never cried harder. It was such a visceral, horrible feeling. All my muscles cramped and my vision went white. I couldn’t breathe anymore. I called my sibling but I could hardly speak. I had lost my light, everything I was living for. I have never felt anything like it. Where was I going to go after this? How was I going to move on without my everything? That day was my lowest, but fortunately that meant I could only go up.

After that day, my grief went in an odd direction. Obviously, even to this day, there were and are days I still cry about him. It is hard entering a room once occupied by two to find that you’re alone. It’s odd, waking from a nightmare and having nothing to protect you from them. When I am sad, I don’t have him to hug, but instead a terracotta imprint of his feet and tail. I don’t get greeted by a little prancing buddy when I get home, and I don’t sometimes feel little feet trying to climb my legs while I’m at my desk. I will never again feel his soft fur on my face or the warmth of his body under my chin or on my cheeks. But at the same time, I was shockingly fine. I always thought I would do something terrible to myself after he died but I didn’t. I was still there and strangely enough, I didn’t want to hurt myself. Instead, after his death, I started to notice things more. I started finding joy in things I wouldn’t have even noticed. I started to feel the love from the people in my life. I admired the world around me, looked at the sky and gave myself grace when I would have normally beat myself up about it. My entire line of thinking changed. My entire life changed. I am not religious or spiritual in any way, but I like to think that in a way, he gave me his love for me to give to others. I think fondly of all the time he gave me. Instead of thinking of those horrible last moments I remember all those precious moments we had. I have holes in many of my clothes and instead of wishing I could repair them or buy more, I see them as a reminder of his love and happiness while I had him. I can never know how exactly he felt about me, and as a flawed human I know I made many mistakes, but each hole was made with love. Each time I notice one, it gives me a moment to reflect and remember just how much I loved him. Sometimes I worry I’m incapable of loving, but big boy is a reminder of just how much I can love. His death is a reminder that even at my worst, I can move forward. Even at my worst, I can dance in my room to music I love and remember him there.

I miss you so much, big boy. I hope there's an afterlife just for you. I’m sorry I never gave you a eulogy like I do my other pets, but now is the time. I would give anything to hold you in my arms one last time, but at least I can show life the same love I felt for you. I’ve had several heart rats in my life. They hit you in such a monumental way. They love with such purity and comfort, but are confined to such little time. I wish everyone knew how amazing, perfect, wonderful pets rats are. I wish everyone had a heart rat in their life. Thank you for everything you’ve done for me, Big Boy. I hope you're at peace now.

[unknown-writing]

It’s hard doing this on my own...

Summary: You’ve gone into another Depressive state...This time. It’s far more violent than the last Depressive spell.

Warning(s): TRIGGERING CONTENT ABOUT EXTREME DEPRESSIVE EPISODES! DO NOT READ IF YOUR NOT COMFORTABLE! Ends with fluff. No gifs.

Word count: 2.9k+

A/N: I’m ok.

Luffy has always known you were...Different, than the others. Sure, everybody in the crew went through some tough times in their past but, they made up for that time to make them and their friends smile more. You however...Struggled with genuinely smiling these days again.

It concerned him how distant and emotionless you became. You kept yourself locked away inside that room, to protect the others from being hurt or feeling guilty...All he saw was that you were locked away in a Cage of Sadness that he couldn’t seem to pull you out of no matter how hard he tried too.

Tonight was no exception to his daily routine. He placed the food that Sanji had made on the floor so you could grab it whenever you were ready, then sat down beside your door on the floor of the ship. “Y/n-san...Dinner’s here....” He said loud enough for you to hear, but not enough to startle you.

Nothing....Just silence.

He waited for a few more minutes before getting worried that you weren’t opening the door for the food, but before his worry could worsen. Your door slightly opened wide enough to drag the tray back in...He wanted to see your face again...He missed it. he missed /you/.  Shockingly enough, you /didn’t/ close the door after grabbing the food. Which confused him to say the least because you never allowed him to see you So Sad.

“Y/n-san?” he called out, stepping up to walk into the room, only to pause when he sees you...So....Hurt. It hurt /him/ seeing you like this. His body moved on it’s own and he hugged you tightly, quite literally wrapping his arms around your body.

You didn’t do anything...No smiles, no tears....Nothing.

That worried him.

      “Y-Y/n-san?...” He calls out to you as he still held you. You looked up at him with dead, red eyes from crying so much before now. “Sorry...Luffy...” You weakly started then gave an expressionless chuckle that lacked any kind of excitement, worrying him further, “I can’t feel anything....”

That hit him like a two ton truck. “Can’t feel anything?” What did that mean? Was his hug not working?...He hugged tighter...No real response other than a grunt from being hugged tighter., It didn’t irritate you. It was just uncomfortable and hard to breath properly. Luffy got sad when you didn’t show any response towards his hugs like you used too. So he let go to let you breath better. “You can’t.....Feel anything y/n-san??” He asked again as he held your face, staring dead in your emotionless, empty eyes.

“No....Sorry....” You simply responded, only feeling his hands /slightly/ on your face. Luffy frowned, he was confused on why you were so numb and emotionless now. Was it the Depression you mentioned before? Or was somebody taking your feelings from you against your will? All he could do was sigh and then lift you up bridal style, it hurt not seeing you get flustered about it, but instead, look limp and dead-like in his arms. You seemed a lot more heavier than he expected as well.

He went to chopper, asking for help on what to do, the whole crew was there with you as you just...Quietly sat on the chair you were placed on, and stared at the floor while absorbing everything in. “She’s broken?...” Luffy asked, confused on how you could be broken “Well...Not exactly....But, it’ll take a VERY long time for them to gain their feelings back to normal....They’re hurting.” Choppers words affected the crew, as they were all friends with you. But more importantly, Luffy was affected the most since he was your boyfriend.

       Several months later, Luffy did his hardest to try and make your life just a little bit easier for you. Protecting you during battles. making sure the crew respected your wishes when it came to privacy. Making sure that you ate and slept a healthy amount of each thing so you wouldn’t hurt yourself anymore than you were.

The crew was celebrating another Team-Up mission with the Heart Pirates, they knew that Law was a Doctor so, they confirmed that you did in fact, have Severe Depression...And it started getting REALLY bad over time, but that a shift was going to change after a while. Which surprised Luffy to say the least but, he didn’t force you to change for anything.

You were off in your own corner with Zoro, as the two of you had gotten to be close friends before your Depressive state. Luffy was sitting with the two of you since he’s gotten fairly protective over you, over the last several months. You just drinking some Tea and had some of your favorites out of this feast that Sanji and the Heart’s crew had prepared for everybody, minding your own business as you absorbed everything.

You felt....Lighter...MUCH lighter than before...It’s not 100% happiness but, it’s /something/ to say the least. Zoro saw the slight shine that came back to your eyes for a split second, but didn’t comment on it and just left you be. Meanwhile, Luffy was reenacting his fight with a recent enemy that was super strong, you listened in every now and then, but heard that Luffy nearly got killed.

That worried you...Your face warped in concern but, went away fairly quick when he said that he managed to make it out somewhat alright thanks to the crew. You were thankful for them keeping him alive. He was your boyfriend after all.

Your boyfriend........

Your Boyfriend.....

The thought of the fact that you nearly lost your boyfriend to an enemy hit you like a two ton truck. You sat there deadpanned, but you felt something Wet falling down your cheeks. You didn’t move or say anything. Luffy paused when he heard a faint sniffle from your throat...You were crying.

He started to panic, wondering why you were crying all of a sudden. You rubbed your face and held up a hand to make him pause, “I...I’m ok....I’m ok...” You repeated, “How are you ok y/n-san!? Your crying!” he yelled, worried that his story may have triggered you into a relapse. Once you started calming down, you chuckled, albeit it was very soft and awkward, “Sorry...I’m Sorry...It’s just...The thought of losing my boyfriend got me more upset than my Depression that I started crying...” You admitted, now shocking Luffy and the crew that could hear you.

Luffy paused, somewhat stunned by you just admitting that outright...”Y/n-san?...” he asked while waiting for a response from you...You weren’t exactly back to normal, but the very, /very/ small smile you gave was Bright enough for him to notice that you were coming back from being so numb for so long. Luffy was ecstatic to say the least. Even if your smile was small and awkward. You still /smiled/ after so long of being unable too.

Luffy shouted your name out when he flung into your lap, startling you, which caught /everybody’s attention/ this time and turned to see what was happening. Much to their surprise. There you were. Giving a soft smile as your boyfriend hugged you tightly, keeping you close to him. The crew sighed in relief that you were starting to express emotions again.

                                           ----------------------------------

Sanji was always in-tune with your emotions. He could sense that something would be eating at you before you even mentioned it, he made himself become synced with your emotions so that way he could be there for you in any way possible, even if it’s for a short time.

However, when your too quiet and distant. He can’t really do much to help you out. He can’t guess what your feeling that day because you’re avoiding him and the others. He can’t be there for you for emotional support if you’re not willing to accept it from him.

Soon enough. After a couple of months of realizing this familiar pattern of yours, he knew what was up. He knew that you were having yet another Really Bad Depressive episode again...Only this time, it seemed to be FAR worse than what happened the last time. Lasting a longer time than usual...It affected him quite a lot. He felt guilty that he couldn’t hold you or kiss you goodnight/good morning. He couldn’t so much as see your face because you refused to let him see this Ugly Demon of yours.

      Today was different. It felt off to him. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it but, while he was out shopping for food supplies on this small Island with the others. Nami had left YOU to take care of the ship. Sanji had to force Usopp to stay behind and help in case the ship got attacked while they were gone.

“--anji-kun??” Nami called out, “SANJI-KUN!!” She yelled, snapping him out of his worried trance over you. “H-Huh?? Sorry..What were you saying??” he asked, snapping back to reality. Nami could only groan in irritation, sighing as she rubbed her face. “Look. If your that worried about y/n-san. Then go back to the ship. Give me your grocery list and I’ll do the shopping for you.” She says while shooing him.

You weren’t expecting to be outside of your room...But it’s not like it was your fault to begin with. You gave an irritated scowl as the guy held you in his bigger arms, practically choking you in the process. You were being used as a hostage to calm down Usopp, and hopefully lure out the other Straw Hats to collect their bounties and turn them in.

“Right...We’ll be taking this lovely lady as well with your treasure...” The guy starts off, but saw that Usopp was about to fight back, so he held out a gun to your head and chuckled. “Don’t even try anything...You move, this girl gets her head blown off.” He threatens before going into a chuckle fit. You looked up at him with your expressionless eyes, a smile was there but, it was creepy. “Sure...go ahead and kill me....But, I don’t think you got the stomach to handle that.” You teased, giving out a small Pfftt sound effect afterwards when he cringed and released you, just letting you fall on your knees.

“Y-Y/n-san! Don’t give him any ideas!!” Usopp shouted, scared for you. All you could do was sigh sadly, “As I thought...” You paused to look up, “You didn’t have the guts to shoot...” You teased again, making the Pirate Hunter flinch again and re-point the gun at you face in point-blank range. “Creepy girl.” He insulted.

        But before he could shoot, his head got kicked in and his aim barely missed your head. You sat there, wide-eyed when you saw your boyfriend Sanji, He looked angry as he was literally on fire. You then saw his face up close when he started to fight the other guys, kicking them off the ship or sending them flying into the deeper part of the ocean. By the time he was done, the main leader of the Pirate Hunters had been placed underneath his foot, Sanji was holding his face there, you could see the other guy’s face warping in fear for his own life

Sanji then lifted his leg up, and then a loud /thump/ rang in your ear. he crushed the guy’s skull in, killing him right in front of you. “DON’T EVEN THINK ABOUT HURTING /MY/ Y/N-SAN!” He screamed, which made the last remaining few of the Pirate hunters run for it, jumping overboard as they panicked in fear from Black-Leg Sanji.

You stayed still. Shocked as to what exactly had happened. You were about to be killed while you were Depressed....You /wanted it/..You /craved it/....But even so, the feeling of being rescued by your boyfriend...Overwhelmed you. You stayed still and started to cry out loud, startling Sanji out of his anger-trance to go to you and hold you tightly. At first, you didn’t do anything. But after a while, the crying got worse, you clung to him for dear life.

You /wanted to die/...But even so...Being saved by him made you thankful for the save he just did. “T-Thank you Sanji!! I....I thought I w-was gonna...Gonna die!” You panicked, somewhat yelling within your hiccupped sobs. Sanji kept you close and did his best to calm you down from your meltdown, cooing you as he ignored Usopp and his surroundings. “I’m just glad that your feeling better y-y/n-san...” He says, knowing that you weren’t 100% there but, you were alive regardless.

                                           ---------------------------

Despite how Zoro is. He instantly knew that you weren’t.../There/ mentally for the last while the first minute he saw that you hadn’t woken up with him in his bed this time.

This time however....Had gotten pretty bad. A lot of your old habits started showing themselves but, they seemed to be doubled over time. At first he decided to just....Leave you be, in case if you just needed the time to yourself so that way you can focus on getting better. But...Over time when this started to become a constant with your routine. That’s when his panic really started to kick in.

Today marked the 34th day that you kept in your room. Sure, you’d peak out for food and something to drink or snack on, but that was way in the beginning. It’s been three weeks since you barely showed up. Zoro paced back and forth in front of your room, softly mumbling to himself on what he should do. Should he knock on the door? No, that’d startle you..Should he just barge in if it’s unlocked? No..You’d probably hate him if he did that..What if you were blacked out? Or sick? oR DEAD!? “Zoro....If you keep pacing back and forth like that...It won’t fix anything...” Nami said in a worried tone of voice, seeing her friend pace back and forth with worry. Zoro only scoffed and shooed her out. so he could focus on helping you somehow.

            Suddenly, a loud /thump/ echoed your room when he listened in, that was enough to get him to just slam the door open in a frenzy, worried out of his god damn mind on what was happening. “Y/n!?” He called out....Nothing. he looked around your small room and noticed that it was a complete disaster. it seemed like you had fought somebody in here. he clicked his tongue, disappointed in himself for being unable to be there during one of your meltdowns when you needed him most.

He paused when he saw your body on the ground, panicking, he started calling out your name loudly. You weren’t dead...Thank god. But you were very weak...Too weak. Zoro yelled to get the other crew member’s attention as he lifted up your weakened body. You were breathing but, it was heavy. “The hell happened??” He asked, feeling a sense of guilt start to wash over, before he moved further though, he felt something tap against his boot. “A bottle?” he turned it over so he could get the label and read it’s content.

He couldn’t fully read it properly but, he got enough of an idea that it completely shocked him. Before the others had arrived, he rushed with your limp body to Chopper’s “office” so he could check up on what was happening with you from a professional...He had an idea but, he didn’t want to assume either.

“Y/n was trying to overdose on something.” Chopper said bluntly while looking at the content from the blood he took from you. He sighed and noticed that it was a medicine that he used to numb his patience when they need severe stitches. “But...They’ll be ok....Luckily you caught them just in time Zoro. Anymore of this could’ve killed them.” Zoro didn’t say much. he just thanked Chopper for the hard work and patted his head gently.

     It took a while for you to get back to normal after that night. You felt extremely guilty and kept apologizing to both Zoro and the rest of the crew for what you tried to do. At first, they where angry but after a while, they understood what you were going through and left you alone. Zoro on the other hand, was NOT happy....Not one bit. He wasn’t /livid/ either but, he wasn’t too pleased with what he saw. The scene of him finding your nearly dead body kept playing in his mind. he was terrified of losing you, so terrified that it actually scared him.

Eventually though, you and Zoro were able to talk a little less awkwardly now. The two of you stayed in the workout room just talking about random stuff. A small silence filled the air after a while...You sighed, rubbing the back of your head awkwardly. “...Thank you...” You say quietly, but loud enough for Zoro to hear. “...For saving me that night...”  After hearing you thank him for saving you. At first, he wanted to be petty and make you sit in that guilt for a bit.

But after a short few moment, he caved in and wrapped his arms around you tightly. You didn’t say anything but, you could tell he was upset, as he shivered a bit within the hug. “Don’t ever do that again y/n...” He starts off then paused to inhale, “If you need to talk to somebody. I’m here. I’ll always be here.” he lets go so that way he can kiss your forehead and put you on his lap to cuddle you again. “I can’t stand the thought of you not being by my side.” he admits, which really warmed your heart. 

You sighed and patted his head gently, “...I promise to turn to you from now on.” You say as the two of you cuddled then fell asleep in each others arms.

[mandalorewhore]

Two Steps Ahead

PART THREE OF HUNTER (formerly hunter and prey)

gif by @princessxkenobi

Rating: Explicit Content Warnings: SMUT, Fighting as Foreplay, Rough Sex, Penetrative Sex(PIV), Unprotected Sex, Dirty talk, Praise kink, Size kink, Big Dick Mando, Top Mando, Sub/Dom elements, Very slight Pain Kink, possible CNC elements although I didn’t write that I also want to warn anyone who doesn’t want to read about rough sex with physical fighting as foreplay Words: 6.9k AO3 LINK

Summary: Reader and Mando start tracking their first bounty together

A/N: i believe things are happening...interesting

***

 “I feel like you have a distinct advantage here.” A bead of sweat drips over your brow as you mop at your sweltering forehead in irritation. Your temple throbs as you press on it, pain shooting down your neck at the pressure.

       It’s so fucking humid here. You’re tracking one of Mando’s bail jumpers in the middle of a boggy swamp planet that you never caught the name of and you’ve been walking through the forest for at least 24 hours, only stopping for water and ration breaks. Based on the holo-map you’re currently staring at, this entire planet is one big swamp, with no escape from the damp, sticky environment.

 The thing barely makes sense, a jumble of colors and shapes that worsens your headache the longer you try to figure it out. You had borrowed a thin shirt from Mando before setting out, but it does little to protect you from the buzzing swarms of insects, while at the same time it reflects just enough heat to have you sweltering.

 Mando acts unbothered under all that padding and armor, trekking through the trees without any visible sign of struggle. You don’t understand how he can stay awake for so long without caf, yourself being covered in caf-patches to keep from passing out. It’s probably somewhat dangerous to have so much of the stimulant coursing through your veins, but oh well. If my heart gives out then at least I’ll escape the bugs.  

       “Footprints aren’t the only way to track a quarry.” He returns mildly, moving swiftly over tangled tree-roots to avoid the pools of murky water that litter the forest floor. You move with less grace behind him, trying to climb slippery wood and juggle the holo at the same time. The twisted trees of this planet seem to reach inward to point at the forest floor, giving you the impression of being trapped within their clutches. The eerie feeling isn’t helped by the distinct lack of light, odd lichen tendrils drape between branches to create a blanket that absorbs most natural light from the sky. A faint glow emanates from the tendrils, basking the forest with ghostly illumination. You scramble to the top of the particularly tall root he’s perched on then plop down to catch your breath.

       “No, it’s not the only way,” you pause to take a swig from your water skin, dabbing off the spilled drops from your chin with your sleeve, “but the footprints      you    track are apparently all glowy and red. I get to look with my naked eyes for shit like depressions in the ground, which is so fun considering the only paths here are solid wood.”

       Mando rolls his helmet on his shoulders, the effect similar to someone rolling their eyes. When he speaks it’s short and gruff, annoyed by your attitude. Which is… appropriate. The hours you’ve spent walking in this heat together is starting to snap both of your tempers. “Stop complaining.”

 He’s not wrong about the footprints. You’re mostly annoyed because of how useless you feel, more like you’re tagging along than assisting him on the hunt. Drawing your eyebrows together you try to come up with a plan. Most of those mercenary skills you talked up for Karga don’t apply here, this naturalistic setting is too messy and... wild. Unpredictable. You’re used to the structure that comes with starships and cities, places engineered and civilized.

 Tracking people isn’t very hard, you’ve done it plenty of times before. The only issue is that all of your practice came from environments where they left clear signs of direction, displaced gravel indicating a shoe-print, broken branches, a trail in sand. It also helps that your targets didn’t know they were being stalked. The only path here is over hard wooden tree roots, with nothing to indicate direction, not even moss grows over the foot trail for traveling feet to mark. You take in a deep breath and hold it for several seconds before letting out all your air in one huge swoop.

       “I’m sorry, “ you tell him sincerely, “I want to help you -and not just for a bigger cut. Is there anything I can do?” You truly do feel bad for snapping at him even if you know you’re right about his advantage. Just because you don’t have fancy thermal settings and footprint tracking doesn’t mean you’re useless. The Mandalorian settles his hands on his hips and surveys the area, looking for a task to assign you. His helmet tilts up and lingers on the trees, and you’re already two steps ahead before he can voice his idea.

       “I can climb,” you interject, standing up swiftly and moving. “Trees can’t be more slippery than a spacecraft.”

       He nods in acknowledgment. “Find something and your cut goes up by five percent.”

       “Ten percent.” You grin at him cheekily, wanting to tease him even if he won’t give it to you.

       “Eight, if you find somewhere to camp.”

       “Deal.” You return, already halfway to the widest tree you can reach without getting your feet wet. The trunk is covered in knots and twisted vines, ugly but providing fantastic handholds for your hands and feet. Grabbing hold of a sturdy looking ledge you begin your ascent.

 The climb is fairly easy even with the woods damp surface, and you reach the forest canopy with minimal effort. Carefully squirreling around the thin top-most branches you attempt to find a break-through point, the wood beneath you bowing a little from your weight.

 When you finally poke your head through and see the sky you gasp, taken aback by the sight. You hadn’t hung around in the cockpit during landing, instead choosing to pack the bags while Mando skillfully piloted his ship. The forest floor is all you’ve seen of the planet and apparently you’ve missed a lot.

       The sky here is beautiful, a color palette that is completely opposite from the dark, damp underbelly of the forest ground. Swirling aquamarine clouds float lazily in the sky, speckling the orange hued atmosphere above you. There are at least 6 pale moons lined up on the horizon from edge to edge, stars twinkling around each orb as if drawn to their orbit. You drink in the sight greedily, the ache in your head lessening in the natural light. This is      so     much better than the cold stark metal of space stations that you’re used to living on.

 It’s hard to tell the time based on the sky alone, the moons must be constantly present in the sky no matter the time of day and you can’t find a single sun. Maybe this planet lives off the light and heat from each moon, reflected from a distant star? The thought is lovely but you don’t think it’s possible. You file the image away for your daydreams then divert your eyes back to the thick forest, searching for anything useful to tell Mando.

       The line of trees is unbroken, a sea of dark green leaves and glowing lichen. An orange sky helps to warm up the pale glow from the lichen but it’s eeriness still sends a shiver through you. Everything on the horizon is of even height, betraying nothing within its depths. It isn’t ideal. You gnaw your lip anxiously, dreading to return to Mando without any information especially on your first hunt together. Eyes flitting around desperately, you try to analyze any possible breaks in the natural pattern of trees.

     Could that be a settlement there? You think, looking at a slightly thinner section of forest that might roughly be three miles away. You aren’t sure about the planet’s curvature and how flat the terrain is so you double check the holo, looking for the information.

 Something catches your eye as you’re pulling up the data, just substantial enough in your peripheral version that you stop what you’re doing. There is a mist rising from that thinned area, far enough away that you mistook it as some sort of lighting effect from the overwhelming color palette here. That has to be steam right? It’s too thick to be naturally occurring from the bog. There must be machinery over there. A settlement hopefully.

 You’re about to climb down when you pause, looking at the still lit holo with renewed curiosity. Something about the map visually paired with your clear view of the forest allows the pieces to fall in place. When you compare the shape of the map to the trees you’re finally able to make sense of what you previously thought was a topographical mess. A built pathway lies here, a body of water there. And clearings. Several clearings not too far from where you are now, the perfect size to settle down in. Hopefully they’re dry.

 Either the caf-patches are finally sending you into cardiac arrest or you’re manically happy to finally be of help to your hunting partner, but either way, you’re grinning so widely that your teeth clatter together.

 “Hey Mando! Guess what you owe me?” You shout down at the ground, beginning to descend. You’re so excited that you practically slide down the vines, jumping to the ground when you’re several feet high in the air, sore muscles creaking at the impact. The Mandalorian is sitting now, resting with his elbow propped on his knee while he waited for you to come back. There’s a soft pang in your chest and you wonder if he’s tired. You brush it off, feeling as though you’re just projecting, and instead grin widely at him in triumph. “7 percent increase for me!”

 He lifts his helmet and looks you up and down. “What did you find?”

 You reply chirpily, hands grasped behind your back and shit-eating grin still plastered on your face. “There is a settlement of some kind roughly three miles that way,” you point in the direction where you saw the steam, “and several clearings nearby suitable to camp in, if we don’t want to head in right away. Oh, also we aren’t on the actual path used by locals here, the asset must be making an effort to hide.”

 “That isn’t very smart of them,” Din observes, shaking his head at the concept. “Busy path hides more prints.”

 “Hm…” You take that in, wondering what other techniques a quarry may use to shake its hunter.

 It occurs to you that there is a lot you could learn from the Mandalorian, since so far hunting someone has been notably different from your mercenary missions. You’ll find a moment to ask questions later once you’re settled down for the night, wherever that’ll be. “Do you want to camp or find the maybe-settlement?”

 “We should camp,” he responds immediately, rising from his seated position and walking closer to you, “we don’t know what we’ll face there. You can choose the area, since you climbed the tree.”

 You pull up the holo-map again and zoom in on the different options, feeling far more energized now that you actually know what you’re doing. There are two spots that seem encouraging, both a short hike away from where you are now but removed enough to grant you some privacy. You’ll still need to set up a watch to prevent ambush or stray travelers from finding you but it’ll be easier if you make an effort to hide. One of the clearings seems to have a running water source, you hope it’s cleaner than the still-water you’re currently surrounded by. Maybe you can bathe there too.

 “Lets go here,” you pull up the coordinates for Mando, “that looks like a stream, right?”

 He leans into your body for a closer look, broad chest just brushing against you in a way that sends flutters through your tummy. You know he can zoom in with his visor, there is no reason he needs to be so close to you except for your benefit. He seems to enjoy messing with you like this, throwing you off with unexpected touches, looks, and gestures. It’s like a game he plays and you’d be far more annoyed by his teases if it wasn’t so exciting.

 “Looks good,” he rumbles low in his chest. “Fresh water would be nice.”

 Your heart quickens, but you tried to hide your reaction by teasing him back, tapping your fingers on his helm and stepping away. “I was hoping to clean myself up, actually…”

 Mando straightens up at this, visor locked on your face.

 “Lead the way.” He returns quietly, giving away nothing. Trying not to smile, you start off in the direction of the clearing, for once moving faster than your armored companion.

 Your goal isn’t very far, only about 3 miles north of your previous position and a mile adjacent to the settlement you’ll pay a visit to tomorrow. Large, fuzzy fronds of an alien fern droop down the sides of the hollow clearing, providing a barrier between the forest and empty space in between. The trees still tangle above the open area, blocking out part of the beautiful sky, save a few of the large moons, and old pieces of charcoal are ground into the sandy earth here, a sight that makes you a little anxious. This spot must be used by others, you’ll have to be more careful with setting up the watch than expected.

 The water source turns out to be a small spring set on the edge of a cliff at the far end of the clearing, a sizable waterfall cascading down the side and gathering in a crystalline pool. Skipping ahead of Mando to the edge of the pool you crouch and dip your fingers in the cool water, sighing in relief as it relieves some of the warmth in your overheated body.

 You’re unable to hear Mando’s approach - how he is so stealthy under 50 pounds of metal escapes you, but you feel him behind you. You smirk. Arching your back as you rise, you turn around slowly and begin to make eyes in his direction however, when you actually see what he's doing, you cringe at yourself in embarrassment. He’s not looking like you assumed, instead he is surveying the clearing skeptically, body-language imbued with disapproval. Your heart simultaneously sinks to your stomach and contracts in frustration. You thought you had finally done something right.

 “What? Is something wrong?” You ask him tightly, subtly shrinking in on yourself in disappointment. You try to hide this by fiddling idly with a stray thread on your tunic, stubbornly keeping your head lifted high despite wishing you could disappear. He doesn’t respond right away, instead turning and walking the length of the clearing then back, stopping just in front of you sharply. You meet his visor with your eyes, holding the look until you feel like you’re burning up in shame from the pressure of it.

 “It’s too… open,” he finally says, voice halting as he tries to find the correct words. “Anyone could walk into our camp.”

 “I figured we’d set up a watch. There’s only one entrance-”

 He interrupts you. “One ground entrance. Anyone can climb down from the trees.”

 “Maybe, but this planet isn’t supposed to be dangerous, is it? Practically abandoned,” You huff out, fists clenching at your sides as you argue with him. “Besides. It’s… pretty here.”

 The Mandalorian sighs, pinching the helmet just below the visor where his nose bridge would be. “Fine. I’ll take the first watch. No fire.”

 Nodding in response, you cross the clearing and set your bag down on a log, letting out a sigh in relief. That’s fine by you, you don’t need the extra warmth and the glowing lichen provides enough light to get by. You really did not want to hike again after moving for 24 hours straight. Mando mirrors your movements, leaning his rifle next to your pack before settling on the sandy earth. A loaded pause passes between you, earlier implications at the forefront of your minds.

 Letting out a shuddering breath you crouch down and pull your old tunic from your bag, slinging it over your shoulder before making your way back to the small pond. The water is completely clear, an inviting sight after the marshy puddles that made up the forest ground on your way here. You’re facing the water now but you’re still well aware of the man behind you, the intensity of his gaze burning even through the impassive visor. The invitation is clear. Take it off.  

 But you aren’t sure if you want to give him that yet. The exhaustion from today has wrung you dry, small bickerings between you and your work partner dampening the sweet mood leftover from Nevarro. Apologizing with sex isn’t really your thing. You’d rather stoke the mutual respect between you as allies instead of start up a pattern of fighting then making up.

 You crouch at the water's edge, peering into the depths for a moment before splashing your face with cold water, fresh scar throbbing as blood rushes to the surface of your face. The spare tunic you grabbed just brushes the surface of the water, sending ripples throughout your reflection. Curious, you lean over and observe the way the mirror-like pond breaks off into fragments, bits of you here and there mixing in with the moons that lay on russet sky.

     Like a painting. You think in awe, having only seen a couple of the artifacts in person. The richest target you were assigned to owned two pieces of art, real paintings on real paper, encased in transparisteel viewing cases before you smashed open the backing to wonder at them. You close your eyes and try to recall the texture of the paint before the rest of your memory catches up and sours the whole thing. The man's home had to be burned in order to erase evidence, his paintings too large to smuggle out of the city.

 When you open your eyes the pond has settled with your reflection only- you’re not alone.

 “Maker!” You jump at the sight of the Mandalorians gleaming helmet appearing in the reflection. “What the fuck, you sneak.”

 He just chuckles in response and offers you a hand, which you take firmly while rolling your eyes and standing. He leads you back to sit with him on the sandy earth, taking ration bars out of his pack- not yours, and breaking them evenly between you. The gesture is surprisingly tender and none too appreciated what with your stomach growling audibly at the bland meal. All at once, you are reminded by the spattering of caf-patches on your limbs, the jitteriness becoming more apparent now that you’re finally still. You’re shaking. Mando notices as well.

 “You may explode.” He remarks, prompting you to start pulling off the stimulant, crumpling each piece and setting them neatly in a pile at your knee.

 “Good, let me explode. You’re too bossy to work with.” You return with a smirk, hoping your sarcasm lands. He hums in response, pulling one of the patches off of your forearm and flicking it in your direction for you to catch.

 Tutting, you roll the patch into a ball and set it at the top of your pile. “Don’t leave a mess, this forest is ugly but at least it’s untouched,” you tell him firmly. Mando just nods.

 The ration bars are hardly a delicacy but you shove them in your mouth all the same, appreciating the engineering behind them. They are so calorie rich that a piece the size of your palm can keep you going for hours. However, your body can’t seem to relax despite the food lining your belly- perhaps you actually overdid the caf. You should be tired right now. Staying awake for more than a day isn’t exactly the average schedule but your knee bounces uncontrollably in a frantic pattern, stirring up puffs of sand between you and the warrior.

 “You need to tire.” Mando mutters, firmly placing a glove on your thigh and holding the limb down. “Stop that.”

 “Sorry,” you reply, trying to freeze yourself and sit as still as he does. Mando always exists so sagely, like a monk. Completely calm when he wants to be before exploding into action, no warm-up necessary. You wonder if he had some sort of meditation training to achieve that. Is that why he sits like that in the cockpit, his back rod straight like a statue? Weirdo.

 “Hey…” The palm at your thigh presses again and you suck in a sharp breath. You didn’t even realize you were twitching again. “Do I have to hold you down?” He growls.

 You gulp. “Tempting. But no.” Your words come out steadier than you feel. The caf becomes all too much in that moment so you lurch to your feet, his gleaming helmet following your body as it rises jerkily. You feel far too energetic, needing to get the energy out somehow so you can finally pass out. Your idea leaves your mouth before you can truly think it over.

 “Wanna fight?”

 “...What?” Mando sounds truly surprised even if his body betrays nothing.

 “You heard me,” you’re bouncing on the balls of your feet, swaying back and forth like a green sailor on the oceans of Mon Cala. “Let's practice our combat, I rarely get to do that.”

 He’s standing before you can blink causing you to jerk back, startled by his speed. The Mandalorian poses right in front of you, too close to not be a challenge with his weight settled on one leg breezily.

 “Okay. Hit me.”

     What a taunting mother fu-  You swing your left hand out as if aiming for the unarmored spot on his ribs, which he blocks with ease… leaving his throat open for your right fist to sharply jab.

 The bounty hunter doubles over, coughing and clutching his neck with one hand.

 “O-Oh shit! I’m sorry, I- I didn’t mean, let me-” You scramble with lost movements, trying and failing to help him straighten upright. It leaves you awkwardly placing your palms on his back while the crown of his helmet presses into your belly. “I, um… Mando?”

 His arms wrap around your middle in a flash, pulling you tightly against his chest and throwing both your bodies to the ground. It happens so fast that you can’t even shriek before the air is knocked out of you, hitting the sand hard enough to throw it into the air around you. Gasping, you smack full force at the Mandalorian on top of you, his arms still crushing you against him while your legs lock straight together with his knees on either side. It’s sexy, but you’d really like to breathe. He lets up just barely.

 “Nice punch,” he rasps, throat clearly affected by the hit. “Don’t think I’ll hold back after that though.”

 “Don’t… want… you to…” You shoot back at him, sharp as you can manage while wheezing. Mandos visor raises ever so slowly and pins you, hidden eyes holding you down more effectively than his body. After a drawn out moment of this, your head spinning as you calculate your escape strategy, he crawls up your body to prop himself above you, locking your wrists in one large hand with the other presses against your chest, shoving your back into the earth. It is just enough pressure to squeeze some air out of your lungs and it is then when you know he isn’t kidding about not holding back.

 You’re so fucking happy that he isn’t letting you win.

 In other instances, you’d panic at the hopeless feeling of being trapped like this, by someone twice your size and clad in the galaxy’s most powerful steel. But the way he spars with you now, full force and not playing easy... it has implied respect for your skill. He knows you can fight and doesn’t spare you the opportunity to prove it.

 Only a second or two has passed since he fully immobilized you and you’re still locked in your flattened position. When he motions to stand, pulling your wrists as if to drag you, you know you must make your move now or it will be too late. The only spot he has open on his body right now is… well, right between his legs. The first thing a smaller fighter learns about combating larger foes is to fight dirty and there is no reason you should hold back if Mando isn’t. Your legs had been pinned tightly together before he moved to drag you but now there is just enough room to swing a knee up and hit him between the legs.

 Mando doesn’t wear a full codpiece but luckily for you, the padding on his groin isn’t enough to block your kick. A choked sound rips out of his throat and he falls to one knee, the fingers encircling your wrists loosening slightly while he struggles to fight his body’s natural pain response. You wrench one hand free and use it to grip his cowled neckline, planting your feet against his cuirass and swinging yourself into a hanging position before his grip tightens again. He's steady but you try to dig your feet in to throw him forward, hoping to twist around and land on his back with his face down. He totters for one frozen second, both your bodies on the precipice of falling but unfortunately, he manages to wrench himself backwards and land heavily on his back with you on top.

 You’re both gasping and groaning at the shock of hitting the ground so hard, and for one breathless moment all you do is stare heatedly at each other on the forest floor, eyes locking through his visor and somehow you know he is grinning.

 His smile mirrors on your face when you feel his hands rip at your clothes, wrenching the thin pants off of you down to your thighs forcefully enough to knock your legs together with a dull thud.

 “Did I not just kick you in the dick, Mando?” You laugh, working at his belt at the same time. He palms your ass through your underwear greedily, squeezing so hard that you know finger shaped bruises will blossom there.

 “You missed.”

 “Must’ve hurt either way…” You mutter, finally managing to reach under his thick layers and wrap your hand around his length, producing a low growl from the man beneath you. “Maybe, it's good I missed.”

 The only response you get is his hands pulling both your hands to lay on his chest plate then traveling back down your body to tug aside your underwear and grind you down onto his hips, rubbing your now bare slit against his bulge. You vaguely remember deciding against coming onto him as a form of apology, but for some reason, since he started first that all ceases to matter. It feels like a game you’ve begun to play with each other, playing with the tension between you and the Mandalorian until you find out what breaks your resolve. Maybe it started even before you entered this forest, perhaps back on Nevarro or even on the station.

 You can’t tell but you don’t want to question it either.

 A moan falls from your throat, your hands moving on their own volition to try and remove his belt entirely, or at least enough to pull his cock out. Mando’s glove flashes up again to circle your wrists, immobilizing them and harshly pinning you down with his vambrace lain across your back.

 “You yield?” He asks, voice dripping with a sickly triumph. A chill runs down your back and you feel as if he just dunked you into the pond.

 “W-What?”

 “You yield… I win?”

 “Wha- No!” You cry out indignantly, struggling against his iron grip. “I didn’t realize we were still sparring!”

 He laughs, fully bodied and dark with some emotion that swirls deep within your core, and you can’t put your finger on it exactly but you know you’ll have to do something before you’re swept up entirely. “Oh, but we are. What shall the winner gain?” He asks, so quietly that it is almost lost in the warped modulator, barely a question and more so a crackling of static.

 Fuck, you’re so wet.

 You lick your lips and shakily respond. “I am not one to give up, however-”

 “Then don’t. Keep fighting.”

 Oh, and you love what he implies. There is no reason to argue further and less time to act, so you immediately struggle hard with the upper half of your body, wrenching your wrists to try and distract him from the way your legs are free to swing into his ribs. But Mando doesn’t fall for your feint a second time. In fact, he seems to have expected it, his leg is more than prepared to hook around the back of your knees and hold you against his body, rolling to the side to throw you underneath him.

 You’re pinned on your back with nearly his full weight, unable to do more than weakly punch at what you can reach- unfortunately for you all you can reach is armor. Your cry of anger is cut short when Mando flips onto your front, your chest pressed roughly to the floor of the forest.

 The helmet appears over your shoulder, his ragged breathing right by your ear. “T-This okay? You want this?” You can’t find your words to respond with the way you're held so tightly against the earth, so you nod as best you can with one cheek pressed into the ground. Mando snarls something furiously, one hand leaving your back to fumble with his pants and pull his cock out, lining himself up at your soaking entrance and running the head through your folds.

 His helmet drops back down to your shoulder, the visor turning and burying itself into the line of your neck and you know that if he weren’t bound by his creed then he would be kissing dark bruises there.

  “You know this means I win,” he hisses, pressing his cock to breach your tight opening ever so slightly.

 “I-I know.” You whimper weakly.

 With that, he fully pushes himself into you and if you weren’t so wet you know his size would be unbearably painful. Instead, the stretch is pure bliss, a slow burning sensation that has a hint of sting to it, his dominance lending to complete submission and all you can do is lay there and take it. There is still the strain you grew to know from when he allowed you to use his body on Nevarro, but something about Mando topping you encourages you to open yourself for him with more ease.

 He quickly bottoms out then holds himself till, allowing you to adjust to his size. You’re writhing as much as possible under the way he crushes you to the floor, knees carving grooves in the soft sandy earth.

 “Fuck,” Mando grits, teeth clenched together so hard that you swear you can hear the grinding in his jaw. “You’re so fucking tight, fuck.”  

 The position is hard to maintain on the soft ground, his hands keep sliding ever so slightly on either side of you forcing him to adjust every few seconds. His patience breaks after the third time this happens, a growl crackling through the helmet as he settles his hands on your lower back and hoists his body up, knees planted on either side of your thighs, crushing them together with intense pressure on your clit. Your body is locked tight, pussy clenching harder around his cock when he rises into an upright position.

 You let out a genuine scream when he draws back then thrusts sharply into you, pain mixing with pleasure in a manner far more biting than on his ship, when he had let you take control entirely, never even doing so much as to thrust into you. It is almost too much for you but even while you struggle to take his cock, you don’t      dare    tell him to stop, nor do you want him to stop. You’re so blinded by the stretch that you don’t realize he is speaking until you miss several, distorted words.

 “Fuck, why did I wait, why did I wait? I should’ve fuck-fucked you back on the station, approached you in that hangar and made myself fucking clear-”    Each gritted word is accentuated by a mean thrust, his dick is so big that he has to shove himself inside of you rather than glide, breaking you open in a way that burns so sweetly. Your legs are held together, knees locked and straight, which doesn’t help how tight you are but you can’t budge at all to open yourself to Mando, his hands pressing down at your lower back so heavily that you’re short of breath.

 A garbled moan is forced out of you when Mando grinds his length into your pussy as deep as he can possibly reach, hips smashing against your ass while he pulses inside of you and for a second you think he's cumming. But no- he draws himself from your depths and starts to rut his cock between your cheeks, head resting on your upper back and hands by your head.

 A powerful hand wraps under your side and settles at your sternum, pulling you back against his cuirass and lifting so that you end up seated together, fitting against him without even an inch of space between your bodies. His hand lifts your hips, other appendage snaking around to position his cock back at your entrance before allowing gravity to do the work, your legs spreading to rest on either side of his thighs as you sink down on him to the hilt.

 Once settled, Mando starts to work you on his cock, lifting you like you weigh no more than a pebble then letting go. The head of his cock slams full force into your pussy with the weight of your entire body, each brutal pounding sending sparks of pleasure up your spine. Lungs free and no longer crushed to the floor, you’re unable to stay quiet, broken sobs and moans puffing from gritted teeth as he takes what he denied himself on his ship, the memory a thousand miles away as your processing center is fucked stupid.

 You can’t say how long this goes on for, maybe minutes, maybe hours, but the next thing you know is that your cheek is back on the sand, burning from the way it chaffs against the floor with each rhythmic thrust that claps against your thighs. You’re don’t even know if you’ve cum yet but it doesn’t matter, not with the way he is fucking the life out of you here in the wilderness. Mando is still talking, still uttering filth and praise through the helmet and all you can think about is how badly you want to hear his real voice speaking that way to you, you’re so close to asking him to take it off but you can’t find the words, you can’t think, you can’t-

 Abruptly, he grinds to a halt at the deepest point in your body then pulls himself free, pushing your shirt up lighting fast before cumming across your back with a choked exclamation. You’re both still for a second before your knees collapse, landing flat on your belly and gasping desperately. There is a shuffling noise behind you, accompanied with heavy breaths from the bounty hunter. It sounds like he’s rummaging through something then, yeah- your train of thought is confirmed when a wet cloth wipes his pleasure from your skin, gently trailing along your spine and ass.

 You reach behind you and hold his wrist, feeling the fluttering pulse there. “I’ll win next time…” You whisper, drawing his hand along the soreness on your bottom, the area he bruised, you suspect. He laughs- or pants you can’t really tell, but either way his touch becomes more gentle on your body, smoothing out the tense muscles and cleaning you up. Today's travels with the man have suddenly caught up to you and you might pass out right here, half clothed and dirty.

 “Come on, get up. Don’t sleep here.” Mando firmly states, helping you up and guiding you across the clearing after you pull your leggings up from where they gathered at your ankle. You’re trembling like a leaf, fragile in your spent state but glowing all the same. Mando sets you down on a log and brings you a canteen of water which you gulp down thankfully. He chuckles. “Wait up or I’ll have to drink from the spring.”

 That gives you pause, reminding you of something he said while you lay beneath him. You’re slightly nervous to ask but you do it anyway, warm and satisfied on your perch while he cares for you. “You.. When you were, um- fucking me. Well, you said something about how you shouldn’t have waited. Does that mean what I think it means?”

 He nods, “I noticed you for other reasons too, burc’ya.”

 “Maybe you should’ve fucked me back then.” Taking another gulp then handing the canteen back, you stretch then slide down to sit on the ground with him, back against the log. “You said that word before, ber-borshaw?”

 “Burc’ya.”He corrects,“It means friend in Mando’a.”

 “Oh.”You cheeks heat, feeling silly and rude for not recognizing the use of his people’s tongue, also noting that he used it to refer to you twice now, endearingly. It is an honor, one that makes you nervous. You feel like you should apologize, somehow. “Y-You speak Mando’a? I’ve never heard you use it before.”

 Mando settles against the log, leaning his broad shoulders to rest against the wood near your side. A few moments pass before he responds, “I chose to not use it around the others. Didn’t trust them.”

 “Oh, so you trust me?” You giggle, tapping the side of his helmet with your elbow. Questions burn within you and you may as well ask now, in the quiet afterglow of sex where everything is warm and slow. “Why didn’t you trust them if you started the company with Ran? How am I any different?”

 “You aren’t ruthless,” he surprises you by answering immediately, and you can’t decide whether you're insulted or not before he continues. “Ruthless and cruel is all that group ended up being, and it didn’t start out that way. We weren’t just mercenaries, we had a      code.    In the early days, attacking a slave ship would’ve been out of the question. Ran wasn’t always so full of greed.”

 Silence falls after he speaks, letting you mull over his explanation for a while while the waterfall rumbles in the background. Really, his perspective confuses you when you think back on your actions as a mercenary. Desperate to climb the ranks, to make a name for yourself, to earn credits and reputation. You suppose you conducted yourself with empathy, avoiding selection for hits that targeted innocent people if you could help it. You never had much choice in the area but it seems your actions spoke louder than realized. So much energy spent to avoid seeming weak and you never considered that your aversion doubled as strength.

 “Friend…” You whisper, not of your own accord. The word floats on your tongue, a specter within your vocabulary. In your adulthood you’ve had allies, you’ve had teammates, you’ve had acquaintances, but to have a friend… it terrifies you as much as it warms your heart. You considered yourself partnered professionally with the Mandalorian and didn’t      dare    to consider yourself lovers, no matter how much you privately hoped. But a friend is a luxury you didn’t hold close, mainly out of fear. You lost too many as a child. For a faceless man he manages to strike areas that are quite intimate.

 You decide that you’ll enjoy being his friend, a bit surprised that you aren’t too hurt by what is essentially a romantic rejection of the crush you held for so long. Probably because this is      real    , solid and built within reality instead of the silly fantasies you built prior.

     This is better than lovers, you tell yourself, the slight ache in your heart melting into the background of your desires, behind lock and key for another world.

 “I’ll take ‘friend’, Mando.” You grin, extending a hand to him cheekily. He stares for a second before taking it and shaking, helmet tilting in a respectful nod.

 His next words send an unexpected pang throughout your chest, taking all the careful walls you worked hard to set up and throwing them into a blazing inferno.

 “Let’s see where it goes.”

  Fuck.  

   ----------------

   Leather boots prance lightly through thick branches high in the trees, footfalls landing silently with all the grace of an athlete. Through the delicate glasses perched on the pursuers nose, a red glow blooms on the shadowy floor of the swamp, two sets of footprints lighting up to reveal a steady path made by the travelers. A musical giggle bubbles out of the darkly dressed woman as she pulls a small holo-watch from her bag and straps it onto her wrist, pale light mixing with her lavender skin, transforming it into a sickly grey.

 Xi’an claps a hand over her mouth to prevent her cackle from ringing through the trees as her plan takes form.

***

TAG LIST (working on it slowly, message if you want)

@velia27 @shrekscoochiehair @tbhitisdbh @sparklingwitches @lazyonasunday @peach-child @leah-halliwell92 @riot-sounds

[living-with-pmd]

11 Women With PMDD Share What It's Really Like

Premenstrual dysphoric disorder is the evil cousin of PMS. They share the same types of symptoms—moodiness, increased hunger, cravings, fatigue, cramps, pain, brain fog, and depression, among others—but for PMDD sufferers, those symptoms get so bad they can cripple a woman's ability to lead a normal life.  

While up to 85 percent of women get PMS, according to the US Department of Health, only about 5 percent of women experience PMDD, according to the American Journal of Psychiatry.

We asked women with PMDD what it's really like living with the disorder. Here are their stories:

"I was diagnosed with PMDD last summer. Six months prior to my diagnosis, I started taking a certain birth control and soon every month I was experiencing severe PMS issues. I am a generally happy person, but during those few days I was someone entirely different. I was extremely depressed and anxious, having much more frequent panic attacks, and was super sensitive and lonely. I was even suicidal, which was terrifying. And the worst part was I was convinced that I had always been this miserable, and that I would always be this miserable, and it was never going to change. It felt as if someone had completely burned out the light in me and all happiness and joy and hope was gone. I didn't make the connection that it was related to my period but thankfully a close friend did. I have since switched birth control, which helped a lot, and increased the dosage of my anti-anxiety and anti-depressant meds. Most importantly, I am aware of the way I feel those few days so I know to expect it, and I can logically remind myself that I will stop feeling that way soon. Looking back, I realize that I've probably always had pretty bad PMS or PMDD. The birth control worsened it but it was also causing a lot of issues I wasn't aware of previously as well." —Katherine H., 22, Edmonds, WA

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"PMDD is out of control. I cry really easily for about a week. My biggest issue is that I am convinced that I am failing at everything—being a wife, a mom, work projects, fitness, my whole life! And even though it feels so real I constantly have to question if my feelings are valid or if they are amplified by my cycle. I just set an alert in my phone to remind me to consider my hormones the next time I feel that way." —Krysten B., 32, Toronto, CA

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"A week before my period, I become a complete psycho, completely unlike myself. I'm tearful, want to eat everything that's sweet or salty, have absolutely no tolerance for anything other than perfection, and prefer to be left completely alone. I already take an antidepressant but my PMDD was a complete nightmare so my doctor gave me Prozac to take for just 10 days a month. Basically, I start it when I start to get that irrational feeling and keeping taking it until my period starts. And that's just the emotional stuff. On the physical side, I have debilitating cramps, backaches, and headaches that last for days. Yep. I'm a peach." —Kristen L., 40, Knoxville, TN

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"In the past, PMDD almost made me suicidal and totally broke my spirit. Yes it wasthat bad. Every month. Eventually I got tired of being a 'crazy PMS woman' and decided I needed to fix this. Since I don't like to take pharmaceuticals, I branched out to homeopathic remedies and I discovered St. John's Wort and essential oils, especially clary sage and Doterra Calm-Its. It's a lot better now but I still have my hard days." —Amy S., 43, Zebulon, NC

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"My PMDD got so bad I had to go to a psychiatrist and be put on Prozac along with another antidepressant I was already taking. I was a mess—anxious, crying randomly over the smallest thing, and eating everything in sight. One example is someone made a YouTube mashup of the Age of Ultron trailers with Pinocchio footage and the 'I've got no strings on me' song and that wrecked me for weeks. Every time I thought about scenes from Pinocchio I would start panicking and crying at my work desk. It's been a few years and I'm better now. I'm off birth control and weening myself off the Prozac. I notice a week before my period I will sob during any sad part in a movie or book I'm reading, and a day or two before, I notice I'm more likely to be anxious." —Kate W., 36, Alaska

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"This has impacted my ability to work effectively. My pet peeve is when people say 'it must be close to your time of the month' when they simply don't like what I'm saying. I have run into that problem a lot at previous jobs and it makes it really hard to be taken seriously. It's bullshit because my feelings are valid regardless and also PMDD is not a joke. I am so lucky now to have a male boss who understands but it wasn't always that way. I have also have found a lot of relief with naturopathic and herbal remedies." —Amalia F., 28, Vancouver, Canada

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"My PMS was tolerable until my second child was born and then everything went off the rails. I'd be looking forward to plans with others, happy, and then about 10 to 14 days before my flow would start, my mood would turn on a dime. I'd be horrible—crying, screaming that ~nobody understands~, just so much emotional pain. I'd basically lock myself up in the bedroom for a full day to cry, get angry, and feel sorry for myself. It took three doctors before I finally found one who would listen to me before I was finally diagnosed with PMDD. I took Prozac for three years for it but it made me feel numb, like a zombie and not like myself. So I quit and my family just deals with me now. As I've gotten closer to menopause the PMDD is not as bad, but can be very unpredictable due to hormonal swings from perimenopause. The worst part now is I feel like my friendships have suffered. I always seem to have episodes around major holidays and events and I end up bumming everyone out if I do show up so I end up staying home a lot." —Colleen T., 50, St. Paul, MN

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"I'm overly emotional for the week before my period. Saying that makes it sound like it's not that bad but I get so distraught that my fiance has actually scheduled it in his phone as 'blood sport' to remind himself what's coming. I'm thankful that he's patient because I also feel like everyone hates me that week, too." —Kenlie T., 36, New Orleans, LA

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"All month long I'm fine and feel even and calm and then suddenly, the week before my period, I can't handle even the tiniest little thing. My irritability goes through the roof (which is not great since I have a 5-year-old) and I feel like I have no friends. It really makes me sad." —Jessica S., 28, Broomfield, CO

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"I know my period is coming because all of a sudden all of my joints hurt, especially my knees and ankles. I also get crazy gnarly cramps and once I even had a cyst that ruptured while I was on a date and the guy had to take me to the hospital! It was so embarrassing. Thankfully my husband now is very understanding when this time rolls around each month. The worst part is people who just think I make this stuff up. Some months are better than others and sometimes the pain is completely debilitating! My emotions are also a rollercoaster. Anytime I see something cute or inspiring, I burst into tears." —Ivie C., 21, Rexburg, ID

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"My PMDD manifests in both mental and physical symptoms. From the time I got my period at age 12, I've had extreme cramps and heavy bleeding. I'd leak at school through a super maxi pad every class so I'd tie sweatshirts around my waist and have to scrub my clothes when I got home. It was super humiliating. I'd have to take six to eight ibuprofen at a time to deal with cramps, and if I didn't I'd end up on the floor sweating like I had the flu. Sometimes I'd even throw up. This meant I ended up spending a lot of time sick in bathrooms and knew where every restroom was at all times. Birth control helped manage the PMDD and other issues, but as soon as I was done having kids, I had a hysterectomy. That was the best thing I've ever done." —Mandy P., 39, Mendon, UT

https://www.womenshealthmag.com/health/a19972132/premenstrual-dysphoric-disorder/

[harrysgloves]

Hey if you are taking requests could you please write something where Harry leaves Y/N for someone whom he thinks is better than her and is a major tool while leaving Y/N and then soon realizes that he only loves Y/N and goes to get her back but she isn't convinced easily! But please let it be a happy ending!!

>>My first request! Excuse me while I go die from how excited I’ve been over this. Also, got way too into this and got a bit carried away... and the ending well.. I debated it for too long.

word count: 3.3k

warnings: Language // Mentions of depression, anxiety // Unhealthy amount of ice cream consumption // Harry is a dick // angsty // mentions of smut but nothing fancy

>>><<<

You laid in bed alone for what felt like the millionth time in the last few months. The spot besides you that was usually filled with your loving boyfriend was now empty and as cold as the northern winters. You tried to ignore that nagging deep pit of dread in your stomach when you turned on your side to face the wall.

You knew something wasn’t right but you didn’t want to admit it to yourself. Just a little bit longer of being in denial before you had to face up to the facts.

Harry was out running around on you.

Your eyes filled with unfallen tears as your fingers dug into the soft plush of your pillow. You tried your best to hold it in, to not let your thoughts get the best of you. You tried to rationalize everything he’d done lately that had seemed weird or off. The late nights, the way he guarded his phone like it was his most prized possession. You could rationalize some of it but not all of it, that sinking feeling in your chest only worsened as the minutes on the clock ticked by.

You started to wonder how someone could throw away a five year relationship so easily. How he could possibly come home and look you in the eyes after spending time doing god-knows-what, with a straight face? The feelings of hurt slowly started to wash away into anger as the sun blared its way through the lace curtains you’d bought specifically because Harry liked them.

Fuck those goddamn curtains, you thought as you flung yourself out of your warm and comfortable bed. The tears you had been refusing to cry finally fell in rivers as you ripped the delicate and expensive lace down from the window. Your body shook with a flood of emotions you couldn’t begin to describe as you stared at what you’d done.

You felt like those curtains- torn to shreds, laying like a rag on the floor like yesterday's garbage.

And you used to be so happy.

You dried your eyes with the back of your hand. Fuck this, you were worth more than this. More than sitting around waiting on some man to come home after getting his dick wet somewhere else.

His bags with all his stupid expensive clothes by the front door while you lounged in your nicest outfit, drinking your glass of wine at 6 in the morning. You thought maybe you had gone a bit overboard on being petty but in all honesty, he should just be happy his Gucci didn’t end up on the front lawn. You had some class still reserved.

When the front door finally creaked open at 7:20 your heart felt like it could drop. The back of your tongue was thick and hairy with nerves and venomous words you wanted to spew. The look of surprise on his face satisfied that demon of pure rage in your mind. Of couse, he would think that you’d just be off to work again, that you’d ignore this, again.

No words were spoken as he fully entered into what was once, a very happy home. His green eyes fell on you sipping on your drink, your legs kicked up on the stool in front of you as you relaxed into the chair. Determined to not let him see the fact you were nothing but a mess, ready to break at any moment.

“Wot’s this then?” He asked even though you both knew he didn’t need to.

He knew damn well what this was. He had wanted to break up for months, maybe even longer. Things had changed or maybe it was just him that changed. One thing he did know for sure was that you weren’t Camille. You’d never be her and well… That was the problem.

Ever since the two had been forced to work together again, Harry had realized that spark for her was still there and the girl was everything you weren’t. Sophisticated, educated, gorgeous down to her bones. Sure, you were pretty but you weren’t the famous type of pretty. No, you were just a boring kindergarten teacher who he happened to cross paths with one day.

“Figured you were smart enough to work that one out for yourself.” Your sharp words were a total contrast to your demeanor. You shrugged, your eyes not bothering to look at him when he gave a short, sarcastic, laugh.

“Yeh gonna pay fo’ this place by yehself?” His arrogant voice rang through the home you now hated with a burning passion. Your glass clinked against the glass of the side table when you sat it down. Your body finally turned just enough to him to see whatever was lurking behind his eyes was anything but remorse.

“Nope. Going to move out once I find a new place. Until then, you can stay wherever you want, not my concern.”

“This is my house, Y/N.” He argued. His patience with you running thin as you stood from your spot. The heat and rage that built in your chest finally came to a breaking point.

“The person who cheats gets to couch surf, you fucking asshole.” You seethed, the anger, pain, and hurt couldn’t stay bottled in any longer even if you tried. Your face burned as you looked at him, your body shaking as you clenched your fist.

“Yeh don’t know shit.” He scoffed not caring one bit that you were seconds away from breaking.

“Oh really? Where were you last night?” You asked, hands on your hips, knowing whatever was about to come out of his mouth was about to be nothing but bullshit.

“With Jeff.”

“Alexa, Call Jeff.” You called out loud enough for the smart device to hear. The color from Harry’s face drained as his and your friends' groggy morning voice came over the speaker.

“Was Harry with you last night?” You asked as you stared directly into Harry’s eyes. Tears clouded your vision as he looked back at you.

“What? No?” Jeff said through his barely awaken state.

“Get the fuck out.” You barked at Harry. Storming towards the door to open it for him.

“Fuck you, Y/N. Jesus, you’re so fuckin' dramatic.” He rolled his eyes as his hands picked up the bags that laid on the floor in front of him. “Yeh got so many damn problems I can’t wait to get away from yeh. Every week it’s somethin’ else. My anxiety this, my depression that. How do expect anyone to be happy around you when you suck the fuckin’ will to live out of everyone?”

“Screw you.” You said through clenched teeth. Your eyes burned from how hard you were crying. You couldn’t believe he had used all those things you confided in him about against you.

“Yeah, yeah. Fuck me, I get it. At least I’ll be happy with someone else.” He shook his head at you before he walked out the door. The slam of the wood hitting the frame vibrated the walls, the ceiling, your chest.

“I’ll be there in 5 minutes.”You heard over your sobbing but you couldn’t calm down enough to stop. Your arms wrapped around yourself in a hug as you nodded your head, knowing he couldn’t see it but it was the only type of communication you could do right now. Your heart felt like it was literally ripped from your chest.

>>>

The words Harry said ran through your mind more than you’d ever like to admit. Late at night as you laid in bed staring up at the ceiling of your new apartment you wondered if it was true. If you did force people away from you with all your problems. If you chased him away from you.

You couldn’t stop thinking about it. Every time you were alone or had a moment of peace it was the first thing that popped into your head.

Maybe you were the problem all along. It made sense, you were the common denominator in all your relationships that ended terrible. All your relationships ended terrible and now you realized, it was because of you.

“That’s not true.” Jeff said softly from the other side of the cafe table. His hand reached out to take yours. His thumb running over the back of it as you tried your best to not break down in public.

“Feels like it.” You mumbled. The fork in your other hand pushed the food on your plate around.

“It’s not true. You have so many friends and we all love you. Harry was a dick.” His irritated voice brought a slight smile to the edge of your lips. Jeff had somehow become your life line in the last few weeks.

He had brought you groceries, sat with you when you cried into a tub of ice cream, held your hair back when you tried to drink your feelings away with cheap liquor. He had been an amazing friend, not that he wasn’t one before but now that you two had more time one-on-one, you realized how sweet he could be and how great he was at cheering you up.

“Want me to kick him?” He asked, his big toothy smile across his face when you finally let out a laugh, one he hadn’t heard in what felt like forever.

Whatever small sense of normalcy you were feeling again was short-lived. The bell on the door sent you crashing back down to reality when you saw the head of brown curls enter into the building. A pretty blonde on his arm, smiling brightly up to him like he had just told the world's best joke.

“Fuck.” Jeff said under his breath. The hand connected to yours quickly pulled you up from your seat. His arm around your shoulders, trying to block you from their sight as he guided you towards the door.

“Thanks for taking the trash out, Jeff.” She said in the sickeningly sweet voice. A gloating smile across her face when she looked at you.

Your already low self esteem dropped to deeps you couldn’t imagine when your puffy red eyes met Harry’s. For a second, he looked remorseful for what she said. A look of shock briefly fluttered on his face before turning to stone. Not like it surprised you, what he had said had been so much worse.

Jeff shook his head, glaring at Harry before he pulled you fully outside the building. The cool air licked across the wet streaks on your cheek that you hadn’t even realized was there. You sighed, head against Jeff’s chest as he walked you both back to your place.

>>>

Harry laid in bed that night. The image of your defeated face couldn't leave his mind. Your puffy red eyes like you'd been crying for days filled his wandering thoughts.

He couldn't understand why he couldn't get you out of his mind. He swore he wanted this. The urge to leave the relationship built in him for so long and now he laid next to the only person he swore he loved.

So why did he feel so empty?

Memories of you sitting on the couch beside him, reading to him out loud as you stroked your fingers through his hair flooded his mind. The way you'd look down at him with that crooked smile whenever he said something cheeky about the characters in the novel.

He sighed, his hands ran over his face in the darkened room. He couldn't stop, more like, his mind couldn't stop.

The way you hugged him tighter than anyone else he'd ever known.

The way you'd tell him all about the kids in your class and how much they loved him or his music.

Your cooking, God, he even missed the nights when you'd fuck you dinner and you two would end up ordering pizza. He even missed your sad attempt at biscuits that you tried, and failed, to make every month.

He missed your caring nature. How you'd never call anyone rubbish, even if you hated them, even if they'd wronged you in some way.

He turned in his spot in the bed. His eyes focused on the pretty blonde beside him. Her eyes fluttered open at the movement, a smile on her face when she saw him looking at her.

"Love you." She mumbled, her head nuzzled into his chest that felt like it was being ripped out.

The memory of you saying those words for the first time to him popped in his mind. The way your smile lit up the room when he said it back. Your soft lips against his, kissing him with a hunger and passion he'd never felt before. His hips rocking soft waves into yours as he mumbled to words over and over again close to your ear while your climax hit you.

His heart sank. The feeling of regret was an overwhelming black hole in the bottom of his stomach. The eyes that weren't yours blinked back at him.

"I can't do this." He said as he pushed her away. His body rolled out of the bed in an instant, quickly grabbing for his clothes to leave her house as soon as possible.

"You can't be serious." She scoffed, that soft sweet facade she had started to crack under her aggravation.

"I don't love you." He stated as plainly as he could. He thought he loved her, swore he did, but whatever he was feeling towards her wasn't anything more than last.

You were the one by his side through thick and thin. He was just too much of a dumb-ass to notice it before.

"She's not going to take you back." Camille shot back at him as she scooped up the blankets in her hands to cover herself as he started for her front door. "You're going to regret this, Harry."

He sighed, his hand ran through his hair, tongue wetting his lips as his hand rested on the door knob. He shook his head before opening the door without a word back to her.

The only thing he would regret was letting you go.

>>>

The pounding at your door startled you out of your sugar induced ice cream coma. The empty tub fell to the ground with a loud thud and tinkling of the metal spoon skipping across the linoleum floors. The only sound other than the obnoxious loud bangs was coming from your television, the blue light engulfed the small room all around you.

"Summer, Sid stabbed Nancy... Seven times with a kitchen knife. I mean, we've had some disagreements but I hardly think I'm Sid Vicious." Joseph Gordon-Levitt's pleas for Zooey Deschanel to not end things with him echoed against your bare walls.

Pathetic, you thought to be groveling for someone to not leave you, but yet it was so goddamn relatable.

The slamming of a fist against your door brought you back to reality. You groaned the blanket flung off you as you called out that you were coming, to shut up before they woke your neighbors.

"What the fuck do you want?" Was the first thing out of your mouth when you finally opened your front door. The person standing in front of you was the last person you wanted to see right now.

"Please, Y/N, jus'- jus' listen. Okay?" His words stumbled out of his mouth and as much as you wanted to hate him, you couldn't.

You swallowed as you stepped aside for him to come into your apartment. Not wanting your new neighbors to hear all your business. A curt nod of your head was the only answer you gave him. Your arms across your chest as you stared at the floor in front of you. A part of you wanted to hear but the other didn't.

"I- I," He sighed, his fingers tugged his bottom lip to a point as he looked at you. Nerves radiating off him. "'M so sorry, Y/N, for everythin'."

"I think you should go." You said when your lip started to quiver. Tears welling in your eyes again. What you wouldn't give to go 4 hours without bursting into tears.

"Y/N," he said softly his hand cupped your face. His thumb brushing over your cheek to wipe away the tears and for a second, you leaned into the comfort he was giving you.

Until you remembered he was the reason you were hurt.

Your hand smacked his away as you backed up from him. You brows furrowed, your skin that he touched burned like a fresh sunburn when your fingers ran against it.

"Go!" You yelled, your finger pointing towards the door as he stood there dumbfounded.

"No." He said after a long moment of silence. The words shattering the deafening quiet in the room, cutting like a blade through the tension between you two.

"I. Said. To. Leave." You growled from low in your chest. Anger but mostly hurt and pain from the bitter sting of rejection fueled your words.

"Not until I say what I want to say." His fallen face made a pathetic laugh come from you. He had no right to ask or demand for anything from you.

"Don't you get it? You lost your chance to say anything to me!" You didn't try to hold back your emotions that ran through your voice.

"I fucked up, I know but-"

"Goddamn it, Harry. It's not always about you!" You shouted, your arms flung from your chest as you yelled at him. "You ripped my heart out and dangled it in front of me."

"I love yeh, 'm so sorry. 'M so sorry."

"I don't love you." Your voice cracked as you lied to him. Your puffy swollen eyes swarmed in oceans of tears when his own bloodshot watery ones met yours.

"Y'don't mean that." He said quietly his small footsteps across the floor inched closer and closer to you. Your head nodding that yes you did mean it as you choked out a sob.

"I do mean it." You lied more. Your lips trembled in time with your tears as he grew closer. Your back against the wall, literally, when he finally stood in front of you.

"Know yeh don't. Know yeh jus' want to hurt me like I did to yeh." He muttered, his hand pushed away the few strands of hair that bad fallen into your face. "Yeh can hurt me how ever yeh want fo' the rest of m'life if yeh give me a second chance."

His words stung. Your head buried deep in his chest as your hand grasped on his shirt, and the last bit of sanity you had left floating through your mind.

"I'd do anythin', love. Please." He begged his head rested against your forehead. His chest pressed against yours, his cologne filling the air around you.

Your eyes fluttered open just enough to see him look as wrecked as you felt. His eyes sunken with dark circles, hair a mess, tears down his own face.

Maybe you'd hate yourself and curse yourself one day for this but you couldn't deny the truth.

You were totally fucked for him.

Without another moment of thought or argument running in your mind, your lifted your lips to his. Those soft cushions felt like home against your own. A weight you didn't realize you had laying in your chest lifted when his hands cupped your face, bringing you impossibly closer to him.

His tongue dominating your own when you parted your lips for him. Warm sensations of being close to him like this again ran down your spine as you tugged him towards your bedroom.

A smile formed on your lips as you both stumbled over the threshold to your room. The wrecklessness of trusting him again with your heart never crossed your mind for more than a second.

If anyone was ever going to destroy you, you'd gladly let it be him.

[sunshinereversed]

𝙙𝙮𝙡𝙖𝙣’𝙨 “𝙛𝙡𝙤𝙬𝙚𝙧𝙨 𝙤𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙡𝙡”: 𝙖𝙣 𝙖𝙣𝙖𝙡𝙮𝙨𝙞𝙨

I think it’s eerily prophetic how the song “Flowers on the Wall” (performed by the Statler Brothers) radiates so strongly with Dylan Klebold. The country tune has already been associated with Dylan because it appears in the background of the video where he and Nate are driving to school. But if you really listen to the lyrics and reflect on Dylan’s inner struggles, they coincide strangely well.

Let’s take the very first line of the song.

I keep hearin' you're concerned about my happiness.

The constant ‘Are you okay? Are you sure you’re okay? You seem so down lately’ from his parents, especially Sue, is reflected here. His mother sees that Dylan is ‘moody and irritable,’ often withdrawn, spending time hauled up in his room. She notices the tightness of his voice, which is unlike him, and she offers to make him French toast or an omelet. This must be about something small, she thinks. Yet his sullen demeanor stays as days turn to weeks, and she must ask again in vain, ‘Are you okay?’

But all that thought you're givin' me is conscience, I guess.

It doesn’t even cross Sue’s mind that her son may be unwell. She is simply asking out of concern for him looking unhappy, believing whatever it is will solve itself out. His mother wears her heart on her sleeve, and it pains her to see him so sad. But what can she do if he refuses to talk about it? All she can do is ask and wait for it to pass. He’s a good kid, after all. He’ll do the right thing because she’s worked hard to instill her morals into what he does.

If I were walkin' in your shoes, I wouldn't worry none.

Dylan reassures her repeatedly. ‘I’m only tired. I have a lot of homework. Nothing’s wrong. No one gives me a tough time, I’m 6’4”.’ He wishes she would leave him alone. He thinks she wouldn’t understand; she wouldn’t listen. He tells his parents not to worry. ‘You can trust me,’ he tells his mother one evening after the prom. Dylan goes out of his way to prove that he is the golden child. It works, and they worry none.

While you 'n' your friends are worried about me I'm havin' lots of fun.

Dylan’s social life serves as a mask for what is going on in his mind. He goes over to his friends’ houses, bowls on Friday nights, makes videos after school, plays catch with his dad, and even watches old movies with his mother. He has pictures of good times with friends. Outwardly, he is smiling; life is a dream. This makes his parents rethink their concerns. He’s a happy kid who does normal teenage things. What is there to worry about? He’s assuring those around him that he’s fine.

Now here comes the chorus, which is a bit tricky but makes sense when you consider these things:

Countin' flowers on the wall.

If anyone is familiar with the book The Yellow Wallpaper by Charlotte Perkins Gilman, this might be a clue. Like the protagonist in the book, Dylan is trapped in his four-walled cell (his bedroom) which is where he does most of his thinking and spiraling downwards. This is where he writes in his journal and vents his frustrations. It’s a toxic environment for his brain. His room is where he cries himself to sleep; hugs his pillow in loneliness; gets drunk by himself. Most importantly, it’s where he blurs fantasy and reality. While not as plainly mad as the poor woman from Gilman’s novel, Dylan is mentally tortured by what he perceives to be ‘an unfair/miserable existence’ and being ‘stuck in humanity.’ He rejects both, and often retreats into his fantasy where he is with his love and away from the world. The ‘flowers on the wall’ symbolizes his own deception of life when he is alone, and might not only symbolize his bedroom, but also his brain.

That don't bother me at all.

Unlike the real world, Dylan very much prefers to live in the fictional one he’s conjured within his mind. It’s his safe place. Paradoxically, his mind is also where he tears himself down and others around him. It’s a poisonous escape. Yet he is already so far gone in that escape, he can’t see the damage he is doing to himself. And he continues to do so, unbothered, and unaware.

Playin' solitaire till dawn with a deck of fifty-one.

‘Playing solitaire’ could be a metaphor symbolizing his isolation and loneliness, his solitude. Solitaire is a single-player game, and Dylan feels alienated most of the time, especially when he is sulking in his room. Thinking, always thinking. Sometimes, as the line implies, until dawn. He is a night owl who cannot sleep because his mind is constantly awake. Playing music, conversing in chats on the computer, formulating poems in his notebooks, doodling, or just thinking (negatively). He oversleeps often because he is up late doing these things. He is alone, in the middle of the night, consumed by his own sadness. Something is missing inside him, and that is why he plays with ‘a deck of fifty-one.’ He thinks a significant other is the thing that is missing, and if he finds her, he will finally be playing with fifty-two cards, figuratively.

Smokin' cigarettes and watchin' Captain Kangaroo.

For Dylan, this is a dichotomy. An everlasting contrast. The balance between two things, lightness, and darkness, good and evil, etc. He’s doing grown-up things like holding a job, applying to colleges, driving a car, and as the lyrics say, smoking cigarettes. Marlboro, preferably. At the same time, Dylan is caught between acting his age and longing for simpler days. This is where ‘watching Captain Kangaroo’ comes in. It’s a kid’s show and is intended for such an audience. Dylan thinks back with nostalgia for his childhood, when life wasn’t full of disappointments, stress, high school bullies, responsibility. He hangs onto items that remind him of his youth: his stuffed koala, origami, classic movies, his trademark baseball cap, his love for fixing old cars with his dad. Dylan is stuck somewhere in the middle of the two, never truly satisfied with one over the other.

Now don't tell me I've nothin' to do.

Again, Dylan tells those around him that he is perfectly fine by engaging in normal teenage things. He hides how depressed he feels. Dylan becomes increasingly irritated the more people ask if he’s okay. The repetition of this line throughout the song is more like a cry for help than a reassurance.

Last night I dressed in tails, pretended I was on the town.

This could symbolize several things, but what comes to my mind is Dylan’s prom night. The fact that he even goes to prom is a pleasant surprise to his parents, confirming that there’s nothing abnormal lurking on the horizon. His father helps him get dressed in his tuxedo, struggles to figure out how the bow tie works, and he pulls his newly washed hair back into a neat ponytail. His mother thinks he looks quite handsome, comparing him to a character in a movie they are both fond of. For a moment, he is just a normal high school kid going to a dance. Nothing out of the boring ordinary.

As long as I can dream it's hard to slow this swinger down.

For one night, at the prom, Dylan pretends this is his life. He is good at blocking out what he considers evil, and Dylan allows himself to enjoy the moment. He’s had a lot of practice at ignoring his pain. If he can retreat into the fantasy he’s created in his mind, he is capable of anything, good or bad. It’s like an out-of-body experience. He’s not there when he’s there. Nothing can stop him. He has two settings at this point, 0 and 100. An unhealthy dreamer can be deadly not only to others, but to the dreamer himself.

So please don't give a thought to me, I'm really doin' fine.

As mentioned previously, Dylan flies under the radar to not be asked about his well-being. He holds out his arms to point to all these social activities he’s engaging in with his friends as if to say ‘Look what I’m doing. I’m fine. Do not worry.’ It’s a cruel deception, and he doesn’t even realize he is being deceived as much as those around him are. Dylan starts to believe what he’s telling others. He doesn’t think he is worth the worry.

You can always find me here; I'm havin' quite a time.

‘Here’ can mean one of several places: his bedroom, his mind, or perhaps his existence. Either way, ‘I’m having quite a time’ is a sarcastic remark. He’s drowning in his harmful thoughts, yet that’s where he feels the safest. It’s his protective shell that he puts up against the world. Dylan entertains the idea over and over in his mind that his love is waiting for him in another existence. No matter where he physically is, he’s ‘always there’, lost in his thoughts.

The chorus repeats. Dylan outwardly seems okay. Left to his own devices, he is not.

It's good to see you, I must go, I know I look a fright.

This is a goodbye. Even though it is a casual farewell, it has deeply painful undertones. He says he didn’t like life too much but hopes he will find peace in the next one. He offers a final goodbye to those he loved, family and friends. ‘It’s good to see you’ displays how detached he feels toward the end. These are no longer people he knows fondly; it was simply good to see them. The thoughts must end, and he must leave before they worsen. Like the lyrics suggest, he doesn’t want to stick around and knows he must go. A big part of his self-esteem had to do with his self-image. The line ‘I know I look a fright’ symbolizes how negatively he thought of his own appearance. Dylan couldn’t see his own attractiveness. He felt awkward due to his height, long facial features, shaggy hair, and the way he dressed.

Anyway, my eyes are not accustomed to this light.

This is the trademark dark sunglasses that Dylan wears almost everywhere. He hides behind them, shielding his tears from the world. The light comes from the sun, and he cannot withstand the same light that others can, a nod to him feeling isolated from humanity. Though he is called the ‘sunshine boy,’ his eyes are not meant for its light. So, he dawns the shades to (metaphorically) keep it out.

And my shoes are not accustomed to this hard concrete.

Unlike the sneakers worn by the jocks at his high school, Dylan sports black combat boots. They are unusual among the other students, but Dylan feels comfortable in them. Again, he separates himself from the rest of humanity. He is not meant for it. He knows he must go somewhere he feels free.

So I must go back to my room and make my day complete.

By the end of the song, it becomes clear that Dylan now lives inside the world he’s created in his mind. It almost becomes odd for him not to retreat there at least once a day if not all the time. But like the final lyrics, he goes to stay there forever and never to return.

The final repetition of the chorus only emphasizes the truth. He was not ‘doing fine’, despite all the work of convincing others the opposite.

The last line loops again before the song ends. The upbeat and happy tune only makes the message more haunting.

Don't tell me I've nothin' to do.

And no one did.

[first-and-last-neocount]

Whumptober Day 6

While still falling under the definition of whump, I intentionally aimed for something a little less soul-crushing this time, since I figured I would be evoking some Feels with that last one. XD 

This one isn’t directly tied to anything else, and it shouldn’t be so heart-wrenching; it’s just me projecting pandemic feels all over poor Damien, because I’m an introvert who isn’t physically affectionate with more than a handful of my closest friends anyway, but even I really felt it when we all had to go months on end without touching another human being. Not fun, dude. 

Day 6 - Theme Chosen: Touch starved

Theoretically, it should never have happened. With the way their journey had gone so far, when he thought about it, Damien was almost surprised it hadn't happened sooner.

Trapped aboard the God's Glory for months on end, isolated from the crew by their enduring wariness of the Hunter and his companions, unable to hasten their progress and weighed down by the growing fear of what would be waiting for them when they made landfall again, Damien was slowly driving himself insane. With every day that passed, the knot of frustration and dread pulled tighter in his gut. His temper shortened in response, and by now he had grown so tense and snappish that he couldn't even blame the crew's avoidance of him entirely on Tarrant; he knew he wasn't exactly great company anymore.

The death of the girl from the Eastern Continent had only worsened his already foul mood. The toxic mixture of guilt, resentment, and panic that had filled him upon realizing what her death meant – that he himself would have to go back to feeding his dark companion, at least until they made landfall in Faraday – still lingered, even though it had been two days since Sisa's suicide. He'd been given those two days as a grace period, time to mentally prepare himself as best he could, but the Hunter had given him clear warning; tonight, the nightmares would start again.

All of this meant that, when Damien laid down in his bunk that night, he was wound tighter than a springbolt at full draw. He had fully expected the turmoil in his mind to keep him up for hours, but with the forced inactivity of being at sea came a paradoxical lethargy, and he wasn't alone with his circling thoughts for more than an hour or so before he gradually sank into an uneasy slumber.

The dreams came almost at once.

Vivid as all the Hunter's carefully-woven nightmares were, Damien could feel the awful wrenching shudder that went through the ship as the hull ground onto the unforgiving rocks, hear the shattering of wood and the screech of metal as they collided with the outcropping of black stone that had been masked by the thick fog lying over the turbulent waves. Terror ran like acid through his veins as the deck tilted under his feet, the ship listing badly as water flooded through the gaping hole in the bow; he grasped the rail to keep himself upright, the screams of the crew ringing in his ears – but as he stared down into the churning black ocean, something sparked in the back of his mind.

The dark waves. Drowning. A girl.

Sisa.

His awareness that it was a dream blended with the hot spike of rage at the thought of another innocent life lost to the Hunter's insatiable hunger, and the scene around him shattered like glass. The deck was level again, the ocean calm; the stars glimmered down from a cloudless night sky, the ship deathly quiet and seemingly deserted around him.

You're resistant tonight.

The Hunter's voice slithered through his mind, soft and thoughtful, edged with hunger – and reality bent around him once more.

The village of the Terata. The hideous corruption that had lurked beneath its veneer of normalcy. The acid sting of desperation in the air as the villagers made their supplication to their sadistic god. The illusion of childhood's innocence, and the terrible reality that it hid -

But the sight of the children made Damien's thoughts turn to Jenseny, and the grief that rose up and choked him was so strong that it nearly brought him awake, a cry of pain catching in his throat as the image of the village dissolved around him. Tarrant's will wrapped around him and pulled him back under, an almost soothing tenor to the thread of fae that stroked his mind.

Too raw, still. Perhaps...

Another shift, then another. Scenes of terror from Damien's memories, or half-formed fears of the future, woven into shape by Tarrant's power. Every vista that presented itself, though, Damien fought against; though his awareness of what was happening was subsumed at the beginning of each dream, his mind rebelled continuously, breaking through to lucidity each time and shredding the delicate fabric of the nightmare in the process. As one dreamscape dissolved and reformed into another, there was a moment where Damien surfaced enough to actually feel a bit guilty; he'd agreed to this deal after all, once in the rakhlands and again after Sisa had killed herself, and he didn't even know why his mind refused to settle enough to be fully immersed in any of the scenarios Tarrant was weaving.

That moment stretched as he lingered in unformed darkness, as though the Hunter had hesitated. Finally, new scenery shimmered into being. Still caught in that state of half-awareness, Damien watched the dream come to life around him, willing himself to just let go and fall into it -

The chamber that formed around him was the throne room of the Undying Prince's citadel.

Nothing else had taken shape yet. There was no time for it. Before any figures could form, before a single sound had echoed through the room, Damien's mind spun out of control. The terror he'd felt, realizing that he was once again powerless before a mortal tyrant with the power of a sadistic demon backing them; the utter grief that had devastated him when he realized that Jenseny was gone; the gutting betrayal of believing that the Hunter had betrayed them; the sheer blinding fear, realizing that Tarrant had still been an ally after all, and that he might pay for that with his life before Damien could reach him -

Damien snapped awake violently, breathing so hard that his chest ached and the room spun violently around him, nausea thick in his throat and his skin drenched in ice-cold sweat. He sat bolt upright in his bunk, clenching fistfuls of his sheets with shaking hands as he stared blindly at the wall of his cabin, adrenaline still coursing through his veins.

Before he had even coaxed his breathing back to something resembling a normal rate, there was a firm but quiet knock at his door.

Damien let his head fall forward, biting out a soft curse under his breath. It didn't take much luck to guess who would be knocking at his door at this hour – he was fairly sure he hadn't actually cried out aloud when he'd catapulted himself back into wakefulness, which meant there was only one other person likely to even be awake right now.

“Come in,” he said hoarsely.

The door opened, then clicked shut again. Damien didn't look up, his gaze still fixed on the crumpled bedclothes he was gripping with white knuckles, but he didn't need to visually confirm the identity of his visitor; he could feel the shift in the air, that insidious chill that the Hunter wore like a shroud. Swallowing back the bile that still roiled in his throat, Damien beat back his pride enough to offer a quiet apology.

“Sorry. I didn't do that on purpose. I don't know why I couldn't just...”

“I could hazard a guess.”

Startled, Damien finally looked up. Tarrant had stopped only a couple feet away, and was leaning against the cabin wall with his arms folded across his chest, regarding Damien thoughtfully. Despite the lack of hostility, the Knight still shivered a little under the scrutiny of those cold silver eyes. Cocking an eyebrow questioningly, he stared back at the adept.

“Alright, then. Let's hear it.”

Of course, the Hunter couldn't simply state his theory. He studied Damien a moment longer, then murmured, “You haven't been sleeping well, have you? Even before tonight.”

Damien frowned at him. “Not particularly, no. Why?”

“You're unable to settle yourself. You've been sleeping poorly, your mind is in turmoil, and don't think I haven't noticed your shortness with the crew – or forgotten your outburst the other day.” Damien winced a little at the reminder of how he'd blown up at the Hunter immediately after Sisa's suicide, but there was no judgement in the adept's tone or expression, only contemplation. “You don't have any close connections to most of those aboard, and if you'll forgive me the observation, you don't have an... intimate companion, this time around.”

Damien was drawing a breath to snap at the Hunter that he didn't see how, exactly, his relationship with Raysa was any of the adept's damn business – when it abruptly clicked in his head, and he deflated, staring at the adept.

“You're blaming touch starvation.” The words came out flat, more statement than question but tinged with disbelief. When Tarrant inclined his head slightly, Damien huffed out a humourless chuckle. “You can't be serious.”

“Why not?” Tarrant asked coolly, his gaze still locked on Damien, piercing and assessing. “It's a scientifically documented phenomenon. We've been at sea for months, and I doubt you've had more contact than accidentally brushing arms with one of the crew since we set sail. The common symptoms are irritability, anxiety, and depression. It strikes me as an entirely likely explanation.”

“Fine, then what the hell do you suggest I do about it?” Damien snapped, hating himself as he did so, because his fuse had never been so short and by the look on Tarrant's face he knew it too. “In case you failed to notice or give a damn, Rasya's dead, and I don't exactly have a long lineup of friends at hand to hug it out with. I guess you're just going to have to work a bit harder for your dinner.”

Tarrant's face had gone utterly blank for a moment at the mention of Rasya's name, and for a split second Damien wondered almost hysterically if he actually had forgotten – but the horrified thought was cut off when the adept said, in a tone as bland as one might use to discuss the weather, “There's another option.”

Damien stared at him for a moment. Tarrant gazed back, unruffled. Finally, the Knight said slowly, “Now I know you're definitely just messing with my head. You're not suggesting what it sounds like you're suggesting.”

“No need to look quite so scandalized, Vryce, I'm hardly propositioning you,” Tarrant said dryly, his tone infuriatingly amused. “You're correct, however, that skin contact is the only cure and your options in that department are limited. If you'd like, I certainly could continue mentally assaulting you for sustenance – you were undeniably producing enough terror and distress earlier, though I suspect you'll find that sort of feeding even more exhausting that the usual method, and I'll have to draw from you more frequently to compensate for the additional effort I'm expending.” He watched Damien pale, then quirked one fair eyebrow up, mouth twisting into a rare, wry grin. “Or, you could budge over a few inches.”

Damien hesitated for a moment longer; then, he groaned and shuffled himself sideways, pressing closer to the wall and leaving the outer edge of the bunk free.

“I hate you,” he announced flatly, watching the adept prowl gracefully across the small cabin toward him.

“Your feelings have been noted, Reverend.” In a few smooth movements Tarrant had kicked off his boots, slid his long frame elegantly onto the bunk, and reached out; caught completely off guard by the manhandling, Damien let himself be tugged almost effortlessly down and arranged to the Hunter's liking. He found himself facing the wall, a lean form pressed close against his back and one of the adept's arms a cool weight draped across his side. “Now get some sleep.”

A thousand replies crowded to the front of Damien's mind, but sheer confusion stayed his tongue from a sharp retort. As the initial shock faded, he realized how incredibly comfortable he actually was. He had certainly missed the weight of another body in bed with him over the last months; he had rarely slept alone since reaching adulthood, since he had almost continuously been in a relationship of one degree of seriousness or another and had always been the type to stay the night. He usually slept by himself only when he was travelling, and that had never been for as long a stretch of time as this voyage. Finding himself as the proverbial little spoon was considerably more novel, Damien's senses jangling a bit at the strangeness of being the one held instead of the one holding another – but as his instincts accepted that he was not in fact in any danger and relaxed, he found himself almost unwilling comforted. He could feel the Hunter breathing steadily against his back, and the deceptively human sensation unwound tension in his shoulders that Damien hadn't even known he had been carrying. Even though the adept's body was considerably cooler than a mortal human's would have been, he was still there, and Damien could feel his own skin tingling with a kind of sensory euphoria everywhere that the Hunter's weight rested against him.

Maybe there was something to the touch starvation theory after all, as much as it pained him to admit it.

The window to reply to the Hunter's comment slipped away, and Damien said nothing, just shifted and settled his head a little more comfortably onto the pillow. Tarrant's arm tightened a bit further around his waist, an undeniably grounding pressure, and Damien sighed without meaning to as a tiny panicked voice that had been babbling in the back of his mind for weeks went abruptly, blissfully quiet. He was far from ready to say that this had been a good idea, but he supposed it wouldn't hurt to stay this way for a few minutes, let Tarrant think that he'd at least given it a fair shot before he kicked the adept the hell out of his bunk...

Between one breath and the next, Damien fell asleep.

[iwachans-beefyarms]

Hey everyone! Ok so first off, I’m really sorry for being hella inactive, it’s been a rough few months with exams and stress and seasonal depression HAHA but i’m better now! Unfortunately tumblr decided to delete a lot of my requests so I’m opening requests up again, so please feel free to drop by!!! This was a fun story to write, and I personally really love Sakusa’s character. I was heavily motivated by @sachiwrites‘s take on his character so hope I did u proud >.< I was also gong through a really stressful time while writing this so I thought it would be interesting to see how the reader’s own stress and depression would affect her relationship with Sakusa, someone who already had his own setoff problems. Anyway, hope y’all enjoy!

Original request: Hiiii ! lately, sakusa stole my heart >< so iy would be nice of you to write something about him !! Like something angtsy but with a fluffy end please, love me some emotional rollercoaster ride ^^

Truthfully, Sakusa Kiyoomi was indebted to you. He was acutely aware of how difficult he could be to handle. In fact, he had fully prepared himself for a life of solitude by the time he graduated from middle school. Who would want to spend the rest of their life with a person as complicated and fastidious as him? More so than that, Sakusa could not fathom having to care for another person so intimately. While he would like to pretend that his reasons for never taking interest in the pursuit for a lover were entirely born out of his insecurities about himself, the truth was that he was honestly just entirely too selfish to bother with a committed, loving relationship. He was not prepared to nurse any potential lover if they ever fell sick, or to have to go on spontaneous and wild dates just to please them. There were too many compromises that made a healthy relationship and Sakusa was not interested in making any of them. Life was too much of a burden as it already was; there was no need to worsen the weight of it.

Which is why he was so surprised when you whisked into his life, dancing up a storm in his heart. When he had first met you, he was utterly and completely blown away. He had been alone at the back of his school’s building trying distressingly hard to slow his breathing. He was panting-- no, hyperventilating. It was a panic attack of course, something he had gone through many times in his life, and something he thought he should be used to. However, the frequent occurrences of this attack on his lungs did not prevent him from feeling like he was on the edge of death everytime they came. This is it, this is really it. He heard himself think, his inner voice booming against the walls of his skull. In his crouched position, he saw the movement of feet through his peripheral vision. Too preoccupied to care, he ignored the actions of this unknown person and continued to focus on getting his breathing back on track. He noticed them, a girl maybe, reaching into her bag and pulling out a small bottle. It looked like… sanitiser maybe?

“Hey, eyes on me okay?” She spoke, her voice coming out muffled and soft against the loudness of his own heartbeat. Stressed and confused, he looked up at her as she carefully applied the liquid on her hands. Her thorough and smooth movements somehow helped him as he realised his vision had started becoming a lot less blurry. She came down to his level, and gently took his hands into hers.

“Breathe, 1, 2, 3. Exhale, 1, 2, 3. Come on, I’ll do it with you,” She spoke again, her voice confident and commanding, as she rubbed small and firm circles around his hands with the bud of her thumb. They stayed that way for nearly twenty minutes before Sakusa’s breathing finally came down from being erratic to somewhat normal. He was still panting, but he could think clearly now and he no longer heard his own heart beating in his head. She had stopped holding him by then, thank God. When he finally mustered up the effort to speak, all he could say was, “Who?”

With a small smile you replied, “Y/n! I’m in the class next to yours and we’ve never really met but I remember seeing you around quite often, Saskusa.” He was quite surprised when he realised you remembered his name. In all honesty, he had never seen you before. Maybe he had but he normally couldn't care less about other people. He didn’t even remember the names of some of his own classmates so why would he bother with a stranger next door? Still, she had been kind enough to help him. Not only that, she seemed to be aware of his phobia and had accommodated to it, which was incredibly moving for him. In that moment he felt the rare feeling of gratitude grow in his chest.

“Thank you, you must be really attentive to have known to be so careful,” he whispered, voice still raspy.

“Not really, it’s kind of obvious,” she laughed nervously, as if she was trying not to offend. He wasn’t offended.

“Anyway, see you around!” She said cheerfully, after a couple of awkward minutes. “Don’t be a stranger,” she added while walking away. He didn’t bother gracing that with a response.

Your persistent personality was a catalyst for your friendship. The daily greetings and small-talk had forced him to get to know you better and, interestingly enough, he was not repulsed. He found out about that new book you were reading, and actually enjoyed it when he decided to give it a read. Also, it was a pleasant surprise when you told him that you used to play volleyball. So, your conversations grew longer and meetings became more frequent. Soon, he was meeting you after school on days he didn’t have practice and even spending his lunch breaks with you. You started to inch closer to him and began leaving soft, subtle touches on his skin. You were obviously trying to be discreet, but he was a person who was so painfully aware of everyone around him that of course he noticed. The surprising thing was that he didn’t mind. He knew you were hygienic enough for him to be comfortable so he began to let himself enjoy your affections.

When you confessed your feelings for him, he was not surprised. He knew from the beginning that you had a little crush on him and he even found it quite adorable. Had you asked him out a few weeks earlier, his answer would have been a hard no. However, getting to know you over the past few weeks had really changed his entire mindset about relationships. For the first time in his life, Sakusa felt like he could open himself up to someone. You had been kind enough to cater to his obsessive and exhausting personality. You were also completely comfortable with taking things slow. Above all that, you had an absolutely endearing personality. It was as if fate had intentionally sent you his way after torturing him for the past years, and he wasn’t one to let blessings like this slip away. So, when you confessed your feelings for him, he was not surprised. But you were, when he said yes.

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Dating Sakusa was going to be hard and you knew that from the very start. You weren’t naive, despite what your boyfriend might have thought. You paid him a lot of attention during the earlier stages of your friendship. You knew what he liked, what ticked him off, his pet peeves and at that point you could even tell his emotional state just by looking at the way his eyebrows moved when the rest of his face was covered by a mask. You also knew that the effort Sakusa put into your relationship was unparalleled to everything you had done for him. But, that was what you had signed up for. He had enough problems on his own trying to deal with the world with his own personal struggles so you strived to make life just a little bit easier for him.

However, after a certain point, you had to come to terms with the fact that you were your own person too. You were human too. It was easy to forget about yourself when you had been so invested in another person. The most difficult part of it all was being unable to see the fruition of all your efforts. You knew deep in your heart that Sakusa loved you. He let you kiss him, touch him and even let you sleep in the same bed as him at times. Despite that, you felt incredibly lonely in your relationship. Interacting with Sakusa started feeling almost burdensome. While your relationship had been quite a ride, built by reckless passions with bursts of feelings like joy, anger and love, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of staleness develop after a while.

It started very slowly. School had been getting ridiculously hard and Sakusa’s practices had been getting more frequent. Engulfed by the stresses of school, the two of you had gone nearly two weeks without properly speaking to each other. While Sakusa had seemingly remained unbothered, the realisation of that had completely shocked you. How could you go two weeks without any interaction with the person you loved, and not even notice it? The thing you felt most guilty about was actually the sense of peace you had experienced over those two weeks. Blindsided by your adoration for Sakusa, you hadn’t realised how draining it was being around him. When the two of you would spend time, you rarely ever took care of yourself. You’d clean the table for him when eating lunch at school because he absolutely refused to eat at those disgusting cafeteria tables, and would rather die than clean it himself. Hell, you’d even do a thorough cleaning of your own house just so Sakusa could come over and spend time with you. That, coupled with the natural angst that grows in you as a hormonal teenager, had caused you to grow more and more irritated with him.

Things you had previously found endearing about Sakusa now made your skin crawl. Even as your interactions grew less, you found yourself wanting to cry out in anger everytime he asked you to wash your hands before touching him. It was incredibly frustrating because all you wanted was some affection, and your boyfriend, of all people, couldn’t give that to you. It hurt because you had foolishly believed that if you could convince him that he was capable of being loved, he’d grow to be able to reciprocate those affections. But you were starting to feel scammed.

“Sakusa, do you want to go to that cafe I’ve been talking about?” You had asked one day, hoping to salvage your sinking relationship. He had to have noticed the drift, right? He’d want to fix it too, right?

“Huh? I don’t really feel like it…” He shuts you down just like that. Your hands are intertwined, as they usually were when you went home together, but for the first time, you untangle your fingers from his.

In hindsight, you realised that not all your feelings had been caused by your dysfunctional relationship. You had suspected that you were depressed months ago, but the problem had never been serious enough to warrant any major action so you ignored it. At least, that was what you told yourself. As time went by, it became nearly impossible to ignore. You couldn’t do your homework, you couldn’t sleep and eventually your appetite began to vanish. The rejection you felt from Sakusa had further sent you down a spiral of self-doubt. You hated yourself for being so selfish and you figured that maybe the reason Sakusa was drifting away from you was because it was you who wasn’t enough, not him.

It didn’t take long for your guilt to morph into anger once again. You had made no mention of your fractured state of mind to Sakusa, but it would not have taken a genius to figure out that you were not okay. Friends and teachers had approached you to check on you but the man you loved with every fibre of your being had never once mentioned anything to you. The two of you went about your days as you normally would. Little kisses hello and goodbye had become almost mechanical, and you cried yourself to sleep every night. You knew you should seek help soon, before it became even worse but you couldn’t bring yourself to overlook Sakusa’s indifference towards you.

You couldn’t brush your teeth. You stood in front of your bathroom mirror and furrowed your eyebrows at your reflection, toothbrush in hand. Why…? It’s just… move your hand…? It had been two days since you last showered. It physically hurt you to move and all you wanted to do was go back to bed. Still, being the responsible student you were, you went to school. You were late, none of your homework had been done but hey, at least you showed up. You knew your boyfriend was disgusted by your appearance because he had been avoiding you like a plague. You didn’t blame him, you looked as hideous as you felt. It felt like the end of your relationship was nearing and you shocked yourself with how relieving that felt. Maybe if you stopped seeing each other you could start feeling at least a little less miserable. Again, at least that was what you told yourself when you messaged him about wanting to talk.

When the two of you met at the rooftop where you had so often shared meals, the atmosphere was tense. It didn’t help that the afternoon sun was unforgiving and the air was humid. Your disheveled state in the heat made you want to claw your own skin out but you settled for subtly digging your nails into the palms of your hands. You had planned the conversation out thoroughly; first ask him how his day was, then let him down easy. The last thing you wanted to do was hurt him. You knew how difficult getting into a relationship was for him and you didn’t want to completely turn him off from ever dating again.

Yet, when you saw the unreadable expression on his face with his fingers impatiently tapping the sides of his legs, your anger triumphed any semblance of civility you had planned.

“Where the fuck have you been?” Your words come out much softer than you anticipated but your voice shook. You could tell he was surprised by the way his eyebrows shot up.

“What do you mean I --”

“Shut up and listen, where have you been? I needed you, do you even care?” You were obviously crying at this point but Sakusa remained stunned to silence. “Screw you, Sakusa. Seriously, screw you,” you interrupt, your emotions clearly messing with your vocabulary.

“I’m your girlfriend, not your maid. I’m not just there to clean up shit for you! I have a life, I have feelings and I have been so miserable and you haven’t said anything,” You’re rambling but it was hard to stop once it started. You felt your vision blut from the tears and felt the snot running down your chin but you didn’t care. If Sakusa couldn't handle you at your worst then he sure as hell didn’t deserve you at your best. You continued your rant and poured your heart out to him. Unwittingly, you express your grievances about your own state of mind to him. You had wanted to keep your condition to him a secret for so long but there was no turning back now. He deserved to feel guilty, to hate himself for being such a terrible friend.

“I warned you about setting expectations. I told you that I’m not that guy. Why are you surprised now?”

His words seemed sarcastic but the genuinity in his voice as he responded triggered you. He wasn’t even trying to be hurtful, you knew that much. It was the fact that he hadn’t even tried to change for you that really broke your heart. Even though you had told yourself that you didn’t feel anything anymore, that the break up would be a relief, nothing in your nearly two decades of living could have ever prepared you for the heartbreak you felt in that moment. Seriously, it felt like your heart was about to fall from your chest, and you had to physically clench your fist against your chest to keep yourself from falling apart. You weren’t crying anymore, and there was nothing left to say. So, you walked away, and Sakusa didn’t bother stopping you.

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Sakusa Kiyoomi was indebted to you, this he knew for a fact. You had forced him out of his shell and had inspired him to be better. He never knew he was capable of doing something even as trivial as kissing, but with you he had been able to open himself up to so much more. Hell, he had had sex for the first time with you, something he had previously been unable to even fathom. It wasn’t just his comfort zone that you had expanded, you changed him for better. He was less cold towards others and he learned to appreciate the little things.

He remembered going to the beach once while you were on a date. He hated the sand in his shoes and he didn’t even want to think about stepping into the ocean. But, you had begged and begged for weeks and he eventually had to give in to you because, although he would never admit to it, seeing you smile made his heart flutter. You had forced him to take his shoes off and stand in the sand with you. With your eyes closed and hands raised, he watched you smile radiantly at the sky. He was transfixed, staring at you because how could someone be so beautiful and full of life?

“I love the feeling of the sun on my skin, it’s like being kissed by the sky don’t you think?” You had turned to face him, hands still in the air. Your words took him by surprise because Sakusa had never really seen the sun as anything but a source of humidity and a catalyst for disease. But the way you looked at him, the way your eyes sparkled; he couldn’t help but love the sun a little more from that day.

He really did love you, even if he wasn’t the best at showing it. So when you started getting dull, he noticed it immediately. He probably noticed it even before you had. The problem lay in the fact that he had no idea what to do. He figured, if you really needed help you would ask. But he knew that was just a pathetic excuse to avoid any kind of confrontation. Sakusa, for all his self-confidence, was incredibly insecure about his relationship with you. He never expected to cultivate such intense devotion towards you, but he did. And his biggest fear was that one day, you’d realise you were worth so much more than Sakusa could have ever hoped to offer.  You were perfect and ethereal. Everybody loved you and it was almost like the sky became brighter when you were around. As the days went by, he found himself becoming more and more blinded by you. You had inspired him to get help, but he held himself back because of the fear that if you ever did grow wiser and left him, all his efforts would have been for naught. Truly, Sakusa believed that he would never love anyone the way he loved you, ever. The fear of losing you frightened him more than anything and he was too afraid to change any aspect of your relationship in case it ever disrupted the balance the two of you had created.

Things had started to change when you grew darker over time. He saw you deteriorate with his own eyes, but he couldn’t do anything. He didn’t want to do anything. He told himself it was because he was afraid of hurting you even more, but Sakusa felt deep down that it was his selfishness once again preventing him from ever going out of his way to care for someone. He reasoned that you were smart enough to have no expectation for him, that you knew he was a self-centred prick. But seeing you cry in front of him had really sobered him up. He hadn’t expected it to hurt so much when he saw you clutch your shirt as you fought back tears. When you walked away, he tried so hard to move towards you, to stop you, touch you-- anything, really. But his feet were grounded and all he could do was watch. Sakusa was nothing if not proactive, and he knew he had to do something quick, before the damage done was irreversible. With a quiet sigh muffled by his mask, he leaned his head back, face tilted toward the sky and let himself get lost in his thoughts.

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It had been two weeks since you spoke to Sakusa. You knew it was over but there had been a small part of you that had hoped he would approach you and you would both talk things out until everything went back to normal. Of course, that did not happen, and you were not surprised either. As much as you would like to believe in the romance of life that the media often tried to feed you, you were a realistic person who knew better than to have faith in some fantasy that only existed in your mind. At the same time, you were also, unfortunately, just a teenage girl whose heart refused to listen to her brain. Which was why, when your doorbell rang at 10pm that night, your heart skipped a beat in hopes that perhaps Sakusa had finally come to his senses and came to sweep you away.

What was more surprising than the fact that even after two weeks you still held some lingering hope that your ex-lover would come back to you was the fact that, indeed, it was him who stood at your front door. For a solid few seconds you could not move or say anything, as you took time to process the vision that was presented before you. Sakusa was wearing casual clothes and he sported his usual mask. However, it had been pushed down to collect at his neck, and you were gifted with the image of his whole face. His dark curls fell gracefully over his forehead and you noticed a slight sheen of sweat. Had he run here? What could he possibly want from you that was so urgent?

“Hello? Anyone home?” He asked. It took you a moment to realise he had just cracked a joke. Regaining your composure, you retort, “What the fuck do you want?” If he was hurt by your outburst, it certainly didn’t show.

“Look, before you say anything, please hear me out, okay?” He asked softly, taking a step towards you. Instinctively, you backed away. There was something different about him but you couldn’t place a finger on what it was exactly. His gaze on you felt stronger than ever, and he had a determined glint in his eyes that you had never seen before. You also noticed his posture. His shoulders were rolled back and he stood tall and proud, like he was so sure of himself. Whatever the source of his newfound confidence was, it made your heart hurt a little bit. You had been an absolute mess after the break up, while he had clearly been thriving.

“Sure. Whatever. Spit it out.”

“I love you, and I’m sorry for being such a jerk. I know I should have said this much earlier but I didn’t want you to think I was being insincere. I had to do something to prove to you how serious I was being,” He started, a small smile creeping on his face. You stared at him blankly, not understanding where this was going.

“Are you proposing…? Because I will say no!” You blurt out, panicking slightly. He blinked at you a couple times, obviously puzzled by your outburst. Then, he laughed. A full blown chortle. It was a rare Sakusa laugh that you had only witnessed a couple times before. With a big, bright smile, he shook his head and responded, “No, dumbass. I’ve been seeing a therapist.” The revelation was shocking, to say the least. But, before you could interrupt, he continued.

“When you left after our argument I realised how much I had been taking you for granted. I’m not good with expressing myself but I knew enough to realise that you’re the best damn thing that could have ever happened to me. You see, I knew this for a long time, I just don't know how to tell you. I don’t like people and I find relationships exhausting but with you, for the first time in my life, I want to try harder. I didn’t want to lose you. I spoke to my mother and she offered to take me to see a therapist. She had asked me before but I never felt the need to see one. But after our fight, I realised I had to grow up. I still generally hate people and I still don’t know how to say what I’m feeling. And I sure as hell still hate germs but, I’m willing to work towards getting better. For you. You deserve at least that. If you’re willing to take me back, I’d be lucky to have you with me while I do this.”

He ends his speech with his eyes still looking into yours, as if he was analysing your reaction. He had clearly rehearsed this, you could just tell. It was honestly quite cute and heartwarming because you couldn’t think of any other time Sakusa had tried this hard with you. Your chest swells with affection you had been repressing for the past couple of weeks as you grabbed his shirt and yanked him down to your lips. The kiss was sweet, and a little salty from the tears that escaped your eyes after his little speech. Sakusa wasted no time wrapping his arms around you as he pressed your body closer to him. You had become an expert at reading him since the start of your relationship and you could feel just how much he had missed you from the way he held you during that kiss. Pulling away, he let his hands slide up your arms and cup your face.

“Does this mean you forgive me?” He asks, breathless.

You weren’t an idiot. You knew things were going to be far from peachy. But for him, you were willing to risk the sun and the moon. You tell him this by taking his hands into yours and leaning up for another kiss.

[wyrdify]

headcanon - depression

Because this headcanon in particular touches on some heavy subjects, it will be under a readmore and tagged.

Like his PTSD, Roy doesn’t talk much about the moderate to severe depression he deals with. He’s subconsciously aware that he has it, but he won’t acknowledge it most of the time. If one pays attention to his habits, it’s rather easy to tell something isn’t right.

Diet and Exercise: His exercise routine helps combat some of it, and he does watch what he eats to not make it worse; though, his appetite is nowhere near what it was before the war. That lack of an appetite is one of the reasons he struggles with eating enough during the day. He’ll often say that he doesn’t feel hungry and leave it at that.

Productivity: While he leans into that slacker reputation to ensure others underestimate him, Roy legitimately struggles with staying productive. He has to push himself harder in order to complete tasks, especially ones he finds boring like paperwork. Starting a task is the hardest part for him. Once he’s doing it, and if he knows how much work it will take to complete said task, he’s better off.

Sleep: This is perhaps the easiest issue to spot when it comes to Roy’s health. He’ll fall asleep in various places at work, most often his office, but rarely sleeps for long. Avoiding sleep became a horrible habit of his during the war, and he’s never fully let go of it. Part of it comes out of a need to keep working, keep being productive. Another aspect is avoiding nightmares or falling asleep in a place he doesn’t feel safe. His office has other people nearby, which he prefers since sleeping alone means he’s an easy target.

Suicidal Ideation: While this was most prevalent during the war, Roy still experiences it from time to time. He’s never made an attempt, but he’s gotten close several times. He has plans in mind, ones he knows he’s put too much thought into. If he knows in advance he might be heading in that direction, he’ll dismantle his gun and keep it as far away from himself as possible. These thoughts are less prevalent by the time he makes the rank of Colonel, only creeping up on him every so often and usually vague in nature.

Worthlessness: In Roy’s mind, the worst things he can be are useless and worthless. When his depression worsens, he’ll often feel like he’s not good enough, that he can’t do something, that he’ll never be enough no matter what he does. Due to his lofty goals, this can happen somewhat frequently, and it pairs well with an unhealthy dose of self-loathing. He has to regularly combat these feelings, telling himself that what he’s doing matters. Hearing it from others definitely helps.

--

If one gets to know Roy Mustang, it’s easy to tell when his depression starts to get worse. Physically, he’ll show signs of sleep deprivation along with weight loss. Mentally, he’ll keep more things to himself, draw inward, and act recklessly. He’ll talk less, get irritable faster, keep everyone at arm’s length, and throw himself into whatever project he’s currently working on.

Other signs include refusing to leave his bed, get dressed, or do basic self-care. When he gets to that point, he’ll need someone to step in and assist him. Initially, he’ll hate that he has to rely on someone else, but, once he’s doing better, he’ll be thankful.

--

Note from Kai: If you’ve ever dealt with any of these things, I’d highly recommend talking to someone and/or seeing a counselor. I’ve lived with moderate to severe depression almost my entire life, so I know a lot of these struggles firsthand. Therapy saved my life and helped me get on the path to healing. Your mental health is just as important as your physical health.

[silverypurple-rosedlions]

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐔𝐧𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤 : 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐎𝐧𝐞 - 𝐈'𝐦 𝐒𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲 (𝐋𝐞𝐞 𝐒𝐞𝐨𝐤𝐦𝐢𝐧)

Lee Seokmin has authorized you access to Chapter One of Chapter Unlock, Lee Seokmin.

There was always one thing I always said, no matter what I did or said, I said it. But it was one phrase containing two words. I relied on two words, saying them after every little thing I did. They were my rock, holding me down to the ground, and giving me false belief. I believed that without those two words, my world would crumble. I believed that if I never said those two words, a phrase we all use time and time again, that no one would look at me, talk to me, or even spare me a glance of pity. I always believed that if I never said them, I was the bad guy. I was the one people ignored because of me, and my personality. I forced myself into a headspace I didn't want, believing that I was what everyone hated. And so I thought saying it would fix everything, enabling them to see that I wasn't a bad person. I thought saying "I'm sorry," would help me survive in such a cruel and frightful world.

I remember the times when I was a people-pleaser, although, I can't deny that I still do that. But I was naive and younger, afraid of being abandoned, and afraid of judgement for who I was. Back then, I was easy to manipulate and persuade, making me the target for bullying, and to be used. And what was a bigger struggle was the low dopamine in my brain, making me feel sluggish, constantly pushing myself to receive energy from the people and things around me. And it always frustrated me when I couldn't do that, slowly seeping into a conscious that frightened me.

At first, it started with two phrases that forever remain engrained in my head: You're useless, and you're lazy.

During the days I was lacking in energy, I was stuck sitting there, staring blankly as my mind slowed, but everything revolved around me. It never waited, and never waited for anyone. And when I sat there, shoulders sagging, eyes drooping, and my mind's gears slowed, I would look up to find a person looming over me. They'd look down at me, brows furrowed as they shook their head, and I'd see that familiar look they always gave me. That look that ate me from the inside out, destroying only bits and pieces of me.

It was the look of disappointment, and they were disappointed with me. No one, but me.

They'd tsk, others scoffing, and others rolled their eyes as the words they said became big and bold, hovering about my head: You are lazy.

"But I'm not lazy!"

I would always exclaim, but they'd shake their heads at me, doing the very thing I feared. They'd turn their backs to me, head high, and began to walk away, abandoning me. I would always reach forward, calling and begging for them, trying to push myself to stand and run to them, but never could. "Don't leave me! I'm not lazy! I'm not lazy!" But they'd never look back, not until I was too weak, glued to where I sat, unwillingly, as a heartbreaking cry crawled out of my lungs in desperation. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry for being lazy!" And what did they do?

They'd turn to face me with bright, devilish smiles, and say, "That's a good boy. You finally admit it,"

And from it, I'd crumble, falling into despair as I scolded myself. I resented my health, attacking and scolding myself for being "lazy," but I wasn't. I wasn't lazy, not by choice. I wasn't doing it deliberately, but I believed that I was. I believed that I was lazy, and the minute I believed so, walking into the clutches of vulnerability, it worsened.

The next time it happened was during group projects in school, at home, and even when I was around people that I believed were my friends. Perhaps I'm truly not the brightest tool in the shed, but when I was unable to be present with anyone, my mind obscured and struggling, I couldn't do it. I couldn't do the projects, the chores, or even understand how to play certain games with my friends and misinterpreted things they said or have me do. And you want to know what their response was?

"You're useless!" It was large and bold, taking place and hovering above my head, just like the other phrase. Those two phrases already felt so heavy, and I hadn't even made it into High School when it started. And yet, I still replied. I still attempted to defend myself.

"I'm not useless! I'm struggling! It's not easy with ADHD!"

But no, it wasn't enough. It wasn't enough to convince them as they'd scoff, some laughing in response, or screaming in my face.

"Must be great using the, "I've got ADHD," excuse, right? Very funny, Seok,"

"Really? Then if you got ADHD, how the hell did you do everything else just fine today, but not this simple task I give to you?! You know it's hard for me, don't you?!"

"You seem useless. It's just a simple task to do, and we only have so much time to complete this. Your ADHD won't act up on it. Your probably stressed, or think you can dump all the work on me. Hmph!"

And I didn't want to be viewed like that, useless or lazy, or someone who took advantage of their struggles, neither the person who made others do it all without my help. I didn't want to be the horrible person because of this, and I was so scared. My friends would turn on me, students would turn on me, teachers shaking their heads in disapproval, and even my parents were ashamed of me. But I couldn't help it. I couldn't . . .

"I'm sorry... I'm sorry for being useless. I-I'll try harder,"

It kept building, becoming bigger as I got older. And soon, it became a habit of saying sorry whenever someone looked at me weird or with judgement, or if I did something. Anything.

"Why are you so loud?"

"I'm sorry. I'll lower my voice."

"Why are you so hyper?"

"I'm just happy, but I'm sorry if I'm irritating you..."

"Can't you smile more?"

"Of course. I'm sorry if I seem odd."

"Be careful! Why are you so clumsy?"

"I-I'm sorry for being clusmy... I didn't mean to make a mess.

"Why can't you be normal? Why can't you just have been like a normal kid?"

"I'm sorry I'm not the son you wanted..."

"No! I can't believe I lost!"

"I'm sorry for winning the game. I know you'll do better next time."

"Why do you always hurt in silence, Seok?"

"I'm sorry I can't say it out loud..."

"Stop saying sorry all the time! I'm sick of hearing you say that all the time!"

"I'm s-sorry... I didn't mean to upset you... I-I'll just stop..."

"Why can't you focus? Why do you always get distracted?"

"I'm sorry, Miss. I'll focus. I swear..."

Over and over again, I was stuck in this cycle of fear. I didn't want to be rejected. I didn't want to always feel guilty for every single thing I said or did, or be ashamed for who I was. But it was so hard. It was so hard because I didn't want to be alone. I didn't want to be the outcast, always pushed around, constantly receiving a punch after another. It hurt. Everything and everyone wounded me, stripping all my pride, my joy, my achievements, and leaving behind a weak boy that even I turned away in repulse.

I despised myself because I thought everyone despised me. I thought that I wasn't needed.

But I kept going for no reason. I did as everyone told me to do, thinking that if I did it, they wouldn't leave. Even if they were horrible, just don't leave me alone.

Stop smiling.

Okay.

Do my homework.

Sure.

Stop moving.

Sorry.

Act normal.

I'll try.

But then, something new happened.

"Do what you want, Seok," A boy, not just any boy, said to me one day. It was during Physical Fitness, and I was sitting on the bleachers, knees pulled to my chest.

"What?" I replied.

"What you want. Do it." The boy grinned softly. "Be loud if you want. Be chaotic. Hop around all you want! Be messy if you want to!"

What I want?...

"Be a kid, Seok. Don't do what everyone wants you to do, or expects from you. They don't understand how much you're struggling. And it hurts me seeing you get put down." The boy said.

"I'm okay... Don't worry about it," I lied. But he knew.

"You don't want to sit here on the bleachers, right?"

"No... But the teacher said-"

"The teacher? Ha! You don't want to be on the bleachers, and there's no reason for you to be here all alone," The boy hopped off, then reached forward, taking my hand and pulling me off to stand on the ground.

"B-But I'll get in trouble! You'll get in trouble because of me!" I protested, but he snorted.

"Who cares! You want to have friends and play, right?"

"Of course but-"

"Consider me your friend from now on, and let's play volleyball,"

"You-... You're serious? You'd be my friend? Play with me?... But don't you think I'm obnoxious or weird?..."

The boy tilted his head, then shook his head. "Nope!" He replied, guiding me towards the volleyball net where there were other students playing. "I think you're a good kid. You just haven't met the right people yet," He winked.

And I never understood what he saw in me, and I was skeptical. I did as usual, saying sorry, and doing what others told me to do, trying to be energized. But when he got into my life, entering into my small, depressing world, he changed everything.

I didn't say sorry that often anymore. I didn't feel insecure because he made me feel comfortable and accepted. No matter what I did, he smiled and joked, making me laugh. He saved me from embarrassment, from bullying I received for years, and he became the older brother I could always turn to. But things changed over time, and . . .

Make it stop.

Make it stop.

Stop.

StOp.

STOP.

STOP!

MAKE IT STOP! MAKE IT STOP! MAKE IT STOP!

Į̸͙̪̝͈̹̜̈́̂̿͂́͑͌̈́̕͜'̴̱͎̟̭̈́͋̄̆̓͌̚̚͝M̸̢̢̖̺̦͓̪͇͓̉̑͘͝ ̵̡͍͕̞͍̬̭͌͆͜ͅͅS̵̗̦͍̙̓͆̐̈͝͝Ȯ̵̻̘̫̯͋̇́̕͜͜Ȑ̵̟͋̆̈́̇Ŗ̶̼̤̹͈̭͗Y̸̨̛̞͙͊́̀̋̂̕ ̶̱̖̿̓̍̓́͝͝I̴̱͊͒̌̈́̊͌́͐̀'̷̡̣̳̦͇͙̜̭͑M̴̧̜͎̖̳̊̽͊̎ ̶̨͎̉͗̈̓̉̾̆̍͑͘S̴̢̱̦̀̒O̶͔̙̺͇̱̽͒̊́͐̀͘͘R̶̗̤͎͖̦͊͆̀͊R̶̠̘͖̞̤͖̭̜̋̄̾͂̂̄͊͝͝Y̶̙͔̘̔͘̕ͅͅ ̶̖̲̫͔̜̋͂̅͗́̚͜͝I̵̫̭̹͑'̴͙̬̦̤͇͛̋̐͜M̶̜̄̍̄͝ ̵̨̳̈̌̾̍͑S̴̼͈͋̀̾͝͝O̶̮͑͆̿̊͛̋̉͠R̶̘̯̩̪̔͋̀̂̚̚̚Ŗ̴̢̛̤̦̣͓̺̗̪͇̏̒̇̓̈́̔̃̂͝Y̵̬̲̗͎̳̼͕̻͛̑̐̔Į̸͙̪̝͈̹̜̈́̂̿͂́͑͌̈́̕͜'̴̱͎̟̭̈́͋̄̆̓͌̚̚͝M̸̢̢̖̺̦͓̪͇͓̉̑͘͝ ̵̡͍͕̞͍̬̭͌͆͜ͅͅS̵̗̦͍̙̓͆̐̈͝͝Ȯ̵̻̘̫̯͋̇́̕͜͜Ȑ̵̟͋̆̈́̇Ŗ̶̼̤̹͈̭͗Y̸̨̛̞͙͊́̀̋̂̕ ̶̱̖̿̓̍̓́͝͝I̴̱͊͒̌̈́̊͌́͐̀'̷̡̣̳̦͇͙̜̭͑M̴̧̜͎̖̳̊̽͊̎ ̶̨͎̉͗̈̓̉̾̆̍͑͘S̴̢̱̦̀̒O̶͔̙̺͇̱̽͒̊́͐̀͘͘R̶̗̤͎͖̦͊͆̀͊R̶̠̘͖̞̤͖̭̜̋̄̾͂̂̄͊͝͝Y̶̙͔̘̔͘̕ͅͅ ̶̖̲̫͔̜̋͂̅͗́̚͜͝I̵̫̭̹͑'̴͙̬̦̤͇͛̋̐͜M̶̜̄̍̄͝ ̵̨̳̈̌̾̍͑S̴̼͈͋̀̾͝͝O̶̮͑͆̿̊͛̋̉͠R̶̘̯̩̪̔͋̀̂̚̚̚Ŗ̴̢̛̤̦̣͓̺̗̪͇̏̒̇̓̈́̔̃̂͝Y̵̬̲̗͎̳̼͕̻͛̑̐̔Į̸͙̪̝͈̹̜̈́̂̿͂́͑͌̈́̕͜'̴̱͎̟̭̈́͋̄̆̓͌̚̚͝M̸̢̢̖̺̦͓̪͇͓̉̑͘͝ ̵̡͍͕̞͍̬̭͌͆͜ͅͅS̵̗̦͍̙̓͆̐̈͝͝Ȯ̵̻̘̫̯͋̇́̕͜͜Ȑ̵̟͋̆̈́̇Ŗ̶̼̤̹͈̭͗Y̸̨̛̞͙͊́̀̋̂̕ ̶̱̖̿̓̍̓́͝͝I̴̱͊͒̌̈́̊͌́͐̀'̷̡̣̳̦͇͙̜̭͑M̴̧̜͎̖̳̊̽͊̎ ̶̨͎̉͗̈̓̉̾̆̍͑͘S̴̢̱̦̀̒O̶͔̙̺͇̱̽͒̊́͐̀͘͘R̶̗̤͎͖̦͊͆̀͊R̶̠̘͖̞̤͖̭̜̋̄̾͂̂̄͊͝͝Y̶̙͔̘̔͘̕ͅͅ ̶̖̲̫͔̜̋͂̅͗́̚͜͝I̵̫̭̹͑'̴͙̬̦̤͇͛̋̐͜M̶̜̄̍̄͝ ̵̨̳̈̌̾̍͑S̴̼͈͋̀̾͝͝O̶̮͑͆̿̊͛̋̉͠R̶̘̯̩̪̔͋̀̂̚̚̚Ŗ̴̢̛̤̦̣͓̺̗̪͇̏̒̇̓̈́̔̃̂͝Y̵̬̲̗͎̳̼͕̻͛̑̐̔Į̸͙̪̝͈̹̜̈́̂̿͂́͑͌̈́̕͜'̴̱͎̟̭̈́͋̄̆̓͌̚̚͝M̸̢̢̖̺̦͓̪͇͓̉̑͘͝ ̵̡͍͕̞͍̬̭͌͆͜ͅͅS̵̗̦͍̙̓͆̐̈͝͝Ȯ̵̻̘̫̯͋̇́̕͜͜Ȑ̵̟͋̆̈́̇Ŗ̶̼̤̹͈̭͗Y̸̨̛̞͙͊́̀̋̂̕ ̶̱̖̿̓̍̓́͝͝I̴̱͊͒̌̈́̊͌́͐̀'̷̡̣̳̦͇͙̜̭͑M̴̧̜͎̖̳̊̽͊̎ ̶̨͎̉͗̈̓̉̾̆̍͑͘S̴̢̱̦̀̒O̶͔̙̺͇̱̽͒̊́͐̀͘͘R̶̗̤͎͖̦͊͆̀͊R̶̠̘͖̞̤͖̭̜̋̄̾͂̂̄͊͝͝Y̶̙͔̘̔͘̕ͅͅ ̶̖̲̫͔̜̋͂̅͗́̚͜͝I̵̫̭̹͑'̴͙̬̦̤͇͛̋̐͜M̶̜̄̍̄͝ ̵̨̳̈̌̾̍͑S̴̼͈͋̀̾͝͝O̶̮͑͆̿̊͛̋̉͠R̶̘̯̩̪̔͋̀̂̚̚̚Ŗ̴̢̛̤̦̣͓̺̗̪͇̏̒̇̓̈́̔̃̂͝Y̵̬̲̗͎̳̼͕̻͛̑̐̔Į̸͙̪̝͈̹̜̈́̂̿͂́͑͌̈́̕͜'̴̱͎̟̭̈́͋̄̆̓͌̚̚͝M̸̢̢̖̺̦͓̪͇͓̉̑͘͝ ̵̡͍͕̞͍̬̭͌͆͜ͅͅS̵̗̦͍̙̓͆̐̈͝͝Ȯ̵̻̘̫̯͋̇́̕͜͜Ȑ̵̟͋̆̈́̇Ŗ̶̼̤̹͈̭͗Y̸̨̛̞͙͊́̀̋̂̕ ̶̱̖̿̓̍̓́͝͝I̴̱͊͒̌̈́̊͌́͐̀'̷̡̣̳̦͇͙̜̭͑M̴̧̜͎̖̳̊̽͊̎ ̶̨͎̉͗̈̓̉̾̆̍͑͘S̴̢̱̦̀̒O̶͔̙̺͇̱̽͒̊́͐̀͘͘R̶̗̤͎͖̦͊͆̀͊R̶̠̘͖̞̤͖̭̜̋̄̾͂̂̄͊͝͝Y̶̙͔̘̔͘̕ͅͅ ̶̖̲̫͔̜̋͂̅͗́̚͜͝I̵̫̭̹͑'̴͙̬̦̤͇͛̋̐͜M̶̜̄̍̄͝ ̵̨̳̈̌̾̍͑S̴̼͈͋̀̾͝͝O̶̮͑͆̿̊͛̋̉͠R̶̘̯̩̪̔͋̀̂̚̚̚Ŗ̴̢̛̤̦̣͓̺̗̪͇̏̒̇̓̈́̔̃̂͝Y̵̬̲̗͎̳̼͕̻͛̑̐̔Į̸͙̪̝͈̹̜̈́̂̿͂́͑͌̈́̕͜'̴̱͎̟̭̈́͋̄̆̓͌̚̚͝M̸̢̢̖̺̦͓̪͇͓̉̑͘͝ ̵̡͍͕̞͍̬̭͌͆͜ͅͅS̵̗̦͍̙̓͆̐̈͝͝Ȯ̵̻̘̫̯͋̇́̕͜͜Ȑ̵̟͋̆̈́̇Ŗ̶̼̤̹͈̭͗Y̸̨̛̞͙͊́̀̋̂̕ ̶̱̖̿̓̍̓́͝͝I̴̱͊͒̌̈́̊͌́͐̀'̷̡̣̳̦͇͙̜̭͑M̴̧̜͎̖̳̊̽͊̎ ̶̨͎̉͗̈̓̉̾̆̍͑͘S̴̢̱̦̀̒O̶͔̙̺͇̱̽͒̊́͐̀͘͘R̶̗̤͎͖̦͊͆̀͊R̶̠̘͖̞̤͖̭̜̋̄̾͂̂̄͊͝͝Y̶̙͔̘̔͘̕ͅͅ ̶̖̲̫͔̜̋͂̅͗́̚͜͝I̵̫̭̹͑'̴͙̬̦̤͇͛̋̐͜M̶̜̄̍̄͝ ̵̨̳̈̌̾̍͑S̴̼͈͋̀̾͝͝O̶̮͑͆̿̊͛̋̉͠R̶̘̯̩̪̔͋̀̂̚̚̚Ŗ̴̢̛̤̦̣͓̺̗̪͇̏̒̇̓̈́̔̃̂͝Y̵̬̲̗͎̳̼͕̻͛̑̐̔

A section has been deleted on request of Admin Moon, claiming it is to protect Seokmin, and contains sensitive information of said person.

Instead . . . I'll make everyone else beg and say to me, that they're sorry.

They'll feel what it was like to be in my position, desperate and helpless, feeling as if no one was there for them.

They'll feel MY pain.

Next Chapter: Chapter Two - Intoxicated

🥀// @yourlocal-babybear @aikihades @sophie-svt-13 @waitingwhispers60 @seventeen-chatbot @kpop-shelter @yangomangos @m00n-nim96 @ghoulxbaekhyun @moonlit-jaemin @empress-jiaqi @time-for-confession @xash-axx @fnafnctdream-chatbot @split-jiu @artsydahyun @softdommechungha @princess-yeji [DM for +/-]

[iwritesickfic]

boy who cried flu

(yes I am aware of how stupid this title is leave me alone)

Peter rarely - if ever - got sick. Nobody who didn’t know him well would believe it though - he had a long track record of absences and missed assignments, despite being a 3.9 GPA student. He’s flaked from social events and parties countless times, always citing he’s not “feeling well.” It’s not technically a lie, though he does lie sometimes. 

People understand physical illness - they know what it feels like to be stuck in bed with a bad cold - but mental illness? Not so much. So...he bends the truth. A professor won’t be very forgiving if you say you spent all weekend in bed because you couldn’t find the motivation to move, but say you had a bad cough? No one bats an eye.

So most people assume Peter has an awful immune system. That or he’s just a pussy who won’t leave the house with so much as a sore throat. Everyone except a select few - Simon, Ashlynn, and Alex. 

Simon’d been his friend since undergrad, and they’d been roommates for a time, so he knows exactly what Peter means when he says he “doesn’t feel well.” Ashlynn is the type to show up unannounced with a quart of homemade soup. And Alex...Alex was there when things had gotten out of hand. 

But just because they knew he was lying when he said he was sick didn’t mean he stopped using it as an excuse. Ashlynn, despite herself, would usually not question it. Simon wouldn’t think twice about the lie, almost taking it as a direct confession. Alex would usually get pissed off and demand some kind of proof.

They were supposed to go to the beach tomorrow - get up early and take the train together to rockaway. But somehow, for the first time in years, Peter has something more than some congestion. Something way more.

It started a few days ago, a runny nose and swollen sinuses. He slept like shit, and the next morning his throat was raw and he absolutely could not breathe through his nose. But he had class, so he took the train in and sat in his lecture and tried to keep his sniffling to a minimum. By the time he was headed home, he’d long since run out of clean tissues, so he tends to his nose with a damp scrap of napkin he found buried in his bag, his nostrils red and irritated from the abuse. 

By the time he gets home, his congestion has gone from a clogged, static brick in his head to leaky, runny mess, but he’s well aware he can’t take a day off from work on his thesis, so he sits in bed working until 2 AM, one hand wiping the mess from his upper lip, the other scribbling notes in his worn out pad. 

He wakes the next morning not sure when he fell asleep, his head pounding heavily behind his eyes, sinuses throbbing and inflamed. His throat feels swollen and hot, and the relentless sneezing that started the night before isn’t helping any. The two days prior, everything seemed to be concentrated in his head, but now it’s clear it’s migrating into his chest as well. Halfway through his day at work in the library, he starts to cough, wet and harsh. 

It doesn’t help that his body aches like he ran a marathon, and chills are coursing through him like ice water in his veins. By the end of the day he can’t wait to finally sit down and rest. His body’s been screaming for it since the moment he got out of bed, and all day shelving books has really taken its toll.

Unfortunately, he’s got an hour long commute and lucky for him, it’s standing room only. He grips the subway pole like a lifeline, his head spins every time the train rocks. He catches a glimpse of his reflection in the darkened window - he looks awful. Bags like bruises under his eyes that are rimmed in pink and half lidded, his nose irritated and red. A coughing fit tears through him, and he tries his best to catch it in his sleeve. His knees start to tremble as he tries to take deep breaths, and he’s startled when someone taps him on the shoulder.

“You wanna sit?” the woman asks, and it takes him a minute to realize she’s offering her seat. Normally, he’d suck it up, but he’s too miserable to refuse. He mumbles a thanks, and sinks down.

It takes all his self control not to fall asleep then and there.

By the time he’s back at his building, he’s seriously doubting he can climb four flights to get to the apartment. Part of him would rather just lay down in the lobby but he knows this is the final stretch before he can climb into bed and sleep.

He’s interrupted by several fits of coughs, and by the time he’s reached the fourth floor he’s practically gasping for air, and soaked in sweat. The chills he had all day have swapped with an oppressive heat that makes him feel almost lightheaded. 

Somehow, he’s quite sure, he manages to stumble to bed, stripping off his damp clothes, the cool air on his slick skin throwing him back into shaking chills. Just as he’s about to let himself be sucked into sleep, his eyes fly open. Tomorrow. 6 AM. He’s supposed to go to the beach. There is no fucking way he is going to the beach.

He texts their group chat with trembling fingers.

hey im real sick i cant go tomorrow

There’s an immediate reply from Alex.

don’t fuckin do this man. we’re going.

A text from Simon.

you’ll feel better if you leave the house, you always do.

He sighs, cursing himself for using this shitty excuse so much now no one will take him seriously.

im serious i feel like trash

Alex answers immediately.

PETER. youre not sick youre being a pussy. we’re going to the fucking beach and we’re having a good time.

Simon responds.

chill alex.

if youre depressed thats fine but maybe consider coming still it might help.

i mean i’d feel better if you came

Peter groans.

im sick. like sick sick. like flu sick.

Alex shoots back quickly.

ok then what are your symptoms?

Peter rubs his eyes, trying to relieve some of the throbbing. 

fever, chills, aches, cough, runny nose, headache, tired.

There’s a moment of silence and he places his phone on his bedside table with a sigh. He’s about to go under when his phone starts to buzz. Once. Twice. Three times. He swears, grabbing it. Three texts from Alex. The first is a screenshot of the symptom list that appears when you google “flu” which just happens to be in identical order.

you need to be more creative

seriously man im not letting you miss this. we planned this months ago. dont be a dick.

Finally, Ashlynn chimes in.

you dont need to lie p, its ok if you dont wanna come.

While Peter would like to further argue that he’s not in fact lying, he just doesn’t have the energy. At this point, it doesn’t matter what they think. He’s not going - who gives a shit why? He’s able to fall asleep almost immediately, but unfortunately, he doesn’t really stay asleep.

He wakes up about every 45 minutes, coughing or shivering or burning or all three. After his fourth or fifth jolt awake he can’t for the life of him seem to get any rest. Every time he’s about to drift off, another coughing fit explodes from his chest and leaves him trembling. He’s hot, but he’s not sweating, which he realizes vaguely must mean he’s dehydrated. As the night wears on and his condition continues to worsen, he wonders if he should call an uber to take him to the ER. He can’t afford it, not in the slightest, but he’s not sure he’s ever felt this terrible before. Somehow, he remembers there’s an old thermometer in the kitchen. An old roommate had bought it thinking it would work for deep frying but didn’t realize the range only spanned from 95 to 107.

He needs to take his temperature. See how serious this actually is. He can’t remember the last time he actually ran a fever, so he’s not sure if this is just par for the course or whether this level of misery is cause for alarm.

He stumbles into the kitchen, and for once he’s glad to live in such a god-awfully tiny studio. He lands heavily against the counter, and rummages through the drawer to find the small device. After what feels like an eternity, he manages to grab it with shaking hands, fumbling with the buttons for a moment before flipping on the small kitchen light. 

He sticks it under his tongue, it feels like ice. He tries to coach himself on what he’s going to do. If it’s over 100, he’ll go to the hospital. No, that’s too low. 102?Still maybe too ambitious of a goal. It’s then he realizes he’s really just trying to justify what he’s going to do anyway - save himself an ER bill and stay in bed. He’s jerked out of his thoughts when the small device beeps and he removes it carefully from under his tongue. 

The display flashes 103.2. He doesn’t really know what that means but after a quick google search it’s not exactly any clearer. It’s bad, but not bad enough to cause brain damage, supposedly. Fuck it, that’s good enough for him. He climbs shakily back into bed, the small excursion has left him absolutely exhausted. 

He needs medicine. He knows that. Some tylenol at the very least, but if he can barely walk to the kitchen he doesn’t know how in hell he’s getting out the door, down the stairs, to the pharmacy, and back again. So, he’ll just have to live with it. 

He spends the rest of the night in and out of half-sleep, each coughing fit seeming to drive the illness deeper into his lungs. His nose has started to run again, and each rub with the already-used tissue makes his poor sensitive nostrils burn in protest.

The next morning he wakes to the harsh, deafening drone of his apartment’s buzzer system. He cracks his eyes and checks the time. 6:42 AM. Whoever the fuck it is can wait, he’d like to suffer in peace. Still, as he tries to slip back into the sleep the buzzer continues to go off and after about five minutes, he sits up in bed, fighting the wave of dizziness that washes over him. He stumbles to the keypad and presses the button that opens the lobby door, and the buzzing finally - mercifully - ceases. 

He grabs a t shirt from a pile on the floor and pulls on a pair of boxers - he doesn’t know if he’d be able to stand anything more with the way his fever is raging. He sits on the edge of his bed, trying to catch his breath, quickly breaking down into another awful fit of coughs. Just as he’s finished, he hears a heavy knock on the door. Sighing, he forces himself up, padding slowly over to the door, trying not to aggravate the dizziness any further. He pulls open the door and is confused to see not an overzealous delivery person, but his three friends. 

He stares dumbly for a moment before a breath catches in his throat and he breaks into thick, wet coughs. He sniffles, wiping his nose with his wrist, before looking back up at them.

“What?” he mumbles, and there’s an awkward silence. 

“Shit,” Alex finally says and Peter sniffles.

“What do you want?” he repeats, surprised at the hoarse, broken quality of his voice. Does he really sound that bad? Ashlynn pushes forward, wrapping him in a tight hug. She’s short, so her face is pressed into his chest, and he stumbles back slightly.

“Oh Peter,” she whispers, and he swallows, closing his eyes. She pulls away, and he has to force them open again. She she presses a hand to his forehead. Her palm feels cool but uncomfortable against his oversensitive skin. “You’re burning up.”

“I know,” he murmurs, wishing the conversation could be over so he can go lie down and not have to explain himself to his friends. He sighs, and narrowly avoids another coughing fit. “Are you gonna come in or you just all gonna stand there?” They exchange looks. “Well?”

Ashlynn pushes past him, followed by Simon and finally Alex. Peter shuts the door and tries his best not to look as fucked up as he feels walking to sit in one of his kitchen chairs. 

“What do ya’ll want?” he asks Simon and Alex, Ashlynn already digging through the medicine cabinet.

“We don’t want anything we were just concerned,” Simon says.

“Then why do you look so fucking shocked?” Peter snaps, even though he knows Simon is only telling the truth.

“Because I was 100% sure you were bullshitting,” Alex says. Peter is far too tired to get into a verbal sparring match with Alex, but he tries halfheartedly anyway.

“Still sure?” before Alex can reply Ashlynn is back with a damp washcloth and the thermometer he’d used the night before. She lays the cloth on the back of his neck, and he can’t help the small whine that escapes. 

“Open,” she says, and he does. She places the thermometer under his tongue gingerly, and strokes some of his hair off his forehead. “You don’t have anything? For this?” Peter shakes his head. She presses her lips into a line. “Simon and me are gonna go out and grab some stuff, ok?”

“That’s not necessary.” His voice is almost slurred with the fever, and as if on cue the thermometer beeps. Ashlynn frowns at the reading. She shakes her head.

“Christ, Peter.” She touches his forehead again, this time with the back of her hand. “103.6 and it’s not necessary?”

“I don’wanna be lectured.”

“I’m not lecturing.” She spends another moment fussing with his hair before getting up, grabbing Simon. “We’re going to get some stuff, we’ll be back. Alex, make sure he doesn’t die, ok?” It’s clear Alex is about to protest, but Ashlynn levels him with a glare. They leave, and then it’s just Peter and Alex.

Alex stands by the door, hands in his pockets. It’s a while before either of them speaks.

“What was I supposed to think?” he finally says, and Peter tries to swallow his anger.

“I don’t know, man.” He runs a hand through his greasy, sweat damp hair. He starts to shiver again, wrapping his arms around his torso. Alex takes a careful step forward.

“You get why I wouldn’t believe you, right?”

“Yes, Alex.” The chills are now back in full force, he’s sure he must be shaking like a leaf. He wants nothing more than this conversation to be over, but Alex doesn’t seem to be getting to message.

“You never get sick. Ever. So what am I-”

“I get it. It’s fine. Just...stop talking. Please.” He’s shaking so bad he can feel his teeth chattering. He pulls his knees to his chest. He closes his eyes, praying something - anything - will warm him up. He hears footsteps and fumbling, then feels a dry, warm blanket being tucked around his shoulders. He looks up, and Alex is standing there, eyebrows furrowed. 

“Do you wanna lay down or something?” The thought of climbing back into his sweat damp sheets makes him cringe, so he shakes his head. “Why not?”

“S’gross, I sweat a ton.” 

Alex nods.

“Right. What about the couch? You can lay on the couch and I can do your laundry.” 

Getting horizontal sounds heavenly, so he nods, and Alex touches his shoulder, quickly pulling his hand back.

“What the fuck - dude, you’re like...on fire. Shit.” He tests the side of his neck and winces. “Fuck.”

“Can you just help me?” Peter is embarrassed at how small and sick his voice sounds, and the fact he’s asking Alex of all people for help, but he knows if he tries to do it on his own he’s going to fall and crack his skull.

“Yeah, yeah, of course.” He wraps an arm around Peter’s waist, and supports him the few feet to the couch. It’s not very far but his knees go weak about halfway there and he’s glad Alex is holding him. As soon as he gets onto the couch, he curls on his side and closes his eyes. “You’re ok?” Peter nods, and Alex pats his shoulder awkwardly. “Ok. Cool. Just...stay there, I guess.” Peter can hear him starting to strip the bed.

“I was maybe gonna go for a run,” he mumbles, and Alex laughs softly. 

“Definitely. Then I’ll enroll at NYU for my bachelor’s.”

“You’re just jealous you don’t have all my debt.”

“You’re right. I’ve been trying to rack up some credit card bills but so far no luck.”

Peter opens his eyes to see Alex with the bundle of sheets in his arms and the bottle of detergent. He pauses for a second, shifting from foot to foot.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and Peter swallows hard.

“I know man, it’s ok.” Alex smirks.

“Alright. Don’t die while I’m gone.”

[chickensarentcheap]

Best Part of Me -Chapter 82

Warnings: none

Tagging: @innerpaperexpertcloud​, @c-a-v-a-l-r-y​, @alievans007​

The storm rolls in shortly before nine; torrential rain and howling winds that rattle the windows, bend tree branches, and strip them of leaves.  Both the thunder and lightning are intense and incessant; resounding booms that seem to shake the entire house and forks of silver that slice through the coal black sky.  The sudden change in weather does little to improve Tyler’s mood; the pressure in the air bringing a migraine that settles in both temples and  over his left eye. While the sadness and hints of guilt, regret, and even embarrassment have faded, they’ve been replaced with emotions much more profound and unsettling. Immense hatred. Blinding rage. A desperate and powerful want and need for revenge.

It’s been almost three months since it all began. Kicking off with Mahajan’s badgering of his son in regards to taking over the ‘family business’, escalating into threats against his family that grew more disturbing with each passing day, and culminating in an unwanted return to Dhaka. It’s complicated and twisted; each hour brings an added layer that only pushes the finish line further and further away.  His physical pain may be worsening; but it’s his mental stability that is the most concerning. Unable to turn off the emotionally driven side of him and solely look at things from a mercenary’s point of view. He knows he’s on the edge; barely hanging on his last shred of sanity. The games have taken their toll; hearing vile things about his wife and children serving as the final nails in the coffin. Even if he does survive with his body intact, he’s not sure if his brain will be as fortunate. It’s a no win situation. Whether it’s a busted up body or a broken mind, he’ll suffer either way. And so will his family.

He places a call to Kyle’s cell phone, grimacing at the pain that shoots through his right leg and across the small of his back as he takes a seat at the end of the bed.  Anil had one of his ‘people’ stop by; a physician originally from Mumbai who’d not only  taken the CEO position at one of Dhaka’s private hospitals, but holds the utmost contempt for both the ghost of Amir Asif and those still pledging loyalty to him.

“He’s been dead for seven years,” he’d said. “Yet he’s still sending me patients and putting bodies in my morgue. Old, young; his drugs and his people do not discriminate.”

That had been the extent of conversation. No small talk exchanged as he put Tyler through a series of physical tests to determine the state of his mobility issues. The doctor offering little more than heavy sighs and shakes of head as he discovered things were worse than he initially suspected. Torn ligaments and tendons, the disintegration of cartilage, scar tissue. A lengthy list of things that could be causing problems but would definitely have to be properly -and extensively- investigated by a specialist. For the time being, there’s nothing anyone can do, aside from prescribing yet another painkiller with strict orders that someone else be in charge of dispensing it. He can’t be trusted to do it himself; the first one to admit that he has absolutely no control over the demon of drug addiction. And he’d been more than happy to hand over the responsibility; as long as he’d get some relief.

So far he's pleasantly surprised; the two pills he’d taken an hour ago successfully -and quickly- taking the edge off without making him feel ‘doped up’. The pain is still present, but nowhere as intense or unbearable. Relegated to a dull, continuous throb akin to the agony of a bad toothache.

Kyle answers on the third ring, giving a quick ‘hey’ followed by “I’ll get one of the kids for you.”  It’s the first time they’ve spoken since right before he and Esme had left for Dhaka; Kyle still sore over the fact he’d been called out for his poor treatment of his sister.

“Hold up,” Tyler says, smirking at the sound of his brother in law’s heavy sigh. “How’s things there? And don’t bullshit me.”

“Things are okay.”

“Okay as in good or okay as in they could be better?"

“If you’re just asking about the kids, then things are okay as in good. Ovi and I are making sure we keep them busy; filling their days up. And they’re happy as they can be when they’re missing both their mom and dad as much as they are. It’s hard on them; both of you being gone. But they’re doing alright. They’re coping. We’re busting our asses to make sure they don’t catch wind of what’s really going on.”

“Thanks for that. Esme and I appreciate it. Keep an eye on Millie though. She figured everything out, and while she promised she wouldn’t say anything to her brothers, I wouldn’t put it past her if they pissed her off enough. Nothing she loves more than tormenting those two.”

Kyle gives a small chuckle. “I’ll keep an eye on her. There hasn’t been any actual fights so far, but she has threatened to beat their asses a few times. You know, she’s a mind fuck that kid. She’s so sweet and cute to look at…

“But she’s a total savage,” Tyler finishes for him.

“Exactly. She doesn’t take any shit. Esme was like that as a kid; no one dared messing with her because she’d beat the ever loving hell out of them. Small, but tough. How is she? She doing okay?”

“She’s hanging in there. Just ready for all this to be over. Sooner the better. Anything going on there? Anything weird or suspicious or…”

“Other than Anil going ape shit on all the nannies and replacing them all? Things have been pretty quiet. There’s been a couple little things here and there; people getting too close to the house, calling here and hanging up, dead cat thrown over the fence.”

“That’s all rookie stuff. Someone trying to unnerve ya. I wouldn’t put too much stock into it; guys who can really do damage start bigger and end even bigger. They don’t bother with bullshit like that. You’ll call, yeah? If things get any weirder?”

“I will,” Kyle promises. “Keep  my little sister safe, okay? I wish she wasn’t involved in this at all, but..”

“She’s safe with me. She always is. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to protect her. You know that.”

“Yeah, I do. But I wish she’d never gotten dragged into all of this in the first place. And I’m not talking now. I’m talking seven years ago. If you’d just thought of her instead of yourself…”

“Is that daddy?”   Millie’s voice interrupts Kyle before he can launch into his tirade. “Mommy said daddy was going to call us. Is that him? Can I talk to him? I want to talk to him.”

There’s a slight rustling noise as the phone is passed from person to person, and the first smile of the day manages to make its way to his face when his daughter greets him with a cheerful “Hi daddy! I miss you!”

He tries not to think about it; the threat made against her and the knowledge of what would be done to her. She’s only six. Still a baby. HIS baby. “Hey,” he says. “Hey  baby girl.”

“Mommy said you’d call and you did! She said you were feeling a bit sad ‘cause you miss us so much.”

“I am a bit sad,” Tyler admits. “I do miss you guys. You being good?”

“I’m trying. But TJ really tests my patience. He’s so annoying! Why does he have to be so annoying?”

“Because he knows it bothers you. Just try to ignore him”

“It’s hard!” Millie laments.  “It’s really, REALLY hard. It’s like he wants me to punch him in the face.”

“Well I’d rather you didn’t punch anyone in the face.”

“But I’m not a pacifist. I’d rather  ‘pass a fist’.”

“Where did you learn that?”

“I’m not a snitch. Snitches get stitches.”

“How about you rein in your temper a bit,” he suggests. “Just take it from the source. He’s doing it to get a reaction. Don’t give him one. That’ll irritate him and he’ll get bored and back off. How are you? You doing okay?”

“I’m okay, I guess. I miss home. Can we go back soon? Are you almost done your work? I really want to go home.”

“So do I. And it’ll be over soon.”

“And then you and mommy will come and get us and take us home?”

“As soon as it’s over.  Once it’s done, we’ll come and get you guys. I promise.”

“Maybe next time we go on a trip, we can go to Disney World. That would be fun.”

“Have you been talking to Tanner?”

“Maybe…” Millie sing songs.

“Tell you what, when we get home, your mom and I will talk about it, okay?”

“Okay. Is it stormy where you are? It’s really stormy here.  It’s kinda scary! The thunder is really loud and it’s really windy. It never gets THIS bad at home. We get storms, but they’re not as scary as this one. I wish you were here; it wouldn’t be as scary.  You always built a fort in the living room so we can all sleep together and we won’t be afraid.  You always make it fun. Like we’re on a camping trip. We forget about being scared when you’re with us. I wish you were here, daddy.”

He swallows around the lump of emotion sitting square in his throat. “I wish I was there too.”

“Did you watch my video? I sent it to your email. Did you get it?”

“I did. But I haven’t watched it yet.  I was going to do that before bed. So I could have good dreams instead of bad ones.”

“That’s  a good idea! Maybe you can send ME a video and I can watch it before bed and that way I’LL have good dreams too.”

“You know what I’ll do? I’ll make a video for all of you and then you can all watch it before bed. Sound good?”

“Sounds good!”

“I gotta go. I’ve got an important meeting I have to get to. But I’ll make the video and I’ll send it to Auntie Nik’s email. You tell her I’m doing that, okay?”

“Okay. I miss you, daddy. I love you.”

“I miss you too. And I love you. ALL of you. So much. And I’ll see you guys in a few days.”

“You promise?”

“Yeah.” He hopes he sounds more confident than he feels. “I promise.”

****

It takes four attempts before he gets a usable video to send to the kids; trying to keep it light and cheerful and finding himself stumbling over his words and fighting back tears.  The last thing he wanted was to turn a bedtime message into something so dark and depressing. Even Millie -who is incredibly intuitive and had known from the start that Mumbai wasn’t a normal family holiday- doesn’t know the full extent of just how serious things are. He doesn’t want to scare them; seeing daddy emotional will only cause them to ask questions no one truly has answers for.  And it would only send their fears and anxiety -especially Tanner’s- through the roof. In the end he’d been able to hold it together. Reciting one of their favorite bedtime stories by heart and telling them how much he  loves them and misses them; promising that they’ll all be heading home soon. The latter had actually helped lift his own spirits. Saying the words out loud doing wonders for his confidence;  the promise itself -and not wanting to break it-  giving his motivation a desperately needed kick in the ass.

By the time he journeys downstairs, Yaz has already arrived; joining Esme, Koen, Rata and two of Anil’s men -who’d been ordered to help out in each and every way possible- in the living room. And the younger man pauses in the setting up of his laptop in order to greet Tyler with a warm,  tight hug and a playful backhand to an unshaven cheek.  He sees the exhaustion that clouds Yaz’ eyes and dampens his smile; his own fears and worries revolving around a heavily pregnant girlfriend back home. It’s been hell on everyone; long hours and restless sleep and one stumbling block after another. There’s finally some light at the end of that very long and winding tunnel. It’s faint, but at least it’s there.

He pours himself a coffee from the freshly brewed pot in the kitchen and then joins the others. Returning Esme’s smile as she looks up at him, giving her a wink before taking a seat beside her and then pressing a kiss to her temple as he leans into her. Her hand slides along his inner thigh and then settles on his knee;  squeezing lightly before her fingers locate the most tender area and begin digging and manipulating. She doesn’t need to be asked; always knowing where the painful spots are and never hesitating to provide even the smallest bit of relief.

“I hope this weather isn’t some kind of bloody omen,” Raka grumbles.   Nervously bouncing  his legs and both jumping and looking towards the sliding glass doors with each boom of thunder that  shakes the  house.

“Forty damn years old and he’s scared of a wee storm,” Koen scoffs.

Rata glares at him. “A wee storm? Sounds like Mother Nature is getting ready to blow shit up!”

“Do you need your favorite blanket? A warm bottle of milk? Someone to cuddle with you? It’s nothing but some wind and a bit of rain.”

“That’s more than just some wind and some rain!” his friend argues. “It’s like the end of the world out there! And if this some kind of omen about how things are going to go down…”

“Ain’t no bloody omen!” Koen laughs “Don’t tell me you believe in all that shit. Signs and karma and all that hoodoo voodoo, hocus pocus crap!”

“I d0n’t know,” Esme says, as she reaches for a mug of tea sitting on the coffee table. “I like to think that karma exists and that it finally caught up to my ex. Because if anyone deserved to be hit head on by the karma bus, it was him.”

Tyler nods in agreement and takes a swig of coffee.

“So what’s it looking like?” Koen addresses Yaz. “End getting close or what?”

“Depends on what news you guys have for me.  I know where I stand on my end of things. What about over here?”

“I was able to get an extra twenty four hours,” Esme says. “But I really had to up the ante; an extra five million wasn’t going to cut it. I had to promise another ten. I tried to talk them down, but it was either the extra ten or pieces of Neysa and Aarev start washing up on the shores of Buriganga in a few days' time.”

“And Anil was willing to up that much?” Yaz asks. “IF it comes down to having to pay the ransom?”

“He didn’t hesitate when I told him. I don’t know where he gets all his money from, but he acted like it was nothing more than pocket change. He’s prepared to pay IF all else fails.  But they still won’t give me proof of life unless I agree to meet them at Asif’s house and have them take me to where they’re being held.”

“Which is NOT happening,” Tyler says. “There’s no way in hell that’s happening.”

“Now hold on a second,” Koen speaks up. “It’s the way that makes the most sense.”

Tyler frowns. “What are you talking about? It makes no sense. You really think they’re going to keep their word? That they won’t hurt her? They’ll use her as bait. She won’t get anywhere near Neysa and Aarev; they won’t take her there. They’ll keep her at Asif’s and do God knows what to her until I show up to get her out.”

“She won’t be going alone,” Koen points out.

“I don’t give a shit if there’s ten of you going with her. She’s not doing this. She’s not going there. No fucking way.”

“But when they take  her there...US there...you just follow behind and…”

“You’re not hearing me, mate. They won’t take her anywhere. They’ll kill you, then use her to bait me. And they’ll do all kinds of sick and twisted shit to her. You’re just going to take them at their word that they won’t hurt her? I know you’re not the sharpest knife in the drawer, but you’re not THAT stupid.”

“Okay….” Esme speaks up. “...why don’t we all calm down and talk through all of this rationally. There’s got to be another way to find out where Neysa and Aarev are that doesn’t involve having to go to Asif’s house. We all know it’s a trap. We can’t trust a single word they say and there no doubt in my mind they’d keep me in order to get Tyler to show up.”

“She’s NOT going,” Tyler stresses. “End of story. After tonight, her part in this is down. She did everything we needed her to do. Enough’s enough. I’m not risking her or the…” he catches himself. “...I’m not risking her. We gotta find another way.”

“I think I have one.” Yaz says. “It unfortunately does involve sending people to Asif’s house, but not in an official capacity. What if I can get people to plant tracking devices on a few of the cars that are always coming in and out of there? We’ve had eyes on that place since we got here; there’s a constant flow of the same six vehicles going in and out at all hours of the day. If I can get some guys close enough to put some GPS trackers in place, we just sit back and see if any of them visit a storage facility.”

“The storage thing was just something I pulled out of my ass,” Tyler admits.  “What I saw in the pictures and the videos reminded me of where we held McMann. That’s the only reason I said. Could be a factory or a warehouse for all I know.”

“What if it’s Asif’s basement?” Esme asks. “Does that place have one? Or a cold cellar or something like that? Cements walls and floors? Could be a basement or a cellar of some kind. It would explain no windows.”

“Well that makes it even more complicated if it is,” Koen grumbles. “How would we ever find that out? We can’t just go on up and knock on the front door and ask for a tour.”

“Any way of getting eyes in there?” Tyler asks Yaz.  “It wouldn’t hurt ruling it out. Kind of fitting if it is where they’re holding them. Almost like they’re offering them up as some sacrifice to Asif.  Appease the Gods of whatever the fuck they believe in.”

“I’d have to study the blueprints again,” Yaz says. “I didn’t see a basement, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t one. A lot could have changed since the originals were made; people renovate and add on all the time. We definitely need to check it out. Better to be safe than sorry, right?”

“Can you do it?” Tyler inquires. “Get eyes in there?”

“It’ll be hard. But I’m sure I can come up with something.   There’s got to be a way of getting in there without tripping the alarms or grabbing their attention. I’ll work on it.”

“I think the bigger worry right now is the bridges,” Esme pipes up. “Koen and I saw it with our own eyes. They are locked down and both the police AND the military are manning the road blocks. And they have pictures of me, of Tyler, and they’re comparing them to everyone that goes in or out. Whether they’re walking or driving.”

“They do have them locked pretty tight,” Koen confirms. “There’s no way we could get him across without him being seen.”

“What about going in from the north?” Esme suggests. “Does anyone know if they’ve got things blocked off up there too? If you go north into one of the smaller towns, you can  backtrack your way into Dhaka,  You can’t send a chopper right into the city; you just can’t. Not when even the police and military are wanting to cash in on the bounty. A chopper is big and noisy and that’s way too much attention right off the hop. But if you take one into one of the towns north of the city, you can drive back in. IF there’s no roadblocks that way.”

“That’s a big if,” Tyler says.

“I can send some people to check it out,” Yaz offers. “There’s a lot of remote areas north of Dhaka. Could them in, get them to see what’s going and probably have an answer in five or six hours. Gotta mobilize them first.  Have they sent anything? For proof of life? Any pictures, videos…?”

“The last proof Anil received was three days ago,” Esme sighs. “Nothing since.”

“So they could be dead,” Koen concludes.

“There’s no way they’re dead,” Tyler says. “They need them alive. They know if I don’t come there, they’re going to have to settle for the cash. Which means they have thirty million reasons to keep them alive.”

Or they could kill them and just let on that they’re alive,” Koen argues. “Bait you there with the impression that they ARE still breathing.”

“That’s highly unlikely,” Yaz speaks up. “This is a huge pay day for these guys. If Tyler bails, the money is all they have. They’ll take it.”

“Then why not just bail?” Rata asks.  “Why not just say ‘fuck it’ and get out of here? Just let Anil give them the money. Hand over the cash and Neysa and Aarev go free, that’s it.”

“It isn’t just about Neysa and Aarev,” Esme reminds him. “It started with the threats against them and it escalated into a whole lot more. WAY more than any of us thought it would. Did any of us image it would get this far? Did any of us really think it would get this bad? It never should have led to this.”

“This is about my family too,” Tyler adds. “Look at all the shit that’s been said. About my wife, about my kids. You think I’m really going to sit back and let them get away with it? If it was you girl, would you just tuck your tail between your legs and run?”

“Of course I wouldn’t. I’d fight too. But haven’t we fought enough? We took care of all those people on that list. Just like we were supposed to. It’s not our fault that Mahajan changed the game when he grabbed the woman and the kid. We did what we set out to do. So why don’t we just say fuck it and go home?”

“Why don’t YOU just say fuck and go home?” Tyler retorts. “If you can’t handle it, just say so. If you’re scared to do this…”

“I’m not scared of shit!” Rata interjects. “I just don't understand why we keep busting our asses like this. Haven’t we done enough? We got all the names checked off the list, Anil is going to take care of Mahajan. We’re done.”

“We are NOT done.” Esme argues. “They have Neysa and Aarev. And Nathan. Did you forget about him? I know he’s no one’s favorite, but they have him too. We can’t just leave them there.”

“And we can’t leave Asif’s people alive,” Koen adds “They’re too much of a threat; especially to Esme and the kids.  We leave them alive and they’ll always pose a threat. We have to get rid of them so Tyler and his family can leave in peace.”

“If you want to go, go,” Tyler says. “You want to walk away, no one will fault you for it. This has been sheer fucking hell from day one. If you’re tired and you’ve had enough then just walk away. I won’t hold it against you.”

“I sure as hell will,” Koen snarls.

“I ain’t leaving you two useless assholes here!” Rata protests. “Someone has to make sure things get done right. Might as well be me.”

Koen gives a derisive snort and shakes his head.

“Well it’s true,” Rata mutters, and leans back against the couch, arms crossed over his chest. “I’m the one who’s been doing it all right since the beginning.”

“I’ll get trackers on the cars right away and send people north,” Yaz announces, and snaps the lid on his laptop closed. “We’re in the end game now.  Everyone needs to keep on their toes and be ready to go at any given moment.”

“What happens when we get where we’re going?” Koen asks. “When the shooting starts? That’s going to bring a whole lot of attention our way. We’re going to have every fucking drongo in Dhaka showing up. Regular people, cops, military. How do we deal with all of that?”

“That’s why we have guns,” Tyler informs him. “They shoot at you, you shoot back. And shoot to kill. Injuring them will do shit. You gotta put them down and put them for good.”

“What if someone creates a few distractions on the bridges?” Esme addresses Yaz “I’m sure Anil has some extra people he can lend or even people here in Dhaka that he can convince to go against Asif. If we have people causing a disturbance on the bridges, all the attention will be down by the water.”

“Not just a pretty face,” Koen teases, and shoots her a playful wink.

“I like that idea,” Rata enthuses, “Stir up some chaos. Shoot some people, blow some shit up.”

“Well I was thinking relatively non violent,” Esme says. “But yeah, that works too.”

“Just remember to not shoot unless you’re being shot at,” Yaz instructs. There’s a lot of Dhaka. Good, innocent people.  We don’t want their deaths on our hands. Know your target before engaging. And believe me, you’ll know your targets.”

“They don’t waste time shooting,” Esme adds. “Thankfully, most of them can’t shoot for shit. So your chances are pretty good that you won’t get hit.”

“Until they shoot you from behind,” Tyler smirks. “Then all of a sudden they’re really good shots.”  He immediately regrets saying it; noticing the way Esme’s entire body stiffens and hears the heavy sigh that escapes her lips.

“Ask me, that was just luck,” Yaz remarks. “Extremely bad on your part, extremely good on his.”

“Can we NOT talk about?” Esme irritably requests. “We don’t need to talk about this.”

“Gonna need eyes in the back of our heads,” Rata grumbles. “If these fuckers are known for cutting you down from behind.  I don’t want to be catching one in the throat. I wouldn’t be so lucky, that’s for sure.”

“No sense rehashing all of that,” Yaz attempts to derail the conversation. “It was a long time ago. Let’s concentrate on now and…”

“I’m just saying,” Rata continues. “If we got kids out there putting bullets in our backs or our necks…”

“Enough,” Tyler orders. “We all know what happened. We don’t need to talk about it.”

“You got lucky,” his friend informs him. “Someone was there to save your ass. All you bastards would high tail it out of there and let me fend for myself.”

“This conversation is not for me,” Esme declares, and shrugs Tyler’s hand off her shoulder when he tries to prevent her from standing up. “I’m not talking about this. I don’t even want to hear about it. Bad enough I had to go through it. Last thing I want to do is relive it.”

The next thirty second feels as if it lasts thirty minutes. Tension filled silence and a painful awkwardness; all four men attempting to avoid eye contact with one another and trying not to acknowledge the obvious tears sparkling in Esme’s eyes and the way she drops her empty mug into the sink with a loud clatter. Or the way she hurries from the room; light footsteps impossibly loud on the stairs.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Koen angrily elbows Rata in the ribs. “You know we don’t talk about that. We never talk about that.”

“It’s been seven years! I didn’t think it would be such a big deal.”

“It’s a big fucking deal! To her, anyway. You better start kissing some serious ass, you fucking drongo!”

As his friends continue to bicker, Tyler leans forward and places his forearms on his thighs. Eyes on his feet as the fingers of his right hand fidget with his wedding band; twirling it back and forth, pulling it up to the knuckle and sliding it back down again A nervous habit that creeps up when his anxiety rears its ugly head or the PTSD is gearing up to unleash hell.

Yaz slips into the empty seat beside him, then leans in close. “Still a sore spot for her, huh?”

Tyler nods in confirmation.

“It won’t be much longer until go time. Think she’s going to be able to handle it?”

“I don’t know,” he admits. “I honestly don’t know.”

******

He manages an hour and a half of sleep. Waking to the sounds of Esme muttering and whimpering beside him. Her body drawn impossibly tight and her hands tightly gripping the bottom sheet; heels  digging into the mattress as if trying to push herself away from an attacker.  He opted not to shake her awake, wanting to avoid sending her into a panic and turning her extremely combative.  He’d learned the hard way how NOT to handle a night terror. Confronted by a five foot nothing woman with the sudden strength of three grown men and having to physically restrain her until the nightmare released her from its clutches and she came out of it on her own.

Instead he took the easier approach. Rolling over onto his side and laying an arm across her midsection and draping one leg over both of hers and effectively keeping her flailing limbs and trembling body still.  A forearm resting lightly on the top of her head and his fingers reaching for her face; gently clearing tears off of her cheeks and lightly tracing random patterns on her forehead and down the bridge of her nose. Within minutes she’d been successfully comforted. Body finally stilling, tears ceasing,  eyes never opening as she issued a heavy sigh and moved onto her side.

After that, all hope of getting back to sleep had abandoned him, and for the last hour he’s been lying there in silence. Holding her as tightly as her body will allow him to; face buried in her hair as he listens to her soft, rhythmic breathing. And when her body grows uncomfortable with the heat radiating from his own and the weight of his limbs becomes  too much, she moves away and he gives  up on rest entirely. Sliding out of bed and then bunching up both of his pillows and placing them -one on top of the other, lengthwise- behind her back. If she rolls over in her sleep and blindly reaches for him, she’ll at least discover the pillows; his scent hopefully enough to comfort her.  

He’d fallen asleep fully clothed. Wanting to be ready at the drop of a hat; whether it be a phone call from Yaz or a threat on their doorstep.  And he picks up the holster -gun securely stored inside- from it resting on the nightstand; clipping it to the waist of his jeans and then shoving his feet into his combat boots, lacing them tightly before leaving the room.

He grabs some fresh air; giving the guards a nod in greeting as he steps out onto the back porch. While the storm had settled hours ago, it had brought no relief. Heat near stifling, the humidity already oppressive; causing sweat to quickly bead across his forehead and to gather at his temples and the nape of his neck.  The air is thick and heavy, yet he barely notices it as he sits on the edge of the deck. Jaw firmly set, elbows resting on his knees and his hands clasped together; eyes dark and staring out into the stillness of the night. He neither sees or acknowledges anything around him. Not the movement of the guards patrolling the darkened perimeter or their quiet conversation. Not the faint music coming from the neighbouring home or the chirping of the crickets.  

His mind is switching over now, and soon his senses and instincts will kick into high gear; his brain thinking of nothing but the task directly in front of him. The adrenaline is starting to build; that rush of blood in your veins and the anticipation that causes your heart to speed up and your stomach to flutter. For now he’s still experiencing other emotions as well; worry, nervousness, fear. Haunted by the thought that he could be called upon at any given moment and he many never return to his old life.  To that sprawling, beautiful home   on the beach with its million dollar view. To the sound of his children laughing and playing. To kissing his wife good morning when she wanders into the kitchen clad in one of his t-shirts. To kissing her goodnight and having that warm, supple body snuggled into his; her breath tickling his skin and that familiar smell clinging to her hair.

It’s shortly before one in the morning when he heads back inside. The house shrouded in silence; the open concept living, dining, and kitchen area illuminated only by the light above the stove. Instead of returning upstairs, he sinks into the easy chair in the living room; relieved that he’s able to stretch out his legs without wincing or groaning from discomfort.  The two pills he’d taken almost three hours ago effectively reducing both his pain and stiffness yet not leaving him groggy or with altered senses. It’s a temporary fix; he knows long term usage is out of the questions. His body will get accustomed to both the drug and the dosage and soon the need for more will start. The cravings will kick in soon afterwards, and he’ll find himself desperate for a fix and willing to do anything to get it. Seeking out a doctor is the safest and only hope he has; whether it be through extensive physio or surgery.  And he’s more than willing to put in the time and the effort. After all, it’s the only way he’ll be able to keep his life from falling apart.

“Tyler?”

His eyes snap open at the sound of her voice, and he glances towards where she’s paused at the middle landing of the stairs.  “Yeah?”

“Just checking to see if it was you. I didn't want to come down there and sit on someone and find out the hard  way it’s Koen.”

“Might give the guy a heart attack. Probably the most attention he’s had from a woman in a long time.”

“Everything okay?” she asks, as she descends the remaining stairs  and joins him; settling herself sideways on his lap with her legs dangling over the arm of the chair.  

“Everything’s good.”

“You feeling alright?” She pushes a hand through his hair, palm settling at the back of his head, nails lightly massaging his scalp.

“I’m feeling pretty good, actually. Those meds are doing their job. For now anyway.” He turns his face into hers and places a kiss to each corner of her mouth before covering it with his own.  One hand sliding up and down her back as the other settles on her hip. “You okay? You were having a pretty bad dream, huh?”

She nods in confirmation.

“Want to tell me about it?”

“Not really,” she says, and rests the side of her head on his shoulder.

“So it was about me?”

Another nod.

“That bad?”

“Bad enough. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You don’t have to,” he assures her, and rests the tip of his nose against his forehead, feeling the tickle of her lashes when she closes her eyes.

“Nice attempt with the pillows though,” she says.

“It usually works.”

“I woke up completely this time. And then I panicked; I was worried you’d gotten the call and left without saying bye.”

“I’d never leave without telling you. We have our thing, yeah? Shit we always say to each other before I go? It’s like my good luck charm; say those words and everything will go right.”

“It’s held up so far. You started saying it when you went back to the job the first time and you’ve been saying it ever since.”

“Pretty good track record. I wouldn’t risk screwing things up by leaving without waking you up and telling you. You sure you’re alright? Dream still got you rattled?”

“A little,” she admits. “It was scary. And gruesome. I haven’t had one that bad in a long time.”

“Thought you didn’t want to talk about it?”

“I don’t.” She nuzzles the side of his neck with the tip of her nose, then presses a kiss to it. “It was bad…” her voice cracks. “...it was really bad.”

“It’s okay…” the hand on her back moves up to her hair, slightly stroking it as his other hand rubs her hips. “...everything’s fine. I’m right here.”

“For now.”

“We knew this was coming.”

“Doesn’t make it any easier. I know you have to go, but it doesn’t mean I want you to.”

“Would it make you feel better if I wore my lucky underwear?”

“You didn’t bring them. I packed your bag, remember?”

“And you didn’t put  them in? What’s wrong with you?”

“The only thing those underwear are lucky for is making babies. Declan, Addie. I bet you were wearing them when this one was made too.”

A hand moves to the small baby bump already straining against her pyjamas pants. “I wasn’t wearing any.”

“You don’t even know what day this one was made on. How do you know if you were wearing underwear or not? You can’t remember what you had for breakfast most days.”

“I figure if I don’t wear them six days a week, the chances are pretty high that I wasn’t wearing any that day.”

“Maybe THAT’S why your sperm is so good. You’re not suffocating them all the time. They're free range. They’re not penned in and they can come and go as they please. Like how the chickens in Colorado used to poop out butt nuggets everywhere.”

Tyler chuckles. “Butt nuggets.”

“I used to call eggs that all the time when I was a kid,” Esme muses. “My dad taught me. We’d have a big family breakfast every Sunday; like we do now.  And he’d always ask me how I wanted my butt nuggets cooked. My mom would get so mad! She hated that we were so close. I think in a way she was jealous. I was her first girl and I wanted nothing to do with her. She couldn’t figure out that she was the reason I didn’t want to be around her. And here we are, thirty some years later and she still has no clue. Makes me sad for our kids; they don’t even have one grandmother. Your mom would have been so good with them. I just know it. Her only kid...her son...having kids of his own?”

“She would have spoiled the hell out of them. She would have loved them; there’s no doubt about that.”

“She’d be so proud of you. For how you turned out.”

“Something tells me she wouldn’t he completely on board with the whole hired gun thing.”

“I’m not talking about that. I mean how you turned out as a man. If she was alive right now, she’d know all the struggles you went through and saw all the battles you fought and how you beat every single one. And she’d see how you turned out as a husband and a father despite not having the best role model to emulate.”

“Growing up I told myself that I’d never be like him. That I’d never turn out like that.”

“And you didn’t. You work hard at it every single day; to not be like him. It would have been so easy for you; to end up the same way. But you went in the opposite direction.”

“You keep forgetting that the first time didn’t turn out so good.”

“You were a kid when you got married the first time,” Esme reasons. “And judging by the stories I’ve heard she wasn’t exactly wife material.”

“She had her flaws , that’s for sure. One of them just happened to fucking anyone that showed interest.”

“Well if you ask me, she must have been crazy. Cheating on the likes of you? Why give up filet mignon for ground beef?”

“So I really AM just a piece of meat to you,” he teases, and she giggles when he kisses the side of her neck and playfully pinches her side.

“I’m just saying that I don’t get it. Why do you cheat when you have an amazingly hot husband that’s a god in bed? There has to be something seriously wrong with someone. And don’t get me started on how you were deployed when she would do it. Your husband is off...in the Middle East...getting shot at it and trying not to get blown up by roadside bombs...and you’re back home serving as the base slut? That’s the lowest of the low!”

“I guess both of us weren’t very good judges of character when we were younger.”

“There is a bright side though. To what we both went through the first time around.”

“What’s the bright side?”

“Well if things had been wonderful  in either of our first marriages, neither of us would  have ended up doing the job. You probably would have stayed in the military and I probably would have been a happy little housewife. In the PTA and driving a minivan and taking the kids to soccer and drinking Starbucks.”

“You take the kids to soccer now. Except it’s a thermos with  homemade coffee with Bailey’s in it. “

“That’s in the cooler weather. When it’s hot, it’s pink lemonade with vodka.”

He grins and presses a kiss to her forehead.

“Hey, it’s not the most exciting sport in the world; I have to get through it somehow. And I also have to survive all the thirsty females that show up whenever you coach. I don’t know how they know when it’s your turn, but that many never show when you’re not there. And they show up in their slutty little outfits and their make up done. And there I am; no makeup, ball cap on yoga pants and UGG boots and one of your hoodies. And you wonder why I have self confidence issues.”

“Who cares about the thirsty women? I only have eyes for you, you know that.”

“I care when they’re openly discussing my husband’s ass and his muscles and his bulge.”

“You should have married an uglier guy with a small dick then,” Tyler teases.

“I did that with my first marriage. I traded up the second time around.”

“Just ignore them. I do. I don’t pay attention to them. I don’t need to. I’m already married to the most beautiful woman in the world.”

“Wow…” she’s grinning as she pulls back to look at him. “...do you ever know how to lay it on thick.”

“It’s the truth. That’s how I see you. I’ve always seen you that way. It’s how I’ll always see you. So fuck ‘em. Who’s the one I go home with? Who’s the one I share a bed with every night?”

“Me. Lucky little old me.”

“Exactly. It’s always been you. It always will be. I choose you every day.”

“Even when my hair hasn’t been washed in four days and I’ve got baby puke on my clothes and dark circles under my eyes and I’m a raging bitch?”

“Even then.”

“Now THAT is true love,” she says, and places both hands on the side of his as she kisses him. Nothing hurried or overly needy; soft and languid, lips moving slowly against one another. And when she pulls away he sees the tears that sparkle in her eyes and the way the corners of her mouth droop.

“Baby…”  he combs his fingers through her hair, then kisses the bridge of her nose and cradles her cheek in the palm of his hand. “...don’t…”

“I don’t want you to go. I know you have to; it’s the only way this will ever be finished. But I still don’t want you to leave. I wish there was another way; to end all of this.”

“Believe me, so do I.”

“I’m scared. This is the most scared I’ve ever been. I wasn’t even this scared seven years ago.”

“We barely knew each other then,” he reasons. “But now…”

“There’s so much to lose. Way too much. If something happens to you…”

“Stop…” he lays a hand on the back of her head and draws it down to his, pressing their brows together. “...just stop.”

“You have to come back for me. You HAVE to. Promise me you’ll come back for me.”

“Esme…”

“Promise me, Tyler,” she pleads, fingers tightly gripping his hair. “Promise me.”

“I can’t. You know I can’t.”

“At least promise you’ll try? That you’ll do whatever it takes to get back here. Can you promise me that at least?”

“I’ll do whatever it takes,” he vows,  and places a kiss on her forehead. “I promise.”