.

You don’t have to do this but I would love to see you write another story in the Fenro Witch AU where it’s the 1 year anniversary of Boyd’s death and Gyro and Fenton decide to go to Boyd’s grave to pay their respects with flowers with Fenton at some point giving Gyro time alone to say how much he misses Boyd and maybe you could have it that in certain parts such as them walking to Boyd’s grave, we cut to the past on the day of Boyd’s death showing how it happened, Gyro and Fenton’s reaction to finding Boyd (which would probably have a lot of crying, grieving, Gyro holding onto Boyd rocking him in his arms and begging him to wake up), and Boyd’s funeral. Only if you want to write this of course. 😊 ❤️

UAAAAAGH HUGGING GET OUT OF MY HEADDDD IVE HAD A FIC SIMILAR TO THIS PLANNED FOR FOREVER ty for giving me an excuse to write it <3333

Also! purposefully got this done just in time because May 18th is the 1 year anniversary of this au!!

cw- major character death, hanging mentions, implied self harm kind of I think also this is almost 5k words long just so you know how much is under the read more-

Though they never discussed it aloud, they both knew what day it was. 

They never needed to plan the day, they both just knew what to do. 

Neither of them needed to say it. 

It was cloudy that morning, the way it’d been cloudy on that day before. Heavy clouds that hung in the air, weighing down on the earth beneath them. Threatening to spill colder rain on an already freezing day. 

The clouds were so thick it was still dark when they got up. Fenton lit a candle, and together they made their way downstairs. Gyro didn’t say a word, and Fenton knew he’d have to watch him today. It would be rough. 

Fenton got the flowers and blanket ready while Gyro prepared the food, cutting fruit from last fall that had been magically preserved. It was still much too early in the year for any fresh fruit, so they’d have to make do. 

The flowers too- the frost had killed all of the wild ones growing around the house, so they only had a dried bouquet from last year. 

“It’s alright,” Fenton said, mostly to himself, as he arranged the faded, crisped plants. “We’ll bring him fresh ones as soon as spring starts.” 

Gyro didn’t answer, but the duck hadn’t expected him to. Now as he listened, he realized the sound of cutting from the kitchen had stopped. “Are you done?” 

No answer. 

Fenton peered in through the doorway, robes swishing as he moved. “We don’t need too man- what happened?” 

“Accident,” Gyro grunted, holding two of his fingers tightly in his other hand. Bulb sat on the counter next to him, trying to sniff his fingers, and there was blood on the knife. “Wasn’t paying attention.” 

Fenton frowned, he would really need to watch Gyro today. “How bad is it?” He asked as he stepped into the kitchen, moving to one of the medical cupboards.

“It's fine,” the witch grumbled, looking defensive. He still let Fenton take his hand and examine the injury. Bulb looked quite interested too, and mrowed at Fenton, as if asking him to fix the cut. “It’s not that deep.” 

It wasn’t, but it went right across the pads of his middle and pointer fingers. Quite an annoying spot for both an injury and a bandage. Fenton wrapped it for him without saying anything, and offered to finish cutting the fruit. 

At last they were ready, Fenton held the picnic basket in one hand and interlaced his other arm with Gyro’s. It was just bright enough that they could see fine in the gloom, and Fenton looked up to the sky as they set off. “Hopefully it doesn’t snow.” 

Gyro didn’t comment. 

The cemetery was brighter, there were no trees above in the clearing to block the meager light that struggled through the clouds. There was a single tree in the center of the headstones, with huge spreading branches and even further spreading roots. Right now its limbs were bare, they creaked in the wind. 

Other than that, the forest was quiet. 

The plot they were looking for was on the edge of the cemetery, near the treeline. Gyro stopped, reading the headstone as Bulb wound around his legs and Fenton laid out the thick blanket on the crunchy dead grass. 

Boyd Gearloose. 

The date was exactly one year from today.

“You want to do the flowers?” Fenton asked as he reached for their basket. 

Gyro just nodded, he looked simultaneously too numb and emotional to speak. 

Fenton sat as his partner sat the flowers down in front of the grave with great reverence. The headstone was small, it didn’t match the make of the others in the cemetery, and the bouquet nearly obscured the engravings. 

Gyro then slowly sat on the blanket next to the duck, resting his head on his shoulder. Fenton gently put an arm around him, and Bulb curled up in his lap. 

They sat and watched the grave until Fenton’s bottom and back ached, until the clouds had let up to allow more light into the world and Fenton’s neck felt stiff. Still, he refused to move until Gyro did, wanting him to be as comfortable as possible. To let him take his time. He knew they’d be out here for a while, this was why they’d brought food. 

At last Gyro let out a deep shuddering breath, turning to bury his face in Fenton’s neck. His shoulders shook with silent sobs, and Fenton wasted no time in wrapping him into a hug and pulling him closer. 

“I miss him so much,” Gyro breathed through tears, his beak was tucked right up beneath Fenton’s. “All the time.” 

Fenton didn’t answer, rubbing Gyro’s shoulders and staring at the grave. Blinking rapidly when tears pricked his eyes and taking a breath. 

“He turns ten in a few months, right? He’d- he’d be so tall by now.” Gyro shifted his head just slightly so he could see the headstone. His tears wetted Fenton’s feathers and his robes. 

Last year their grief was too fresh to do anything for Boyd’s birthday. Gyro hadn’t even gotten out of bed that day, but that was a regular occurrence then. Their house was still under construction then, they barely had a roof on their first story, and were sleeping in the living room. Fenton only got up to prepare food. 

Gyro hadn’t eaten. 

“He’d like it out here, don’t you think?” Gyro’s voice was cracked. “Especially the peach trees in the summer and the apples in the fall- it’d be so much easier to have more help with harvesting.” 

Fenton let out a soft sob, holding his partner closer. Tearing his gaze from the headstone as he nuzzled against Gyro. “He would’ve loved to help.”

This was all too much. The wound was too fresh, they were picking at the scab too early. Fenton wanted to get away, he’d suddenly rather be anywhere but here. The cemetery was alright on most days, but on others he avoided the place more than the superstitious villagers did. 

Right now he didn’t even want to think about it. 

But he didn’t move. Gyro needed to be here today, and Fenton had spent the last year supporting him, pulling him through this. He wasn’t going to stop today. 

So he clung to his partner and sobbed along with him, too overwhelmed to do anything else. He cried until his head hurt and his face ached and then he cried some more. Gyro only curled tighter against him, letting himself be enveloped by Fenton while also holding himself. And Fenton held him, kept him there. 

Trying to be and to find as much comfort as possible as they unwillingly reminisced on what had happened that night. 

—

They were in a tree, there was a branch digging painfully into Gyro’s back. 

The witch ignored this as he scanned the nearby houses, searching for any hint of what the angry mob had done with Boyd. This was a temporary refuge, and he needed to use it to figure out a way forward. 

Fenton was in the tree next to him, one hand wrapped tightly around a nearby branch as he bit his other fist, trying to keep himself quiet while he sobbed. He was unable to tear his gaze off of their house as it went up in smoke, now a blinding hot beacon in the dark cold night. 

Nothing would be left when the fire went out. That much was clear already. 

Gyro absently rubbed his back while he searched, trying to keep his panic down. As crazed as the mob was now, he was sure they wouldn’t kill an actual child, right? Besides he had the gallows in his view, the nooses hung thankfully empty. It had been a narrow escape.

Every now and then a group of angry villagers would tramp past their hiding space, screaming with their pitchforks in the air. Gyro and Fenton would duck down while simultaneously pulling their legs up, trying to make themselves as small as possible. The cover of night helped- but the tree's lack of leaves did not. It was too early in the year for even any buds. 

Next to him Fenton choked slightly, and the witch leaned over to kiss his temple. “We’ll rebuild when we get out of here.” The loss of their house he could stomach, they’d been needing to get out of the village for months now. 

What he really couldn’t let go of was Boyd, he had to be around here somewhere. 

As Gyro watched, the town’s mayor, the leader of the mob against them, stepped into the open ground between the houses. The witch’s eyes narrowed in hate, following the old man as he walked casually past the burning wreck of timber that used to be Gyro’s house. Fenton didn’t seem to notice him. 

The mayor stepped over to the opposite side of the street, near the woods. He stooped and reached for something that Gyro had dismissed in his study of the area, a misshapen rock, or someone’s discarded shirt. Something small in the shadows, unassuming. Not anything alive- so it couldn’t be Boyd. 

No. 

Gyro stared as the mayor lifted the tiny, ragged thing, it hung limply in his hand. 

No.

Seconds later Gyro had slipped out of the tree, storming past the burning house and into the clearing. “Don’t you dare hurt him- give him to me!” 

The mayor glanced up, looking shocked, before his expression turned to a smile. He held Boyd’s body close- how dare he touch him- and Gyro caught sight of the blood running down Boyd’s head. 

“They’re over here!” the mayor shouted. 

Gyro hardly heard him as he strode toward him. “Give him to me before I curse you and this entire village-” 

“You won’t get the chance.” The mayor lifted his head, smirking. Gyro was mere feet from him now. “You’re dead, witch.” 

Sure enough, there came the sound of shouts and cries through the woods, from the edges of town. Lit torches appeared through the tree trunks, Gyro heard rushing feet. Alerted by the mayor’s cry, they would all be upon him in seconds. He froze. 

But he couldn’t let that stop him. Gyro took the last few steps toward the mayor, reaching for Boyd. “Give him to me-” 

His fingers barely brushed the feathers of Boyd’s temple before the mayor pulled him out of his reach. “Not a chance. In just a few moments, you and your witch accomplice will be joining him.” 

“Give him-” Gyro broke off as something caught hold of his hand, something held him back. Instinctively he yanked himself away, not tearing his gaze from Boyd’s body. “Let go of me!” 

“Gyro, wait.” It was Fenton, hanging onto his sleeve, pulling him away from the mayor, away from Boyd. “We have to get out of here, the whole mob will be here in a second-” 

“Boyd!” Gyro tore his hand from Fenton’s grasp, throwing himself toward the little parrot’s body. Immediately there were strong arms around his waist, holding him back. Now in the middle of the street, Gyro was ready to fight Fenton to get to Boyd.

“He’s gone, Gyro. I’m so sorry.” Fenton’s arm loosened and Gyro broke free, only for his wrist to be snagged again. The shouting was getting closer, the torches drawing near. 

“No, no, I have to get to him-” 

“Gyro!” Fenton shouted. The witch started, looking back at him. 

Fenton had tears in his eyes, his chest was heaving, his grip on Gyro’s wrist tightened. “We have to get out of here- please Gyro. I can’t lose you too. We’ll come back for him I promise- but we have to leave.” 

The mob had nearly reached the street.

Gyro swallowed, and glanced back at Boyd. 

The mayor smiled, canine teeth shining in the firelight. 

Everything stayed frozen like that for a split second, as Gyro felt like he was free falling. The ground disappearing, wind whooshing past him. His stomach churning. 

With a sob he half collapsed against Fenton, allowing the witch to pull him toward the treeline. Together they half stumbled, half ran, trying to get away from the mob behind them. 

That night was a blur. Gyro was barely in reality, just conscious enough to stay upright as Fenton pulled him forward. They were always pursued by the fiery shouting monster, no matter where they went or hid the mob was close on their heels. 

Gyro cut his feet, crashed into trees, tripped several times, but Fenton was always there, helping him up, pulling him along. No matter how many exits the mob blocked off Fenton seemed to find one last one, and get them out through it in the nick of time. 

The witch’s lungs burned and his body ached, but he kept going. Nowhere was safe, they couldn’t stay in any hiding spot for long. He stumped through the forest, sobbing. They had to keep moving, had to stay alive. 

Despite all of this, Gyro barely felt anything. 

All of it was lost in a swirling haze of numbness. 

At last they stopped, Gyro immediately crumpling to the roots of a tree. Clinging to the bark the moment he hit the ground, curling further in on himself as he sobbed. Fenton collapsed next to him, catching his breath, rubbing Gyro’s back. 

“He’s gone, Fenton.” Gyro gasped, curling into a tighter ball, hardly caring where the rocks and roots dug into his back. “He’s gone.” 

Fenton shifted, pulling Gyro further against him. Holding him tightly. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered. 

They stayed by that tree that night, sleeping in the roots against the trunk. Gyro curled up on top of Fenton, crying himself to sleep, while Fenton wordlessly held him and did his best to comfort him. 

Nothing would help right now, but Gyro appreciated it. 

The next morning, the witch woke slowly. Even in his sleep he’d still been clinging tightly to Fenton’s shirt, he slowly loosened his fist as he opened his eyes. His fingers were sore.

He wished it’d been a dream, he didn’t want to look up, to realize where they were. In the middle of the freezing woods. 

Without Boyd. 

Looking around and realizing all of this would mean it was true. 

He could hear Fenton’s heartbeat beneath his head, feel the rise and fall of his chest. The duck’s arms were still wrapped around him, holding him close. 

In a flash, Gyro sat up. 

“How could you?!” 

Fenton started awake just in time to feel Gyro’s hands landing on his shoulders, angrily pinning him against the tree. “Huh? Gyro wh-” 

“You made me leave him behind!” Gyro shouted in his face. Fenton blinked up at him. “I wanted to stay- I wanted to get him back- but you wanted to leave! You made me leave him!” 

“Gyro-” 

“I left him with- with- no, you left him- this is your fault he’s not with us!” 

“Gyro-” 

“I shouldn’t have let you make me leave him- I should’ve gone back- I should go back-” 

“Gyro!” 

The duck’s shout snapped him out of it. He froze for a moment, staring at Fenton, hands still tightly gripping to his shoulders. Fenton’s eyes were wide, he looked startled and scared and worried. Hesitantly, as if he were dealing with a spooked wild animal, his hand slowly slid up Gyro’s back.“Gyro, I-”

That was all it took. The witch collapsed on top of him, head ducked as he sobbed into Fenton’s chest, his hands clutching at the shoulders of the duck’s shirt. Holding on to him as tightly as he could, never wanting to let go of what he had left. “I’m sorry-” 

“Hey, sshhhh, it’s okay.” Fenton shushed him, rubbing his back. His voice cracked, and without looking up, Gyro lifted his hand to gently cup the side of Fenton’s face, to catch his tears with his thumb. “I’m- I’m sorry we had to leave him too.” 

Gyro just swallowed, and held onto him tighter. He could feel Fenton’s shuddering breaths beneath him, the duck was doing everything he could to keep himself together. Gyro had completely given up on that by now, he let himself totally break down in Fenton’s arms. 

Somewhere between five minutes and two hours later Fenton shifted, sitting up further against the trunk of the tree. Gyro was forced to sit up with him, but he refused to unbury his face from the duck’s chest. “Hey.” Fenton held the side of his face, trying to get his attention. 

Gyro couldn’t bring himself to move. 

Fenton understood. “As soon as you’re okay enough to be on your own for a little I’ll go get him, okay?” 

The witch lifted his head. “No- no I don’t want to risk you too-” 

“Gyro,” Fenton cut through his worries. “I’ll be safe, I promise. Things will have calmed down by now, now that it’s morning. I’ll sneak in and out and bring him back here so you can see him again, and so they won’t have him. We can bury him out here.” 

Gyro sat back, looking around. 

They were in the old cemetery. 

They’d slept beneath the huge tree in the center of the headstones, perhaps the one safe place for them to go now. As afraid of the witches as the villagers were they were even more afraid of a haunted cemetery and wouldn’t step foot between the graves. It was a perfect safe haven. 

“You brought us here on purpose?” Gyro asked. 

Fenton nodded. “I figured they wouldn’t touch us if we stayed here- especially at night. We’d mostly lost them before I’d thought of it, so that theory hasn’t been entirely tested yet.” 

The witch let out a breath. Burying Boyd here, in a haunted cemetery in the middle of the woods, where no one but them would come to visit him but them. Where he could be secreted away from the people who had killed him. 

Gyro must’ve started shaking because a few seconds later Fenton was pulling him into a hug, squeezing him as tightly as he could. 

“They killed him,” Gyro gasped through tears. “They hated us so much they killed him.” 

Fenton didn’t have an answer to that, so he just held Gyro until the shaking stopped. 

It was hours before Fenton left, no matter how much Gyro assured him he was fine the duck didn’t want to leave him there alone. At last he stood, leaning down to kiss Gyro’s forehead. “I’ll be back in an hour, alright?” 

That felt like the longest hour of Gyro’s life. It was late March and freezing cold, and the witch stayed curled against the trunk of the tree, staring off into space. He’d cried himself out by then, so he simply watched the dead leaves blow past in the cold breeze, occasionally wiping his eyes. 

Having no concept of time in this state Gyro had no idea how long it really was- whether it was one hour or four he would never know. He would sit and wait until Fenton got back and if he didn’t, if he’d been caught, Gyro would simply sit there until he wasted away beneath the tree. 

Though, watching Fenton approach through the trees was the worst part. 

Gyro was already breaking down by the time Fenton emerged into the clearing, Boyd’s small body held against his chest. Tears streaming down his face the witch reached for him, and Fenton gently passed Boyd into his arms. 

“Careful with his head,” Fenton murmured. “They cleaned him up a little, but it looks like that’s where…” he trailed off, not needing to say it. 

They sat together beneath the tree, holding Boyd’s limp body and sobbing. He was cold, too cold, and Gyro held him close to try and warm him up. Maybe if he was warm again, then he could wake up. 

He never did. 

Gyro rocked him the way he used to before putting him to bed, resting his forehead against the little parrot’s. “Boyd,” he whispered. 

From next to him, Fenton made a sound like a cross between a choke and a sob. 

“God Boyd-” the witch hugged him tighter, his arms a protective shield. “I’m so sorry- I should’ve stayed with you- I shouldn’t have let them take you-” 

Of course he could protect him now, after he was already dead. Gyro had been no use in saving his life, in keeping him alive. “I should’ve tried harder to fight them, I promise I was doing my best for you but it-” he choked, “it wasn’t enough.” 

Fenton’s arms around him tightened. 

Together the three of them sank to the ground, Gyro and Fenton no longer strong enough to hold themselves up as they created a little protective circle around Boyd. Shielding him off from the rest of the world. 

But nothing they could do now would make up for losing him. 

They buried Boyd the next day, Fenton sneaking back to the village for food and a shovel. He came back with what looked like a little white fluff ball on his shoulder. “Hey, look who survived the fire!” the duck exclaimed as he approached Gyro with the food. 

The witch glanced up, eyes swollen with tears, but no fresh ones in the moment. “What?”

Fenton sat next to him, passing him some bread and dried fruit. He then lifted the little puff from his shoulder. “It’s Bulb! I didn’t think he’d made it- but I found him in the woods right next to the house.” The duck hesitated. “What’s left of it.” 

Bulb- Boyd’s kitten. The one that Gyro hadn’t wanted, but Boyd had begged for and cared for by himself to prove they could keep it. 

Now it suddenly felt like it was all they had left of him. 

Gyro sighed, reaching out to pet the little cream-colored kitten’s head. “Hey, Bulb.”

Fenton began digging a few minutes later, in an empty spot at the edge of the cemetery near the treeline. The ground was soft and the grass was dead, and the plot didn’t need to be very big. Fenton had it finished all too soon for Gyro’s liking. 

He didn’t want to say goodbye yet. 

Gyro saved four of Boyd’s soft grey feathers, and clung to them as Fenton lowered the little body into the ground. They’d wrapped him in a blanket that Fenton had taken from the village and laid some dried flowers down on top of him. 

Fenton let Gyro put the first handful of dirt back into the grave, Gyro unfurling shaky fingers and letting the first fall loose. Letting go of the dirt felt like letting go of Boyd- releasing his hand for the last time. 

A few moments later, Gyro threw up what little of the food he’d had at the edge of the trees while Fenton rubbed his back. 

It really wasn’t much of a funeral, Gyro sitting at the edge of the grave with Bulb in his lap, numbly watching Fenton fill the dirt back in. He had too many thoughts whirling around his head to voice a final goodbye, he couldn't catch any of them and pin them down long enough to form a coherent thought. 

The exercise was good for Fenton Gyro could tell- the duck had tears in his eyes as he worked but he put as much effort into it as his body allowed him. Sleeves rolled up, grunting, his face red with effort, he worked his way into a rhythm. Letting his emotions out that way. 

Gyro couldn’t. He just stared at the hole as it slowly got more and more shallow, his body aching. Eventually Fenton dropped down next to him, sweating and out of breath. 

Together they sat and stared at the grave until the sun went down. 

—

It was a long time later that they both sat up, and Fenton wordlessly passed out the food. They ate mostly in silence, Gyro occasionally giving little pieces of peaches to Bulb. 

Surprisingly the sun came out- the breeze picked up into a chilling wind, but it blew the clouds out of the way and allowed the warm sun to shine down. Fenton looked up as the sunlight hit them, smiling faintly. They could use a little sun right now. 

Glancing back down, he realized Gyro’s hands were shaking. 

The duck gently reached out and placed his hands on top of Gyro’s, steadying them. The witch swallowed, flipping his hand the other way to tightly interlace his fingers with Fenton’s. Fenton gave him a smile, which Gyro half heartedly returned. 

He was trying. That was something. 

“So much has changed since… since he was here.” Gyro voiced at last, clearing his throat. “It feels like we’re moving on without him, but… but then I come back here and suddenly everything’s exactly the way it was when we buried him.” 

“The sun’s out,” Fenton pointed out. “And you didn’t throw up this time.” Gyro snorted. “So maybe things are better than then?” 

The witch leaned back, propping himself up on one hand. “I suppose.” Letting out a heavy breath, he tilted his head back. “I didn’t even get to hold him one last time-” his breath hitched. “I wish I could’ve known I was tucking him in for the last time, there was so much I could’ve- I should’ve- said and done, I-” he took a deep breath. “I miss him.” 

Fenton folded his legs tighter, looking back at the grave. “Me too.” 

Even in a new place, Boyd’s empty space could be felt. Fenton missed him in the mornings, when he would make squealing noises to try and match the sound of the whistling kettle. The way he used to lay in the sun next to Bulb, soaking up the light just like the cat. In the afternoons he would pick flowers in the spring and present them to Gyro and Fenton, there were so many less vases of small wildflowers now. He used to sing the enchantment songs Gyro taught him at the top of his lungs just for fun, accidentally causing nearby flies to move in a particular pattern or the air to swirl around him. How when they tucked him in at night by telling him stories, he’d listen to theirs before telling an eternally long one of his he came up with on the spot- just so he wouldn’t have to go to sleep. 

Fenton didn’t even realize he was crying again until Gyro had moved right next to him, kissing his forehead and wiping away his tears with his thumb. 

The duck leaned into him, a fresh sob rising in his throat. 

“I’m just so sad about it,” Fenton breathed, his face buried in Gyro’s shoulder. “All the time still. I- I don’t want to be sad anymore but- but I still want- I still need- to miss him.” 

“I know,” Gyro murmured. “I’m sick and tired of being miserable but I don’t want to be happy without him.” 

“Yeah,” the duck swallowed, wrapping an arm around his partner. “Yeah.”

The breeze blew past, ruffling their feathers and stirring the leaves. Doing it’s best to try and carry away some of their grief. 

It wasn’t until the sun was setting that they made their way back to the house, Bulb walking at their heels. Fenton set up a fire near the back porch while Gyro put their things away. The day surprisingly had brought some life back into him- Fenton knew he could leave him alone for a minute. 

They sat out on the back porch and watched the sun go down, both of them looking up at the stars and shedding a few last tears. At last they made dinner in the fire, sitting close to each other to stay warm on the cold early-spring night. 

Gyro rested his head on Fenton’s shoulder. “Talk to me,” he asked. 

Fenton thought for a moment, unsure what to talk about. If Gyro wanted to hear more about Boyd, or if he wanted Fenton to distract him from his grief. 

So he recounted one of the fairytales from one of the storybooks inside. It was one they both knew, though neither had reread in a long time. They didn’t mind, it was something to fill the silence. 

The witch let himself get really into it, doing impressions of the voices, acting out the scenes. At one point he stood to reenact a fight scene, and pulled Gyro up with him, letting him act as the damsel that Fenton was nobly trying to save. 

Gyro spun around their imaginary battlefield with him, laughing and cheering as he collapsed against Fenton, listening to him recount the story. 

Laughter like this from Gyro was all too rare these days, and Fenton pulled him close by the waist, pretending to fight off a great beast. Gyro collapsed into him, drunk off of laughter as he wrapped his arms around the duck’s shoulders and cackled into his ears. Fenton squeezed him tight, not wanting to let the moment go. 

With one last dramatic whirl Fenton slayed their imaginary beast, and together they landed back in their seats by the fire, clutching to one another as they laughed. Gyro’s head on Fenton’s chest as he clung to his shoulders, shaking with laughter. 

Fenton held on to him as their laughter died down, turning to a quiet contentment. 

Gyro lifted his head, nuzzling the end of his beak against Fenton’s. “Thank you.” 

The duck grinned at him. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” 

Concept: Hunter inevitably betraying Belos by cutting off his arm which carries the emperor sigil so they won't use the tattoo against him a la similar to what happened to Raine. Yes this concept is pure angst and I just love physically disabled characters.

Is it bad that I completely forgot the whole deal with Raine was the sigil??? Literally every episode I watched with someone else I have such a bad memory of and have to rewatch-

This is a cool concept, but I have some different ideas on how it might actually play out:

In all honesty, I don't think Hunter could physically bring himself to cut off his arm. Self-harm is one thing, but he's always done it for Belos, in a sense. As much as his brain yells at him to finally resist his uncle, he is always unable to separate himself from the emperor. He'll close his eyes and grit his teeth, forget about what he's trying to do only to realize that his arm is inches away from what he had planned to use, no matter what it is. Hunter is left unsure if it's himself that can't do it, or the seal on his arm.

When he first realizes this, he tries to go to the owl house. He goes straight to Eda, thinking that she'll be the most likely to help him. When he goes to talk to her, however, she refuses to do it. "It's too small of a risk for something that may never happen," she'd reason. "I can't hurt you like that." Hunter is annoyed at how much her arguments resembled the quiet thoughts of his own that stopped him. When he goes to leave, he misses Eda's glance towards Lilith's arm, and the look of concern in her eyes, the silent realization of what could happen.

After that, Hunter would look for another solution. Desperate for someone to do the job, he searches in places that he shouldn't, chasing trails of people most would avoid, not desire. Not only does he have to find someone willing to do physical harm (which isn't all too hard on the boiling isles), he also has to find someone willing to disobey the emperor's coven. The balance of being discrete and remaining under the radar while wanting to be rid of the sigil as fast as possible leads to some..unwise decisions.

- CHOOSE YOUR STORY -

(okay but really, I see two ways it can go from here, I'll just write em both out)

Finally, Hunter finds someone for the job. Scared of Belos and ashamed to show up at the owl house after Eda told him not to pursue the matter, he goes into hiding. Miraculously, what's left of his arm stays healthy--he found someone reliable. But Belos has the entire coven out on search. The guards claim that he's a missing person, but Hunter knows what Belos would really do if he ever went back, and he has no interest in finding out firsthand. Meanwhile, the owl crew is growing more nervous by the day, conducting a search of their own. Eda told Lilith of Hunter's plan, and while the two both agree that the course of action has some reason to it, they found a better alternative and are searching for Hunter to tell him, fearing the worst. Ignorant of the commotion inside the emperor's coven, they fear Belos found out about Hunter's betrayal and has imprisoned him, maybe worse.

Or maybe Hunter made a mistake. He was too hasty, and Belos was alerted to his plans. The emperor confronts him, and instead of giving Hunter any leeway, the boy looks down to his wrist to see black vines spreading up his arm and chest, the pattern looking like veins. A mixture of fear and resignation, he looks up to his uncle with pleading eyes. As a single, distressing thought begins to fill his head as he loses his sight, a vague form crashes in through the window. Hunter feels a moment of excruciating pain before everything goes black. The last thing he hears is a soft voice telling him, "It's not your fault. It's never been your fault, and don't you ever let yourself believe that again." For weeks he stays unconscious, hidden away in a safer location than the owl house. Nobody else made it out well either, but he hasn't gotten any better since the vines crawling over him withered and fell to the floor in blood red flakes when his arm was cut off. Everyone is unsure of if he'll recover, and Eda in particular feels incredible guilt every time she looks at his unmoving body, battered but more peaceful than she'd ever seen it. Deep down she wonders if the reason Hunter is still unconscious isn't because they were too late, but because of the number she did on his arm. Raine assures her that he'll be fine, and that he would have died if she hadn't done anything, but Eda doesn't really believe them. And so she waits.

ANYWAYS NOW THAT IVE WRITTEN A SMALL FIC ON IT-

If you can't tell, I really like this idea sadkjgh. I genuinely believe Hunter couldn't bring himself to hurt himself in a way that also hurt Belos, though. All the years of trauma are burned into him, and even if he believes purely that it's the right thing to do, he's unable to physically make himself useless to Belos. Some part of him still wants to live up to his uncles expectations, to follow the rules without question like he used to.

The Pregnancy - Overhaul + Chronostatis

Request: ive been thinking abt don't move+sequels reader, i can only see them being more hostile if they get pregnant, how do you think it would go, would overhaul and chrono be more understanding like the they know best fic or would they stay trashy and mean like in a bundle of joy , especially in a scenario where reader self harm or try to end the pregnancy/hurt the baby

Warnings: Self-Harm Implications

A/N: Headcanons because it’s easier for me to brainstorm with this idea rather than a fic. Hope you don’t mind<3 (also not related to bundle of joy!!) Also please read the request, it can get a bit heavy for the last half!!

-

Kai and Hari would be very involved in your life. While you have freedom to wander around the base,you must do so with either one of them or someone that they have entrusted to walk you around. They won’t be risking you wandering by yourself in their base and potentially getting hurt in any means. Pregnancy or not, you are important to them, and for you to be hurt under their supposed watch is something that they won’t have. They want to make sure that you’re safe, taking any necessary precautions to ensure that no harm does befall on you.

They both view themselves as the parent in the child’s life. To them, it doesn’t matter who is the biological dad as long as they are involved in the raising of the child. They hardly compete for your attention- only truly seeing each other as a competitor when there is intimacy involved. Other than that, they both go to the doctor’s appointment with you and even help buy items for the child and the room. They realize that any sort of competition that could arise would result in stress for you and could harm the child, so they decided to work together, to be the partners that are most suited for you and your own wellbeing- including the baby.

During your pregnancy term, their protectiveness and need to be involved , make them come off as overbearing and often lead to you being overstimulated because of them. You’re grateful that they’re caring in this process and that they’re trying to maintain the healthy nature of the baby, but it's all too much. They involve themselves in your life- nothing of yours is private. You are monitored constantly, watched and treated as if you are proecielan that sits at the edge of a shelf. The only added benefit of having your life shared between them is that they also now fully involve you in their own lives- everything intricate, personal and even the workings of the Shie Hassaikai. You know what time their meetings are- having to work them around your own appointments- and who they are dealing with and why. You are now treated as their equal rather than a pet- or at least now you’re able to know more than before.

In order to ensure the safety and health of the child, Chisaki makes sure to plan all your meals accordingly. He’s precise, cutting certain portions and making sure to eat the food before he has Kurono deliver it to you. He spends his time making sure that the food is prepped and contains nutrients that are best while also making sure that it’s something that you are allowed to eat. Your cravings are the worst of it- he can handle the cramps and the moodiness, but you just get some rather unhealthy cravings for certain food that he won’t allow you to eat. He can handle your whining and pouting, but he won’t allow you to eat something so high in sugar. Though, if you were to start to tear up or give him the silent treatment, Chisaki would be willing to find some sort of alternative to your cravings, not wanting you to be in a foul mood- especially towards him.

On the other hand, Kurono is much more easy going. He's still very observant about you and protective towards you and the baby, but he is more willinging to sneak you in a few pieces of candy for you to eat. While Chisaki may be the one to prepare the food for you, he’s busy with items that pertain to the business which leaves for Kurono to sit with you and enjoy a meal. He’s there for his own enjoyment but to also make sure that you eat most of the food that has been prepared for you. If you are unable to, he is forgiving on that part, knowing that your pregnancy has made it difficult for you to enjoy certain foods and has worsened your appetite. There is no real solution to this that he can offer other than bringing you a nutritional shake for you to at least give you some energy. After you’re done with that, he’ll surprise you with pieces of candy, telling you to savor them because he's unsure of when he will be able to bring more. While you eat them, he’ll play with your hair, telling you that he’s glad he can have some alone time with you.

If you were to self harm, your partners would not react well. They’ll constantly question what signs they missed that you were unhappy, blame outside forces and even your pregnant]cy, citing all sorts of hormonal change that’s been going on. They’ll fix whatever they can, taking you to a parper hospital rather than treating you at the base. While Chisaki would be able to heal any of your wounds with his quirk, he’s fearful as to how his quirk and your body would react with a pregnancy. He isn’t going to risk the child’s life with something so serious. Instead, you’re taken to the hospital, a lie agreed upon by all three of you that you simply had injured yourself while prepping dinner.

However, if you were to try to terminate the pregnancy, they would be furious. You’re the child's parent as well, they’re the child’s fathers. They support any decision that you want to make about your body, but to do somethin so reckless- and to a family member, no less- they are beyond angry. You’re lucky for the baby to be well, the attempt in vain. They, however, cannot do anything to you before or after, so they simply try to move past it. They can’t strap you down to a bed until you come to full term due to exercise being important and they can’t restrict your access to the child because that’ll only ruin the bond between the entire family. They simply have you take melatonin, talking besides each other once you are in deep sleep, trying to figure out what they can do to ensure that this incident doesn’t happen again.

The base is baby proofed. Your room and the area that you reside in are placed under complete care- corners rounded out with plastic grips, cabinets locked and only members given the codes, anything sharp placed inside of locked cabinets, even pens and other writing utensils are carefully monitored to make sure that they are not left out in the open. Your privacy is taken away, the only privacy that you are given is in the bathroom and even that comes with a time limit. You are not allowed to do things yourself, you are watched and taken care of. Your glass cups are replaced with plastic, your eating utensils softed and food already pre-cut. You have lost all autonomy with your stunt.

Possibly the worst thing to arise from this is losing their trust. You have to earn it back and it’s entirely difficult to do so. You have no free will and they walk you around, deciding that no one else can take care of you like they can. No amount of pleading nor tears will have them change their mind so soon. Their words are always the same- “they aren’t trying to punish you even if it seems like that, but you have to understand that what you did wasn’t right.” You’re talked down to, told that you don’t know what’s right for you. They’ll sleep beside you, a lock on all the doors and their arms above you, keeping you trapped with them and forced to sleep in the same bed as them.

Due to your declining mental health, both Kai and Hari decide to be your therapist, or at least your outlet. They want to help you but it’s difficult for you to be let out- who knows what lies you would spread, they muse. It doesn’t matter what you say- you could insult them, cry and beg for death, or even just talk about a meal you dislike- all that matters is that you speak to them. They want to help you and having you suffer with your thought salone, believing that no one is there to help you, is something that they simply will not have. They care for you, but you must understand that your lack of freedom is something that you brought upon yourself. If it were anything else but this, they would have allowed you freedom much quicker, but you put the child in jeopardy and for that, you have to suffer the consequences and sit in your guilt until they feel that you’re better.

Hey!! The X-men are literally my favorite thing and I was wondering if you could elaborate on how Scott is a knight of doom

YES OF COURSE!!!! i'll put it under a cut since i tend to ramble a bit & i'm pulling a bunch of explanations from people smarter than i am

the knight weaponizes their aspect; they have an inherent understanding of their aspect that allows them to exploit it completely. doom is the aspect of systems, restrictions/limitations, sacrifices, and endings.

one of scott's core themes is reclaiming his restrictions in order to serve others/the greater good! he takes the possible liability that are his faulty powers and shifts them to become an advantage, largely through the strength of his restraint and discipline. his role as a tactician and the way he sees sacrifices (more on that later) also mesh EXTREMELY well with the knight of doom.

i feel like the Wh*don run (specifically astonishing x-men #22-23) really highlights how scott can turn a situation on its head through exploiting his disadvantages to the point where they become tactically advantageous!! like, let's count the ways:

the ship the x-men stole from kruun is obviously bugged, so his team won't be able to communicate without being overheard. he realizes this, and uses that restriction (being overheard) as an advantage, by falsifying their course of action.

he has been left "without his powers"—he presents a restriction that lowers the guard of his adversary and grants him entry to their home base. he then subverts this by exploding the shit out of everything when an opportune moment arrives

HE LITERALLY EXPLOITS DEATH...... HE EXPLOITS HIS OWN DEATH...................FOR THE GREATER GOOD..........DUDE???? someone get this man an advil

some more thoughts, followed by some examples by people smarter than me:

he exhibits a similar pattern of idolization/realization with xavier irt karkat/HICand dave/bro.... not sure if this by itself is a knight-y thing but i think the consistent disillusionment with their role in defending their aspect is interesting (aka knight burnout, more on that later)

he is def willing to sacrifice shit for the greater good of mutantkind. the shit in question sometimes being his closest friends and allies. the examples that stick out to me are how he allowed beast to get tortured (utopia era) while executing his plan to solve All His Problems At Once & also when he sent x-force to the future to defend hope knowing it was going to be a one-way trip

that entire issue revolving around just how GOOD scott is at self-repression😭😭😭 i'm pretty sure it's post-schism utopia era i don't remember the exact issue WAIT NVM i'm pretty sure it's uncanny #518

seeing phoenix!scott as an inversion to (rogue of) life is also an interesting concept (unchecked growth!)

the amount of responsibility he feels he has to take on (partially due to his idolization cycle w xavier/xavier's dream) is also both knight-y and doom-y

and of course the instinct to protect the people around him --> being expanded into the whole of mutantkind (which, in turn, expands his sense of obligation)

everything leading up to revolutionary cyclops is also very interesting through this framework because its reminiscent of the knights & doom players in hs! the "taking on an insane burden" (phoenix force, whatever whammied mituna) -> the "resignation to the fate handed to him by his aspect" (his stint in prison, dead daves, sollux in general) -> the "refusal to accept that fate" (prison break, dave not wanting to use time travel, sollux fucking off into the dreambubbles, karkat coming to terms w his relationship w leadership) --> experiencing knight burnout at the end of revolutionary era going into death of x

im not sure exactly how to put it into words but everything about his childhood/teenhood... like being surrounded by forces seeking to control him and use him for their own ends..... idk

(from @/land-of-classpects-and-analysis, sections highlighted red are of particular interest)

HIS GIANT STINKING MARTYR COMPLEX.....DUDE😭😭

side note & ive mentioned this before but scottjean is an interesting parallel to davejade in a way i cant verbalize

Then there are the ones who may accept [the fact of inevitable human suffering], and so choose to live in high alert of any danger - any threats - as well as living in fear of what harm may befall them and/or their loved ones. It is this third and final group of people that so deeply marks that of the Knight of Doom.

Now, this might cause a few eyebrows to become quirked. After all, a Knight? Being fearful of something - nevertheless that thing being related to their Aspect? Knights do often present themselves as ruthless and fearless warriors, yes, but that is only because their Aspects and the world around them raised and called them to act as such. 

... A key factor in the Knight’s life, specifically before their journey truly begins, is that they are already well equipped with their Aspect.

... The Knight of Doom is one where their Aspect being all around them is far more bittersweet than anything else.

... What is important to acknowledge is that the facade the Knight of Doom puts up is not only to hide the fear they have for their Aspect, but it is most definitely there to hide the grief and pain they have not yet completely finished going through. Whether it’s been weeks or years, the Knight of Doom is someone who would rather hide themself away from these feelings than find a way to truly mend and heal them ... they have built a false wall between them and their suffering strong and thick enough to partially block it from their memory. 

... Knights are known to become extremely stubborn whenever people try to order them around and pressure them into doing something, and the Knight of Doom is no different - especially if they believe what they are doing is for the greater good. 

(from @/dahniwitchoflight)

Dahni’s Explanantion: “Doom can be a negative force that rejects and harms, fostering a sense of hostility or sadness. But, it is also the idea that you can pull backwards and cautiously and wisely withdraw into your own self.  It can be the idea of Control taken from the sharp Black and White Restrictions that everything in the world gets sorted into. It understands community necessity and need, responsibly pulling back and lowering you down into its lap to help wind yourself down. Doom then is an ultimate gentle Equalizer, instilling its players with an internal sense of Acceptance and eventually true Wisdom.”

Knight of Doom: One who Exploits with Doom or Exploits Doom

Knights hide a fear of a perceived fundamental failure with their Aspect behind a shield of confidence and obsessive effort. Their challenge is to learn to take it down a notch and to understand that they are skilled enough

A Knight is very skilled with using the rules and limitations of any game or session to their advantage. They skillfully fulfill any responsibility or obligation required of them with ease. They might use their natural caution and pessimism to make realistic choices and endeavors. They use and exploit any rule or limit that they can to their advantage. They might also be very good at exploiting any sacrifices made or any obligation or responsibility that they are held to. They might be very good at avoiding any unnecessary thing or person and are very good at recognizing when something is too futile to even bother with.

Likewise they might only focus on the necessary things in their game or session so they are likely to not do much unless it’s absolutely necessary. They would very likely be very meticulous with themselves about following the rules properly and constantly restrict themselves, maybe thinking they aren’t following the rules properly enough or not following the right ones. They might sacrifice anything they consider unnecessary about themselves or the way they live, sometimes even going too far with it, in order to be considered or thought of as less useless. They’re always trying harder and holding themselves to extreme self-imposed standards.

They would likely wait for the opportune moment to strike, though they are slow to move or act, they always will when something necessary needs to happen. Out of all the Doom players, a Knight of Doom seems like the one most likely to sacrifice themselves for the greater good. A Knight of Doom can also expertly use and exploit fire, bombs and explosions to their advantage, maybe they create flashy distractions during fights. They might even use decaying or dying things to their advantage.

(from @/communistvriska)

Role in the Session: Rather like the Prince of Doom, this role’s title kinda has “edgelord” written all over it, but that’s not a set-in-stone character trait. The first thing that comes to mind re: what the Knight Class and the Aspect of Doom have in common is a strong sense of obligation. The Knight of Doom is bound to take their duties and responsibilities Extremely Seriously, perhaps rather too seriously at first ... Knights also tend to be very protective of both their Aspect as a concept, and of themselves and those close to them; while the Knight of Doom isn’t likely to be outwardly aggressive, given Doom’s reserved, slow-burn tendencies, woe betide those who try to deceive or confound the Knight or their allies. One of Doom’s internal contradictions (which I find personally fascinating) is that the aspect is associated both with cynical resignation and with a profound albeit restrained sense of passion and persistence. Doom is what’s left after everything else gets burnt away.

The Knight of Doom will likely be a very skilled combatant, as the Knight is a class strongly associated with Strife / battle, and Doom is one of the more overtly destructive Aspects. I’d put them in the Top 5 Roles to use a cool flamin sword, at least. They’re not going to be eager to fight, per se, but they’re not going to have much trouble scaling the echeladder when it comes to that either. Internally, they’re likely to struggle with a perceived (but largely imagined) inability to fulfill their duties, and they could well stumble once or twice in their quest to be perceived as reliable and stoic, or as someone who their friends can lean on. They’re probably doing more than enough already, but if they’re not careful they might overexert themselves and take on too heavy a burden, and they’re liable to be crushed by their own expectation that they face their challenges alone. This is going to factor into their capital-Q Quest and the environment of their planet, and will be the biggest obstacle in their path to Ascension. A Knight’s duty is to protect their co-players, but their co-players also have to support them.

Scarlet Carnations ~ Part IV

BotW Link X Zelda ~ Detective AU

Rating: T

Word Count: 5.1k

WARNINGS: death, murder, loss, trauma, blood and gore, terrorism, organized crime, self-harm

Summary: Inspector Zelda Hyrule, assisted by the faithful Constable Link Fyori, is infamous for cracking the most confounding of cases in a town dominated by crime. Her latest assignment is to solve the murder of her own godmother, Impa Sheikah, the late CEO of Sheikah Tech. Incorporated, while staying under the radar of the dreaded Yiga organization.

Part I • Part II • Part III • Part IV • Part V • Part VI • Part VII • Epilogue • Masterlist

It was nine o’clock in the morning, two days after I’d made my arrest, and Paya’s trial was in its opening stages. I was watching from the gallery. Normally, as the one running the investigations, I would be the first witness to take the stand, but today, for whatever reason, the lead prosecutor, Urbosa Sigatur, planned to summon me second after Auntie Purah. Urbosa was far from a stranger to me, however. She and I had collaborated on several cases in the past, and she shared with me many of my own ideals. She’d once even known my mother before her untimely demise. And so I decided not to question her judgment, however unconventional it may have seemed.

The prosecution’s opening statement had been based on the fact that the stolen Sheikah Slate, along with a bloodstained bullet, had been found in the defendant’s room, which, until recently, hadn’t been searched as it had been deemed irrelevant to the case. With these conclusive pieces of evidence, she’d stated, the defendant had been charged with both the theft of the Slate and the murder of its owner, Impa Sheikah.

The stolen object was the most central piece of evidence in the prosecution’s case. It had once been a target of my own immense interest, even before its theft. But that had all changed following its recovery. The riddle, though having been solved by means of professional reprogramming, still made little sense to me if any. “Carnation” was its answer, according to Auntie Purah herself. Much to my dismay, the secrets that the riddle had supposedly kept hidden had turned out to be nothing but my own fantasy. Every last piece of data that had once been stored in the Slate had been deleted, meaning the possibility of proving a motive for its theft was next to nonexistent. The only thing left in its memory was a diary entry, written by Auntie Impa the day before her murder. This in itself, however, held the potential to serve as a lead to her killer’s identity, at the very least.

The diary entry, as projected onto the courtroom wall by the Slate, went,

“Today was the first day of Zelda’s holiday visit. It is hard to believe that the last long term visit she paid us was already over a year ago. We have all missed her dearly. She seems as interested in my sister’s work as ever. It brought me joy to see the two of them bonding over their shared passion once again.

“However I must admit, I would still love for her to also spend some quality time with Paya some day soon. I sensed some resentment coming from her directed at my dear granddaughter. Perhaps it is something to do with that boy. Either way, it seems their relationship has hardly changed since she left the nest.

“I cannot say for certain whether anyone will ever be able to read this, but I have faith that Purah will figure it out. I am no good with machines like these, but I believe in her. At any rate, I hope she is the one who gets to read this message, but in the event that it happens to fall into the wrong hands, I will sign off here.”

With this, the prosecution’s argument, though a bit scattered across several different points, seemed sturdy enough so far. That Auntie Impa had seemingly known that her life would be taken the following night after writing her final message, combined with the fact that she’d received no threats from the outside world up until then, was one of the strongest pieces of evidence in our arsenal.

Paya’s defence lawyer, one Revali Twii, had made several attempts to dismantle her argument by claiming she had no possible way of knowing whether or not the victim had received a threat from outside the estate by phone. These attacks were easily deflected. As a foreigner to this city, Mr. Twii had been unaware that, thanks to the Sheikahs’ company, household phones here were all equipped with recording devices. Naturally, Ms. Sigatur had already listened to each recorded call since a month before the murder and had detected no discernible threat in any of them.

And yet in spite of all that, the argument shifted heavily in favour of the defence when it then carried out his cross examination. With how confidently Urbosa had stated her case, I never could’ve imagined how easy it would be for the opposing side to shatter it into countless, tiny pieces.

Mr. Twii’s primary line of questioning was a solid one, to say the least. He concurred with my deduction as presented by Ms. Sigatur that the parlour indeed was not the true scene of the crime. However, he claimed that the real crime scene could not possibly have been the defendant’s bedroom either. His basis for this was the gunshot. Paya’s room was in the same hallway that the sleeping quarters of the current witness, Auntie Purah, as well as myself, were in. Mr. Twii had her testify about the sound of the gunshot that she’d heard. In addition to the fact that it hadn’t seemed loud enough to have come from the very next room over, she’d only heard it once: from the parlour.

No doubt he intended to question me about the same thing when the time came for me to take the stand. I’d been itching to speak my mind and set things straight so badly that I’d had to cross my legs just to keep myself from getting up too soon by the time court was finally adjourned for a half-hour recess.

Now the prosecutor and I were together in a private room reserved for witness prepping. Normally I did just fine testifying on my own, but in this trial, everything was at stake, and I couldn’t seem to stop my heart from racing no matter what I tried. Thankfully I had Urbosa here, and simply talking with her had done much to calm my nerves already.

“You’re originally from out of town too, aren’t you?” I noted, thinking back on her performance.

“That I may be, but unlike that lawyer, I’ve spent enough time here to know of the perils this city is facing, and who’s been holding it together in spite of all that.”

“Right.” My lips rested against the curve of my index as my leg bounced restlessly underneath the table. “That schmuck really doesn’t have a clue, does he?”

“No, not likely. Though he’s quite the formidable opponent, I must say.” She leaned back in her chair, looking pensive, but not the least bit agitated. “My case took quite the beating out there.”

My heart rate was starting to pick up again. “You don’t think you’ll...lose...do you?”

“Who, me? Lose?” She let out a hearty bout of chuckles. “Young lady, are you quite sure you know who you’re speaking to?” I returned her laughter halfheartedly, unable to shake the foreboding feeling lying at the pit of my stomach. Urbosa cleared her throat, preserving her calm smile. “All jokes aside, I wouldn’t worry even if we do end up losing this one. The true criminal is still out there somewhere, and there is no such thing as a perfect crime.”

“I suppose...” Perfect crimes may not have existed, but neither did perfect investigations. If they ruled Paya out as a suspect, then only one other, “safe” option would remain.

“Alright, out with it. What’s on your mind?” Her hand had landed on my shoulder as she’d reached across the desk, over my half empty glass of water. “And why are you so set on getting Paya convicted, if I might ask? Sibling rivalry is one thing, but this is...”

I avoided her perceptive gaze, staring intently at the latch on my bag. What could I possibly tell her? “It’s just,” I stalled, eventually settling for a vague, “I’m running out of time.”

After a long pause, she leaned back, letting go of my arm. “I see. Well, whatever it is, know that I’ll be on your side no matter what, little bird.”

Oh, if only she’d known.

“So to sum up, you were outstandingly negligent in your investigation of the defendant’s bedroom.”

My jaw unhinged at what I’d just heard come out of the attorney’s mouth. I’d just finished giving him an explanation of my findings in as much detail as I could, during which time he’d been surprisingly polite, until now.

“You likely saw the Slate along with the bullet and made your arrest right then and there. You didn’t even stop to consider the possibility that you hadn’t found all there’d been to find in that room, did you?” I opened my mouth to respond, but he cut me off again. “In fact, I’m willing to bet you didn’t even attempt to look for the murder weapon.”

“Excuse me, Sir,” I retaliated with chest puffed up, “but my team and I searched the property from top to bottom, repeatedly, for two whole weeks, and—”

“Yes, I am well aware. However, you failed to complete a thorough search of this so-called ‘true crime scene’ before you arrested Ms. Sheikah. Do you deny it?”

I was floundering for words. Why bother questioning me if he merely intended to cut me off and answer his own questions? “I-I...”

“Objection.”

All eyes fell upon the prosecution. I breathed a heavy sigh of relief.

“The defence is harassing the witness, Your Honour.”

The judge gave a slow, considerate nod of his head. “Objection sustained.”

Twii gave Urbosa a subtle but unmistakable side-eye. I thanked her silently. “Speaking of the murder weapon,” he continued in his signature, holier-than-thou tone, “I have here Exhibit F: a list of traits possessed by the elusive firearm responsible for the victim’s life.”

This wasn’t good. The list in question had been compiled by the prosecution based on traits of the fatal wound revealed by the autopsy, as well as other traits shared by the two bullets that were found at the estate. It contained information like its .38 caliber and that it had likely been fired twice at point blank, to name a few examples.

“My question for you, witness, is the following. What did you find during your ‘investigation’ regarding the weapon?”

This was fine, I kept telling myself. He still had yet to present the most fatal piece of evidence in the record. “As I’ve said before, none of our searches turned up any sign of it, other than what’s listed on that piece of paper you’re holding.”

“Is that so?” The sarcasm rooted in his voice had me sweating bullets. “In that case, Ms. Hyrule, I’d like to turn your attention to this passage here at the bottom.”

That was “Inspector Hyrule” to him, but of course, he couldn’t care less for such trifling things as common decency.

But when I read over the passage at which he was pointing, my throat closed up.

“Allow me to read it aloud for the court.” He snobbishly cleared his throat. “And I quote, ‘The murder weapon and the circumstances surrounding it strongly suggest an Octoric M&P revolver,’ end quote. I’d also like to add that this particular model is favoured by the district bureau of police, who issue them out to many of their detectives for self-defence.”

I gritted my teeth, annunciating each word as I spat, “Get to the point.”

The smarmy bastard was hardly even phased by my unmasked hostility. “Now, now, Ms. Hyrule, you’ve no reason to worry,” he waved off. “After all, I have no intention of accusing you.”

When he spoke that last word, my heart stopped, and deep down, I knew it was over.

“Firstly I wish for you to clarify a few things for me, as you were one of the first to discover the scene of the murder when it happened.”

I gave a slow, strenuous nod, losing strength in my knees by the second, but standing my ground all the same. “Go on.”

“The defendant showed no sign of having a gun on or anywhere near her person when you arrived, correct?”

“Correct,” I lied.

“Good. Now that we’ve established that the defendant was unarmed, I’d like to present another piece of evidence.” He laid out flat a second sheet of paper on the stand in front of me. “Exhibit H. This is part of a record kept by the precinct where the witness is currently employed, alongside the rest of her team. It details a list of the firearms given out to detectives each day, as well as the time when each one was issued and when it was returned to custody at the end of its designated officer’s shift.”

And there it was. I’d known all along that it had only been a matter of time until he’d bring out this piece of evidence, but, evidently, I’d failed to prepare myself mentally for this. Perhaps a part of me had hoped not to be on the stand when it happened. All I could do now was hold my peace and pray that it wouldn’t get worse from here.

“This page corresponds with the day before the murder. Now, Ms. Hyrule,” he addressed, summoning a swarm of butterflies in my stomach, “I’m sure you’ll recognize this badge number here. Would you please read it aloud for me?”

I swallowed my nerves and did as he’d requested. “FB7732Z438LL.”

“Thank you.” He flashed me that shit-eating grin of his. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is the number belonging to one Constable Link Fyori, the witness’ very own investigative partner.” A few whispers drifted through the gallery following that announcement. “One who reads this will also notice that, after his revolver was issued out to him the morning before the murder, it was never returned to the precinct’s custody thereafter. In fact, it is still missing to this day.”

With this, the whispers grew in number, creating a din of distrust that had the attorney smirking from ear to ear.

“Objection.”

The whispering dissipated. Twii’s shoulders sagged as he hypocritically shot Urbosa a look that said, “What now?”

“Mr. Twii, how is this relevant? Unless you have definitive proof linking Constable Fyori to the crime, I see no point in bringing it up.”

The judge gave a pound of his gavel with a bone-chilling shake of his head. “Overruled. The court will allow the defence to continue, provided that it has good reason.”

My mouth fell open, and so had Urbosa’s.

“Thank you, Your Honour. I was just getting to that, my good prosecutor.” Now even she seemed on edge. The tension in the air was thick enough to cut through with a knife. “I may not have proof as things stand currently. However, that is about to change. You see, I have reason to believe that our witness here is covering for someone.”

The courtroom broke out into an even louder din of murmurs, as if I couldn’t clearly hear each backhanded remark the members of the gallery were making at my expense.

The pounding of the judge’s gavel echoed throughout the room, and the whispering ceased once again.

“You must be mistaken.” I stood as tall as I could with how close my legs were to giving up on me. “I happen to be one of the most trusted detectives in the force. Why do you think I was put in charge of this case despite being one of the first on the scene?”

“Ah, but that, dear witness, was your superiors’ fatal mistake.”

Damn that solicitor. “What do you mean?”

“Although my client has elected not to testify to the court, she has let me in on a certain piece of information—one that I believe will make the jaws of everyone here drop to the floor.”

Surely not. Surely even she wouldn’t dare stoop so low.

“Inspector...” The attorney looked me dead in the eyes. The air was suffocating. “What do you have in your briefcase?”

Everyone was staring at me and murmuring amongst themselves, more raucously than ever before, like I was the one on trial.

“N-No, it’s—it’s not what it seems,” I wavered. Then mustering my shattered courage, “You!” I pointed my finger at Twii. “Prove to me that the defendant wasn’t lying. I demand to see proof!”

But my demands were met with silence. Even Urbosa was looking at me with cold contempt and disappointment.

“Bailiff.”

An officer appeared from the sidelines. He seized my bag.

“Wait, stop!”

I tried to wrest it from his grasp, but he was too strong. I watched helplessly as he opened it up, reaching in and revealing the murder weapon for all to see.

“No...!”

“Bailiff, what is the number engraved on that weapon?”

He seemed to recite the number in slow motion, twisting the knife with every digit. “FB7732Z438LL.”

“No, please!” I screamed. “It wasn’t him, he’s been framed! Please, Your Honour, you have to believe me!”

Amidst the roar of the crowd, I saw the conclusive shake of the judge’s head. With a pound of his gavel, he said, “I hereby order the immediate detainment of Link Fyori under the charge of first degree murder.”

I met eyes with my partner but half a second before I saw him be dragged out of his seat with brute force.

“No!”

“As for this witness, she shall receive her sentence after being questioned by the police for the concealing of evidence, contempt of court, and perjury.”

I cried out when an overwhelming pain shot through my arm. My family watched from the gallery in either horror or disgust, or a mixture of both perhaps. I tried with all my might just to get the bailiff to stop hurting me, but it was futile.

“Your Honour, just a moment please.”

With the judge’s approval, the man’s grip on my arm lightened up. The one who’d spoken had been none other than that wretched defence attorney.

“Inspector, if you don’t mind, I have one more question to ask you.”

I held my breath, bracing myself. Though there wasn’t much he could say at this point that could possibly make the situation worse.

“Why?” he finally asked. “Why did you feel the need to conceal such a critical piece of evidence?”

My entire face boiled over with heat. I looked around, taking in the courtroom’s atmosphere, and my whole being was filled to the brim with indescribable anger and shame. Barely able to swallow the charged whimper lodged at the cusp of my throat, I choked out the words, “No comment.”

The trial had ended while I’d still been in the middle of interrogation by my own peers. I was lucky enough to get off with a fine, but it was because of that hour-and-a-half-long lecture that I only found out about Paya’s “not guilty” verdict after the entire courtroom had been cleared out. This was no surprise to me, of course, but still a disappointment, to put it lightly. What was a surprise was that no one, not Paya, nor Auntie Purah, nor even Urbosa, had bothered to wait for me.

That was fine. They could think whatever they wanted of me. I’d simply have to redeem myself by proving Link’s innocence in his trial.

It was to this end that I made my way to the district’s Centre of Detention.

When Link appeared behind the iron bars of the visitors’ room, he was already sporting a worn and faded prisoner’s uniform, surely having just undergone an interrogation of his own. Though, from the looks of him, his had been considerably more thorough than mine.

I cleared my throat. “Hello, Link.”

“Hello,” he replied.

Deathly silence filled the air. The harsh ticking of the clock on the wall behind me was slowly starting to crawl under my skin.

“They, uhm...didn’t go easy on you, eh?”

He shook his head, eyes wandering without aim.

Why did it have to be so hard to talk to him sometimes? He’d never been so unapproachable back in our days as teenagers. Though now, I supposed, recent events were only making things even more difficult for me than usual.

“Look...” I took a deep breath, shifting in my seat. “I’m sorry. Alright? I couldn’t cover for you forever. They were bound to find out eventually. Please, don’t be upset.”

“What? Zelda...” His demeanour morphed from listless to urgent, almost apologetic, as he struggled to find his voice. “Why would I be upset with you? I never asked you to cover for me in the first place.”

“I know.” Now it was I who couldn’t bring myself to look him in the eyes. “I just knew that you couldn’t have possibly... I mean, you would never—”

“I didn’t.”

He’d caught me with my mouth hanging open, when he’d cut me off.

“I didn’t kill her. I promise you.”

Of course he hadn’t. It was obvious, even though the revolver had borne no fingerprints and, with the gloves that he always wore, he wouldn’t have left any. What motive could he have had? He was an amnesiac, and even if he hadn’t been, he still wouldn’t have had a reason to kill my godmother.

I took out my pen and notebook, the only things left in my case that hadn’t been confiscated. “Tell me what you know, Link. Everything.”

A beat. Then he straightened his posture and began to explain his side of the story. As it turned out, my intuition had been spot on. This whole mess was the design of the Yiga organization. Link told me about his encounter with them before the murder. They had blackmailed him into surrendering his revolver to them, after which he would never see it again.

Though, even without a hint of deceit in his tone or manner, I had questions about the means by which the Yiga had blackmailed him. He had virtually nothing to lose. Didn’t he?

In any case, I honestly had considered showing him the gun that I’d found on the scene that night, but somehow I’d had the distinct impression that he’d known nothing about it, despite the very object in question belonging to him. I’d thought perhaps someone from the organization had switched out his weapon for another without his noticing. It was no secret that even the police bureau was infested with their ilk. In the end, I hadn’t been far off the mark.

The whole time he spoke, he had his head lowered, hair falling in front of his eyes, as if something were holding them back from meeting mine. Then he muttered, “When I had my encounter with the organization, I...remembered.”

His limited annunciation meant I had to take a moment to decipher the syllables of the last word he’d uttered. Then they sank in. “Wait. What? You mean you...” It felt beyond strange to even speak the words after so long. “You got your memory back?”

He lowered his head further. Was that a nod?

My mind went back to what he’d said to me on that one occasion in the office, not long after this whole mess had first begun. “Link, you...” My hands curled into themselves around the strap of my satchel. “All this time...why didn’t you tell me?”

“I couldn’t,” he pleaded. “It would’ve been a hindrance to the investigation.” I hated to admit it, but he was right. Dropping that bomb on me would only have thrown my conscience deeper into its already tangled web of turmoil.

Amidst all the questions swirling in my mind, one suddenly appeared, eclipsing all the rest. “Why did you disappear back then?”

At this, he finally looked up and met my gaze. But when he did, his eyes were wide, almost trembling. His look seemed to cast the whole room into a great, looming darkness.

“Oh, it’s...it’s okay if you’d prefer not to talk about—”

“No,” he exclaimed. “I must.” But the way his shoulders came up to meet his ears and how rapidly his chest rose and fell told me it wasn’t going to be an easy story to tell. “It was the Yi—” He choked on his words. “The...organization.”

There it was again. The name of the group I’d been chasing without rest ever since their appearance eighteen years prior. “I knew it...” I mumbled without thinking.

He steeled himself, then continued. “That day, my father was picking me and my sister up after school. Normally we would’ve ridden home with him in his automobile, but that morning, he and I had planned to surprise Aryll by getting...I think it was ice cream, on our way back. Anyway, we decided to walk home that day. But...” His face darkened yet again. “But then...”

Pressing him for more details would have been beyond cruel. I could only imagine the horrors that those blackguards had put him and his family through. “How many of them were there?”

“I’m not sure. All I know is that they had us outnumbered.” I nodded along, without thinking, as he continued his tale. “They were all armed with what looked like military grade shotguns, and they wore those masks with the inverted Sheikah family crest... I’ve always known that I’d seen that image somewhere before.”

No one knew why the organization had chosen this symbol for themselves, though I personally suspected it to be a show of opposition.

“Anyway, after they sh...shot father,” he struggled, a hand coming up to his now quavering lips, “they must’ve felt threatened by Aryll and me, because the next thing they did was...shoot her, too.” The way his tone had started to oscillate and how his face had drained itself of colour made my stomach churn. His anguish was so clear, it was devastating. “One of them had said something to the ends of, ‘We can’t have you scamps telling on us.’ But before they could...’shut me up’ as well, I fled.” Another pause. He kept on breathing. “I was too terrified to notice which way I was going. The whole time I ran, they kept firing at me. They were too reckless to aim properly, though, mind.”

“Well...that’s lucky, at least,” I tried. This was met with a sigh of reluctant agreement. “Still, how did you make it out of that with your life?”

“They stopped chasing me when I made it out of the back alleys and into the open,” he explained. “I suppose they couldn’t risk revealing themselves.”

Now it all made sense. Seven years ago, when he’d vanished without a trace, it was as though he’d never even existed in the first place. No one could get in contact with him or his family, and yet, no one batted an eye about it. It had seemed I’d been the only one who’d thought of it as anything less than perfectly normal. Just like when my mother had lost her life.

“We never had the chance to get ice cream that day.” He looked all but ready to burst into tears with that sentence. That was the moment I realized, no matter how drastically the last seven years of hell had changed him, there was still a fragment of that playful, hollow-legged sixteen-year-old left deep in his dark, forgotten core. If there was a way to bring that bright-eyed child back out into the light, I would find it, even if it spelled my demise.

Even so, there was one thing left that had yet to be explained. “What about your amnesia?”

“Ah...” His brow furrowed in thought. “I don’t know what caused that, to be honest with you.” He seemed to be racking his mind, but to no avail. “By the time those thugs finally gave up, I didn’t recognize my surroundings. I remember trying to find my way home, but I suppose I just ended up getting myself even more lost from there.” It was no wonder. The street names in this town were of little help in navigation, and it wasn’t hard to understand why he might have been apprehensive to ask for directions in such a bustling and hostile environment, especially after what he’d just been subjected to. “So I fell asleep in the streets that night,” he concluded with a shivering exhale. “The next morning, I woke up without the slightest notion of who I was.”

My heart took a plunge at the thought of his young self curled up in some alleyway, like a baby bird who’d fallen from the nest. “It must have been some sort of mental defence mechanism,” I conjectured. “That’s the only explanation I can come up with.” He slowly nodded his agreement. “After that, then, I suppose the rest is history.”

“Indeed...”

The visitors’ room fell into a deep, reflective silence, one nothing like that which had had me gasping for air moments ago. I watched the weary feelings of dread swim in his once bright blue eyes, tearing him apart.

He’d spent five whole years in that cold, cramped ward without even a name by which to call himself. And now we were back where we’d started. He may have regained his memories in the end, but at what cost?

I no longer felt the need to hunt down those who had wronged me. Now, my only desire was to slip between the bars that stood between the two of us and whisk him away to a far off land, where no one would ever hurt us again. But I pushed the impossible daydream aside. Even if escape were an option, we’d only be running straight out into range of Yiga fire.

“After your trial tomorrow...well, at the very least, I’ll lose my badge,” I smiled waywardly. Then, letting it fade and rolling my shoulders back, “Until then, I swear, I’ll do everything within my power to prove your innocence. Then we can go out for ice cream together.”

His eyes shimmered with unshed tears when he looked up at me then. Now that I thought about it, this seemed like the first time I’d ever seen him come close to crying, even in the time before the incident. Of course, he’d seen me in tears countless times back then. I wondered if he remembered them.

“Zelda...?” My name had started to leave his lips with conviction, but weakened on its way out. “There’s...something else I should tell you.”

“Anything.”

Just then, I caught him straightening out the cuff of his black-barred sleeve, concealing the fair skin of his wrist, out of the corner of my eye. “Never mind.” He again cast his gaze downwards, muttering an inaudible, “It’s nothing,” under his breath.

karasuno and nekoma’s manager with an ed and selfharm

req: um hello 👉🏼👈🏼 I saw you were doing emergency requests and, unless you're uncomfy with it, could i request karasuno and nekoma comforting their manager who has an eating disorder (anorexia) and/or self harms? ive been going through a tough time with my ed and self harm. if you feel uncomfortable writing this, its totally fine i understand! have a good day/night 💕

me: ofc baby! i’m glad you trusted me in this and i hope you know that you’re amazing and deserve to be happy. keep on going, if you’ve hit the bottom now you can only go better :)) if you ever need to talk just dm me or send it here anonymously :)

warnings: eating disorder and self harm,,, but it all ends up being fluff bc baby here needs it

oh god i’m here after finishing it i might have made it too angsty shit

also yes i’m still working on my other requests but as you’ve seen this is an emergency req and somehow i managed to pull out some ideas while i was taking a shower and come up with something as fast as i could

btw i feel i focused more in the ed part than in the self harm part so if you want me to rewrite this i'll do it gladly! <33

another note: at first i had written one paragraph in female, and i obviously had to change it, but i didn’t know how to change female volleyball team to something neutral, so i just created this miyagi under 18 volleyball group where you happened to play :))

karasuno

– ok what happened is that you used to do volleyball, though not in highschool, but in a group, because you had forgotten to sign up for the club and when you realised, it was too late

– but uH

– well

– it happened that you had to stop playing it because of an injury on your first year of highschool (you were a second year)

– kiyoko knew you because her cousin was friends with you, and when she learned that you did know volleyball, she didn’t hesitate to ask you to join her and yachi

– so there you were, one month after recruiting you, you had developed friendships with everyone and the whole team adored you

– but they didn’t know about your habits, and the pants and jacket you wore everytime to the gym covered enough to not look suspicious

– so daichi didn’t think there would be a problem about organizing a trip to the beach

– at first you were going to turn the invitation, but the look yachi, hinata and noya gave you made you bit your inner cheek and say yes

– well, you could always stay under the umbrella and read something, and maybe even talk with tsukki or ennoshita

– the point is, you weren’t going to show your thighs, much less take a bath. and you didn’t have a problem! your body had no reserves of fat, which made your body not be able to preserve any heat

– i’m pretty sure i read that you can’t preserve heat in your body which makes you grow more hair somewhere but if i’m wrong please call me out

– if hinata or yamaguchi asked you why were you wearing long jeans, you could just tell them you hadn’t shaved that day

– your plan was going to be alright, you had it under control

– so the day arrived.

– you were in a hoodie and jeans, just like you planned

– i mean, it wasn’t even summer, the volleyball idiots just happened to be too warm to be able to go to the beach in may

– so there wasn’t anything odd

– or so you thought

“pfff are you going to make a sandman y/n?” asked tsukki

“oh, no i-”

“yeah y/n! it’s too hot to be wearing hoodies!”

“oi! let her wear what she wants” said daichi

– bless him tbh

– so you sat in your towel and started thinking

"you have it all under control” you muttered to yourself, not knowing ennoshita was listening

“what?” he asked

“oh, it’s nothing” you brushed off

“stupid! you almost discover yourself!” you scolded in your mind

– appart from that. no one seemed to know anything

– so you sent the thought to the back of your mind and took out a book

– ahh it was a nice day

– you hadn’t had to eat anything and the coke you had had earlier was enough to keep you up so you didn’t have to ingest anything else, and you hadn’t had any urges so your wounds from yesterday were already healing

– but

– somehow, the temperature started rising

– and, without thinking about it, you rolled your sleeves a bit up

– suga almost fainted when he saw, and ennoshita had to keep him from going there and lecture you

– you hadn’t noticed any of this so you kept reading

“we should see how y/n behaves and talk to her accordingly” told ennoshita to suga, who nodded

– when you realised you had rolled up your sleeves, showing your skinny arm and some of your wounds, you panicked. but no one had told you anything, and you knew that if anyone knew they would’ve told you anything, so you reminded yourself to be more careful

– oh, how wrong you were

“do you want some onigiri, y/n?” kageyama asked, handing you one. it smelled amazing, and you had to dig your nails on your palms before denying

“no thanks” you said with a smile

“but these were made by my mom!” said hinata “you have to try them out!”

– one bite didn’t hurt, did it?

“yes it does” you told yourself

– you shook your head and told them you were going on a walk

– hopefully they’d be too distracted on eating that they wouldn’t think about it too much

– and tsukki, of all people, asked if he could go with you. you didn’t want to leave suspicions so you accepted

– you didn’t know, but he had realised that the amount of food you ate was too little, even for him, and that sometimes you seemed to make faces when noya would drag you by the arm

– so when he saw the two moms of the team panicking over you, and your rolled up sleeves, he confirmed it

“ennoshita-san, sugawara-san, i’ve seen you’ve realised about y/n... habits” he said. ennoshita looking at him in surprise. “i was thinking about talking to them later, since they’ll probably run away as soon as the two simpletons bring the food”

“mmmm” nodded suga. “be careful though, we don’t really know about how far the situation has gone”

– so there he was, walking with you asking himself how to bring the topic

– you were thinking about what excuse to use if he happened to know, when you felt your legs fail and almost drop you

– this looks like a tsukki hc wtf i’m sorry hol on

– anyway so this guy ends up dragging you and saying things you can’t even focus on because you don’t have the energy

– hinata and noya panic and ask if you’re going to be okay

– daichi calms them while suga and asahi help you sit down

“what happened?” asks 

– you’re about to pull off an excuse when ennoshita talks lowly enough so only daichi suga asahi and you can hear

“can’t you see?” he says you think he’s disgusted but he’s actually worried and mad that no one had realised before “y/n isn’t okay, they haven’t eaten yet, and the wounds in their arms are affecting them

– you felt your tears appear

– suga tried comforting you by rubbing his hand in your back

“it’s okay, we’ll figure something out” he said

– then you started crying, and hinata panicked for the second time and ran to hug you

“i’m sorry i’m not enough” you said between sobs. you were frustrated with yourself and started to feel the urge to rip off the skin that had formed in your wounds

– both suga and daichi looked at you, while hinata hugged you tighter, as if you were going to leave

“what do you mean?” asked kageyama, he was behind asahi, who had been looking at you with pity

“i don’t want your pity” you thought, asahi smiled at you even though you probably had sent him a death glare

“i’m...” you started, but shut yourself as you didn’t know what to say.

“oi! y/n!” called tanaka, a bit harshly. daichi stiffened as he thought how tanaka was sometimes too brute with words “you’re beautiful as hell!” he said punching the air

“heck yeah!” said noya, jumping “you’re the most beautiful person i’ve seen!”

“y/n you’re so cute! when you enter the gym is like whaaaam and... uhhh” started hinata “and booooooom” he said flailing his hands around

– you laughed a bit

– daichi smiled relieved

– maybe the pair knew how to handle

– that day ended up you getting hugged by everyone and ennoshita staying with you while wathcing noya and hinata bully tsukki splashing water to him while yamaguchi screamed ‘tsukki!!!!’

“you know y/n,” he started. asahi was on your other side “you can always count on us” he said while smiling “you helped us getting back to volleyball, even though you were still on your club and probably thought some coward first years wouldn’t be worthy. i think we owe you that one” he said. you remembered that. he had stumbled across you, the intimidating first year setter who had saved the current Under 18 Miyagi prefecture Volleyball Club from lacking a setter, how you had heard sometimes. ah, you missed these times. you hadn’t entered the shit hole that was now, and your mood had always been bright.

– you smiled and muttered a “thank you”

– now, noya and tanaka keep track of you and how you’re feeling while ennoshita asks you how are you everytime your class ends, since you were in the same class.

– the third years now take turns to compliment you everyday. and i mean EVERY day

“hey y/n! you look very pretty today” says asahi while blushing. behind you, daichi and suga give him a thumbs up

“damn! these stats look really neat!” says hinata

“y/n was the one arranging them boke, of course they look neat” says kageyama

– everyday team hugs

– kiyoko hugs>>>>

– yachi ends up offering some of her food, but never complains nor pushes you if you’re not feeling like eating that day

– after a while, you start feeling way better, and even build up the courage to ask for help, which makes sugamama proud

– tanaka defo cries when you announce you’ll be visiting a therapist two days a week

– this turned to be ennoshita and tsukki hcs i’m so sorry-

nekoma

– so kuroo, being the eighty years old he is (and sometimes kind of a mom, even tho the official one is yaku), he always reminded everyone to eat their food and drink water, and being so persistent, he thought everyone took care of themselves, especially their precious manager that tora had been whipped by when he knew nekoma did in fact have a manager

– but oh, boy

– he didn’t know about your problems with food and how you punished yourself

– kenma already knew about it. he had found you in the gym bathroom when you were purging (ik the ones who purge are more tended to be bulimic, but i really didn’t know how to make this happen, sowwy) after eating for the first time in twenty hours a few months ago, but he had promised to not say anything as he knew these things weren’t to take lightly

– but he did check up on your mood and asked you if you felt better or worse than the day before

– he did in fact, felt bad about not being able to help you in any other way, but he genuinely didn’t know how to talk about it properly with you and he didn’t want to hit a nerve

– kuroo surprisingly hadn’t discovered anything, even though you weren’t the most secretive about it and he was quite intuitive in these topics

– until shinzen training camp

– the coaches had decided to pull a two weeks training camp, somehow, and, as always, your team was invited

– you weren’t worried, you had already gone through two years full of training camps and you were a pro at choosing the food at the cafeteria with the least calories, usually giving half of it to yukie

– the first week went alright. kenma kept sneaking to the sidelines to ask you how were you feeling that day, and yukie ate the halves of your food. so far, training camp was going quite well. you had had only felt a few urges you could perfectly satisfy by sinking your nails in your thighs, and brush it off as nervousness

– however, the second week was a complete disaster

– your thoughts hit you like the bus hit regina george, and ended up almost banging your head against the wall in order to shut down those feelings, and it only had been two hours since you had woken up

– as soon as lunch started, you felt like puking when you felt the smell of the food. not even the low calories noodles could shut the feeling

– so you ended up almost having a panick attack, which you were able to stop as soon as you felt the familiar numbness that had taken over your body countless times

– but you still ran away to calm yourself in a less crowded place

– the third years were worried. although they had been with you three years, they had never seen you run with such look in the face, and ended up sending kai to ask you, since they didn’t want to crowd and overwhelm you

“y/n?” asked while blushing because he was entering in the managers bathroom (bless him)

– he found you swinging yourself in the last bathroom, trying to block everything in your surroundings. there were tears in your eyes, now pressed and closed, and you were hugging yourself putting your forehead (which i wanna kith bc YOU DESERVE THE WORLD OKAY) against your knees and your face between your legs. you hadn’t seen him

– he didn’t move as he didn’t want to scare you, you seemed really really distressed, you were hyperventilating and rubbing your ahdns up your arms, trying to find some heat

– when you felt better, although you were still shaking, you saw him, smiling fondly in aim to ensure you that everything was going to be alright

“s-sorry...” you said, looking down. he looked at you like asking what were you talking about. “i... i uhhh... i ruined your lunch... sorry about that”

“oh! don’t worry about that y/n, how are you feeling right now?” he asked, he had crouched down to hug you and look at you, and was now rubbing the back of your hands in a really soothing way

“i don’t really know...” you said, lost

– and the other barged down but more lowkey

“y/n! are you okay? are you feeling alright?” asked yaku, looking at you worried

“yakkun” said kuroo, warning that he was in fact, acting out of his motherly instints and overwhelming you

– so you stayed there with them feeling more and more calmed until you built up the courage to get up and walk to the sink, where you splashed your face with water and let the cold of it relax you. you felt like you had to explain a few things, even though you had the feeling that they knew already

“i owe you guys an explanation” you said

“it’s okay y/n, you don’t owe us anything-”

“kuroo, i do” you said, sharply. you were familiar with them, and they had already seen you changning yourself (don’t even ask about this, it just happened in your first year when you hadn’t hit rock bottom and still felt alright with your body, so you hadn’t mind when the managers changing room was locked and you changed on the club room). but it didn’t mean they weren’t weirded out when you started pulling down your pants, showing them the scars and wounds that covered most of your skinny thighs. 

– they were confused, and then, when they connectted the dots, concern took over their faces

“y/n...” said yaku, hugging you. it was weird by the fact that your pants were down, but you really didn’t mind at this point.

“it’s alright” you said, but the tears streaming down your face again said otherwise

“how much has this been going on?” asked kuroo, not sounding with an angry tone, but more of a concerned one.

“um...” you rubbed the back of your neck “ i started feeling the urges in the middle of the second year...”

– yaku tightened the hug, warming you

“it’s okay, you can count on us” he said

– when you felt better, lunch had already ended, but kenma had kept a tray with a bit of everything for you in case you needed something, which you did, but didn’t want to eat.

– but the look in kuroo’s face and the warming hand that kai had placed in your back made you feel better and helped you push down the feeling of grossness, so you took a bit of a few things

– the third years stuck around you the rest of the week, sending smiles or reassurance everytime you felt negatively

– none of the first years know anything, but kuroo has imposed a rule of not talking about certain topics such as body types or calories, and yaku ripped the posters of girls in bikinis off the walls of the clubroom

– tora doesn’t know the full story, but he now praises you (as he should) and is more careful with what does he say

– kenma keeps asking you how are you doing, with the addition of fukunaga looking at you with platonic love eyes (i hope y’all know what i mean or ima end up embarrashing myself-)

– kuroo tells you facts about health that make you feel better

“y/n, did you know that stress can give you bad headaches? take a relax day today” says one time, that day, practice ends up early even though it’s saturday (usually the toughest days) and the whole team goes walking around the city (kenma and you pet a cat and lev get shit on by a pigeon)

– shibayama hugs you daily, to which lev joins and inuoka and tamahiko

– the team helps you when you start your medication, and don’t hesitate to sit you down and take your duties when you feel low and have to take a rest, and when you tell them they don’t need you, yaku says “but we want to” heroically, and hands the stack of papers to kuroo

 – aaa you (we) love them so much,,,

– hope i made you feel better! i’m still hesitant about some parts, but i wanted to finish it a soon as possible so i’d be able to post it hihi

– i’m still saying, if you need to talk or feel low, don’t doubt to dm me! i’m open about talking about anything, and i’d love to help in anything that’s possible 🥺. reminder too that you are loved and deserve to be happy, despite what you think! you’re beautiful and you don’t need anyone’s approval to feel as valid as the rest. you’ve got this! <3

“…When the two lovers meet after Parliament's decision, Criseyde offers Troilus the opportunity to "ravish her" as her uncle has suggested. She begs for his aid, crying "Help, Troilus!" (IV, 1150) and falling into a dead faint. For once, she wishes that another would take control and make decisions for her. Not realizing that Troilus has relapsed into an impotent, emasculated state, Criseyde expects him to interpret successfully her intent and to act boldly in order to rescue her from her terrible plight. Troilus, however, is no longer the valiant, empathetic young man transformed by Criseyde's love; consequently, he fails to play the role of the manly hero. He does not seize this moment to carry the maiden off; instead, he convinces himself that she has died and poetically beseeches the heavens to hasten his own demise (IV, 1191-1211).

His behavior contrasts greatly with Criseyde's when he had fainted. She roused herself to action, doing all in her power to revive her lover, who, like Criseyde in this later scene, seemed at the precipice of death. Criseyde begins to argue eloquently upon the advantages of biding her time behind enemy lines only after she awakes to discover that Troilus has not heeded her cry for help. A careful reader would recognize, how ever, that she still yearns for her lover to prevent the exchange, for she interrupts her own argument to assure Troilus "what so ye me comaunde,/ That wol I don, for that is no demaunde" (IV, 1294-95). In arguing in favor of removing to the Greek camp, Criseyde tests the extent of Troilus's affection. …Criseyde thought that surely a man willing to slay himself for her would be willing to risk ruining his reputation for her love, but Troilus finds himself incapable of performing such a heroic feat.

When Troilus fails to make even the slightest attempt to rescue his ill fated lover, Criseyde realizes that she must bring about her own salvation. As she spins out her plan, she gains more confidence in her abilities to effect her own rescue. Sheltered within the walls of Troy, Criseyde knows little of the true horrors of war, only what she has gleaned from gossip and from the books that she has read in her cloistered garden. Her overconfidence stems both from her ignorance concerning the actual situation facing her nation and from her earlier successes in effecting her will.

In contrast, Troilus has been out in the trenches, and he should recognize the implausibility of Criseyde's plan of action. His attempts to dissuade her, however, seem half-hearted at best. Indeed, he feels relieved that she seems to exonerate him from taking any rash action, for such a view accords with his own and enables him to rationalize his impotence as simply a chivalric attempt to uphold his lady's desire: This Troilus, with herte and erys spradde,/Herde al this thyng devysen to and fro,/And verrayliche him semed that he hadde The selve wit. . . (IV, 1422-25) Although Troilus finally does argue with Criseyde that they should elope (IV, 1503), he does so only to determine the extent of her loyalty, for he beseeches her "That of hire heste he myghte her trewe fynde" (IV, 1439).

For nine stanzas he dwells on his potential desolation should Criseyde forsake him and displays little concern as to whether she might suffer from the trade as well (IV, 1436-98). He does not want Criseyde to abandon her plans but only to assure him that she will remain stead fast in her love for the Trojan prince. Troilus now behaves like Percival's maid, arguing against his lover's bold plan only to make her more resolved to carry it out. He succeeds, for Criseyde dismisses his worries, assuring him that she can achieve all that she has set out to accomplish. Thinking of the state of her city that "hath now swich nede / Of help" (IV, 1558-59), she chides Troilus for wanting to abandon his home, reminding him that he plays a vital role in his city's defense.

Concern for his city, however, does not motivate Troilus in his insistence that he and Criseyde run off; rather, his hesitancy to allow her to leave stems from his hitherto unwarranted fear that Criseyde will prove untrue. After Criseyde's eloquent argument, which included an impassioned declaration that she would remain constant in her love (IV, 1527-54), Troilus still asks her to leave with him: "But for the love of God, if it be may,/So late us stelen priveliche away;/For evere in oon, as for to lyve in reste,/Myn herte seyth that it wol be the beste." (IV, 1600-1604)

After listening to this plea, Criseyde finally experiences an awakening, realizing that her lover does not hold the values that she herself cherishes. She recognizes his plea stems only from jealousy and not from any noble concern for her or for their country's grave situation. Sighing with exasperation, she once again defends herself against the charge of infidelity: "I se wel now that ye mystrusten me, For by youre wordes it is wel yseene./Now for the love of Cinthia the sheene, Mistrust me nought thus ca?seles, for routhe,/Syn to be trewe I have yow plight my trouthe." (IV, 1606-10)

Criseyde now recognizes that Troilus, who had shunned jealousy during his earlier blissful state (III, 1805-6), has relapsed into a suspicious suitor, one who holds little faith in his love's sincerity. He has forgotten that the last time he questioned Criseyde's trustworthiness he nearly lost her favor (III, 1054-85). Troilus's hypocrisy at Criseyde's departure serves only to alienate her further and to make her resolve to return to Troy begin to evaporate. The Trojan prince not only refuses to heed Pandarus's advice and openly declare his love; he also feigns joy at the arrival of Antenor (V, 77). Even if he believed that openly expressing his love for Criseyde would imperil her, he need not seem joyous concerning the exchange. Criseyde does not mask her emotions so easily but instead weeps piteously as Diomede leads her away (V, 82). She feels distraught not only because she must leave Troilus and Troy but also because she now recognizes that she has misread her lover's nature.

Troilus's behavior undercuts the narrator's contention that the young prince refuses to act only because he fears some harm may befall Criseyde: But why he nolde don so fel a dede,/That shal I seyn, and whi hym liste it spare:/He hadde in herte alweyes a manere drede/Lest that Criseyde, in rumour of this fare,/Sholde han ben slayn; lo, this was al his care./And ellis, certeyn, as I seyde yore,/He hadde it don, wi thou ten wordes more.(V, 50-56) These assurances concerning Troilus's desire to behave valiantly seem to reflect anxiety on the part of the narrator, who suspects, perhaps, that he recounts not the tale of a hero but of a coward.

W. A. Davenport believes Troilus's poetic apostrophes to his lost love as he waits for her in Troy indicate that the young prince's despair is primarily a pose. Troilus's letters also reveal that he continues to play a role. These solipsistic missives to Criseyde seal his fate, for they leave no question that Troilus remains a courtly lover. He does not consider the needs of his auditor, for instead of tender, solicitous queries concerning the hardships she must have endured, he stresses his own affliction. Cox comments that "Troilus sings of his woe with little regard for Criseyde, . . . and his letter, . . . full of fin’amors platitudes, blames her for going to the Greeks."

As in Book I, where he allowed his misery to paralyze him, Troilus has succeeded in making himself overwrought. It is as if the communion he experienced with Criseyde in Book III never occurred, for the Trojan prince once again acts like the lovelorn suitor of a lady he scarcely knows, whom he can address only in the most artificial, contrived manner. Troilus pens his letter ostensibly to convince Criseyde to return to Troy. Such a demand, however, is absurd, and he knows it. He, who remained completely passive while the Trojans forced his love to leave, now expects Criseyde to risk her life by rushing across the battlefield to return to him. Even if she succeeded in reaching Troy, Troilus knows his father would send her back to the Greeks.

Troilus does not really expect Criseyde to reunite with him; rather, he expects her to behave like a proper lady and die for her love. One can speculate that he wants her to act like the nondescript tragic heroines in the Legend of Good Women, to pine away like Ariadne or to commit suicide like Dido. Such behavior would prove a fitting end for the object of Troilus's desire, enabling him to compose tragic lays about the death of his beautiful, beloved dame. Criseyde sees through Troilus's importunate letter, and, instead of playing the expected role of the bereft lady, she assumes the role of a courtly lover herself. As Davis notes, "when his [Troilus's] thou becomes an it, it rightly opts out." Criseyde might have risked her life or wasted away for the valiant Troilus of Book III, but she deems this poseur unworthy of such deep, abiding affection.

John McKinnell contrasts the structure of Criseyde's letter to Troilus's, noting that her epistle flows eloquently and follows the rules of artes dictamen. Criseyde's controlled prose reflects her nature; she will determine her own actions and certainly will not be dictated to by a man whose own convoluted letter displays an utter lack of composure or self-discipline. The time for impulsive behavior on the part of Troilus has passed. He should have displayed such passion when Criseyde was taken from him; he should have acted rashly when such behavior would have proved effective. Now his raving falls on deaf ears, and his former lover tersely retorts "Nor other thyng nys in youre remembraunce, / As thynketh me, but only youre plesaunce" (V, 1607-8).

In abandoning Troilus and accepting Diomede's suit, Criseyde behaves like a male lover jilting a woman with whom he has grown weary. Criseyde knows that men behave in this manner, for prior to accepting Troilus's advances, she complains about the faithlessness of men: "ek men ben so un trewe,/That right anon as cessed is hire lest,/So cesseth love, and forth to love a newe./But harm ydoon is doon, whoso it rewe:,For though thise men for love hem first torende,/Ful sharp bygynnyng breketh ofte at ende."(II, 786-91) Criseyde follows the consummate courtly lover's, Pandarus's, advice to Troilus, an act that leaves both uncle and lover astounded. Her behavior provokes Pandarus's violent exclamation "I hate, ywis, Cryseyde; / And, God woot, I wol hate hire evermore!" (V, 1732-33), as well as his wish that she will die soon, a desire to which Troilus, by not gainsaying, seems to give his silent assent.

Criseyde's unconventional behavior confounds the narrator as well. He cannot quite grasp why she gives Diomede Troilus's brooch, for instance, despairing that there "was litel nede" for such a deed (V, 1040). The narrator cannot admit that Troilus deserves to be abandoned by Criseyde, for to do so would be to recognize that he has recounted the story of a dithering, self-consumed man. By giving Diomede her brooch, Criseyde sends Troilus a clear message that no matter how much he rants and raves she no longer will accommodate his desires. She lets him know that not only does she refuse to return to Troy; she also refuses to waste away for love of him. Criseyde never wanted to involve herself in an affair constrained by the rules of courtly love, and she takes up with a new lover, who, like her, eschews such conventions.

Diomede's desire for Criseyde does not emasculate him, and he never complains of her cruel heart or hints that she causes him great pain. Instead, he treats her as his equal, engaging her in an intellectual conversation concerning the siege and seeking her opinion about the war: He gan first fallen of the werre in speche Bitwixe hem and the folk of Troie town;/And of th'assege he gan hire ek biseche To telle hym what was hire opynyoun. (V, 855-58) Diomede understands Criseyde's nature, for he recognizes that she is a woman interested in much more than silly love games. Instead of harping about himself, as Troilus tends to do, Diomede at least feigns empathy for Criseyde's plight, telling her he has noticed her sorrow and wondering if she laments a lost love (V, 871-82).

His concern indeed may be motivated merely by lust, but compared to Troilus's self pitying posturing, it strikes the Trojan beauty as a welcome change. In Criseyde's estimation, Diomede now seems much closer to the ideal she seeks than the Trojan prince, for Diomede pretends at least to admire both her beauty and her intellect. Indeed, Chaucer hints that Diomede may prove a much better match for feisty Criseyde than the young, oversensitive prince. The poet reveals that the Greek warrior and the Trojan beauty share the same pragmatic philosophy. Determined to court Criseyde, Diomede reminds himself that "he that naught n'asaieth naught n'acheveth" (V, 784). His words echo Criseyde's own, who, while contemplating Troilus's suit, mused that "'He which that nothing undertaketh, / Nothyng n'acheveth, be hym looth or deere'" (II, 807-8). Troilus, significantly, does not subscribe to this self-sufficient view.

Readers should not scorn Criseyde for turning toward Diomede. After being so bitterly disappointed in Troilus, who proved himself incapable of transcending the conventional, Criseyde continues to believe in the possibility of attaining the ideal in love. She may not remain loyal to a man who has failed her, but she does remain loyal to the notion of a healthy, wholesome love, a love based on mutual desire and a meeting of minds. Her passion for Troilus has changed her; she does not revert back to the cynical young widow of Book II, who regarded love as little more than a trap set by men. For one fleeting moment, Criseyde found her affair with Troilus liberating, because it enabled her to express and to sate finally her own desires. She embarks on a relationship with Diomede yearning to recapture the bliss that she once felt with her Trojan prince. Diomede, she hopes, will prove a more worthy recipient of her stalwart heart.

Troilus also finds himself altered by his love affair with Criseyde, but his transformation occurs only after his death. His demise releases him from the courtly love conventions that he found impossible to escape while on earth. In Reading Lolita in Tehran, Azar Nafisi describes the metamorphosis that occurs when her female students remove their mandatory black robes in the sanctuary of their professor's apartment. Freed from these black garbs, symbols of the repressive Iranian regime, they indulge in the luxury of laughter. Upon his death, Troilus finds himself similarly released from the strictures of his society. He can now shed his pose as a courtly lover, and, looking at the world from his heavenly perch, he too can laugh, both at his weakness in constantly allowing the values of the majority to dictate his actions and at the temerity of the woman he once loved, who refused to do so.”

- Mary Behrman, “Heroic Criseyde.”

TW selfharm

this is probably going to sound so weird but i have no one to talk to, do you ever get so numbingly bored and emotionless but not really that you just feel the need to hurt yourself to like, i dont know, restart your brain? I've been clean from selfharm since early spring but I just can't stop the desire i have to just hurt myself, I even want to just cut my face to see something different in the mirror. And it's not to escape anxiety or anything I'm just so bored and I dont know lol

it doesn’t sound weird at all omg i promise. total apathy is a dangerous thing nd it can be very symptomatic of certain mental illnesses, as is the desire to self harm in the first place ofc. it doesn’t always have to be an escape or a soothing technique or a way to express self loathing. sometimes it’s simply a way to engage your brain, to have something - anything at all - hold your attention and give you some, for lack of a better word, entertainment for a while. ive heard from a lot and i mean a LOT of ppl who feel similarly. also just wanted to say it’s beyond fkn amazing that you’ve been in recovery since spring omfg!! that’s no easy achievement at all nd yet you’ve managed it, proving that no matter what your brain likes to tell you, you do not need self harm to function or cope or even to distract yourself with. you’ve got a whole life and personhood outside of the habit. you can acknowledge that the desire is there while also acknowledging that you don’t need to act on it. i know it’s much much easier said than done to truly implement that into your daily routine though, don’t get me wrong. im not trying to undermine that, but i do have a lot of genuine belief in you esp with the level of self awareness you have. did you ever talk to anyone about the self harming, or about what you’re going through? i understand if that’s not an option right now but if it ever becomes one, i really do encourage it. just having someone to be honest with and externalising your thoughts can help you see them in a whole new light, plus most professionals will be willing to work on a care plan that will include a whole host of preventive measures so you don’t have to worry as much about relapsing :) i think you really have to do the work to confront the underlying causes so you can begin to heal from them, even if right now you don’t even fully understand what the are. it’s ok for it to b a process. obviously it takes time, and it may take a moment before you find a service you truly click with - and i completely understand that asking for help when you can’t seem to care that much about anything - is unbelievably difficult. but for now i just want you to know that you’re not trapped and you do have options, and that where you are right now is not where you’ll always be. even turning to a friend/family member/ journal is a step in the right direction. i really hope you’re doing ok nd that today’s felt a little lighter for you. please take care nd focus on getting through one day at a time. you do deserve support and to be helped through what you’re dealing with rn x

How Day6 would react to overhearing you admit your crush on him to one of the other members

AN: a request from anon. i feel ive treated this more seriously (and focused perhaps more on the confessions themselves, bc i interpreted ‘crush’ subconsciously as ‘having long-term-feelings for’) than you meant in your request but i hope you enjoy it nonetheless!

Sungjin

“hyuuun, i’m in love please make it stop.” “only way that’s going to happen is if you go tell him.” “...i hate you.”

sungjin... i picture is going to date to marry (or an equivalent if marriage is not for you, as though i get the vibe he’s quite traditional, for the right person he would be very easily convinced), so he takes crushes and confessions quite seriously

probably would feel bad for eavesdropping

then would feel happy that you felt the same way

but then more serious issue of now having to confess would take over

would spend a long time thinking of the best way to do it

would probably settle on a classic walk or cinema/theatre depending on what’s showing

would make damn sure he and you would be alone while confessing—so to save both parties from pressure and embarrassment should things go wrong 

also he’s quite a private guy and would want to let others know on his own and your terms

ngl probably wouldn’t admit he’d overheard you until like... a long time later

it would be under the initial reasoning that he would wait until you were stable so it wouldn’t have too big of an effect

but then he would forget

until it randomly came up in conversation 

like we may even be talking years here

maybe when you live in your own place, just the two of you, and you’re hanging out with him and younghyun who is just refusing to go home bc the food is too good at yours who brings it up 

“i don’t understand how it took so long for you two to get together, like even wonpil was starting to find yn’s pining sickening.”

and you would be salty, because “excuse me i hid my desperation very well!”

and sungjin would just immediately come to support you because he’s a loyal motherfucker and would begin, without thinking “she did, i didn’t know until i—”

that would be when he stops himself bc hes like oh shit i didn’t tell her and now two very curious sets of eyes are like staring at him and he’s 98% sure he can’t backtrack at all 

“when you what?”

and he would just sigh “when i overheard you telling younghyun that you liked me”

and there’d be a moment of silence, followed by laughter 

youngk would be confused, probably, having a surprisingly better recollection that you perhaps would “wait i remember that—how did it take you two months to work out what to do next?!”

and you end up just laughing harder, before noticing the the mix of emotions on sungjins face and reassure him “it doesn’t matter how long it took, we’re together now”

anyway overall sungjin is probably quite serious about it, but it will have a happy ending, you’ve just got to be patient lmao 

Jae

“dowoon, what do i do?” 

jae would be playful about it

after hearing you ask dowoon for advice since hes good friends with him he would be ecstatic, but would try and keep it lowkey

he’d hide out of sight of the doorway he’d passed by to have his little moment

and then he wouldn’t be able to stop smiling

his eyes would keep glancing to you for the rest of the day, even more than usual

but i think he would want to make things more official as soon as possible, as he doesn’t want to waste any time when he could do it sooner and be with you

and so he’d ask if you had a spare moment on the day or so, and take you some place quiet

not necessarily his room, more likely just outside the front door in the warm summer air

and ngl i think he would totally pull the “i think you know why i summoned you here today”

of course, yall have no idea, but you’re used to his occasional crackheadery—otherwise why would you crush on him so hard? “not a bit, but if its a trip to get snacks you don’t even have to ask, i’m in”

“well, that is a plan for later... depending on how this goes”

that’s the point where you would get confused and begin to wonder if something is up, but hel’l continue “i found out something really cool today yn.”

“really? was it the pin to brian’s credit card?”

he would laugh but shake his head, “nah even better” and that would give you the heads up that this was serious, and it would occur to you that he might have overheard something

but it becomes obvious when he follows with “a little bird... told me that someone, likes someone else, in our group. our friendship group.”

you briefly consider panicking, as the whole thing could still be construed as him not liking you back, but you put on a brave face and push through, “oh really? who?”

“that’s the problem, i don’t know, but i was wondering if you did.”

the chance was clear for anyone to see, and seeing the glimmer of hope, you seize it “well, i know someone who likes you... but i’m not sure if its mutual, so that might be why they haven’t said”

“if it’s who i think it is, then it definitely is... mutual” he would admit

and that would be the closest the two of you ever got to literally word-for-word confessing, because out of nerves neither of you would probably be able to admit it at the crux of the moment

however, like in all the movies idc if its cliche you would gravitate towards each other, and that would be the moment where you both recognised your feelings as well as shared your first kiss together

ok i’m going to stop before i combust 

anyway as for whether he’d admit he’d overheard you, he would probably be quite quick to the chase on that one too, probably right after the kiss and you’ve spoken about it a bit more, he’ll probably just say “i kind of accidentally overheard you telling dowoon, please don’t be mad at me”

but how could you be, you’d gotten what you wanted after all

in conclusion, jae is lighthearted about it and woudn’t waste any time

Younghyun

“wonpil did i tell you how much i love his eyes?” “hmmm... perhaps... but tell me again, to just to make sure.”

god bless wonpil his emotional support would be A+

right off the bat our youngk is a songwriter

he probably finds a lot of inspiration out of love

and so his feelings for you coalesce to create love songs that he may or may not use in the future

anyhow, it means that to cope with his feelings he’s probably half composed something small where he admits them 

with little intention of you probably ever hearing it at all

or at least, not without big chunks edited and names changed/cut

but when he overhears you rambling to wonpil who doesn’t mind the sappiness a characteristic you probably got off our brian anyway with his occasional borderline emo-ness

he’s grateful to his past-self for starting it, and realises that maybe its time to finish it

so it’ll take a week or so for him to finally confess

bc even though hes a bit of a flirt, i don’t see him wanting to tarnish love, since he owes it so much and its not fun to play with someone’s heart, especially not yours

so it might take him a little longer, and when he gets round to it, it’ll be perfect, just like you in his eyes

so prepare to be serenaded

yes, that sort of serenaded

in dim evening light, with the sun’s glow beginning to fade and make way for the stars, flickering like the candles laid out for you

again, that classical vibe won’t be missed on him

as for whether he’d tell you, probably only if you asked, but he would add that he’d been writing the song beforehand

he just may not admit to not planning on ever performing it

overall? when it comes to romantic flair, kang younghyun is king 

Wonpil

“sungjin, uh, do you know where wonpil is? i can’t—” “isn’t he at your hip?” “as much as i kind of wish he was, he kind of isn’t.”

wonpil, my lovely sweetheart

probably wouldn’t be able to stop himself from just

walking straight in when he accidentally overhears you to ask right there and then

like, you’re probably pestering talking to sungjin in the kitchen or another equally frequented place, so it was likely that someone was going to overhear anyway 

and maybe that was part of sungjins plan dont put it past him

but also it meant wonpil got further into the room the hunt for sustenance spurring him on, you know how it is before he caught onto what was being said, thus making it harder to back out

thus sungjin knew he’d overheard, but you with your back to the door were still clueless

and would’ve stayed that way had wonpil not continued and straight up asked or sungjin not said anything, which lets face it by this point he was really considering doing

he would be really excited about hearing that the feelings were mutual, and you were right there so what harm was really being done if he did just straight up waltz in?

as soon as you heard his small “you like me too?” you would whip around 

aaand that would be sungjin’s cue to leave

“do you mean that?”

“it only feels right when you’re by my side, pillie.”

the words you would exchange would be in a soft flurry of emotion tbh, out of disbelief but excitement for the future

most likely ending with you embracing, foreheads resting against one another’s

fluff hours only in the house of pil, ok?

Dowoon

“jae, do you think dowoon will be free tomorrow?” “yea why?” “i want to take him to the cat cafe—” “oh my god is it happening?! is it really happening? are you finally going to tell him? plan ILU is underway?” “keep it down!” “oh god everybody stay calm, stay fucking calm—!”

my bean

my lovely bean

would feel guilty over accidentally eavesdropping, and this would reflect in his shyness later

however, he decides to run with the silver lining of having the chance to be prepared for tomorrow

and so he would not say a word and try and act natural

especially when you ask him if he wants to go out somewhere with you the next day

he’s not sure how he did, he tried to hide his ears as best he could but he was also well aware you knew him too well

when the next morning rolls around, he’s up early, getting ready in nice clothes that he hopes aren’t suspiciously too nice

and then he waits, trying to calm is nerves, before realising that maybe ignorance is bliss

when the time comes and you make your way to the cafe, he finds it difficult to act surprised, but also to try and keep his breath steady

finally, near the end, after asking if he had a good time and wanted to come back, you confess you liked him and it’s as if a weight lifts off his shoulders

he would kiss your cheek soon after, without much warning, out of relief and joy and nerves and a whole lot of else

and you’d probably pull him in for a proper kiss by his collar as soon as you’re sure he’s ok with it

and then the fact he eavesdropped would be a secret that he would die with

~~~

Masterlist

Better | Bucky Barnes x Reader (Part 3)

My Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2

Summary: As Wanda convinced Bucky to leave your bedside for the night, Becca Barnes arrives in Brooklyn to let him know of the findings of her investigation. While Bucky thinks that no harm would come your way during his absence, he would not know how wrong he had been about that. But one thing is clear, Bucky fell in love with you one wintry night in Brooklyn after he learned that you were indeed a much better doctor and a much better human being than he could ever be.

Word Count: 6083

Pairing: Doctor!Bucky x Doctor!Reader, Doctor!Bucky x Platonic!Nurse!Wanda, Nurse!MJ

Warnings: Swearing, Mentions of Abuse & Alcoholism, Surgery, Organ Donation, IV & Needles, Emotional Distress, Physical Pain, Drugs, Hospital Stay, Homelessness, Mentions of Death & Cancer

A/N: It may have taken my about two months to write this part but I do apologize for my lack of inspiration that was caused a major life change (of me moving to the UK). I am so excited to continue this fic because I just love Doctor!Bucky with my whole heart. I would like to thank @dramadreamer14 and @thedarklightwithinus for providing me with some genuine feedback for this fic. They really kept me going! On that note, here’s an extra long chapter to make up for the wait time. I hope you enjoy reading this and feedback is always welcome! :)

Perhaps it was impossible to get Dr. James Barnes to leave the hospital for the night. Hell, he was not even planning on leaving your bedside for more than a few minutes if he had to. But as the sun had finally set and visiting hours were over, Wanda Maximoff had woken up from her post-night shift nap to dial the nurses’ desk at the post-op ward. She had a gut feeling that Bucky would still be there, for she knew that man well enough to know how much he loved you.

Michelle Jones, the trainee nurse who had replaced her at the desk since that morning, answered the phone in an instant. “Good evening, you’ve reached Brooklyn Hospital Post-Op. How may I help you?” She recited in her best customer service voice that seemed way too polite for her own liking.

“Hey MJ, it’s Wanda.” She responded as she rubbed at her eyes, ridding of the last bit of slumber that remained within her eyes before she let out a yawn. “Is he still there?”

“Does it snow in New York in December?” The younger nurse retorted with a chuckle, pulling up the moleskin journal that she had been keeping. After Wanda had instructed her to keep an eye on your hospital room, Michelle had managed to write down every single instance that Bucky had left your bedside. “He took a bathroom break every one or two hours and when Peter- I mean, when Dr. Parker went to check her vitals around 2 pm, Dr. Barnes promised to let him scrub in with him on his next surgery if he brings him lunch. Dr. Parker brought him a sandwich from the cafeteria, and then a vanilla bean latte from the coffee cart across the street at around 4 pm. He had his last bathroom break a few minutes ago but he’s still there.”

“And Y/N?” Wanda asked as she bit her lip, completely unsurprised by the fact that the lover boy was still at your bedside. She made a mental note to give him a stern talking to and make sure that he left the hospital for the night. As much as she adored that he was putting himself out there to care for you; she believed that you needed someone like him in your life too, but she could not help but worry about him just as much.

MJ set aside her moleskin before pulling up your file on the computer. “Well, her PCA log shows that she’s been pumping pain meds every few hours, as she should be doing for the amount of pain that she must be going through on her first day in post-op. Nothing unusual there. She was knocked out when I went to change her IV and drainage tubes and I don’t think she would be waking up for another few hours or so. I had to kick him out of the room for a few minutes but he didn’t mind. He had no problem letting me do my job but he’s still sitting there.” MJ replied with a shrug, turning her head towards the hallway once she heard footsteps approaching her. Noticing that Bucky had stepped out of the room and was walking swiftly towards the desk, she quickly turned away to avoid his eye contact. “Wanda, he’s coming towards the desk right now.”

“MJ, please give him the phone.” The older nurse demanded. “I’m going to talk some sense into his head so if he tries to get out of my lecture by giving you back the phone, don’t you dare let him do that. Visiting hours were over hours ago so if he doesn’t leave after I hang up on him, just let him say goodbye to her and make sure he actually leaves the hospital and doesn’t crash in an on call room. He might even try to go down to the pit and get himself a patient, just so that he doesn’t have to leave the hospital. Don’t you dare let him do any of that! Call security to drag him out if you have to, because I wouldn’t trust him if I were you.”

“Michelle, can I ask you-”

She held her finger up for at him for a moment, listening intently to what Wanda had just told her. “Yes, ma’am...” She turned over to Bucky with a toothy grin. “Phone call for you, Dr. Barnes!”

Bucky gave her a confused look for a moment as she handed him the phone. “Hello?” He said, casually, as he brought his phone up to his ear.

“Bucky, you’ve been sitting there for more than twelve hours!” Wanda yelled at him through the phone, startling him slightly. “Get the fuck out of there! Go home, visiting hours were over ages ago.”

The dark haired doctor gave the other nurse a look of disbelief, shaking his head at her as she pulled out her cell phone to make another call. “Wanda, visiting hours don’t apply to me. I work here.”

“You went over your weekly limit yesterday, you dipshit. You shouldn’t even be back at the hospital until the day after tomorrow.” She reminded him. “What are you even doing there? She’s knocked out on pain meds. Just stop sitting in her room like a fucking creep and get your ass back to your apartment, Barnes. You haven’t been there in days.”

“Don’t talk to me like that.”

“Why? What are you going to do about it? Fire me? If I tell Chief Stark that you’ve been a fucking nuisance around the hospital, I’ll make sure he’s the one firing your dumbass!”

“Wanda...” Bucky let out a groan at her threats, not even sure if she actually meant them. As much as he loved her like a fourth younger sister, he knew that Wanda could be a bitch when she wanted to be. A part of him was hesitant about pissing her off even more. He could not risk it. “I can’t just leave Y/N here like this. She’s all alone. She has no family to watch her and... I’m not doing anyone any harm by being here.”

“Every single doctor, nurse, lab tech and orderly working in that hospital is her damn family, Bucky!” She reminded him with a sigh. “We’re all her family and we’re all keeping an eye on her. You’re being hard on yourself, Bucky. I know you care about her and you want to be there for her right now. But you should also take care of yourself too. You haven’t been home in days. Just go home for the night, sleep in your own bed for once. Take tomorrow off for yourself. She’ll be right where you left her when you come back.”

He let out a sigh as she contemplated her words. “But Wanda, what if something happens to her while I’m gone?”

“Bucky, are you out of your mind? You’re a fucking surgeon, come on, get it together. You know how liver transplants work. She didn’t suffer any complications during surgery. Nothing’s going to happen to her. She’s just going to be in pain for a few days so she’ll be knocked out on drugs until then. She’ll be back to her cheery self by the time you get back to work and Romanoff will discharge her by the end of next week.” She explained, wondering if you had made any arrangements for how you were going to spend the next eight weeks in bed rest. After all, Wanda knew that you lived alone. There was no way you could get through the days of recovery on your own. She made a mental note to ask you about it when she returns to work in the morning. Though knowing you, she was also contemplating on calling a family meeting with everyone else to come up with a solution for that. Asking you about it or offering to help take care of you would not cut it. She knew that you would refuse the help either way. If she had just went ahead and made the arrangements herself though and let Steve deliver the message to you, she knew you wouldn’t say no to the offer. You would never say no to Steve.  

Wanda was right and Bucky knew that. But his heart refused to accept it. He did not want to leave you when you were all alone and in pain. Nevertheless, he gave in, only because he trusted the rest of the hospital staff to keep an eye on you during his absence. “Fine, I’ll go home. I’m sure everyone here would make sure she’s still in one piece by the time I get back.” Boy, if he only knew how wrong he was about that.

“Good. Now, you better not be at the hospital when I get to work in the morning and you better not show up until my eighteen hour shift is over. Are we clear about that, Dr. Barnes?” Wanda asked him with a chuckle.

Bucky laughed softly. “Noted, Maximoff. And before I forget, Y/N told me that she asked you to check on the status of her father. Can you let her know what’s up with him when you see her tomorrow?”

“Okay, I will.” She told him as she bit her lip at the thought of your father. Though she did not know the man personally and was certainly in a place where she should not be judging him, she could not help it. Boy, did she loathe that man for drinking away his health, driving away his own daughter and showing up at this hospital to make you pay for his mistakes. Having lost her own parents when she was eleven years of age and having lost her twin brother at sixteen, she felt empathetic towards the way your parents had been treating you despite your sacrifice. She could not believe how much you cared to ask about the man who could not care any less about you. But she knew that it meant you were a much better person than the people who had raised you. “Now I told MJ to call security. So once you hang up the phone, if you can go and kiss your Sleeping Beauty goodnight and then go straight to your car that would be highly appreciated.”

He turned around to give MJ another look of disbelief before seeing Thor, one of the security guards at the hospital, standing next to her and giving him the same toothy grin as the nurse. “Damn you, Wanda!” Bucky let out another chuckle as he hung up the phone and turned back to MJ. “Take care of her, yeah?”

Michelle gave him a nod. “Don’t worry, Dr. Barnes. She’s one of us. We’re definitely not going to let her pull one on us.” She gave him a reassuring smile.

Bucky gave her a nod before he turned over to look at Thor. “God, I can’t believe you’re-”

“Move it, Dr. Barnes.” The security guard cut him off, motioning him to walk back to your room as he gave him a playful glare. “Wanda’s orders.”

The love struck surgeon laughed softly as he shook his head, turning around and walking back to your hospital room with the beefy blonde male following right behind him. Bucky entered the room while Thor stood by the door, knowing that he should give the doctor some privacy. After all, not even the security guards and the rest of the hospital staff were immune to the gossips around the hospital.

Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that they were all quite fond of you. Despite the fact that you were a surgeon, which had naturally given you a higher rank within the social hierarchy of the hospital, you were known to be extremely polite towards the nurses, orderlies, lab technicians, the catering staff and the cleaning staff alike. Most of the surgeons, your own friends included, possessed a certain arrogance that came with being a surgeon. But you had managed to overcome that arrogance rather quickly, thanks to your very humble beginnings. Even the staff had been concerned about your health following your surgery. But the moment news broke out that ‘Dr. Long Hair, Don’t Care’ had found himself sitting by your bedside for the whole day, it seemed that they were also eager to know if he would finally confess his feelings to you by the time you recovered and returned to work. Their bets had been placed but all they could do was wait and watch.

It seemed as though you were the only one who had been unaware of Bucky’s feelings for you, but you had a reason for that. Your years of longing to be loved by someone had only resulted in multiple rejections, causing you to eventually give up on pursuing any kind of relationship at all. For some reason, you had become accustomed to turning a blind eye to anyone’s romantic advances towards you. Perhaps that was why even Bucky had been hesitant to ask you out over the years. You had told him early on in your friendship of how the only reason you had moved to Brooklyn was because you wanted to train under Steve and build yourself a career. You weren’t looking for love, you had told him, even though that had been a lie. You had just believed that you did not deserve to be loved; you still believed it too, as a matter of fact. And Bucky, even he had started to fear your rejection after that.

But he could not deny that he loved you either way. He loved everything about you, from your determination to be a better surgeon to your generosity when it came to the way you treated your patients. You weren’t a surgical robot; unlike him, you actually had a heart. You had a heart that had been so deprived of love yet had so much love to give to everyone else around you. He had been the first one to notice that about you. And it was at that moment that he had fallen in love with you.

The two of you had only ever gotten a chance to work closely together when Steve had made the decision to go on a six month paternity leave after his daughter’s birth, leaving Bucky in charge of the department in his absence. Perhaps that was the time he had really gotten to know you as a surgeon and a human being, even though the two of you hadn’t gotten along all that well back then.

You had disagreed with him regarding a patient at that time, to which he had responded by taking you off the case. Your inability to see him in a place of authority and your slight confidence that Steve would have understood why you did certain things the way you did, had caused you to lash out at him. Bucky, being irritated by how you had challenged him in that situation and in desperate need of proving his authority, had suspended you from his service for an entire week.  

He had realized a few days later that he had been wrong to punish you; he had Wanda to thank for knocking some sense into his head regarding the way he had exercised his newfound power. But when he had approached you to convince you to return to work, he was slightly surprised to find that your time away from the hospital had been spent providing free medical care at a local homeless shelter in Brooklyn.

“I wasn’t expecting any visitors at this time...” You had told the familiar dark haired man who had entered the make-shift clinic you had set up at the shelter. Despite the issues that you may have had with him, you still had a lot of respect for him. He was a renowned surgeon in his own right, certainly more experienced than you were. A part of you felt guilty for the way you had disrespected him at the hospital, but you had only stood up for yourself and the call that you had made for your patient. You had every right to do that. “And I certainly wasn’t expecting a visit from you.”

“So, this is where you spend all of your free time after... turning down Nat’s invites to go to the bar after a hard day’s work.” Bucky noted as he looked around the dimly lit room that was barely the size of his laundry room. The clinic did not look typical at all, an old single bed pushed against the back wall, a small school desk and folding chair placed in the center of the room and a shelf against the other wall holding various medical supplies that you might need to use. The pasty white paint was starting flake out of the walls despite your attempts to cover them up with multiple anatomy posters. It could not compare to Brooklyn’s most reputable teaching hospital where the two of you worked, but he knew that you were certainly making a difference in the lives of the homeless people you were helping.

“Well, I do think that there’s a lot more value to my time if it’s spent tending to these people rather than screwing up my liver.” You told him with a hint of sarcasm evident in your voice, removing a pair of latex gloves that you had been wearing and tossing them into the trash can. “No offense to Nat though. I’m sure she understands that I had a valid reason to skip out on her usual hangouts.”

He stuffed his hands into his pockets as he stepped over to the shelf of supplies, eying the items that you had purchased and donated to the shelter before turning back around to face you. “Are you paying for all of these?”

You gave him a nod as you lathered some hand sanitizer on your hands, getting up from your chair as it was about time to close up for the night. “Well, these are just the bandages, gauze pads and cotton swabs... I only keep these in here. The ibuprofen and other pain killers, all of the other over the counter drugs, needles and syringes are locked in a storage room near the kitchen. I’m the only one who can go in and grab them. I can’t have anyone coming in here for free drugs, you know?”

Bucky nodded, understandingly, and his lips curled into a small smile at the thought of your generosity and the skill you had in operating such a clinic, the thought and planning that had gone into doing something like this. He was well aware that you had only moved to New York two years ago to begin your fellowship with Steve. But the woman who was running the shelter had informed him just now that you had offered to start up this make-shift clinic within a few months of living in Brooklyn. “And you’re prescribing as well?” He asked, noticing your prescription pad on the desk.

“Mostly antibiotics, to treat minor infections.” You replied with a shrug, reaching under the desk to grab your bag. “I made a deal with the drug store down the street. They’re open twenty-four hours a day. I would write down the prescriptions and one of the volunteers, MJ, she’s a nursing student from Queens who helps me out... she would run down the street and fill them up. The drugstore sends me a receipt and I pay them off, out of pocket.”

His eyes grew wide as he realized what you had been doing. “Out of pocket? How are you able to afford all of this?” He asked, curiously. Surely, as a heart surgeon himself, he knew just about how much money you would be making since you were recently board certified. While you could certainly afford to pay for the entire make-shift clinic at the shelter, he had assumed that you must still have some student loans to pay off. Taking that debt into consideration, he was surprised that you were able to give back so much.

You nodded as you tossed your prescription pad and pen in your bag, pulling off your stethoscope that loosely hung over your shoulders. “Yeah... I mean, it’s not that much. I think I’ve mastered the art of saving up and living on a budget over the years, Dr. Barnes. Most of my tuition during pre-med and med at NYU was paid off by scholarships. I had pretty good grades and the financial need so I pretty much got... a free ride. My rent and food were covered by the money I made working two part-time jobs and a weekend job and there wasn’t any student loan debt to be paid off. I made a pretty decent income working as a resident but after paying my rent, groceries and other necessities, I pretty much saved up. I didn’t even have a car so I didn’t need to pay for insurance or gas. I didn’t even waste my money taking the subway. I rode a bike to and from work... for five years. Everyone I knew judged me for it but I didn’t give a shit. Saving up a lot of money during residency was the only reason I was able to afford living in New York in the first place and... Now, I think I’m in a really good place.” You could not help but smile at that, feeling a sense of pride at how much you had accomplished over the years. “I worked so hard to get where I am, Dr. Barnes. And I did all of this because I wanted to make a difference. So, if I can’t make a difference by cutting into people’s hearts then I might as well make a difference by... doing this, I guess?” You told him with a shrug, sighing as you packed up your bag and grabbed your jacket.

It was at that moment that Bucky had truly regretted how harsh he had treated you, but he did not show it. He remembered that night two years ago, when he had walked in on you crying your eyes out in an on call room. He had remembered how he had told you to aim to be a better doctor than him and Steve could ever be, yet he had now seen in person that you already were a much better doctor and human being than he could ever be.

James Buchannan Barnes had always been a privileged man. His parents were both doctors who ran their own respective practices. He and his three sisters had been raised by a nanny in their mansion in Clinton Hill. By the time he had started first grade, his parents had already deposited a large amount into his college fund. At sixteen years old, he had been given his own Mercedes and at eighteen, he had moved into his own penthouse apartment overlooking the bridge. He had never had to work a part-time job or live on a budget to make ends meet. But he felt extremely guilty for being someone who had had it all and had given back nothing. Yet there you stood before him, someone who seemed to have very less than what he had but still gave more than he could ever.

“I... hate to do this right now, Dr. Y/L/N. I think it’s a very noble thing that you’re doing here and I hate to be the one to drag you away from it.” He admitted as he bit down on his bottom lip, his hands still stuffed in his pockets as he finally gained the courage to look you in the eye. “But the reason why I came down here was... because I wanted to apologize to you for the way I treated you and ask you to come back to work, even though what you’re doing here seems... better. You’re a really good doctor and a really good human being. I could really use someone like you on my service, someone who actually has a heart.”

You let out a chuckle as you shrugged on your jacket and walked up to him. “Well, as much as I love being here... and mind you, I’ve been here every single day since you kicked me out of the OR, I’ve come to realize that the only way I can keep running this clinic is if I can actually fund it.” You admitted, laughing softly. “And I may or may not need to have a day job for that.”

Bucky chuckled softly as he nodded in agreement. “No, really... I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have humiliated you in the OR like that and I shouldn’t have undermined your judgement. Your patient, your call... although the procedure was rather unconventional, I could have cut you some slack. After all, you did train under Steve and I shouldn’t have been so surprised to know that you might have picked up some things from him.”

You laughed at the way he poked fun at his best friend. “Well, Dr. Barnes... I did cross the line and as my newly appointed boss, you had every right to interfere and take disciplinary action.” You admitted as you sighed. “I’m sorry too, I shouldn’t have been so disrespectful towards you, especially in the OR. That was extremely rude of me and I’m really sorry.”

He nodded. “Apology accepted.”

You smiled politely at him as you motioned him to follow you outside of the room, turning off the lights on your way out. “Hey, I never bothered to ask. How did you even find me here?” You asked as you locked up the clinic, turning over to give him a confused look. No one at the hospital was aware of what you did on your spare time, except Dr. Rogers. Yet you could not help but wonder how he had found you.

Bucky looked down at his feet as he walked down the dimly lit hallway of that led to the front desk of the shelter. “Well, my temporary yet newfound power does allow me took look into your employee records.” He admitted as he laughed softly. “I found your home address from your profile and went down to the Indian restaurant that’s located on said address. A waiter told me that you lived on the loft apartment upstairs and that you weren’t home right now. So, I asked him where I could find you.”

You let at a sigh at his explanation. “Did you really go out of your way to... do what? Ask me to come back to work?” You were slightly surprised by the fact that anyone would even care that you were not home. Hell, you were even surprised that Dr. Barnes had even showed up to your little clinic to apologize to you after what had happened. You had taken him for a rather arrogant man, compared to Steve. This was partially true though, even he wouldn’t deny that. Yet his attempts to give you a personal apology did seem endearing to you. He intrigued you.

He nodded as he looked over at you. “Yeah...” He looked over at the woman who was sitting at the front desk and waved her goodbye.

“Goodnight, Dolores.” You told her as you walked out the front door, Bucky following right behind you. “You’re not going to ask me why I live above a restaurant, are you, Dr. Barnes?” You asked him, curiously, wondering if he was judging your choice in a home. While you could certainly afford a nicer apartment with your new salary, you had chosen to live there for the sake of convenience. The old Indian couple who owned the restaurant were kind enough to allow you to eat in the restaurant whenever you wanted, knowing very well that your unpredictable work hours did not allow you to even cook a meal for yourself. When you weren’t working at the hospital or running the clinic at the shelter and you happened to miss the good old days of waitressing, you would lend them a hand at times.

“It’s none of my business.” He admitted, shaking his head as the two of you stepped had stepped out into the cold winter night. “But I think I learned a lot about you this evening and that’s saying something, considering how distant you have been with all of us.”

Your warm breath had condensed every time you exhaled, the air a little misty as it was that night. “I admit that I might come off as- more like, I really am... a bit closed off. But I have a valid reason for that.” You admitted as you walked along the sidewalk, the snow crunching under your boots with every step you took. “I’ve been used to doing my own thing, Dr. Barnes. It’s really hard to get out of that.”

“That’s understandable.”

The two of you walked in silence for the next few minutes, neither of you uttering a word as the snow continued to fall from the sky. It was not an awkward silence but one that was calming, to him more than yourself though. You kept your eyes at your feet, not knowing what exactly you needed to say in order to keep a conversation going. Not that you had nothing to say. You wanted to keep talking but you were hesitant about doing so. What could you possibly say to that man that could be of interest to him? What if you said something wrong and he took it the wrong way? That had happen once already and it had almost cost you your job. You could not make that same mistake.

“What made you want to start up this clinic, Y/L/N?” Bucky asked, curiously, finally breaking the silence. “Why did you go out of your way to do this?”

“Because...” You paused to bite down on your bottom lip, not knowing if you should give him an honest answer to his question. Would that be over-sharing? After all, you had spilled quite so much of your past to him. Did you need to say more? “Because I know how it feels, Dr. Barnes. I know how it feels to be out here in the cold... no food, no warm clothes, nowhere to go. The uncertainty of whether you would get through the night and into the next morning, it’s... the worst feeling in the world and... I just wouldn’t wish that upon anyone.”

“You know, Steve grew up... just a few blocks away from here.” He recalled, his hands still cold despite the fact that they had never left his pockets.

You nodded. “He did mention it when I told him about me volunteering for the shelter. As a matter of fact, he funded the clinic for the first couple of months until I was able to handle it on my own.”

“His mother was my nanny. She started working for our family after her husband passed.” He did not know why he was telling you this but his guilt for not being the better human being may have had a part in that. “Steve and I knew each other since we were very little. He’s like the brother I never had. His mother raised me and my sisters as if we were her own. She passed away when he was just about eighteen. Bronchioloalveolar carcinoma, the tumor was malignant by the time they caught it and she had already been misdiagnosed with pneumonia. There was nothing anyone could have done to save her. Steve couldn’t... he couldn’t afford to live after that. My folks offered to pay off the medical bills but he wouldn’t accept it. He had just gotten into NYU but he didn’t even know if he would end up going. A few days after his mother’s funeral, I found him right outside of that same shelter. I asked him to come and live with me and he told me that he could get by on his own. But I told him he didn’t have to... and I dragged him right back to my place and let him live in my guest bedroom for as long as he needed to. I owed that much to his mother. Best heart surgeon in New York and the best father in the entire world now that he traded his scalpel for changing diapers, he was capable of being so much better... than what life had to offer him, Y/N. You are also capable of being so much better than whatever life had to offer you and I hope you know that.” And that was the moment Bucky had realized that even he was capable of being better than what life had offered him. Perhaps he would start by writing you a cheque so that you could continue you doing what you were doing for the shelter. That was the least he could do.

Just then the two of you reached the Indian restaurant above which you lived. “Well... this is me.” You told him as you motioned towards to loft above the restaurant.

He nodded, pointing to his Mercedes that he had parked just across the street from the restaurant. “And that’s me.”

“Goodnight, Dr. Barnes.” You gave him a wave as you began to walk into the diner, stopping in front of the door before turning around to look at him. “Hey... James?”

He had turned around to cross the street once he waved you goodbye when you had called out to him. At first he was a little startled that you had referred to him by his first name, as you had never done that before. Besides, no one else other than his parents had called James. “Yes?”

“Thank you.” You told him as you gave him a genuine smile.

He nodded, smiling brightly as he ran his hand through his hair. And it was at that moment on that cold winter night did Y/N Y/L/N manage to thaw out the cold dead heart of James Buchannan Barnes.

“Goodnight, Y/N.” Bucky leaned over to press his lips against your forehead once more, his cold hands gently running through your hair as he sighed. He knew that you would have no recollection of this, since you were still knocked out from pain meds. But he could not help but speak to your unconscious self before he left, for the sake of his own sanity. “Wanda’s making me go home for the night so I might not see you again until... the day after tomorrow, I guess. Hang in there, doll. I hope you feel better... and I’ll see you when I get back.” I love you, he wanted to say, but he held himself back because he would rather say it in person and when the time was right. Grabbing his belongings, he walked out of your hospital room as he gave Thor a thumbs up, jogging down the hallway, down the stairs, past the ER and out the door towards the parking lot where he had parked his Mercedes.

It was only when he had started his car did he remember that he had forgotten to turn his phone back on. Before he pulled out of the parking lot, he turned on his phone to see that had several missed calls and text messages from his sister.

His eyebrows furrowed as he read her texts, a lump forming in his throat as he began to worry about the context of the messages. Bucky had asked his private investigator sister to do him a favor last week. And from what her messages now said, she must have found something that was relevant. He could not help but expect the worst after that.

Becca Barnes: Hey Buck, your phone’s off so you’re probably at work. Just wanted to let you know that I’m just heading back from Philly.

Becca Barnes: I found some things that you might find concerning. Let me know if I can come over tomorrow. I can’t tell you any of this through the phone.

Bucky bit down on his lip as he typed up a reply, but he could not help but worry about what his sister had found out for him.

How about first thing in the morning? I’m not working tomorrow.

Hello!

My name is Neo. I am a neurodivergent young adult from the United States.

Neurodivergent, you say?

Yes! Neurodivergent means my brain does not function the same way that a typical human does. However that does not stop me from living a normal, everyday life just like everyone else!

I have Asperger’s Syndrome, Attention Deficit Disorder (ADD), Maladaptive Daydreaming Disorder (MaDD), and Dyscalculia, all diagnosed. It is also highly suspected that i have Bipolar Disorder and Trichotillomania (TTM), suggested to me by people who have either condition.

Being subject to these conditions, I have quite a few struggles in my daily life. I have sensory issues, so things like uncomfortable clothes and strong scents can make it so I’m unable to function at full capacity. If these sensory issues are pushed further and further, I am at risk of going into a sensory overload or a meltdown. That only happens very rarely for me, though.

My attention span is very flaky, and I have a difficult time staying on one topic for long periods of time. I need constant changing stimuli for me to not burn out while on a task. This ironically contributes to hyperfixation, an intense focus on one particular thing for a period of time. I know, that seems like the opposite of what I said before, but they are linked. See, hyperfixation isn’t exactly something that can be forced. When hyperfocusing, I may not be able to take myself out of that particular focus, and it consumes all my thoughts for however long my brain decides to hyperfixate on it. This contributes to my flaky attention span because instead of being able to force myself to focus on something im supposed to be doing, instead the brain goes “no, you’re going to think about this one thing and we’re going to make it very hard for you to focus on anything BUT this one thing. Special Interests (SI’s) follow a similar, yet more intense pattern. SI’s last much longer, if not lifelong for me. Theyre more prominent and effective on my life than my hyperfixations.

This is where MaDD comes into play. MaDD is a condition that can be adopted and unlearned. The DSM doesn’t recognize it as an official disorder, but it is a condition that exists in many people, especially people with attention or anxiety related contitions. MaDD shares a lot of traits with cases of addiction too, however this one is much easier to take control of and is not exactly harmful. The first word, maladaptive, can be broken in half: Mal and Adaptive. Mal means bad or poor, and adaptive means the ability to adapt. Maladaptive Daydreaming basically means daydreaming that causes poor adaptation skills. MaDDers are typically those who have conditions like Autism, AD(H)D, OCD, General Anxiety, and Dyslexia. Most people adopt the technique of Maladaptive Daydreaming in their childhood or early teens and if not caught early on, can last their entire lives. However, MaDD isn’t essentially a harmful thing. Like I said, it’s easily controlled. You may be asking, “what exactly is it about MaDD that causes poor adaptation? its just daydreaming.” MaDDers daydream at an average of 6 hours minimum a day. These daydreams are intense and easily triggered by everyday things like music, art, friends, even normal emotional events. MaDDers tend to use these dreams as an escape from reality but also a reality of their own, like a lucid dream but for your waking self. The daydreams tend to have intricately woven worlds, stories, chracters, and plots, all feeling just as real to the dreamer as the rest of life itself. MaDDers tend to daydream to escape real situations they may not want to be a part of and sometimes even cancel plans just to continue to daydream.

Why are you telling me all of this? This all seems so personal and insignificant to me.

This is FAR from insignificant to anyone. You may not be Autistic or a MaDDer or even neurodivergent, but I know that as a human being you still have lots of struggles, just like me. Ive told you all about my struggles and you’re probably thinking “wow how pathetic, they cant control their own brain.” Yeah actually, I can. Even if you weren’t thinking that, (which I actually highly doubt anyone was thinking that I just wanted to put an example of worst case scenario) what if I told you that no matter what, no matter who you were or what you were going through, you can still grab hold of yourself and make your life yours? You better believe it, because despite all the conditions I just told you I have, I have taught myself to make my own path in life and not let my struggles decide what my fate is. I believe anything is possible with a little patience and elbow grease, so thats why I have made this blog. It is sorta a combination of a journal, an advice blog, and an inspirational quote blog. I want to be able to share my knowledge of my identity and experiences in order to hopefully inspire someone to get up out of the hole theyre stuck in and make their life their own again! I love the conditions I have, and I use their benefits as my superpowers and dont let the negative aspects of them hold me back. They are a part of me and who I am and I will treat them with just as much love and care as I should treat myself, and hopefully you can treat yourself with the same amount of love too <3

With love,

Neo

P.S.

Heres a couple more fun facts about me!

My biggest special interests are Homestuck, Dragons, and literally just identity in general and have been special to me for almost 5 years now

I love music and my favorite artists are Imagine Dragons, Fall Out Boy, OneRepublic, Vance Joy, hi i’m Case, Of Monsters and Men, and Watsky!

I love to draw and play D&D! I love the character creation and I’m currently working on my own campaign

My personality labels are Sun Libra, Moon Sagittarius, Rising Taurus, INTP-T, 5w4, 541, Ravenclaw, Thunderbird, Seer of Heart, Dersian, True Neutral, Blue-Green Paladin, Firebender, and Skywing Elf

If I were a D&D character I’d be a true neutral forest gnome sorcerer sage who wields a katana and raises dragons

My favorite movies are How To Train Your Dragon (1&2), It, Star Wars, and Pete’s Dragon (2016). My favorite shows are The Dark Crystal: Age of Resistance, The Dragon Prince, Camp Camp, Gravity Falls, Twelve Forever and The Mandalorian

I love making aesthetics and stimboards, my favorite colors are blue violet, cornflower, sapphire, teal, spring green, and bubblegum pink. I love pastel kawaii fashion because of these colors

I either want to become a cartoonist or a counselor as a career, or both and be able to use one to help the other

If you are still taking prompt ❤ Hartwin no.13 "are you flirting with me?", "you finally noticed?"

I am forever and always taking prompts! You actually are the first person to request one, so i guess that means technically i’m taking prompts ‘now’? Thank you so much for requesting this, it was so fun to write. 

For anyone keeping track, this is day 18 of my self challenge :)

———

Harry opened his eyes the slightest bit. After years of this sort of thing, he knows to be cautious when coming back to consciousness—never quite sure what side might have picked you up when you were out. Even if you feel asleep in your own bed. 

But Harry hadn’t fallen asleep in his own bed, he’d fallen asleep across the world in a hospital barely fit for the people in it, hooked up to IVs and floating on drug induced clouds. And then he’d woken to patients and doctors alike fighting and killing and if he’d had the energy he would have jumped into the fray too—he’d gotten so far as falling out of his bed, pulling IVs and causing alarms to go off all around before the air cleared and Harry could breath as himself again. He never wants to lose control like that again—knowing it can be taken from him is…

He’s not waking up in that ramshackle hospital, though it certainly still smells like a hospital. There’s a softer cream to the walls than Kentucky, and more than that there’s a boy—his boy—jumping up from his chair.

“Harry!” Eggsy is wound so tight but trying so hard to restrain himself, Harry can see it in the flush of his cheeks and the way he keeps unconsciously leaning closer only to yank himself back, “you’re awake…” he sighs, almost to himself before continuing, “Don’t ever do that again. I’m going to get the nurse.”

He’s gone before Harry can even wet his lips. He’s at Kingsman. He’s home. 

Eggsy comes back with Darleen, who quickly goes to work checking his vitals before asking Harry the mundane questions of his name, rank and number, who the prime minister is and what he remembers. Eggsy hovers behind her, a tangible bout of energy that Harry keeps finding his eyes drawn too. Goodness, Eggsy looks more worried than he had when he was in jail. God, doesn’t that feel like years ago. 

“…alright,” Harry gets out after the formalities and about four glasses of water, “I think that’s enough of that. Clearly I’m still breathing.”

Darleen gives a very unimpressed look, “And I would like to keep you that way.” She turns to Eggsy, pointing a finger accusingly, “Nothing strenuous.”

Eggsy gives a sheepish grin and watches her walk from the room. Harry supposes she is beautiful, but it surely the boy can do better than her. Not that there’s anything wrong with Darleen, she’s a fantastic nurse, it’s just that she has a stronger hand than what Eggsy needs and besides—she may be in a relationship. It would never work; he should just stop now before he gets hurt. (Who is he talking to again?)

Eggsy turns to him once Darleen is around the corner, taking a rushed step closer and grabbing the hand that isn’t stuck with needles, folding it into his own.

“Hey.” He grins like an unrestrained child.

“I’m glad you’re here, Eggsy.”

“Yeah?” Eggsy asks, leaning closer still, propping his elbows on the bed in atrocious manners but he’ll let it go this time. 

And then, because Harry is hopped up on pain killers and really a quite insensitive man at heart, instead of saying ‘so sorry for what I said to you in anger, that is no excuse and I apologize and respect your decision not to forgive me’ his mind takes in that Eggsy is here and that he is in Kingsman’s medical ward and says:

“I didn’t think they’d let you back in here.”

Eggsy pauses, face losing some of that shine, and Harry would berate himself if he could think straight. He leans away, just a bit and Harry frowns at the loss.

“Well, lot has changed since you’ve been gone, bruv.” Eggsy clears his throat, “why don’t you sleep some? I’m sure you’re tired.”

“Tired?” Harry gives a little laugh, “I’ve been unconscious for who…knows ho…w long I’m …not…”———Eggsy is there when he wakes up—in clothes much different than his usual. It looks almost like…

“Is that the suit I gave you?” Harry scrunches up his face, “was going to give you.” He amends. 

Eggsy almost startles, looking up from whatever was in the file he was looking at and grins at Harry, “Sure is! Works like a charm and everything,” Eggsy runs his hand down his lapel and Harry can’t be blamed for following it’s trajectory.  

“But the tie.” Harry can’t help but notice it’s different than the stripped navy one he chose. 

“Yeah,” Eggsy looks down at the time he has, a charcoal grey, that while nice, doesn’t give the look as much movement as the other would have, “it got a little roughed up.” Eggsy shrugs, looking away before turning back and giving a cheeky grin, “But you’re here, so you can always give me another one.” 

“Well I suppose I must.”

“Good.” Eggsy cheeks look pink—the hospital is obviously too hot for a suit. ———By the time he’s out of the hospital wing, he never wants to see the damn place again. Eggsy was very kind to visit as often as he did, and bring Harry trinkets and more kindly, good discussion. He’d learned soon enough that in his absence Eggsy, Roxy and Merlin had gone and saved the world and Eggsy was now a full fledged member of Kingsman, final test be damned. It did something to him, to know that Eggsy was excelling, was living up to his potential and surpassing Harry so splendidly. He still had much to learn, but as Eggsy himself said, Harry is still here and more than willing to help. 

Eggsy visited as often as he was able around missions, sometimes with Roxy or JB in toe, and Merlin came in with a huge stack of files the moment Darleen said he could to give him a debrief on what the state of the world at large was. While he had visited before, it was only under Darleen’s watchful eye as talking shop would  ‘upsetting the delicate healing process’ or some nonsense like that. 

Nevertheless. The world wasn’t teetering as much as he expected, which was pleasantly surprising. What was not so pleasantly surprising was that in his unconscious, he’d been unanimously voted in as the new Arthur by the remaining Kingsman agents. It was backstabbing of the highest order.  

“Here,” Eggsy sets a parcel down on the ornate desk that now belongs to him. Harry raises one eyebrow in a way he hopes his intimidating. Eggsy just bites his lip to stop smiling. Harry sighs and opens it—he hopes Eggsy’s not doing this out of any misplaced guilt about Harry being unable to preform standard field operations. If Harry was a little less selfish, he would ask the boy to stop. But he’s not, so here they are. 

“Is this…” Harry slowly pulls out the figurine.

“It’s Arthur’s round table!” Eggsy can’t stop himself; “There you are at the head,” he points to the little figure in the most regal clothes that doesn’t look anything like Harry (Harry also decided not to mention that there can’t be a head to a round table), “and there’s Merlin on your right, and then Lancelot over there and Perceval next to her, and then that’s me to your left, Galahads represent.” He takes a moment, “I didn’t name the others, so that’s up to you.”

“How…kind.”

Eggsy laughs, a strong laugh that fills the room and Harry can’t help but smile, “Come off it, it’s funny as hell. Your real gift’s in the bottom.” He cocks his head towards the parcel. 

There’s a receipt in the bottom—Harry takes it out and looks at Eggsy who wiggles his eyebrows. It’s a receipt for…

“No,” Harry feels his jaw drop.

“Oh yes.” Eggsy gives a giddy little laugh, and the excitement fills Harry, “It’s finally time that Mr. Pickles had a sibling.”———Ms. Pickles jumped at JB again, trying to get the poor dog to play when clearly he just wanted to nap.

“Stop letting your dog harass JB.” Eggsy says from the kitchen as though he has a sixth sense for JB. They’re at Harry’s house after a long walk with the dogs, and Eggsy is fixing them a late breakfast. 

Harry is much more than capable and said such, but Eggsy must have noticed the fine lines of tension on his face (the headaches, while infrequent, were something close to debilitating) and demanded he sit and be waited on for once (“It’s gentlemanly of me, Harry, you should be all over that.”).

“She’s just looking to play a little, no harm done.”

Eggsy snorts, “I cannot believe how poorly trained you’ve let her be, it’s shocking.”

“She is a princess and deserves to be treated as such.” Harry clicks his tongue and Ms. Pickles trots over for the chin scratches that are imminent, “Besides, she’s a gift, you know, and deserves the utmost respect.”

Eggsy laughs and turns off the kettle, “You should treat the gift-giver like a prince then; it’s only fair.”

“Well I tried to cook him breakfast but was banished from the realm.”

Eggsy snorts, coming into the dining room and setting a full plate in front of Harry, “eat your food, Harry. You can pamper me later.” He winks. 

The food is delicious, though it may have been the company. ———Harry’s been Arther for…a while now. Time moves oddly when in these types of positions. But he’s been in this seat for a while and it’s the first time he’s wondered how Chester died. 

He was told that Eggsy did it, that he came back and finished Chester off after figuring out his plan, but there’s one thing to hear it in Merlin’s crisp, factual tone and another to see it. Harry finds the video surveillance from that day and sets it up to place on his tablet, suddenly feeling the great desire for some popcorn, even though he knows the video ends in death. ———“I’d rather be with Harry, thanks” Eggsy’s voice is tinny across the playback speakers but there’s no mistaking what he said. There’s no mistaking the look on his face when he watched Chester drink the drink that would kill him—the drink meant for Eggsy. 

Harry sets down the tablet, taking a moment to put pieces together that had been payed out perfectly for months now. 

“Hey Harry,” Eggsy walks into his office, without knocking as always, at home in Harry’s space. Harry finds he quite likes that, “I brought you some of those fancy cherry cordials you’re always going on about. Figured my pleb palate won’t be able to tell the difference but worth a shot, yeah?” Eggsy looks up from his bag and makes a face, “What’s wrong? Why you look like, I don’t know, the Queen just came in and farted or something?”

“Eggsy,” Harry gets out then tries again, feeling much more nervous than a man his age has any right to, “Eggsy, are you flirting with me?”

Eggsy’s eyes lock on his for a moment before he laughs, a short burst that forces its way past his lips, almost involuntarily. Oh. Well then. That does answer that, doesn’t it? Harry look at the tablet in front of him. He’s misread situations worse than that before, surely. Just can’t think of any that went quite this bad.

“You finally noticed?” Eggsy laughs again and when the words actually register Harry’s head snaps back up. Eggsy already looking at him, smile shy around the edges but confident in that beautiful way that he always is. 

Harry gets up fast enough that his chair (his heavy oak chair) falls backwards and makes his way over to Eggsy faster than is probably warranted Eggsy’s half way through hey be careful, you’re still healing you idiot when Harry’s upon him, cupping Eggsy’s chin in both hands and pulling him in for a kiss that should have happened ages ago, but he’s so glad is happening now. 

Eggsy sighs into it, a happy little sound that gives off faint edges of surprise like he can’t believe this is happening. If anyone has room for those doubts, it should he Harry—Eggsy shouldn’t doubt for a second that he is the best thing that could ever happen to someone, the best thing that ever happened to Harry.  

His lips are soft and warm and he melts into it, bringing his arms around Harry’s neck as Harry moves one of his around Eggsy’s waist, pulling him closer and relishing every sparking point they touch. His mouth is inviting and the slide of his tongue makes Harry pull him closer, makes him bit at Eggsy’s lip and bask in the moan Eggsy lets out. 

Breaking away is hard, and Harry can’t do it, not fully—he buries his face in the crook of Eggsy’s neck, licking and kissing and nipping the exposed flesh and drinking in every sound, every shaky breath and shiver that works through Eggsy’s body. 

Harry pulls back, just enough to look Eggsy in the eye, “you beautiful, amazing boy. It’s my turn to flirt with you.”

This is just gonna be a rant/train of thought/absolute mess cause idk what I’m doing but like yeah so as with all my personal posts if anyone sees this then please just ignore it lol sorry I’m so annoying but I just like typing things and then sending them into the void so y’know

Basically my mental health has been getting worse and worse for a while which isn’t surprising since it’s always bad but gets worse 1) when New Things are happening and 2) during winter and I just started uni this year and it’s fucking dark at 4pm now everyday. But yeah so I’ve been self-harming and having suicidal thoughts for six years now. I’ve attempted suicide once and planned/prepared to kill myself at least three times by now. It’s not great in my head honestly and it hasn’t been for many years.

I’ve tried to get help twice. The first time I was thirteen and told my parents/school/GP and... none of them did anything. They all just thought I was attention seeking and would stop on my own if they didn’t ‘indulge me’. I wasn’t diagnosed with anything or referred for therapy or meds or anything. They ignored it and surprise surprise it didn’t fucking stop. They just didn’t know about it anymore.

The second time I tried to get help I was seventeen and I referred myself to the school counsellor. They were a counsellor in training from the local college and quite frankly absolute shit. I felt worse and worse after each session and honestly felt relieved when the 6 sessions I was allotted were over.

Part of the issue is I have been struggling for so long that 1) I don’t know who I am if I’m not feeling Like This and 2) Ive had such bad experiences with trying to get help I can’t bring myself to try again. What’s got me thinking about all this again is the fact that the newest development in my shitty shitty mental health is an eating disorder. Now again, I’m not diagnosed with anything, but after months of consideration I can tentatively consider that eating 500 calories a day for months on end and feeling fat and sick after eating literally anything and refusing to drink any water for several consecutive days so I don’t gain ‘water weight’ may possibly be indicators of an eating disorder.

I still feel bad saying anything since I’m so terrified of self-diagnosing and being told I’m just attention seeking again which is why even after all this time it’s so damn hard to admit that I’m probably depressed. I can work with tangible things that I know for a fact such as that at this point I cut myself almost every day, and I can sleep for 12 hours a night and still feel exhausted in my bones, and that I hate my body so damn much that I have to shower with my eyes closed or end up clawing at my skin, and that I spend hours and hours obsessing over the thought of killing myself and planning how to do it and going as far as to stockpile pills so I could overdose, only being stopped by the fact that when I googled to see if I had enough to kill me I found out that it would’ve taken several days to actually end things so that ruled overdose out. And I live in a city so that ruled jumping off a bridge out since I’d definitely be caught. I don’t know what to do anymore.

Another part of the issue is The Trans™️Thing™️. Because yes a lot of my issues stem from my crippling dysphoria. And that’s not a thing I can change. My family is transphobic so I can’t come out. I can’t transition. I’m going to be stuck in this goddman fucking body til the day I die. And I can’t fucking cope with that. And I haven’t been coping with that for a very, very, very long time.

Therapy can’t help me. I already know the ins and outs of why I feel so shit all the time. No amount of bloody alternative thinking can change things. Which only leaves medication which my parents have expressely forbidden me to take. Any medication. Literally. Any. Yes including birth control. No they are not religious, just fucking crazy and think that any issue I have (including any colds/flu/normal illness) are just me exaggerating and will get better by themselves (reason why I had a veruca for four years even though they are very easily treatable).

And yes I’m nineteen now and don’t need parental permission for my health care but they also search through all my stuff in my room whenever I’m not there and I can’t just,, not take meds home during uni breaks since that would probably fuck me up even more. But also yeah I’m a nineteen year old guy not a thirteen year old girl anymore. Honestly I feel embarrassed that it’s gone on this long. All my high school friends got better, so why can’t I?

But yeah so why should I stay alive? What’s the fucking point? My issues are going to be with my til the day I fucking die whether that’s by my own hand or something else. This isn’t a short term issue that can be fixed this is it for me. This is my lot in life and I’m absolutely fucking sick of it. So why can’t I just die?

11 days in the psych ward. Off quarantine so groups are back and phone use is limited, but i can still have it in the evenings. Still on one to one, no plans to come off of that bc i told them i will hurt myself if they arent there to watch me. Involuntary hold is up on friday, i was told yesterday that I either need to sign a voluntary form or they will place another involuntary hold, bc thats apparently how not ready to leave here i am lol. So i plan to be voluntary from that point on, possibly staying here past thanksgiving. Theyre trying to treat the depression but its not working so far, ECT has already been brought up if that tells you anything. I think the lithium may be working though, bc i havent wanted to off myself since it was started. The point of that was mainly to reduce suicidal thoughts, so at least it's probably helping. Wellbutrin isnt doing anything yet, hoping it does though. Its only the second antidepressant ive tried, other meds ive been on can help depression but it's not their primary use. And all they do is make me not want to put my head through a wall lmao (still did hit my head into a wall while IP though.. Thats how i got put back on one to one after being taken off of it like 5hrs earlier)

Im also severely anemic from losing too much blood self-harming, like almost at the point where i needed a blood transfusion, but theyre giving me iron pills twice a day and my hemoglobin is rising, slowly though. I was at a 7.2, and in a week that went up to 7.4, which is def not great (normal is above 12ish) but at least its going up. Im not sleeping a ridiculous amount now so perhaps thats some of why, i never notice symptoms with my anemia though, which is weird for how bad it is.

Anyway. Thats my update, just shouting into the void as usual but i enjoy oversharing anyway lol

i think that you would think im pretty and would like my poetry and i want to share it with you. im shy.

to be honest, im very apathetic these days. im not the nice “cutesy baby flower petal boy” i used to be. a lot has happened & im bitter & sullen & all in all, a pretty shitty friend/person to know. i used to possess some redeeming qualities, believe it or not, even if they were construed by the subconscious in an attempt to be likeable - a facade, even tho its only a facade, is still tangible, still there, is still something, even if not authentic. is poorer character forgivable in the name of presenting more authentically? but nah. that makes it sound like im putting effort into being a better person, which im not. im just sort of fried & done. its been a very long time since i played the role i built for myself on here of the “small fawn boy who wants to help girls” lmaooo. how embarrassing. altho, i was just a kid, & i guess, if you had a tumblr as a teenager, you went thru some cringe (i know the use of that word has fallen in on itself & adopted its own definition but for lack of a better one) ass phases, whether it was kinning or malingering mental illness or oh fucking christ, all that gender bullshit, etc etc. from what ive observed, tho, loosely following kids im still casually friends with that i met on here, i think we’ve all managed to Grow The Fuck Up, at least a little. most of us have jobs or r in school or have partners - growing up & moving on is a very surreal experience to watch/go thru. im moving at my own pace & ive accepted that - im still currently using & starving myself & concocting a suicide plan every day but at least i use clean needles as much as possible, i actively & honestly do strive for the bare minimum calorically, & um able to work with the mentality of “well ill have this when i need it but todays not that day” a lot more readily, in relation to suicide shit. ive finally found a therapist who Really Gets It, is a frontrunner internationally on ritual & extreme abuse & mind control. its pretty incredible what a few years with a good therapist can do. anyways. im sorry, i know you didnt ask for all this & im not even sure why i divulged. i guess, what tipped me off, was your attempt at sounsing “cute” - dude, cut that shit out, i promise youll be a lot better off. & i know everyone interchanges aspects of their personality based on who theyre talking to/who they percieve themselves to be talking to, but i feel like not a lot of people give enough credence to the internet & its hand in shaping/molding young people, kids, vulnerable dumbasses, especially tumblr (tho, i get that its a relatively new phenomenon) - u get a bunch of the “weird”, “alternative”, ““ostracized” kids together on a website, of course its gonna nurture a culture of hypervalidatoon & pretending to be sick in order to fit in to the point that its not an act anymore & exacerbation of symptoms & basically, just sucking each others dicks, sitting in ur own shit, & never ending coddling. & then, you have the older group of kids, who have played this game before but instead of helping or ignoring the Dumbshit kids, they indulge their own normally-buried-but-unleashed-by-internet-anonymity sadism/human instinct to just be fucking dicks & so now you have this vicious cycle of anger & hatred & fucking melodrama up the urethra. im sorry, i know im comig off as/am being harsh but god fuckin dammit yknow? also, this isnt directed at you, specifically, more of a generalized thing, @ myself included. so uh. i mean, if u still wanna share it with me after reading all this, id be happy to read ur poetry. i used to be over the top nice & then reverted to Major Asshole & am now trying to find that sweet middle spot - honoring & allowing myself to share my pain without putting it on others. which is really hard!! cuz becoming a Dick was difficult in that it forced me to be more honest with my true self & as such, more vulnerable - now in trying to become Kinda Nice again because despite being a pulsating scrotom, ive had the intense desire for friendship & human interaction, while simultaneously doing things that i was consciously aware was pushing others away - but then, if i pretend to be nice, where does that authenticity i worked for & was so scared of go? & i dont mean telling someone their new haircut looks nice even when it doesnt - thats just not being a dick. but i guess, those r the normal trials & tribulations of any relationship & adolescent developing identity. which is weird too - dealing with “normal” issues, i mean. whats the point if your life/limbs/breaking point arent at risk? whats the point when your best friends already dead. im sick of people calling "survivors” (despise that word, so fucking female-originated & overdramatic) “brave” & “strong” - surviving is not brave or strong. its just survival. you wouldnt call an animal brave for running for its life from a predator but you would call a dog courageous for going into a burning building to save its owner. premeditated action on the notion that you are probably going to be hurt is brave. being subjected to pain with no choice is not. theres no “silver lining” or anything “good” to be drawn from it either - sure it may have made x a more compassionate person or made y more introspective & gentle but you know what would have been even fucking better??? if the shit hadnt happened in the first place! let x be an asshole & y be self absorbed - the “benefits”, so to speak, do not outweigh the cost, not by a long fucking shot. its not only patronizing to hear garbage like that, but a slap in the face to know that anyone could possibly see anything good coming from that nightmare & that the characteristics, good or bad, you developed either in response to or as a result of, are worth praise. dont tell me im strong for doing what i had to to escape a torture chamber - tell me im perseverant for studying my ass off & passing that test last week. in the words of one of my dearest & most fucking brilliant friends, “pain doesnt owe me/you purpose - the need to intellectualize & assign meaning to pain & death is not only futile, but harmful.” & honestly, i think that it stems from weakness (in most cases - i realize theres a plethora of other reasons such as those who r just desperate for something to hold on to or r hyperintellectual & analytical or who have been pressured by external “support” systems to find the “good” etc etc) - while the majority of people view the person who “can find the good in everything” (strictly speaking only in relation to trauma/tragedy here & more in denunciation of those that celebrate this trait as opposed to vilifying “survivors” who respond this way, though in my experience, its very very very rarely the “survivor” that perpetrates this ideology ) as strong, i sort of see it as a weakness - their inability to sit with & absorb their own pain or that of others is so strong that not only do they have to frantically pull rainbows out of the teeth of a meat cleaver, they also have to exist within this strange (tho, not malicious - more subconscious) superiority complex. like, nah, dude, some times shit is just awful. you cant tell me anything fucking good came out of a four year old girl being kidnapped, gangraped, & tortured for two years, before being impaled & left to die on a stake. her mom opened a non profit organization? oh well thank fucking god for that!!! those that believe the latter to be more “enlightened” or whatever the fuck r the same people who say shit like “dying is easy - living is harder” & i get that that its supposed to be interpreted metaphorically for the most part - giving up is easy, trying isnt (which also.....isnt true??? admitting defeat & fully accepting the fact that ur fucking helpless is beyond hard lmao???) - but pretend youre somewhere, anywhere outside ur sunny little fucking yoga studio full of white women whos biggest issues r the pta & johnny whos failing math, & lets say your life is in real, imminent danger, a gun is to your head & i want you to not scream or cry or beg for ur life since dying is “easier”. if dying is so easy, why do the majority of ppl cling to it with such desperation - why is suicide illegal? why do some ppl go thru 100s of chemo treatments even tho the doctors say theyre just prolonging the inevitable, ppl who cut off a diseased arm so it wont spread, those who walk dozens of miles every day for food & water, etc? & i know & understand the survival instinct better than anyone, even when i wanted to die more than anything, my natural instincts would kick in with no conscious neural input & id do what i had to do. im not condemning those who cling to life (ok - a little. ur wasting resources out of ur own fear. but i also realize thats just me being a Fucking Asshole As Always cuz technically, im doing the same thing tho its more due to lack of opportunity rather than fear. i just think, societally, death should be more normalized, discussed, & not made out to be so unknown & scary), instead just reprimanding those who say shit like that (inspirational facebook quotes). especially cuz most of the ppl who do spew that shit have never gone thru anything even remotely difficult - their worst nightmare is a Big Scary Black Man grabbing them on the street, mugging them, & touching their tits. & i also know that these stupid ass sayings are to be applied to bullshit like exercise & fitness (“no pain no gain” is another one of my Favorites) & not fucking torture or even just ur run of the mill rape, even that would probably smash the rose tinted banana republic shades off their beverly hills tanned faces. but ive heard the no pain no gain one a handful of times in the last few weeks, specifically from doctors performing procedures in preparation for my bottom surgery. & i know its supposed to be encouraging & they have no way of knowing, but its just like, buddy, u have no idea who youre fucking talking to. & im starting to understand what THEY mean when they say it - pain with a reward is infinitely more tolerable than pain just for the sake of pain; like, a tattoo, it hurts, but u know, when its done, its gonna be sick as fuck. when u r able to fall back on the idea that its for something u rlly want, its A Lot easier to handle as opposed to pain thats Just Pain - theres no reward for it except, i guess, that the more u experience it, the closer u r to the end of it lmao. i mean, i still hate when ppl say it cuz for most of my life, pain was just pain, & the “reward” was the opportunity to go home at the end & so whenever ppl say that, my mind just immediately resorts back to that & im just like haha fuck u. but im trying to remember my experiences r definitely not universal & im starting to sorta understand what they mean i think. but, flipping gears here, & going back to the sentiment of “everything happens for a reason”, the base philosophy of psuedo deep Fuckwads - a girls dad didnt fuck her “for a reason”, everything doesnt happen “for a reason”. like ok, hypothetically, the kid he impregnated her with & that she was forced to have at 12 may surpass all odds & not become a homeless junkie & instead become a world renowned doctor who finds the cure for cancer. but she wasnt raped repeatedly from the age of six for that “reason”, no matter what anyone says & honestly, the liberation of the masses does not justify the suffering of one, especially a child. in my eyes at least. but again, im a bitter asshole. sorry i just Went The Fuck Off here oh my god.....if u read all this, thanks, pal. if not, thats cool too. but yea, send me ur stuff, id totally be down to read it. as for me potentially thinking ur cute, i have to look at my disgusting shitstain of a “face” every goddamn day so everyone else to me is fuckin aphrodite. but im also tryin to not put so much worth into physical appearance- its not something that should be complimented cuz its just smth a person was born with which is the same reason it shouldnt be insulted. this is gonna sound gay & stupid but i personally find that a persons essence & personality really permeates. you can meet someone who, objectively, isnt all that great looking, but once u get to know them, u really see their beauty - how the sun catches in their hair, their dilated pupils looking up at u from under long eyelashes in the dark, the birthmark on their right shoulder that they despise but that is so Them, the gap in their teeth, etc. & idk how to phrase this without it sounding like “well ur ugly but at least ur a good person”, cuz that only reiterates the societally indoctrinated emphasis on appearance & my kneejerk reaction to assure the person in question that thats not what im saying is only another result of that!!! its inescapable!!! but no, really, its not just a matter of “its on the inside that counts” - physically, they change or maybe, actually this is more likely, when i first meet them, my “default” eyes r just looking for features that i know im immediately attracted to (tall, blonde, sickly as in sunken eyes sticklike pale but still looks like she could & will beat the shit out of me) but as i fall in love or get to know them better, my eyes adjust & i notice & adore the beauty that was there all along. so uh. idk if ill think ur “cute”. but probably, yes, ill think ur an angel.