#I genuinely don’t think there’s anything worse for my mental health than realising I don’t know who I am

[yearofradicalselfbelief]

Part Two - 10/09/23

CW: discussions of anxiety and depression.

Days after posting my last post, I was struck down with what I’m 90% sure is the new severe variant of everybody’s favourite virus. I’ve had it twice before – the first time I was a bit tired and a bit warm, and that was it. The second time I was a little bit worse, and it turns out the third time is not the charm because this time I genuinely thought I was going to fucking die. I couldn’t sip water without puking it up, which made it worse because not only could I then not take any painkillers to help with the insane fever, I couldn’t take my mental health meds either. Even once there was nothing in my stomach I was still puking, I ended up being able to stomach one meal in three days, and I lost well over five pounds in five days, through sheer inability to keep food down/how much my body was burning through its stores to try and get rid of this thing.

I’ve never been so sick in my fucking life, my brother was the same, and by day four we were like weary soldiers in the trenches, trading war stories and swapping electrolyte tablets and paracetamol for morale. But it wasn’t all bad – she says now that she’s not spending the bulk of her day hunched over a bin – because in the midst of the fever, when I was feeling too dire to sleep but also too dire to do literally anything but curl up on my bed in silence, I was pretty much at the mercy of wherever my mind took me, without any of the layers of stuff we tend to have when we’re awake and alert that self-edits those streams of consciousness based on shit like ego and what we think we should be thinking.

Full disclosure, though, I’m well aware of how *fake deep* this is about to sound, but it’s what my brain gave me as I floated through it.

I saw myself as being made up of three sort of parts – one of those parts being real, and two being things foisted upon me, that I carried around, but weren’t real. The first part, the outermost part, was this sort of anxious, shrinking meek little dormouse that wanted nothing less than to be noticed in any way, shape, or form. That’s who I default to being in most cases – it’s like a security blanket. The next part is one layer below, but it’s no less disingenuous – and that’s a whole lot of bitterness and defensiveness and cynicism. The depression to the first part’s anxiety.

Then, after that, is actually me. The person who just wants to learn everything she can, and do her best, and live. The person who has to fight through those two layers to manage any of that in the first place. It sounds daft writing it down, but it just was a moment of such clarity, and there was a lot of relief in sort of realising that these first two aspects were things that I’d learned, or had been foisted upon me – either directly, by people who are or once were in my life, or indirectly - adopted in response to shit I’ve been through. It doesn’t make them any easier to put down, but there was a relief in that realisation on its own.

The thing is, I’ve always been anxious, and I’ve always been depressed. When I was a kid, I regularly had fainting spells because of it, including one in the middle of a class, long before I’d even first heard the word “anxiety”, much less being aware that it was a formal diagnosis. It took countless doctor visits and blood tests being done before anybody even thought to turn to the possibility that the cause could be mental, and not physical. Even as far as the depression was concerned, by the time I was ten, it wasn’t uncommon for one of my parents to find me lying on my bed, in silence, in the dark, and when they asked me what I was doing I’d simply say that I felt fed up, because I didn’t have the vocabulary to describe something that I should have been much too young to feel.

It's not like they’re new things that I suddenly find myself having to get over. It’s not as if they’re new hurdles. I just don’t remember a time when they didn’t actively stop me from doing things as much as they seem to do now. I don’t remember always being this sort of shy, shrinking, nervous little thing that I suddenly feel like I am now, and I’m not okay with being that person any longer. It’s not me, and I know it’s not me, but it’s a mask I can never quite manage to drop when it automatically slots itself into place, and it’s fucking unbearable.

I’ve always been scared, and I always joke about how many years anxiety has probably taken off of my life at this point, but I used to be so, so much better at acting in spite of that. Even before I finally found a doctor who listened to me and medicated me. Now it feels like I never do act in spite of it, at least not to the extent I’d like to, and it gets the better of me more than I’d like. And then I’m harsher on myself than I once was over that fact.

To an extent, it is understandable. A hell of a lot of shit has happened to me between now and then, and if anything, the way it’s gotten worse is natural. I think few people could’ve gone through what I’ve gone through and handled it as well as I have, even if I’m critical of how well I have handled it based on some pretty unrealistic expectations of myself. But I feel like the more I let it get the better of me, the more I allow it to control me, the more I concede victory to every asshole who contributed to its worsening over the last eight years.

The funny part is, too, I can honestly say that I’m happy all of it happened. Not in a “woo, let’s throw a party about it” way – but in that I’m in a place where I can say I learned from all of it, I can see why it had to happened, and I wouldn’t want to part from a single lesson I learned from it all. It also ended up with me in a much healthier situation than I was once in, in a city that is far better for me than my old one. It could not have worked out better, now that I’m on the other side of it, as far as external factors are concerned.

It's just the internal ones that need addressing. When I moved here, I started exhibiting signs of C-PTSD – which, again, is unsurprising. My last therapist dead ass said to me “you’ve spent your whole life being shoved from trauma to trauma”, and she told me that before she broke the news to me that the one parent I had left in my life was abusive as fuck, and the only reason I hadn’t seen it yet was because the other had been so much more obvious about it that they made the one still around look like a saint in comparison – whereas they were actually more insidious. The homelessness then followed about a year later. So I think I more than fucking earned those symptoms. And I let myself have a year to just breathe and recover and exist without harassing myself to do better and be better and find better. But now I feel like I’ve finally woken up, and it’s time to start moving forward, and finding a way of doing that isn’t as simple as clicking my fingers and letting all of the mental shit vanish.

A goal without a plan is just a dream. I think that’s how the saying goes. I’ve seen it plastered around Instagram enough times, I should probably know for sure by now. Or at least not be too lazy to google it and find out – but I don’t want to mess up my algorithm with that. Next thing you know, the search engine will be recommending Live, Laugh, Love pillows to me. There’s no coming back from that sort of thing.

Anyway, my original point stands. It’s all well and good for me to make a fancy new side blog and decide things are going to magically be different, but sheer force of willpower without actually changing anything won’t do much good, and this little resolution will fizzle out into one of those typical ‘it’s 2am and I’m going to revamp my entire life’ moments.

So I need to decide how I’m going to do that, and next time I post it'll be with the game-plan that I'm working on. I need to decide how I’m going to actually start fucking rooting for myself and believing in myself again. And it’s not going to be easy.

But I deserve it, and it’s going to be worth it.

[infinitecrime]

I feel like I should make a post detailing the Sebastian Stan drama because I see a whoooole lot of bad takes and misinformation and blatant lies going around. I’ve been on tumblr for nearly a decade at this point and this is genuinely one of the scariest and most out of control situations I have seen.

A quick summary for anyone who hasn’t been following: Last week, Seb was pictured with a women. Many assumed this was his girlfriend but this has not been confirmed. Fans began combing through her life and social media to find something incriminating. I feel like this is important, that the hatred came first, and the reason came after. They found a photo of the girl, from 2 years ago. I will include it for transparency (she is on the left): she is at an ‘Asian night’ party/club night, wearing a kimono. 

It’s insensitive to use culture as a costume, and to lump all the diverse and distinct Asian cultures together into one party theme, decorated with pound shop Chinese lanterns. It is cultural appropriation. A number of Asian people were understandably upset by this photo and her actions. 

But let me be very clear: These are not his actions. He was not at the party, he did not wear the kimono, he did not post or like the photo, he did not endorse, condone or defend the actions in any way. We have never seen them together before, so presumably this is 2 years before they met. He does not follow her or the friend that posted it 2 years ago on Instagram. There is no reasonable expectation that he ever would have seen this photo. He almost certainly did not know it existed.

He cannot apologise or seek redemption for someone else actions. He cannot set a precedent where he is responsible for everything everyone who comes within 20ft of him did, years before they even met. It is completely insane to expect him to do a full background check on everyone he makes out with, or to expect him and all his acquaintances to be ideologically pure, not be ignorant about anything and never make a mistake.

Some people seemed to realise that he cannot be held responsible for other people’s actions, so they invented something to pin blame on him: he defended her! I searched high and low for his statement defending her. He did not make one. Instead, he allegedly blocked a handful of people who spammed his comments with demands for apologies. At least one of these blocks has been outed as photoshop. If the others are real, we don’t know if it was him or his PR team. We don’t know if their innocent public comment alerting him to an issue was accompanied by vile death threats in his DM’s. Regardless, he is within his rights to protect his mental health by blocking people who harass him about something that is, frankly, none of his business. Blocking is not defending her.

I often hear: cancel culture is not real, it’s simply facing the consequences of your actions. So lets do an experiment where we outline the actions and consequences. If you were involved in the vile hashtags and threats made against him, ask yourself: Are these reasonable, proportional and deserved? Do I have the authority to distribute these consequences? Am I making the world a better place - or a worse one? Is my moral high ground getting a little shaky? 

Action: 

Kissed a girl who wore a kimono 2 years before they met. Allegedly (!!) blocked a few people who harassed him about it despite it being nothing to do with him.

Consequences:

Doxxed, pictures of his apartment and his address leaked online. He will almost certainly have to move from his HOME.

Intense death threats and suicide baiting, including #RIPSebastianStan trending, which his family may have seen and actually thought he had died, photoshopped articles and memorial pictures that say he died

Actual danger to his physical safety through the release of his home address

Emails sent to his newly signed agency and employers to get him FIRED

Severe damage to his reputation including news articles with his name and ‘racist post’ in the title, that do not make it clear it was not his post!!

Most likely a severe hit to his mental health, which he has said before he struggles with, particularly from all the KILL YOUR SELF CLOWN messages

If he was with the girl - well, I doubt he is now, so the possible destruction of his relationship, instead of her getting a chance to learn, educate herself, grow and be better.

I am genuinely concerned for his mental health - situations like this before have resulted in suicide (Caroline Flack springs to mind). His physical safety is also in danger. For the actions of someone else, years before they met. Please, stop this. Please see that you are making the world so, so much worse, and you could actually kill someone through this. Please exit the twitter echo chamber and think maturely and critically about whether your response is proportional, reasonable and necessary. Please see that he is a stranger to you, who is paid to do a job, and we have no more right to demand things from him or make him face consequences than we do our dentists or the cashier at the local shop. Please log off and go outside for a while.

#Sebastian Stan #seb stan #bucky barnes #SebastianStanIsOverParty #RIPSebstianStan #cancel culture

[bbygirljuvi]

Gruvia Week 2021 Day 3 - Discovery

Author’s note: This emotional roller coaster turned out longer than I intended. Hope you enjoy ^^

Summary: It take place several hours after Alodron’s defeat, on the way of Drameel.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Group had stoped over in a small yard inside the forest before continuing their path to Drameel. It was the excuse they gave the army. They were campers which had been attacked by some wild animal on thir campsite. They would head to Drameel right after dressed their wounds. Aldron was just a town’s name they knew. To their surprise, army really bought that.

It was really small yard, just enough to lit a campfire. So everybody was spread around the forest. Less injuried members were gettering up wood and food to prepare dinner while Wendy was running around, healing big injuries with last drop of her magic.

Everybody was tired, injured and confused yet happy. Small victory smiles were visible on every face. Joyful whispers were rising from everywhere. Fairy tail was safe and together again.

Gray leaned on a tree which wasn’t too far away from campsite but private from other sights. He closed his eyes with a big sigh while Juvia went to get health supplies. The nauseous feeling had been crippling inside him since the event with Metro kept getting stronger and he was at his limit at this point. His head was aching, there was a still fresh wound end of the dried blood track, his left shoulder was at least dislocated and without adrenaline rush, he was feeling like fainting.

He opened his eyes with two different footsteps coming to his way. Juvia was carrying dressing matterials while Wendy was carrying a bowl of water. Both of their faces was twisted in worry. Was he looking bad as he felt?

“Gray-san what’s wrong, where did you get hurt ?” Wendy asked in rush. “Just my arm and head, not big deal” he said with a ressuring smile but nobody bought that.

Juvia was sitting in the corner, giving Wendy enough space to do her stuff. It wasn’t easy tho. He looked like a mess. She’d been aware that his condition was getting worse every passing minute as they walk but he wasn’t looking half as bad before she left, had he’s been faking it not to worry her? Her heart twitched with another wave of affection.

Wendy checked his head first and gasped a little. It was worse then she initially thought. “Do you feel dizzy or like vomiting Gray-san?” she asked. He gave a small nod then hissed in pain. That hurted, he thought.

“You’re probably having a concussion, I will heal it right away. You should still rest tho.” she said while using her magic. With that ice mage started to feel alive again. “Shit, I’m feeling awesome Wendy, you are amazing!!”

She mumbled something like thank you with one of her cute blushes on and tend towards his left shoulder, fixed it instantly too. This time Juvia talked “ We are so luck to have you Wendy-san~” she said with a bright smile. The gloom had been radiated from her was long gone. “I’m glad I can help my friends. Juvia-san what about you, Did you get hurt too?”

“No, just some scratches, Juvia is okey.”she said while giving an impish look to Gray. Which led him to blush and turn his head. Wendy didn’t know what was that about but she had a guess. “Is that so, than I’m heading to Erza-san. Don’t hesitate to call me if you need.” And left while ice and water mages were waving goodbye, warning her for not to overuse her magic.

Idiot,idiot,idiot he repeated himself as Wendy’s footsteps faded. She’s my power to live?? What will you do next time, kiss her in the battlefield? You extra little-

His inner scrolling cut short by a wet cloth. Juvia was cleaning his face. “Dressing time” she said, trying so hard not to grin like a cheshire cat. She knew it would scare him if she teased him about it longer than she already did. But remaining calm was hard when all she heard was her beloved’s voice echoing in her head. Juvia was his power to live!!

With that she bit her lower lip in an unsuccessful attempt to stop a smile from forming. Gray rolled his eyes to that but relaxed a bit. Her dramatic reactions were so familiar... Yeah, he had practically confessed but it wasn’t something new. Things wouldn’t changed between them. With that realisation he even smiled when she covered her mouth to muff her slipped out giggles.

“Oh,shut up” he said while rolling his eyes once again. But this time he was chukling too. “Juvia’s mouth is sealed.” She said while switching to his arm, cleaning the area with a bright smile. She had almost finished bandaging his right arm when he stopped her. “Wendy healed me, I should have done dressing to you first.” “Not until Juvia finishes mummifing Gray-sama” she said, pushed him back and continued her job. “Hah, I knew it, you had come out of nowhere to kill me. White mage was just an excuse, wasn’t it?” He said playfully. So he was comfortable enough to joke around again? He usually needed more time for his awkwardness to fade off. Progress, she mentally noted.

“Of course it was.” She put her best yandere impression on: “ She missed her Gray-sama too much while he was away, she come here to make sure he won’t leave her ever again!” Than laughed grisly.

“Okey, that was terrifying. You are terrifying Juvia” he played along. “Oh and you should be terrified, Juvia is dead serious, see?” she said, started wrapping his abdomen faster while touching that soft spot she knew Gray was ticklish more than she had to.

His response was immediate. “Stop, no, Juvia sto-“ his words cut off with a laughter. His eyes began to fill with the effort not to burst out. He was crawling in different shapes to save himself but Juvia was merciless. She cornered him between her body, large tree that he was initially leaning on and ground he was currently laying. And tickled him more aggressively as she finished bandaging his wounds. “I have a reputation damn it, stop.” he said between laughters and hold her wrists together in a, successful this time, attempt to stop her. But instead of trying to tickle him more or accepting her defeat, she hissed in pain.

He got up fast, questioning what was wrong while rolling up her sleeves. When he saw weird, bruis like wounds covering her whole arm, he yelped.

“Juvia!! Why didn’t you say anything?” Juvia was looking pretty surprised too. “Where Juvia had been pinned inside Metro was stinging a bit but she didn’t think it was something important...” Her voice kept getting lower once she saw his angry expression. “Your whole arm and-“ he checked under his long boots “ leg are covered in red bruises and you didn’t think it was important!?” Juvia opened her mouth but Gray was just started. “You never take care of yourself. Can’t I even trust you when you say I’m fine?” He started to unbuttoning her coat aggressively since bruises were going beyond her upper arms. He’s stripping me, she mentally noted and placed it aside for later. It wasn’t the right time, he was really angry.

“And you bandaged me with those arms! Always depriving yourself, UGH” She opened her mouth once again when he paused his silent yelling to search right ointment in first-ait bag. But before she could found an excuse, moment passed. He continued scrolling her while angrily rubbing oinment on her left arm.

“What should I do, do I need to strip you every time after a mission to make sure you are okey-“ he paused once again when his eyes slightly crossed over the scar on her abdomen, the one he couldn’t stand seeing. Oh-uh Juvia thought, knowing this would make him grumpier. And she was right, his grip tightened on her wrist. Continued his speech angrier which was about how reckless she was, how she was not listening her physical needs, how she should get her priorities right...

And at that moment, it hit her... She knew her feelings were not as unrequited as it was before. She had known it before that sweet words from several hours ago, she’s my power to live. She had known it before he had claimed her body by saying it’s his. She had known it before unpleasant encounter with Invel. She even had known it before he had promised an answer to her on starry night.

But at that exact moment, while he was grumbling about how reckless she was and angrily wrapping bandage above her elbow; she realised he may care her more than she dared to assume. And at that exact moment she felt loved, more loved than she felt her entire life.

He stopped when he saw her eyes were shining with tears. His expression softened with guilt. Lightened his grip. “I’m sorry. Did i hurt you?” She shooke her head and hugged him carefully, trying not to ruin his effort by rubbing ointment off.

“Juvia will take care of herself more from now on, she won’t act reckless, promise.” She said with a touched voice. It was obvious she was crying. “Hey, hey what’s wrong?” Gray tried to push her, to saw her face but she tightened her arms and buried her face deeper in his neck. “Nothing, really. Can we stay like this for a while please.” she said. Gray was about to object when he felt her tears in his neck, followed by a smile. That was a genuine smile. Gray had never been good at reading people’s emotions but Juvia was different. He would understand if she faked it.

So he mumbled “What is this for all of a sudden?” but still wrapped his arms around her waist, rested his blushed cheek on her hair. They were out of sight anyway.

They stayed in that position until Mirajane declared it was dinner time.

#gruvia #gruvia week #gruvia week 2021 #day 3: discovery #gruvia fanfiction #bbygirljuvi writing

[perfectly-cynical]

𝐇𝐚𝐣𝐢𝐦𝐞, 𝐌𝐢𝐮, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐑𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐨 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐮𝐩 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐

𝐇𝐚𝐣𝐢𝐦𝐞

﹅ You thought this would make all your problems go away.

﹅ You thought this would fix things.

﹅ But it only got worse.

﹅ Your mental health had decreased, and you didn’t know who to talk to about it.

﹅ The only person who listened was Hajime.

﹅ He would listen to you, and no matter how small and insignificant the problem was, he’d listen and offer genuine advice.

﹅ Why had you broken up with him?

﹅ Because he didn’t spend much time with you.

﹅ But now you realise, he spent the most time on you than anyone else.

﹅ Why did you think this would make things better?

﹅ The only thing making things better was him.

﹅ Him, who begged for you to stay.

﹅ Him, who looked just as tired and heartbroken as you.

﹅ You knew what you had to do.

﹅ You walk up to his house.

﹅ Hesitantly, you knock on the door.

﹅ He opens up, and for a second, you can see a glimmer of hope in his eyes, before he pushes it down.

﹅ “S/O, are you here for the stuff you forgot?”

﹅ He looked so tired, so broken, so hopeless.

﹅ It was your fault.

﹅ But you had to fix it.

﹅ You wrap your hands around his shaking form, and pull him towards you.

﹅ “I-I’m so sorry… Hajime…”

﹅ “S/O…?”

﹅ You pull him closer to you.

﹅ “It’s all my fault… I’m sorry.”

﹅ Hajime is speechless. He wraps his arms around you.

﹅ “S/O, dos this mean… we’re back together?”

﹅ “If you’ll take me back… I’m not expecting anything.”

﹅ He pulls you in the house and kisses you.

﹅ “Of course I’ll take you back… I…”

“I love you, always have, and always will.”

﹅ You can’t take it anymore.

﹅ The tears flow down your face, out of control.

﹅ He stays with you the whole time.

﹅ Just like before.

𝐌𝐢𝐮

﹅ After seeing her breakdown, you decided that you needed to find her.

﹅ You were doing alright without her, but seeing your girlfriend like that made you regret everything.

﹅ She was working on this for you…?

﹅ You rush to her house, and then banged on the door.

﹅ “Miu! Open up! Please!”

﹅ Your voice was so shaky, so broken.

﹅ Were you really fine?

﹅ The answer was no.

﹅ Miu opens the door, her face tear streaked. But then you hear a voice.

﹅ “Miu, who is it?”

﹅ Someone else was there? Who?

﹅ A robot makes its way over to the door.

﹅ “Ah, is this S/O?” He asks, looking over to you and giving you a smile.

﹅ Miu nods, and the robot takes your hand and leads you into the bedroom.

﹅ “It seems the two of you have something to talk about.” The robot says, his once happy face turning more serious.

﹅ You look over to him.

﹅ “I’m sorry, but I don’t really know y-“

﹅ The robot gasps, shocked. “I haven’t told you yet! How impolite! My name is K1-B0, but you can call me Keebo!”

﹅ He puts a hand up to his head, looking abashed.

﹅ “Miu made me come over here to try make her happier and understand what she could have done better in your relationship. I have come to a conclusion that the two of you needed to communicate more, but before I could formulate a plan, you arrived.”

﹅ You stare, shocked at Miu. She looks away, her baby blue eyes full of tears, and you noticed she had bags under her eyes.

﹅ “You two should really talk it out, so I’m gonna leave…” Keebo mutters, closing the door.

﹅ Miu sniffs, and turns her body away from you with a pout that resembled a little kid refusing to apologise.

﹅ You choose to start off. If not now, then when?

﹅ “Miu… I’m really sorry. I saw your show and I needed to come back because I realised that-“

﹅ Miu cuts you off with a whimper.

﹅ “N-no… It’s probably my fault. I shoulda been more open to y-ya.”

﹅ You stare at your girlfriend, shocked. “Miu, it’s alright. It’s not your fault. I-“

﹅ She starts hiccuping. Then a wail, full of sadness. She collapses on the bed, curled up into a little ball.

﹅ “I’m sorry S/O! I won’t ever ignore you ever again… a-and I’ll spend more time with you I p-promise…! So please d-don’t leave me…!”

﹅ You begin saying you won’t leave her, but she cuts you off again.

﹅ “N-no…! You hafta promise me…!”

﹅ You pull her closer to you. She was finally showing you how much you meant to her.

﹅ “I promise.”

𝐑𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐨

﹅ You sit alone at your house. Alone.

﹅ A peculiar emptiness sat inside of you, and no matter what, it wouldn’t go away.

﹅ When you told people you broke up with him, they weren’t surprised, even happy for you.

﹅ But happy was the opposite of what you were feeling.

﹅ Maybe you could have talked with him, and fixed it.

﹅ But now it was too late.

﹅ You did nothing for a whole month.

﹅ You just sat in your room, thinking about him.

﹅ About everything you had done together.

﹅ About how wrong you were.

﹅ He was trying to find his sisters, and you were begging for attention like a lost puppy, and when he didn’t give it to you, you ended it all.

﹅ You were in the wrong.

﹅ But that’s what he thought too.

﹅ You see, as soon as you broke up with him, he made a promise to himself.

﹅ The same promise he made about his sisters.

﹅ He would find you, and he would never loose you again.

﹅ But it was easier this time, because he knew where you were.

﹅ He booked a plane trip to where you lived, and rushed over to your house.

﹅ You carefully opened the door, shocked to find him there.

﹅ But he was there, hugging you, promising he wouldn’t leave, apologising, and then repeating.

﹅ You stand there in shock before you burst into tears.

﹅ He comforts you with a hug of his own, and you see him shed a few tears himself.

﹅ You will never leave him, and he’ll never leave you. Not after today.

#hajime x reader #hajime imagines #miu x reader #miu imagines #rantaro x reader #rantaro imagines #x reader #danganronpa #danganronpa x reader #danganronpa writing #danganronpa writings #mod kiri #Mod Kirigiri

[oliverwvvd]

the devil in me, part ii

Back to writing these two, inevitably, at long last. This is for the lovely anon who dropped by and mentioned this one, despite it having been years since the last post. This is slightly trigger heavy, so sorry if the triggers contain spoilers, but people's mental health comes first so they can choose whether or not to engage with the content.

This is part of a series. You can find part one here.

pairing: Marcus Flint x Oliver Wood

premise: When Marcus wakes again in the endless white of St Mungo's, Oliver is still there, and his wand is still gone. Marcus thinks it's about debts owed, or at least, that's what he's trying to tell himself. Whatever other reasons might keep Oliver Wood at his bedside aren't remotely within a framework he's equipped to handle. [possible triggers: severe PTSD, hospitals, battle situations, Legilimency, implied invasion of the mind, implied intention not to survive]

When he wakes, one needle is back in his arm and Marcus’ first inclination is to be pissed off about it. Of course it is. Being angry is the best alternative, sublimation for all of the other emotions he should be feeling and isn’t. He doesn’t need any St Mungo’s trained therapist to tell him about that, mainly because it’s deliberate on his part.

“For fuck’s sake,” he mutters. “I don’t want painkiller withdrawal on top of everything else. The dosage has to be sky-high for me not to be feeling anything.”

“So you’d rather have the searing amount of pain that makes you pass out within minutes instead? You’re right; being a masochist is a much better idea.”

He closes his eyes. “Why are you still here, again?”

“Waiting for you to take your head out of your arse, though it seems I’ll be in for a long wait.” The tart rejoinder in a lovely, rolling Scottish brogue that he instinctively wants to wrap himself in doesn’t help his temper. Neither does the fact that Oliver is still too earnest despite the familiar barb in the words, as though he thinks he owes Marcus something. The stubborn set to his jaw is familiar too, viewed more than once when facing him on a Quidditch pitch.

It makes Marcus want to push him away for his own safety, because don’t you know what I am? Instead, his gaze is sulky, as though he’s a teenager again in a way he hasn’t been in years, and it’s solely fixed on Oliver. “I don’t like you, and I don’t want you here,” he says, and if that’s not the biggest lie he’s told in the past couple of years, he’s not entirely sure what is.

Oliver shrugs. “That’s too bad, Flint, because I’m not going anywhere.” He’s wearing a poloneck jumper, just like he used to at school when it got to winter weekends out of uniform, and Marcus has the fleeting, horrifying thought that maybe it covers bruises or worse. A second thought just as horrifying resurfaces: he still doesn’t have his wand.

That thought makes him abruptly change the subject. “Alright, Wood, since you’re here, be a good boy and tell me why I don’t have my wand.” It’s not a question. He doesn’t phrase it as one. To punctuate it and make it clear he’s not asking, Marcus opts to verbally twist the knife for good measure. “You owe me. That’s why you’re here, right? To settle the debt. So start talking.” That’s not a question either, because why else Oliver might be there is more than he can possibly handle getting into.

Oliver’s (Wood’s, damn it) expression darkens momentarily, as though he’s about to pick a fight. Marcus wants him to, because at least that would be normal, but he sees it the moment that Oliver registers he’s in a hospital bed all over again, sees the way his gaze turns pained and then the shutters draw closed again so he’s at a loss for what the other is thinking. He doesn’t like it. Oliver was always an open book, no filter, no love lost on his side of the equation. He doesn’t know what this new thing is.

He clears his throat brusquely. “Well?”

Oliver sighs. “They’re concerned about your mental state as well. That’s why you don’t have your wand. They thought you might try something you’d regret.”

Fury is, of course, the quickest and most reliable reaction. “So they thought they’d improve things by taking away the only piece of autonomy I had available to me for months? That’s genius thinking, that is. Who do I need to see to recommend them for promotion?”

Oliver’s lips twitch briefly then, clearly catching the sarcasm, but at the same time seemingly unable to smile at it. That’s fine, because it’s not funny at all.

Marcus exhales a sharp sigh, one that’s less exasperated by this point than unimpressed. “I suppose they thought I’d curse the whole place down, eh?” This time, it is a question, and the smile that goes with it isn’t genuine, it’s mean and sharp-edged. It’s an echo of all the ugly things that have stained his hands and his mind, and it occurs to him that throughout that, Oliver has been the only good thing, a pure thing he’d constructed for himself, a secret he kept that was sometimes the only reason he didn’t give in altogether. Now that’s done and it’s back to reality.

To his consternation, Oliver shakes his head, as though he can sense what Marcus is thinking. “No one believes that after the battle. You threw yourself in the way of someone that would have been dead if you hadn’t, without knowing whether you’d survive.” The words seemed hard for Oliver to speak, as though it was like a demon lived in his throat for as long as they sat there. “They didn’t know if you were going to pull through, the first couple of days.”

An eye-roll is Marcus’ first response to that, and he averts his gaze from Oliver then. “That was sort of the bloody point, Wood.” The words fall heavily in the room between them, but this time it’s not out of malice, it’s from defeat, an admission that he should have kept to himself. The anger hasn’t emptied its well yet, but for the time being, it’s quiet, a savage thing made somnolent again by the fact that he can feel the needle in his arm start to pour more potion into him. Presumably, it’s going to knock him out eventually.

Oliver’s own exhale is shaken, as though Marcus has punched him square in the solar plexus and it hurts, badly. After all these months of silence, it’s as though the casually cruel words aiming to drive him away are doing more damage than even the war has managed to. “Flint, you can’t just…”

Marcus wants to sit up again but the potion, damn it, feels like it’s got him pinned in place. That makes him edgy, makes him feel the cold sweat of panic beginning to prick, and he absolutely will not have a panic attack of any kind in front of an audience. He swallows hard, and Oliver seems unable to finish the sentence. It hangs there between them, unfinished.

That’s the moment that the door creaks open and the healer walks in, oblivious to the conversation that had been happening beforehand. Oliver leans back in the chair beside Marcus’ bed.

Marcus’ lip curls just slightly. “Come to check I’m still breathing?” he asks snidely. “Sorry to disappoint. You can go now, your duty is done.”

The healer does no such thing. “I’d hoped you’d be asleep by now,” he says with a tsk tsk sound that reminds Marcus of the teachers from school whenever he didn’t do his homework correctly. It does nothing to endear the man to him at all. “Evidently we need to increase your dosage. You shouldn’t have ripped those needles out of your arm as soon as you did, but Mr Wood tells me you have a remarkably high tolerance for pain.”

That causes Marcus’ gaze to narrow in Oliver’s direction, and it’s as accusing as it gets.

Oliver, to his credit (the little of it that Marcus is currently willing to give) doesn’t look away. “I’ve been in the Hospital Wing with you multiple times,” is the reminder that unexpectedly arrives, softer than he’s ever deserved. “You never took your painkillers. You always cast Evanesco.”

On the one hand, Marcus’ glare only intensifies, because Oliver’s just ratted him out to the healer. On the other, what does it even mean that Oliver remembers; how there seems to be something dark and sad behind his gaze ever since a few minutes ago. It doesn’t correlate with his real life knowledge of Wood, only the fantasy version he constructed in his head to have a reason to go on, and Marcus is fully aware of how incredibly unhealthy that was and is.

It’s only the healer’s voice that interrupts their charged stare, clearly ready to go for another lecture. “Well, there will be no hiding painkillers here. What were you thinking, taking those out? Did you just not realise the degree of damage you took?” It isn’t an indignant pair of questions, instead asked with the tone of someone who wants to understand the subject they are studying. It presses all of the wrong buttons for Marcus, and he endures it in silence until he can’t.

This is the moment he snaps. But it isn’t like every other time he’s lost his temper. No, this is different; his voice is surprisingly quiet and unsteady when he speaks. “Why does everyone want to know what I’m thinking suddenly? I’ve just spent the last two years having my mind pulled apart at a moment’s notice. All that I want is for everyone to stop trying to get into my head because I don’t want anyone in there ever again. Got it? It’s none of your business what I’m thinking.”

Dimly, he registers that Oliver has gone pale as he starts to understand what Marcus means. The healer looks appalled, because evidently, this was something undetectable while he was unconscious, and he’s beyond lashing out, because this has hit places he doesn’t want to go.

“Get out.” The words are quieter still, and there’s a flat, dulled down, deadly note to them.

Even half-conscious on a bed, drugged by the potion, it leaves to question what Marcus is capable of, the one thing no one has dared to think about so far. It’s a weak threat, but his voice carries all of it, like it’s every atom of a star at the moment of destruction.

The healer leaves. Oliver doesn’t, because Oliver hasn’t learned to be afraid of him, even though he should have.

When Marcus looks at him again, he thinks that he sees Oliver flinch, just a little around the eyes, and he knows he’s going to say something unforgivable if he isn’t left alone. “I meant you as well.” The words are empty. You need to go before I do any more things that I regret, and I can’t live with any more.

Oliver doesn’t listen. Instead, he does something that Marcus can handle even less. He climbs onto the bed and rests there next to him, close enough for Marcus to feel him breathe. “You’re really not a good listener, Flint. I already told you. I’m not leaving.”

Marcus’ hands suddenly feel too heavy, utterly ineffectual when he tries to raise them to push Wood right off the bed. Land on his arse. That’ll show him. Instead, his head starts to nod forward, and Oliver, the scheming bastard, must have known that the potion would take effect soon, had kept him talking until he had no choice but to go back to sleep again.

He’s so angry. He’s exhausted. He’s repeating the same cycle, inescapable, stuck on a loop of his own making. There’s wool against his face, something warm against his back. Oliver’s voice is there, he can feel it rumble in his chest, but the words don’t even register. It’s a warm sound, like copper and firelight, and it’s the last thing in his dwindling awareness before the world is lost altogether.

The frightening part is that he’s starting to want to wake up again. 

That wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

#the devil in me #ol writes things #flintwood #flintwoodnet #marcus flint #oliver wood #marcus x oliver

[thebrownssociety]

i noticed that in a past post you had mentioned daffy was in the front lines of world war 2. how was that like? how did toons particularly handle war?

Not particularly well. Toons are not designed for war, they're designed to make people laugh. Added to that that most of the toons were very young [under 15] when they were sent to the front and the story gets sadder.

Warnings: Mention of War and descriptions of PTSD [I have done research, but this is Toon version, so it's not going to tally exactly with humans]

Disclaimer - this is a headcanon. I have mentioned the companies here and Walt Disney [briefly] stating the obvious, it's all made-up.

All of the companies involved did there best to help/protect the toons as best they could. None of the female or children toons were allowed to go and there was a limit on how old the 'adult' toons had to be before they could go. That ended up being 5. The companies wanted 10, the Military wanted three, five was a compromise - although the companies had to fight hard to get that. In the end it boiled down to 'Either five, or they don't go at all'. The companies also re-negotiated the initial year the toons would be away down to 6 consecutive months. The companies wanted three months, so it was another compromise.

Stating the obvious, none of the toons enjoyed it much. Even the ones who thought they would thrive [Like Donald, Yosamite Sam and other 'tough' toons] found it difficult. Not to say they don't remember some bits of it fondly, mainly the comradeship they found, but for the most part it was hell on earth. After the first lot of Toons who's gone in the first month [about 30, mainly background toons, Prince Florian and Sylvester] came back from the front they looked so pale and ghostlike [visually, a shell of there former selves] that none of the others wanted to go and the companies tried to pull them out of it. [This being near the end of 1943] But they weren't allowed to, so the toons had to go.

The time the toons were fighting was 'only' Jan 1943 - end of war, Sep 1945, and the toons were only there for 6 months, but it was a long, terrifying 6 months.

The weird thing was that after the first initial couple of months while there coulor came back and they looked more life-like again, they seemed okay. Really! They could still act - and act well - they joked with each other in a normal manner and they talked to people. Sure, there were a few of them showing more difficulties adjusting - like Daffy who was acting paranoid and was constantly on the edge and Donald who's already-existing anger issues went through the roof, not to mention Elmer who was mute for a few months after coming back and Pete [Disney] who locked himself away and wouldn't come out, not to mention the at least 30 of background toons who were all showing extreme level of difficultly, but, hey, that was only a couple of toons, right? In the grand scheme of things. The rest of them were fine.

They were not fine.

It took a good couple of years [between 5-10] But eventually the cracks started showing. The Toons who had fought in the war started reacting weirdly to loud noise. Jumping onto the ceiling and refusing to come down, hiding under things and in things [like jugs and cups and cracks in the wall] whenever they thought they were under attack. They were having frequent, intense nightmares and a lot of the toon were displaying mental health issues like paranoia and splitting themselves in two [literally. It depended on the toon as to what exactly the personalities looked like, but as a general guide they'd be one 'young' one from around the time they were first created and another one that was closer to there normal age, but looked and acted completely different. Doctor Scratchesniff theorised it's what the toons worse fears about themselves are, visualised and brought to life.]

The toons were also having flashbacks to the war, which is bad enough on its own, but because they're toons the flashbacks literally engulfed them and whoever was near, drawing them into a world that they hadn't been in for about five-ten years. This, as you can probably imagine, was quite a major problem so the three major studios - Disney, Warner Bros's and Hanna-Barbera - put there heads together and came up with a solution, and that solution came in the form of Doctor Scratchensniff. [I do have a separate headcanon on him, covered in my 'Mental-Health' headcanon] The idea was that D.S. would work across all three studios and have enhanced toon powers.

While it's well known that a lot of Toons have been affected by the war, I'll go through a few of the toons that [I headcanon] have had the most noticeable difficulties after the war.

Daffy - He now goes back and forth between his 40's characterisation [screwball, Clampett version] and his greedy-jerkass characterisation in later years. The way it works is he will be the 'sensible' persona of the Greedy Daffy for most of the year [who, for all his faults, does care about his friends/family and can take care of Plucky easily], then he will suddenly switch back to his 40's persona. [Who, although he does still care for his friends/family, he can't express it as well and he has NO IDEA who Plucky is.]

After a bit of help and counselling from D.S. he has identified his major triggers [and Daffy has informed the rest of the LT's so they're aware of them]. For example, flying a plane will instantly put him back in the 40's mindset. For a time it was flying in general that put him in the mindset [which was fun when the LT's went to Australia] but now Daffy's okay with it and can manage small journeys easily. Longer journeys he struggled with, but he simply doesn't go on long plane journeys.

He also doesn't like Toons taller than himself getting in his face, [much taller, I mean. Bugs is alright.] He'll go into 'Fight' mode and try to attack them. Non-expected loud sounds like a car backfiring or fireworks can also remind him of war. Daffy's reaction when he hears something that he's not sure of what it is, it to try and find it and attack it. Either that or he would teleport away to a small space [like a jug, under a staircase or a crack in the wall] and not come out until Avery/Elmer/Porky calmed him down. [Bugs does try, but Daffy tends to get more wound up whenever Bugs tries anything, so the rabbit had to stop.]

Donald - I'm not going to spend long on Donald, mainly because his issues have [I'm fairly certain] been touched on in canon? His triggers are a lot like Daffy's except that Donald is MUCH more likely to try and attack anything he thinks is a threat rather than run away from it. He has inadvertently hurt [both physically and mentally] people he cares about by doing this, but they understand the reason why. Doesn't necessary make it easier, but they understand.

The main difference between him and Daffy though is that Donald has always wanted help. Ever since he realised he was hurting the people he loved, he wanted help. He had time off from work, Scrooge stepped in and insisted Donald and the boys move in with him so he didn't have to worry about a roof over his head and getting food and stuff. [Unfortunately this genuine well-meant, kind act only added to Donald's general feeling of uselessness]

The good news was that not only did Donald have extended family support, but he was best friends with Mickey and Goofy. Mickey was able to lean in Walts ears and convince him to treat Donald more leniently than he might have other toons, he also did his best to help Donald come to terms with what had happened to him during the war. Goofy could - in theory - do a lot less than Mickey, but he WAS more available and completely willing to take the boys off him for a couple of hours/days/weeks if needed. Goofy can cook - and cook well - so he'd bring food over for Donald so that if [as happened often] he didn't feel like cooking he'd have something ready to heat up/put in the oven.

Elmer - Some of the toons when they were put in charge of there units got on quite well, in that they had men who were willing to listen to them, and treated them kindly. Elmer's troop wasn't like that. He was very young when he was sent there [8] and was still more like Egghead. A bit silly, a bit hyper and not as hard as he needed to be. He cried the first time he went into battle and had a lot of trouble trying to gain the respect of his men. This has had a knock-on effect in that he thought everyone around him hated him and didn't like him. Even when he went back to Toontown, he just thought all his friends/family were being nice to him because they had to, not because they genuinely liked him.

Over many years Elmer has come to accept this isn't true and has been in therapy with D.S. in order to discuss it further. On a different note the main immediately noticeable difference upon coming back from war [aside from the fact he was mute for about two months] was that he started sleepwalking. His sleep had never been great at the best of times, but the war gave him such bad nightmares that he hardly ever slept. When he did eventually get to sleep, he started sleepwalking. Elmer being Elmer somehow didn't notice this at first? He thought it was completely normal [?] to start the night in your bed and wake up in Toon-World Australia having somehow swam his way across the ocean and hacked his way through the Australian outbacks to the middle off Australia, while asleep. He then had to spend several days trying to get back to Looney-Tune Street. With this in mind, it was really only a matter of time until it was noticed by the others.

They do there best to look out for him, if one of the LT's see Elmer sleepwalking, they will follow him/go with him and try to look after him. It should be noted though that despite the fact Fudd is clearly asleep, he is somehow aware of his surroundings and should someone attack him he will fight back and, most times, win.

#Looney Tunes Ask #Looney Tunes #Donald Duck #Daffy Duck #Elmer Fudd #Yosemite Sam #Headcanons #Mickey Mouse #Goofy #Disney Headcanons #Looney Tunes Headcanons #PTSD #Scrooge McDuck

[letsdiscoverkitty]

Treatment/Recovery Update - May 2021

Okay, I will try to ramble less in this one (so sorry!) ^ well that didn't happen!

In terms of when I did leave hospital, as I mentioned a tiny bit in the last post, my EDP was completely AWOL. A month before I was due to be discharged she came to a meeting with myself and my consultant, during which we set up 4 appointments that would be over zoom before I was discharged to help with relapse prevention and the transition home, as well as setting out, in principle, the therapeutic support that I would be getting once home...it all sounded great, so great. But as usual when it comes to my team, it was too good to be true (should have called it). I attempted to contact her when our appointments never happened but I kept being met by a brick wall; no one knew what was happening, all I got told was that she was "off"... Time passed and I was discharged with only a phone call booked in from someone from the general team to check I was safe a few days later (it was literally 5 minutes, long if that) and an appointment to do physical monitoring the next wee....a far cry from the original discharge plan *sigh* Coming home was a bit of a whirlwind. We were approaching Christmas but we were still under a lot of restrictions with COVID, so it was a very strange/messy/weird few weeks.

Time continued to pass and there was still no confirmation around therapy or support, even the ED team didn't know what was happening with L, I just continued to go to two weekly physical monitoring. In the end, with nowhere else to turn, I contacted my consultant from hospital. To say that she was mad that nothing had been in place/I had no support would be an understatement and I thank my lucky stars that she was able to get involved. It took a couple of weeks but I finally had my first session with a therapist in February. In total it took about 8-9weeks from discharge to see someone, which, well, was hard.

Upon reflection, I think one of the biggest things I struggled with with coming home was that I had literally no leave to practice beforehand. This meant that I unfortunately slipped back into old habits very quickly as, well I know it is no excuse but coming back to the same environment your brain easily slips into automatic mode and you find yourself doing what you "used" to do without realising it.

I was in, I would say, quite a vulnerable state when I left hospital (the last few months there were pretty rocky to say the least) and the day before I was discharged (as I mentioned in a previous post somewhere) I was handed 3 different, very conflicting, meal plans and the nutritionist who had previously been very horrible to me and who had been away for a number of weeks, told me that she did not think I could continue to recover at home and that the best possible case would be if I only lost a bit of weight over the next 6 months....I think you can probably guess how badly this was taken and how messy my mind was. So with 3 meal plans in hand, none of which I had practiced, with little to no support from the ED team, I was, essentially, crisis managing, simply trying to get through each day.

I know, I know. Classic kitty - stuck record. failure. mess. making a million and one excuses. trying to make out like she is fine to the rest of the world when in fact inside she was falling apart. sigh.

In terms of my weight recovery I was not discharged at a healthy BMI/weight, which my consultant was sad about, however I was in a much better place than when I was admitted (I think I had gained about half the weight I would have needed to from when I was admitted to get to a healthy weight). I will admit that part of me does wonders whether staying would have been beneficial, because on a very basic level yes it could have helped in some ways. However if I stretch my mind back to when I was still on the ward ,it actually still floods me with anxiety and fear because of how UNHELPFUL the environment had sadly become. It is hard to explain to someone who has not experienced an EDU, but the patient groups can and do make a massive of differences. I was vvv lucky that when I was initially admitted, and for the first good couple of months, it was a v supportive and recovery focused environment. However, by about late Sept/early October ,things turned completely upside down (which was not helped by the fresh COVID lockdowns either) and even staff were saying how terrible it had gotten and how they could not believe the things that they were being asked to manage on the progression ward. There were times when I felt incredible unsafe on the ward and feared for others patients, which is not "okay". I genuinely believe that staying any longer would have likely made my mental health decline further; I had already found the massive shift was negatively affecting me and I think staying would have been unwise. I had also gained quite a lot of weight and was, I hate to admit, struggling with both coming to terms with that along with dealing with everything that you are continually facing when going through treatment/recovery alongside working on trauma stuff. I know none of that is any worthy excuse, but that was how it was...At this time I was struggling a lot with my meal plan and had quite a few lapses whilst on the transition phase of the unit however despite screaming out for help/support from staff, because of the acute situation on the ward, I was just left. They knew I was struggling, I was told time and time again that they had not forgotten me, but did I get help? no. It was actually made worse by the then nutritionist who sat me down like a naughty school girl and basically told me that I was a failure and that I would never achieve anything in life blah blah blah (please see a past post if you want to know more) which made me even more scared to reach out for 'help'/'support'. So no, I don't think staying would have helped much, which is a real shame.

Therapy wise I had a bit of a rough ride in there (god I'm really selling this aren't I?!). When admitted I was not in a place for 'traditional' therapy what so ever; looking back I honestly have no idea how I was even 'functioning' (was I functioning? probably not) and even the group therapies were a struggle but my consultant stuck with me and with time I was able to process a little more. One thing that helped me beyond words was 1:1 Art Therapy. This was not something I had accessed before, only ever doing group sessions in the past which was mostly about getting away from the ward and doing a bit of art. I cannot reiterate enough how different and HELPFUL the 1:1 sessions were. The art therapy, who I knew from the last year and is an absolutely GEM, helped me to begin to process and work through the trauma that I had experienced with dad. It took a lot of time and persistence but I was able to use those sessions in so many ways and I will forever be grateful to P for supporting me (I was so lucky to be able to have 1:1 sessions for the majority of my 8 admission).

The more traditional therapy initially took the form of 30min sessions with my consultant once to twice a week (as much as I hated them, she was bloody good). I also had a review and a few sessions with the lead therapist via zoom (she was heavily pregnant so was working from home) not long after being admitted, but she soon went on maternity leave. This left me to be picked up by her student, who was actually incredible. We did a long extended piece of work on my perfectionism which, again, was SO helpful but she sadly left (for bigger and better things) and I was left hanging for a while as there were no other openings. A new lead therapist started and after a while he did a few sessions with me before leaving suddenly (I think even staff only had a weeks notice, which was ridiculous), so I was back to twiddling thumbs for a few weeks. I then met with a therapist who worked 2 mornings a week that I saw a bit during my last admission but we didn't do many sessions and it just fell away. This was mostly my fault as by this point I was questioning my admission and whether I would self discharge as there were some not good things going on on the ward, so I wasn't really in the headspace to explore things deeply and had been picked up and put down so many times that I just couldn't do anymore. Throughout that time though I continued to see my consultant weekly, mainly focusing on mindfulness and other therapy styles thrown in there too at times.

I will forever be thankful/grateful for the admission I had, especially to be under a different consultant (for COVID reasons they had to split things differently as they would usually do it by area but that wasn't possible at the time I was admitted) as her approach made a huge difference. I still remember one of the first things she said to me was that she couldn't believe/was that I had been placed on the SEED pathway and that she believed that I could be more than that, which honestly, gave me a little bit of hope (something that had been ripped apart and shredded by my usual consultant multiple times).

But back to now.... I have now been seeing a new therapist weekly (when possible) since February and, in a backwards way, I am so glad that L disappeared off the grid because the "support" I was going to be getting under the original plan was just sessions with her to do some self guided self help stuff, whereas with this therapist we have actually been doing some HELPFUL work. In terms of L, I think the last I was told she never returned to work and has now left the team (we have a sneaky feeling that she either had a complete break down or that it was due to too may complaints (mum called this a long time ago as she was not qualified for the role at all and was utterly useless), which, yeah, was strange to not get an ending as I had worked with her for a few years. Anyway, I've been doing SCHEMA therapy with this new lady (I'd not heard of it before) and at first I was a bit reluctant but it's been incredibly insightful. I continue to learn more about myself and the reasons why I may have gone down certain roads each session. HOWEVER. and this is a big however. There has been a bit of a snag in the rope.

In short, yes I have been engaging really well with the therapy side, my weight and physical health has only continued to deteriorate since i was discharged. We are talking classic kitty of slowly slipped backwards, nothing dramatic, nothing to make alarm bells go off or warrant a review, but it's not been good. Anorexia is screaming at me for saying all of this, it shouts "but you weigh so much more than when you were admitted, you are a complete fraud blah blah blah" which is all the same old boring drivel it always spews out. But basically Im in dangerous waters now in terms of losing therapy/not being able to engage with therapy properly if things dont improve. Ive been in classic stuck mode, getting so absorbed by the numbers and the bubble that AN offers, that I have been numb to it all. The HCA I was seeing was really trying to help me to make changes but she left a while ago (she was going back to train as a nurse) and since then I have had the odd appointment here and there (I think it fell to every 3 weeks for a while as there were no available appointments) with people trying to cover the clinic until someone else is hired for the role, which is far from ideal as they literally just do the necessary obs and send you on your way.

Okay that sounds like yet another excuse, which is probably is, but it's not been an easy ride since I left hospital to say the least.

BUT this past week things have begun to shift a little. I was honest with my therapist about the whole food/meal plan side of things and we actually spoke about how we can't focus on therapy things until I am in a more stable place, which is both really hard to hear but also exactly what I need to hear. I am actually being more open to change, which is a shift from where I was just a week ago. It is bloody painful, even just thinking about it all hurts/is exhausting and I am still very much in the darkness /struggling with it but there is now a little part of me that is screaming out and trying to be heard. There is a little part of me that WANTS to get out of this endless messy limbo that this relapse has been and wants to start stepping back into "recovery". There is part of me that wants a chance. And I've got to start listening to that side a little more.

I promise, the next update will be a little more positive Stay tuned.

#personal #update #If anyone actually reads this you deserve a medal #im sorry #this is a crappy update #I promise there are more positive things to come #I have things to tell you all!!!

[boredfanwrites]

Aizawa’s Apartment for the Wayward Wanderer

Aizawa isn't stupid, he's also a teacher. He knows when kids are lying to him, making light of a serious situation. This kid in front of him has his wings tensed, despite the easy smile on his face. Hawks has only just turned 18, which gave the Commission full rights in making him a licensed pro hero. Which is why when he manages to coerce Hawks away from his handlers long enough he gives him a spare key.

"No, no I can't accept this. I don't want to come barging into your life."

"Kid, I'm never there. Sure, I crash every now and again if I'm out too late but I've tended not to be in the area that late anymore. I have a home to get to. You'd be doing me a favour."

He tries to smile in a warm way, tries to differ from the fake praising smiles he imagines Hawks has only gotten his whole life. He likes to think that Hawks knew it was genuine, that he trusts him as an adult figure who actually wants what's best for him, not what's best for his career and appearance.

 ***

The first time Aizawa finds him, Hawks is smoking on the fire escape.

"You know, when I said this apartment was empty and free to use, I didn't mean to satisfy the cravings the Commission won't allow you."

Hawks turns around and Aizawa realises just how much he'd needed that smoke. His facade has fallen, no smirk on his face, just apathy. Hawks doesn't just look exhausted, he looks tired, in the way that no matter how much rest or sleep he'd gotten he would not be able to shake the bags from his eyes.

"Yeah, well, sometimes you just gotta give in, right?" Aizawa noticed the bloody polystyrene tray balanced on the railings.

"Not the only thing you've given into tonight?"

"Or the past week."

"Hawks?"

"I appreciate the apartment space, Eraser."

And like that he's gone. Hawks is only 19, it's not the first time he's stayed in the apartment. Aizawa had seen the subtle signs. It's the first time Aizawa had caught him, looking as tired as he did. He looked far older than 19, like he'd seen too much too soon. Aizawa couldn't help but think that Hawks wasn't too much older than his students, those who'd just graduated and those about to, nowhere near being a pro hero. All in the makings for sidekicks, or being introduced at a lower level, so young they'd have to work their way up. Hawks had been thrown in head first, so quickly Aizawa wondered if he'd ever gotten the chance to just be.

***

The second time Aizawa runs into Hawks is an accident, he swears. He'd been caught pretty badly by one of the villains quirks and muscle memory swung him to his old apartment's balcony. It also sent him crashing directly into the bird who was smoking there.

"Shit, ow." Hawks quickly stood up, brushing himself off, before noticing the state Aizawa was in. "You know I could've sworn that your capture scarf was not red the last time I saw it."

Aizawa didn't dignify Hawks with a response, simply choosing to locate the closest of the first aid kits he kept in the apartment.

"Thought you said you had a home to go to," Hawks laughed as Aizawa slowly peeled off the sticky scarf.

"The home does not like it when I get back injured," the gruff voice responded, before wincing as his scarf caught on one of the entry points.

"Oh my God, stop. You're just going to hurt yourself more," Hawks grabbed at the scarf as Aizawa tried to bat his hands away. "Please just let me."

Aizawa scrunches his face up, slowly dropping his hands as Hawks takes over. Hawks is surprisingly gentle, choosing to nimbly loosen the scarf as he finds wounds it's stuck to. It doesn't hurt.

Once Hawks is done he retrieves a first aid box that is distinctly neon yellow. Not one Aizawa had left. Hawks rifles through, throwing aside bandages and patches.

"This is the good shit. Not exactly promoted by hospitals and it'll make you loopy for a bit, but there's a sofa for you here."

Hawks lifts out a vial of blue liquid, alongside cotton pads and some larger dressings for the worse of the wounds. Aizawa pulls himself away, trying to locate his own first aid kits.

"Oh come on. You can't go to the hospital 'cause you definitely didn't get those doing legal work," Hawks sighed. "This'll do it's job, I swear it's not dangerous. I use it all the time."

"That's not exactly a glowing recommendation."

"Well, at least you're okay. You still have the energy to insult me at least."

Aizawa laughs lightly, the younger man bandaging his wounds, he still makes a show of batting away Hawks' hands every now and then but is mostly resigned to letting the bird do his work.

"I'm not going to like the answer if I ask how you knew how to do that, am I?"

"Depends on your definition of like. I got used to patching myself up after training sessions."

"So, no. I do not like that."

"Nothing to do about it now," Hawks shrugged.

Aizawa took Hawks' hands into his own. They were shaking, but rough and calloused. His knuckles were red and raw. Aizawa grabbed the blue liquid and begun to return the favour.

"I'm always here. I'll always be there to help, Hawks. Just because nothing has been done, doesn't mean something can't be done."

 ***

The third time Hawks is lounging around the apartment in what looks to be the comfiest pyjamas Aizawa had ever owned. Aizawa had let himself in with his key following a text from Hawks asking if the man wanted a 'movie day'. Aizawa responded with a '?' but made his way over anyway, relaying the excuse of a stake out to Hizashi.

A glaring light from the TV fills the room as it begins to get dark. Hawks had played action film after action film before Aizawa put his foot down and coerced Hawks into watching a period piece.

"I never had this growing up," Hawks whispered, eyes wide. "Tokoyami was saying they do it at the dorms all the time. I just, I wanted to know what this was like, so thank you."

Aizawa didn't say anything else, just let Hawks pick out the next movie, the next snacks. Hawks picked their takeaway. They both fell asleep at what Aizawa would consider a normal hour, but others ungodly.

Hizashi asked how well the stake out had gone when Aizawa returned at 6pm the following day. Aizawa found he couldn't lie to his husband. Hizashi was upset at the initial lie, but understood. Hawks was trying to be normal, just a regular guy. Hell, even a regular pro-hero makes time for a movie every now and then. Who were they to take that away from him?

 ***

The fourth time Aizawa catches him is the worst time. By this time Aizawa was aware of Hawks' mission with the League of Villains, he knew that the pro hero had been neglecting the commission because of it. The commission had been acting harshly towards Hawks in retaliation, Aizawa wasn't sure how that differed from their usual treatment but he wasn't sure he wanted to find out.

He'd knocked on the door before letting himself in. Hawks was curled up in a long black jacket that Aizawa pretended he didn't recognise, his red feathers scattered around him on the floor, a few droplets of blood on both the floor and Hawks. The younger man was asleep, a blanket had been gently dropped over him, probably by the owner of the coat. Who, based on the apartment temperature in comparison to the window being open, had only recently left and had not had a chance to clean Hawks up.

Aizawa takes it upon himself to finish the job. There was a worrying amount of feathers, more than Aizawa had anticipated. He didn't want to jump to conclusions but based on the blood he feared the worst. Once he'd collected the feathers, not throwing them away because he couldn't bring himself to take that away from Hawks, he sat on his sofa, lacing his fingers together and just watched Hawks. He watched as the bird drew breath, gently as an opposite to the loud gasping sobs Aizawa was imagining. He'd seen Hawks sleep before, there had been some crossover stakeouts, but the sight in front of him was different. Hawks was just 22, young, scared, controlled and trapped. Clearly it had caught up to him. The boy, that's all that he was to Aizawa, on the floor in front of him was different to the man he'd worked patrols with. Aizawa couldn't help but think that this is who Hawks was underneath the mask, the person he wasn't allowed to be.

"I tried to stop him," a gravelly voice sighed at the window.

"You know I should arrest you on the spot." Aizawa would not admit his shock at being snuck up on. He'd let his guard down within his worry for Hawks and Dabi had managed to return undetected.

"You should, but you won't. You and I both know that won't do him any good," Dabi jabbed a thumb at the sleeping mass. "I just, I tried to stop him. He was fuming, screaming, ripping out his wings."

"I was worried about the impact on his mental health."

"What mental health? He's just as fucked up as I am," Dabi yelled, quickly lowering his volume once more, he sighed. "I know, and I know you know. I'm starting to think he knows I know. It's a lot, it'd be a lot for anyone, but it's really taking it out of him. I'm...worried."

It's then Aizawa remembers, Dabi is mixed up in his own things too. Not really following the League anymore but reluctant to leave his found family, a family that now included Hawks, even if he'd joined for the wrong reasons.  

"He needs a break, or just to stop."

"He wants free from the commission and I don't think he'll stop at anything to get that. It scares me. Eraser, Aizawa, I haven't been this scared since Endeavour first got hold of Sho."

It's then Aizawa remembers, Dabi may be older than Hawks but he went through a traumatic childhood all the same. He was also just a kid, robbed of the chance to be a child and now he was a scared adult that didn't have a hold of how to process his emotions, just like the young boy sleeping in front of them.

"Here," Aizawa shuffles around in his pocket. "It's my key to the place. I gave a copy to Hawks not long after I met him, used to swing by every now and then to check on him. But you need this place more than I do."

 ***

The fifth time Aizawa walks into the apartment it's a few years later and it's because one of his problem children had called him there. He had not expected to find Bakugo Katsuki rocking back and forth, with Dabi seemingly stroking soft shapes into his arms. Midoriya was mumbling to himself, while Hawks and Todoroki were making tea.

"Aizawa-sensei, I'm so glad you came," Midoriya broke from his mumbling.

"You called me, Midorya. What's happened?"

"Kacchan. His hearing blew out in a fight. Villain let off a grenade right next to him."

"We've only just managed to get him cleaned up," Hawks sighed. "Absolutely refused the hospital."

"I hate to break up this nice catch-up," Dabi cleared his throat. "He's signing something...but what the fuck is a K shark?"

"Kirishima," the teacher and his problem children sighed.

Aizawa wasn't going to ask how Dabi knew sign, he was sure he wouldn't like the answer he'd receive. Instead he turned on his heel, ready to set out to find Kirishima Eijirou. It was a well known fact that he grounded Bakugo in a way that no-one else had managed.

The sight he returned to was far better than the first. Bakugo was now wrapped in Dabi's arms, the pair lying on the sofa. Midoriya had calmed considerably and was making small-talk with Hawks while Todoroki was attempting to subtly reconcile with his older brother who's identity still remained anonymous to most. Kirishima immediately ran to Bakugo's side, linking their fingers together. It allowed Kirishima to slowly pull Bakugo into him until the blonde boy broke down in sobs.

"He'll be okay. Nobody mentions this to him," Kirishima glared at Midoriya specifically, as he ran a hand up and down Bakugo's shirt. "We knew this was coming, just happened a little sooner than we thought."

"His hearing aids?" Todoroki asked.

"They'll have to be adjusted," Aizawa answered.

"He won't wear them unless it's absolutely necessary. They've caused him far more pain than good," Kirishima shook his head.

"He won't be able to be a hero," Midoriya looked close to tears.

"He'll find a way." Kirishima smiled fondly, Aizawa felt as though he was intruding.

So he removed himself, intending to brew more tea. As he was doing so however, both Hawks and Dabi made their way to the bedroom. Aizawa quickly glanced at his problem children, before edging closer to the doorway, just until he could make out a conversation.

"We're not adopting another one."

"Hawks..."

"Those were your exact words when I said about Jin."

"He's just a kid, Hawks. He's been told his entire life he needs to be the best, the strongest, no flaws allowed."

"Dabi, we're not doing this. Who's gonna look after him? He's a goddamn livewire."

"Just please, can we this once, Keigo?"

"Touya, no." Aizawa wasn't aware that Dabi had revealed his identity to Hawks, or that Hawks would use his given name so freely. Likewise for Hawks, who kept his name incredibly close to his chest.

"Kei..." Aizawa recognised that. An undeniably, unbelievably soft voice from Dabi. The tone that his husband had used too many times and the tone that Aizawa had used only once. Aizawa knew that if Hawks truly loved Dabi there would be no more saying no.

"Fine, but this one's your kid."

 ***

Aizawa was going through the motions, the usual setting of his routine after a patrol. He didn't break out of it until he felt his husbands hands on his shoulders.

"Shouta?"

"Someone asked to buy my apartment."

"Well, that's good isn't it? You're never there anymore, you always come home after a patrol now...Oh. Hawks."

"Hawks is the one who offered to buy it."

"But Hawks has his own place."

"Yeah paid for by the commission, right next to the commission and his agency. Which makes me question why he wants to move so damn far away."

"Shouta, we're not adopting another one."

"If we did, we'd have to adopt another 4. Well, 3 really, I guess along the way I did adopt a few of the problem children unofficially."

"What?"

"He's got his own little family. I'm starting to think he picked up the habit of adopting strays from me. Two villains, a vigilante and a hero."

"Sounds like the beginning of a bad joke."

Aizawa just hummed, knowing that somehow Hawks' rag tag little family would make their own way.

#bhna hawks #bhna #bhna bakugou #bhna dabi #bhna aizawa #bhna fic #boku no hero fanfic #boku no hero #boku no hero academia #fanfic #hawks fanfic #hotwings #hawks x dabi #erasermic #kiribaku #keigo #touya todoroki #shoto aizawa #tododeku if you squint #hawks centric #eraserhead #deaf bakugou

[ficsandgiggles]

Belonging

Chapter Two - Safe

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So I somehow managed to get this chapter up despite my mental health just giving up. There are small mentions of s*****e, but nothing as bad as the last chapter, and there is tickles in this one! Enjoy 💕

I chose not to complain when Pet- I mean, Spider-Man took me to where he hung out, I didn’t really know what to expect. Then again, I was about to end everything less than an hour ago, so no wonder my head was all over the place.

“Kid, I know you want to help the neighbourhood, but you can’t just bring random people off the street and expect me to cater for them!” Tony explained to Peter as his eyes flashed over and gave me a dirty glance, making me shudder nervously. “Mr Stark, you don’t understand, they aren’t a random person, I’ve known them for a few years...” Peter sighed, both of us knowing what was going to be said next. “This was the person I was talking to you about... the one that picked on me then was never seen again...” he said quietly. I jumped away with a whimper when Tony stormed towards me. “So it’s you, you little punk, huh? Messing with a sweet kid like Peter?!” He snapped, causing me to cower away nervously, my heart pounding as I felt myself struggling to breathe. Peter stepped in front of me, stopping Tony in his tracks, since he would clearly never hurt the kid. “Mr Stark, please! They were going to end their life today and I saved them! They’re completely vulnerable and have nowhere to go... the past is the past and I want to help them... please just give them a chance...” he begged, which surprised me. I knew he helped people a lot, but I assumed he would’ve just let Stark beat me up and do whatever. My body was quivering with fear, but I felt Peter rub my back which was somewhat comforting. I didn’t even hear Tony mutter out a ‘fine’ and some directions to where my bedroom was. Soon enough, he was gone, and Peter pulled me into another hug, which I gratefully accepted. “Come on, let’s get you moved in, okay?” He said gently, linking arms with me as he lead me to my room. It was very basic, but had some cute fairy lights and a comfy looking bed. The two of us sat down on the bed, and I couldn’t help but lean into Peter, which made him wrap an arm around me. “I’m so sorry...” I whimpered out, feeling myself being squeezed gently by Peter, who also swayed me gently to try and calm me down. “Hey, you’re fine.. okay? Let’s just forget all of that happened and move on, deal?” He offered, holding his hand out for a handshake, which I took, nodding as we shook hands. “Thank you...” I whispered, finally feeling my breathing calm down. The two of us sat in silence, I was still shivering and sniffling from the cold, but Peter soon realised and quickly went to get one of his baggy hoodies and a pair of trackie bottoms. “Here... get out of those wet clothes and into these...” he said with a gentle smile before leaving me to get changed privately. I opened the door a few minutes later, and the two of us went back to sitting on my bed, he had his arm around me, rubbing my side. Occasionally, I couldn’t help but flinch, a slight smile appearing on my face. I hoped Peter didn’t notice. “Hey, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile, Y/N, shall we change that?” He asked with a cheeky smile before shaking his fingers in between my ribs. I squealed in surprise, unable to hold back the hysterical giggles that came from me, I fell back onto the bed and kicked my legs out. “Wait! Nohohoho!” Peter grinned as he followed me down, kneeling next to me as he used both hands to scribble into my ribs. “Awww! Your smile is precious!” He grinned, tip toeing his fingers to my belly and shaking his hands in, which made me screech with laughter, my stomach always being one of my most sensitive spots. “Awww, ticklish tummy?” Peter teased fondly as he continued to gently dig in there, causing me to let out squeaky laughter whilst attempting to push him away. “Peheheheter! Plehehehease!” I squeaked out, although I really needed this, I can’t remember the last time I laughed. It was so long ago that I genuinely forgot what it felt like to let myself go and just laugh. “Pleeeeease... tickle your knees? Sure!” He teased, doing that weird jellyfish thing on the tops of my incredibly bony knees, which made the sensation a million times worse as I helplessly kicked out and squealed with giggles. “Nohohoho! I didn’t mehehehean thahahahat!” I yelped, screeching as he started squeezing at a certain spot just above my knees, causing me to cover my as squawks of laughter poured out of me.

“Alright, alright, that’s enough for now, you ticklish softie.” Peter grinned, helping me up as he looked towards the doorway. “See, Mr Stark? They’re fine!” He smiled. I looked over to see Tony roll his eyes before leaving the two of us alone. I could’ve sworn he had a small smile on his face, but I brushed it off for now.

“Okay... I think you better get some sleep now, I’ll sleep on the floor next to you so if you need me, just wake me, okay?” Peter told me with a gentle smile, leaving the room for a couple minutes.I climbed into bed and pulled the covers over me. I forgot how comfy an actual bed was, 

I lay down comfortably and pretty much passed out asleep a few seconds later.Whilst I was sleeping, Peter came into the room, armed with a sleeping bag, a plate of snacks and a bottle of water.

 Noticing I was asleep, he quietly put the food and drink on the desk next to me and made himself comfy on the floor, ready to protect me from anything at all costs.But for the first time in months, I felt safe.

#mcu tickle #mcu tickle fic #avengers tickle #avengers tickle fic #avengers tickle fic series #ticklish!reader #ler!peter

[jupitermelichios]

10 Manga Recommendations for Quarantine (or any other time)

People seemed to like my previous recs, so I thought I’d do a few more while so many of you are stuck home with some free time to kill. I don’t read a lot of manga these days, and my tastes are somewhat ecclectic, but hopefully there’ll be something in here for you.

20th Century Boys - Naoki Urasawa

Kenji didn’t like that a new doomsday cult had started recruiting in his neighbourhood, but he wasn’t going to do anything about it. As least until a letter from an old friend leads him to realise that the cult’s symbols and mythology are based on a children’s story. A story he and his friends made up thirty years ago. Now he must track down people he hasn’t seen since middle school as he desperately tries to remember which of his friends knew the story... and figure out which of them is leading the cult.

This isn’t just the best manga I’ve ever read, it’s one of the best stories full stop. Even if you think you hate manga, I urge you to give this a try.

Claymore - Norihiro Yagi

Claire was never supposed to be a Claymore. But when Theresa of the faint smile saved her life as a child, she knew there was no other path for her. With few of the supernatural powers granted to her sisters, she struggles to survive as a monster hunter in a brutal world where death is always waiting.

This was serialised in Shounen Jump originally, and it shows in places, but mostly this is a compelling drama, with some of the most startlingly beautiful and horrible monster design in all of fantasy and scifi.

Drrr!!! - Ryohgo Narita (illustrated by Akiyo Satorigi)

Nothing in Ikebukero is quite what it seems. The Russian Mafia sell the best sushi in town, demons are haunting the chatrooms, there’s a new gang on the streets, and if you’re really unlucky, you might just meet the Black Rider. They say its bike whinnies like a horse. They say it killed three men who tried to kidnap a girl. They say it has no head. They say... that it just wants to do the job and get paid like everyone else.

Drrr!!! is an experience. It blends fantasy and realism in ways I’ve very rarely seen done, and delights in subverting your expectations. Characters who appears to fit into archetypes any manga fan will recognise never turn out to be quite who you think they are, just as the story never quite goes where you expect it to.

Petshop of Horrors - Matsuri Akino

Do you want a protector? A companion? A friend? A lover? A child? Whatever you need, Count D has the perfect pet for you (even if they don’t always look like animals). Just remember to read the small print, very very carefully.

While there is, sort of, an overarching plot, these books are portmanteu horror in the old style, a series of barely connected unsettling stories strung together by a shared narrator and a handful of recurring characters. Spoopy more than genuinely spooky, and occaisionally surprisingly touching, this is a great series to dip in and out of.

Death Note - Tsugumi Ohba (illustrated by Takeshi Obata)

“Let's just say this: you will feel the fear and pain known only to humans who've used the notebook. And when it's your time to die, it will fall on me to write your name in my death note. Be warned any human who's used a Death Note can neither go to heaven nor hell for eternity. That's all.“

One of the very rare examples where the source material does live up to (almost all) the hype. Clever, dark, surprisingly apolitical, and just the right amount of very very cheesy.

Tokyo Ghoul - Sui Ishida

Keneki Ken was an extremely ordinary guy, living an extremely ordinary life... right up until the girl he fancied tried to eat him. Now he’s part of the world of Ghouls, struggling to hold on to what’s left of his humanity as all his old moral certainties are stripped away from him. Ghouls are people, they have hopes and dreams and loves and they deserve the right to live just like anyone else. It’s just that to live, they have kill humans.

Did you want to be cool and edgy as a teenager but you never quite had the guts to do it? Congratulations, Tokyo ghoul is for you. Think of it as emergency rations for your inner Goth.

Black Cat - Kentaro Yabuki

Sometimes a family is a legendary hitman on the run from his past, his mysterious boyfriend, a recovering child soldier, and the bisexual thief who keeps inviting herself into their lives.

Okay technically Train and Sven aren’t a couple. Technically. Rins is canon bi though so that’s cool. This book is a lovely little time capsule of the days when shonen manga was inexplicably full of bounty hunters with bizarre superpowers going on wacky adventures, and I love it for that. Plus it’s full of that good-good found family trope and we could all do with a bit more of that in our lives.

Beauty Pop - Kiyoko Arai

Kiri Koshiba is no ordinary teenager. She has a secret, something she hides from even those closest to her. The only ones who know about her special abilities are those she rescues. You see Kiri is secretly... really good at giving haircuts.

This is a deeply silly book, full of deeply silly characters, in which hairdressing is treated with the exact same seriousness that sports animes treat basketball or tennis, and reading it just makes me smile. Sometimes when the world’s a bit shit you just want to read about an undercover hairdresser helping girls with their self confidence and giving them rad haircuts.

Bizenghast - M. Alice LeGrow

Dinah Wherever is more goth than you. She’s got the wardrobe, and the doomed love, and non-specific mental health issues. Oh, and she’s enslaved to Bizenghast, cursed to spend her nights laying to rest the unquiet spirits that haunt the graveyard there and if she fails, she’ll loose her life... or something worse.

The first volume is definitely the standout in this short series, with stunning artwork and detailed world building, but all of it is a fun, creepy, surprisingly dark story, full of the author’s love for old school gothic romance.

The Wallflower - Tomoko Hayakawa

Mine Nakahara is concerned that her neice Sunako is never going attract a wealthy husband with a mysterious heart condition if she doesn’t learn not to be such a shut in. So in desperation, she turns to the only obvious solution - give four well-meaning himbos rent free accomodation in exchange for them teaching Sunako to wash, wear something other than sweatpants, and talk about anything that isn’t horror movies.

Sometimes you don’t want drama, or angst, or deep plot. Sometimes it’s enough to watch four attractive and deeply stupid men try to teach the human equivilent of an angry raccoon how to walk in heels.

#20th century boys #drrr #death note #claymore #petshop of horrors #the wallflower #perfect girl evolution #beauty pop #tokyo ghoul #bizenghast #long post #manga #manga review #manga rec list #manga rec #manga recommendation #jupiters top 10 #top 10 manga #black cat

[thisselflovecamebacktome]

Dancing With The Devil Parts One and Two Thoughts/Moments That Stuck Out

(I’m going to put this under a read more before it’s long, but be aware there’s going to be talk about death, sexual violence, eating disorders and drug use)

General thoughts:

So I’ve made it pretty clear that I was definitely nervous about this coming out. Any long term Demi fan knows that making these documentaries have not turned out well for Demi in the past. Likewise, I have other concerns surrounding it. In saying that, I am also not egotistical to think that I know for sure this will be different or even if it’s not, that I can change things. I also feel a little better knowing that most of what was said so far has already been spoken about in interviews rather than it all coming out at once. Either way, as always, I wish Demi nothing but the best and hope that she is currently as okay as the documentary makes it seem.

The Scrapped Documentary:

One thing that really stuck out to me as soon as it was said was the implication that her friends lied their way through the documentary that never got released. On one hand it feels like a very friend thing to do, like we’ve all been there and done it with good intentions even if it was the wrong call to make. But I definitely think that when considering that the person who called 911 felt like they had to sneak away to make the call and everyone talking about how controlled they felt by having to be careful about food and substances around Demi, there seemed to be a major push to save face and save Demi’s celebrity persona over Demi. And I mean there’s no shock about that, we all assumed Phil wasn’t just in it for Demi’s health. 

But what I do find interesting is how Demi’s friend still believes that her old team meant well but was just unequip for dealing with mental issues. Once upon a time, I felt the same. Again, obviously they wanted her well for their own sake because they were making money from her, but I believed they at least wanted her well. But the melon cake revelation changed that for me. Like at that point I went from “The label clearly favoured Nick Jonas and didn’t handle things well but maybe he genuinely thought Demi couldn’t handle it” to “Demi’s team did not give the slightest fuck about her”. So I find it interesting that it didn’t for her friend and makes me wonder just how much of this saving face came from Demi herself (or what she thought she wanted) compared to her team. This is especially the case given the focus, and particularly Dallas’ words, on how she didn’t choose to be a role model but felt she had to be for her fans.

The Death Of Demi’s Father:

A little confession for you all, I almost quit watching this documentary 6 1/2 minutes into the first part. While I feel like almost everything else said in this documentary was at very least alluded to if not flat out said in interviews, this hit me over the head. I am someone who is estranged from their own father and knows that his epilepsy could cause his death at any time should a fit get that bad and that he doesn’t really have anyone who would be consistently checking in on him. So the fear of him decomposing in his flat all alone is one that is all too relatable to me. It is also relatable in terms of my mother, but at least she has my brother who wants to stay at home forever and I would call her even if I moved out, so it’s less likely. So yeah, the way Demi said it and knowing that Father’s Day passed in that time and she probably spends every Father’s Day regretting she didn’t call stings a lot and will almost definitely stay with me for a long time. 

I also related to her talking about her guilt of not helping him the way she feels she’s helped other with her advocacy more than I’d like. While not drug related, I’ve spoken a few times on my blog about how I reached a point with my mother’s bipolar and need for remedies to the legal issues that worsened her health where I gave up despite still advocating for others. And she’s pointed that out. But ultimately Demi and her loved ones are right; a person needs to want help to give it to them and trying to force help doesn’t work. It didn’t for Demi’s father and it didn’t for her until she was ready.

Demi’s Drug Use:

I didn’t actually realise Sirah was Demi’s sober companion and while I didn’t really know anything about her beforehand, I think her parts were among my favourites so far. She was honest, emotional, informative and really contextualised what she was saying not only in terms of Demi but addicts as a whole.

Unfortunately one of the most relatable parts of this documentary so far was when everyone spoke about how Demi seemed normal in the weeks before her overdose. To this day, a lot of my then loved ones, whether it be family or friends, still don’t know I went to rehab in my teens. A lot of the people who do know now didn’t find out about it until years later when I was ready to talk about it. Looking back, the only really clear sign I showed that something was “wrong” is that I went from being a teacher’s pet to skipping a lot of classes and heading home for lunches instead of hanging with friends. But given a lot of my friends knew I had gone through trauma and a separate death in the year before, they didn’t think anything of it. Like from memory, I think at “worse” there was a joke made about I had become one of them and cared about school less. Granted there is always the case that they realised but never said anything, but yeah, at least from where I’m standing, they never knew. And that’s why I will never judge loved ones of someone who does anything negative off the bat, because it, and especially addiction, can be so easy to hide.

I also find it really interesting and relatable that Demi linked her drinking with drugs like that. I spoke about this the other day in an ask, but the two have always been super linked to me. But what I find most interesting is that she spoke about it in connection to negative emotions. Because while yes, I have always connected both with negative emotions, for me, being in a negative mood has somewhat made it easier to not relapse over the years because I could justify it with “well I’m feeling bad, of course I want something to pick me up. That doesn’t make it what I need though”. Meanwhile, I found out last year that I still feel that need to use when drinking in a good mood and that freaked me out to the point I don’t drink at all anymore. Either way though, like I said, it was an interesting point to bring up the connection and definitely relatable.

This isn’t really about the documentary itself, but it really hit me how far I have personally come when she spoke about and started playing Sober. Like at the time Sober was released, I was so close to relapsing myself that I couldn’t bring myself to listen to it straight off and yet now I am really starting to feel like I reached a place where the future looks so bright.

The Sexual Assault:

I don’t really have much to say here past “god I wish this wasn’t so relatable”. During my time using, and even the early days of trying to get clean, I had someone in my life that would constantly try to start something sexual with me and when they realised I wouldn’t do it, they drugged me and did it anyway. And while that is clearly sexual violence, there still very much was that stigma of ‘well I was getting high with them anyway” and feeling like that made it consensual and realising down the track that no, it really didn’t. And while not part of the documentary itself (yet), Demi talking in an interview about how she invited the drug dealer back to her house to “make things right” afterwards really hurt my heart knowing how long I spent with the same delusion that this person would make amends too.

Other/Final Thoughts:

I find it interesting that Demi noted that this pandemic is pretty much what made her stop and fully comprehend all of her past trauma. In many ways, it reminds me of sentiments that Taylor has said in regard to Folklore and Evermore, so it’ll be interesting to see just how much of that makes it onto Dancing With The Devil: The Art Of Starting Over. I also find it interesting that according to wikipedia, the last part is meant to come out after the album which could be an implication that the album finishes at a point of Demi’s life before the documentary finishes.

All up, this documentary gives me a similar vibe to Taylor’s documentary Miss Americana where it somewhat feels like it’s more for the casual/non-fans because anyone who pays attention to Demi’s recent interviews will have heard/at least been alluded to nearly all of this information already. That in no way makes it a bad (half of a) documentary, it’s just an observation. In many ways, I also feel like that’s what made the content about her father hit harder too because it was new or things she has not spoken about in a while. It will be interesting to see where the next two parts go from here in terms of being more positive and/or the nitty gritty of picking yourself back up. Either way, I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.

#demi lovato #dancing with the devil

[chicksung]

stray kids reaction to their (idol) s/o being made fun of by fans? if that's not against your guidelines of course!!

Stray Kids reaction to their idol s/o being made fun of by fans

A/N: Hi beauty! Of course not! This is my first time doing a reaction so please bare with me here! Thank you for the request @dreamsaboutnct

Warning/s: cyber bullying, crying, disappointed chan

Bang Chan: When he came home to find your shaking form in waves of tears, he knew something was up. He knew that you were in preparation for a comeback and he thought maybe it was the stress of it, but when you broke down futher in his arms and said that it was the fans that had you in this state, he was speechless.

To say he was disappointed was an understatement. He was baffled when he saw the tweets and comments regarding your appearance, your talent and abilities and even your relationship with Chan.

He decided to host another episode of Chan’s Room that night. As he greeted the fans, he watched the comments carefully, seeing if there was anything negative said about you.

“Now, I actually wanted to talk to you guys. I love being with Y/N. I truly do. But there are some things that need to be addressed. For as long as Y/N and I are together, I expect you guys to respect her and treat her like you would treat me. It breaks my heart to see how many negative comments my s/o has been getting and I am giving you one warning and one warning only. It has got to stop.”

He had never been so strict when talking to stays but he needed to knock some sense into this ridiculousness, but it seemed to work.

The next morning, #RespectYN was trending #1 on twitter and the negativity was outweighed by the positive. Chan smiled as you read out all the cute things fans had written.

“And if anything like this happens again, let me know. I’ll fix it.”

Lee Minho: He hates seeing you cry. In fact, he hated seeing you anything but happy. You couldn’t explain yourself through the tears so instead you showed him your twitter feed, when he read it, he was frozen. How could his own fans do this to you. Not his stay. Everyone seemed to be supportive of your relationship. This was until he saw one tweet and he felt his blood boil.

“I’m not a stay but I am a (y/n’s fandom name) and honestly? Y/N doesn’t deserve Lee Know”

“Come with me.” Minho whispered, grasping your hand tightly and leading you elsewhere.

Sometimes, you really loved being in the same company as Minho. He told his manager and your manager about the whole situation and they said they would bring it up with the CEO.

Not a week later, Twitter once again say something that they knew was somewhat bad.

‘안녕하세요, JYP입니다.’

The article explained that if any further malicious comments were made about either idols, there would be serious consequences in place for the perpetrators found guilty.

Minho took out on a date that day, to clear out all the negative thoughts and feelings in your mind and heart with all the love he could possibly give to you. He really loves you.

Seo Changbin: Changbin immediately pulled you into his arms when he saw the tears on your cheeks. He didn’t need to know if it was dance practice, a conflict between you and your members, or even if it was that time of the month again. All he knew was that you were upset and he needed to fix it. He pet your hair and let you cry out your feelings until your loud sobs slowly turned into soft sniffles.

“What’s wrong, love? What’s got my baby all upset?” He asked you, pulling you away from his chest and wiping your tears away with his thumb.

“It’s the fans. They’ve been telling me that I don’t deserve you and it’s getting to a point that I’m too scared to post on Twitter and Instagram or turn on vlive. I’m so scared, Binnie.”

Changbin needed to find a way to fix this. And what better way than to write a song. He knew it would take a while and he told you to just try and hang in there.

A few weeks later, he dropped his song on SKZ-Player and the response to it was overwhelmingly good. He decided to turn on vlive and he saw a comment asking what the song is about.

“The song is from the perspective of a fan. They really love this idol to the point where they think they will eventually get married to him. However, it shows the developed hatred towards the idol’s partner when the idol announces that he’s dating. I actually wrote this song to express what could possibly be going through a lot of your heads in regards to myself and my own s/o. They haven’t been taking your...’criticism’ too well.”

When he turned of vlive, within minutes, translation of what he had said had spread like wildfire throughout different social media but people seemed to get the message.

Hwang Hyunjin: Hyunjin felt his heart break a little as he heard you blame the fans for your fragile state of mind. He almost didn’t believe what he was hearing.

“Come on babe. Let’s go and get some ice cream and come back to this with a clearer mind.” He whispered before a small peck on your cheek was delivered and he took your hand and headed out the door.

A few days went by and the messages were just getting worse. Hyunjin couldn’t ignore anymore and your state was deteriorating to the point where Hyunjin banned you of your phone and laptop. “If you keep reading them, it’s just going to put you in a worse state than you already are.” He argued.

JYP and your company both released statements concerning the mental health of both idols and if such behaviour was kept up, they would turn off the comments all together. That seemed to get the fans to see just how much their comments were hurting you and your mental state.

Hyunjin smiled when he saw the comments turning from negative to positive almost overnight.

“See? All it takes is a little shove in the right direction for people to realise what they’re doing is wrong.” He said as he cuddled you into his side.

“Ice cream to celebrate?” You asked with pleading eyes.

“Ice cream to celebrate.” He sighed.

Han Jisung: Jisung listened to you talk out your problems. He judged watched you carefully as you vented about the heated argument two of your members had engaged in and now left tension between the two, but since the announcement that you and Jisung were dating, some of the fans were not being so...kind towards you. Your normally weekly vlives slowly became fewer and farther apart as you were too scared to see the comments.

When your eyes got watery, Jisung momentarily forgot everything else in existence. He forgot about the new album Stray Kids were working on, he forgot about his ramen that he was cooking. All his mind was filled of was ways he could make you feel better.

“Wait wait. Stay here.” He said, gesturing for you to stay put before sprinting out of the room. A few moments later, he returned with a blanket and the teddy bear he was planning to give you on your birthday but decided that you needed it now more than ever.

All wrapped up in a blanket and a tub of Ben and Jerry’s ice cream in your hand plus hugs from Jisung, your tears were long dried and gone.

“I’ll speak with my managers tomorrow, but right now, let’s just cuddle for now.”

“I love you.” You mumbled, your voice still a little crackly

Jisung chuckled.

“And I love you just as much...if not more.”

Lee Felix: Felix was always good at reading people’s emotions. He was able to tell when people were angry or sad or just genuinely happy. However, it didn’t take a genius to see that you weren’t doing so crash hot.

“Sweetheart?” He called out as he patted the outline of your figure under your blanket cocoon. All he got was a sniffle in return. He sighed and collected you up in the blanket and scooping you up like a baby.

“Why are you crying, love?” He whispered into your hair as he pressed light kisses to your cheeks and forehead. You just broke down further, the only words he was able to pick up were ‘comeback’, ‘fans’ and ‘hate’.

Felix had a burning dislike for the four letter h word and didn’t really like using it unless he had really strong opinions on it.

“What about the fans, sweetheart?” He reworded his question and that just seemed to make you more upset.

“They’ve been calling me fat, ugly, useless, untalented, and even worse, that I don’t deserve to be with someone as talented and amazing as you.” You cried out, tears falling so often that your chest was constricting.

“Baby, baby, shhh. It’s okay. I’ll deal with this later. But right now, let’s focus on you.” He pressed his lips gently against yours and hugged you tightly. A small smile tugged at Felix’s lips. “Do you wanna bake some cookies with me?”

You’ve never said yes so fast in your life.

Kim Seungmin: Your usually bubbly aura and personality was nowhere to be seen or felt when Seungmin dropped by your group’s dorm on a surprise visit (and partially to congratulate all of you in your first music show win)

When he saw your slumped over figure and your phone in your hand, his first thought was maybe you were tired, but when he looked closer at you and saw the tears, he walked straight over to you and picked your phone out of your hand like a grape.

“Hey! Minnie! Give it back!” You demanded, trying so hard to wipe away your tears. Seungmin ignored your pleas and started to look at what seemed to be the reason for silent crying.

“If Y/N really thinks she can sing, she’s got another thing coming”

“If I got hit by a truck, I’d look like Y/N”

“Can’t believe some bitch named Y/N got to Seungmo before I did”

Seungmin felt his blood boil, reporting each of the tweet for hate speech and turned back to you.

“How long has this been happening?” Seungmin asked, his eyes softening as he gazed over to you, sitting next to you and grabbing your hands.

You sniffed and couldn’t even look him in his pretty eyes.

“A while now...” Your voice trailed off as a new wave of tears cleansed your eyes.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He asked, petting your hair and tilting your chin up to lock eyes.

“I didn’t wanna worry you.” You sobbed out. Seungmin wrapped his arms around your body and pulled you into his chest letting you cry it out.

“What worries me more is that you didn’t tell me and you didn’t tell the company either.” He whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“How about I take you out to that barbecue place you really like? I’ll pay for it.” He offered, tracing patterns in your hands. You smiled and looked up him.

“That would be nice.”

“Go get your coat, sweetheart.”

Yang Jeongin: You were Jeongin’s first serious relationship. He was shy around you even after being together for almost a year. He finally built up the courage and told the whole world that he, I.N of Stray Kids, was dating you, the member of the hottest debut girl group.

That shit spread like wildfire. Even though the majority of your fandoms supported your relationship, more recently some fans, who seemed to be notably younger, had been sending hate, not towards Jeongin but towards you for ‘taking away their oppa away’ from them.

It was a stupid thing to get upset over but as the days went on it, it just got worse and it was starting to chip away at your emotional state.

That’s how Jeongin came to find you, curled up and alone in the middle of one of the practice rooms.

“Y/N! Oh my god, are you okay?” He bombarded you with questions and checking you over for any injuries.

“I’m fine, Innie. It’s just...” You didn’t finish your sentence and just sighed.

“Just what? Please tell me. I wanna help.” He said with his round doe eyes.

“I’m guessing you haven’t been keeping up on Twitter.” You let out a half hearted laugh, trying to put on a brave face as you wipe your nose on your sleeve.

“Is this about...” He finally got the hint when he saw your phone thrown across the room with a new crack in the screen.

“The amount of horrible words that they’ve thrown at me is starting to eat away at me. I hate it, Jeongin. I hate it!” You yelled out the last part before wailing into your hands.

Jeongin wrapped you up in his arms and rocked you back and forth. His hands rubbed soothing circles on your back and started humming in your ears. Soon, your sobs were reduced to just small sniffles and he pulled your face of the crook of his neck. His eyes held an idea.

“Follow me. I know what will cheer you up.” He said, pulling the both of you up onto your feet as he guided you through the JYP building.

He lead you up a small staircase on the top floor and swung the door open. He had taken you to the rooftop. The soft noise of traffic below paired with the bright twinkling of the stars made the scene feel like it was something out of a movie. It brought an unfamiliar sense of serenity wash over you and for the first time in about a week, you smiled.

Jeongin laid down on the floor, his head resting on his arms and gazing up at the sky. His gaze cut to you and he patted the empty spot next to him, inviting you to join him.

You watched the stars shine vibrantly above you and you sighed with content.

“Y/N. Don’t you ever forget how much I love you. No matter how bad the comments get, that won’t change how I feel about you. I’m doing a vlive tomorrow night so I’ll address it then.” He told you as you rested your head on his chest.

“Thank you, Jeongin. What would I do without you?”

“I’m not quite sure.”

“Nor am I.”

I hope this was good. I know some were longer than others but I got more inspired the more I wrote it :))

#kpop #fanfiction #kpop fanfiction #kpop fluff #kpop smut #stray kids fluff #stray kids fanfiction #stray kids angst #bang chan #lee minho #seo changbin #hwang hyunjin #han jisung #lee felix #kim seungmin #yang jeongin

[imagine-that-one-thing]

Her Majesty || 11

Crowns and Robes.

Anastasia’s pov 

At some point along the long drive, I dozed off to the sound of Harry softly humming to the radio while attempting to get a hold of someone on his phone. I’m not sure who he was calling, I remember him asking me if I was okay, and as far as I know, I hummed a response. 

I am fine; I am not going to fall off the deep end and swiftly become deranged. I don’t understand the circumstances that have happened in the last few months, I never imagined that this is what being Royal would be like. My parents didn’t prepare me for any of this, I don’t think anyone could have equipped me for these trials of royalty. 

I am incredibly fatigued, sleeping without Harry and not knowing where he has been stressing me out, along with being unsure of my father and his mayhem. Now, I have Victoria’s corpse imprinted in my memory every time I close my eyes. I don’t want to shut my eyes and envision everything, but I am so exhausted that I have no choice. I closed my eyes just for a moment while Harry drove and I was in and out of sleep the rest of the ride. 

I briefly remember Harry waking me up and whispering in my ear that he couldn’t carry me, I had no real clue where we were, but all I remember is falling back asleep as soon as I had a soft place to fall. 

I breathe in the scent of clean sheets and I pull the covers further up my body while I open my eyes in an attempt to grasp my bearings. “Harry?” His name falls sleepily from my lips while I sit up, the room still blacked out from the curtains. 

“Go back to sleep,” Harry mumbles, tugging at the covers, “At my Mum’s, you’re fine,” Harry assures me, getting comfortable in the bed. 

I don’t think he understands that just because he claims that we are safe, it doesn’t mean I’m going to believe it at this point. 

I tilt my head to the side and watch the slight ray of sunshine slowly peek its way through the curtains while I think about the last few hours that have transpired. 

I can’t help but continue to remember walking away from Harry. I should have listened to him and stayed with him and Matthew, maybe then I wouldn’t have had to discover Victoria.

I remember I was walking along the stones, following the path when I was momentarily sidetracked by this scent that made me sick to my stomach, I thought nothing of it. I figured it was just a rodent or some sort of explanation that wasn’t a dead body. I fell over her body, quite literally, and the thought of remembering the incident causes my stomach to stir. 

With every day that passes, I become more and more aware of the fact that my father is immoral. I’m not sure what he has managed to get into, but whatever it is, it’s not good. Ultimately, I’m paying the consequences of his actions and decisions. I can’t blame him for everything, with us being royal, we are always at risk, but recently, it seems like we are at a higher risk, thanks to him. 

I benevolently shake Harry, being cautious not to touch his painful shoulder, Harry mumbles something inaudible against his pillow before lifting his head, “What’s wrong? Are you okay?” Harry sleepily asks, leisurely sitting himself up, his right hand beginning to reach to his side table. 

“You don’t need the gun,” I inform him, noticing what he is reaching for. I think it is a force of habit for him, he never really knows why I could be waking him, with all the dangerous events and evacuations, I don’t blame him for stretching for it while half asleep, unaware as to why I am waking him. 

Harry hums, “Then why the fuck am I awake?” He grumbles, not too pleased. 

“Do, do you think my Dad is losing it?” 

“What?” Harry asks, seeming a little confused. 

“Do you think he is losing the plot? Going senile? Literally going mentally insane?” It could make sense for him to be losing his mind.  

Senility can produce changes in mental health, such as memory loss or a decline in judgment. His judgment certainly hasn’t been the best when it comes to things, he put me in jeopardy when we went to Greece, he put us all in danger, he is angry all of the time and has acted out, firing a lot of the staff— He isn’t the Father I remember, he has been on a steady decline ever since he started to talk about handing me the crown, once he told the whole of Britain that he was hoping to hand things down to me by the end of the year, everything steadily got worse. personality or behaviour changes are another symptom but the only issue is that he is too young to be going senile, he is only fifty, surely he isn’t old enough to be going senile. Maybe he is clinically insane? Maybe I am clinically insane at this point, I feel like I am going insane. 

Harry blankly stares at me for a few moments, silence crowding the room. 

Harry shakes his head and lies back down, “Goodnight, Anastasia.” 

“Harry—”

“Go to sleep,” Harry mumbles, drawing the covers back up his body and becoming comfortable between the sheets. 

I heavily sigh and move my body closer to his, trying to get as close as possible without bothering him hurting him. Harry doesn’t speak, instead, he opens his arm and enables me to move closer, allowing him to settle his arm around me while I relax on his good shoulder. 

I listen to the melodious breaths of Harry while he falls asleep. I gaze up at the ceiling, trying to think of a logical solution for everything that has been occurring. 

Perhaps my Father is going senile. Perhaps my Father just has a lot of enemies. 

Perhaps the monarch is turning against my Father. 

Perhaps all of this is happening without logical explanations. 

Perhaps I need to find a way to pass the crown to someone else.

♔♔♔ ♔♔♔

Through the night, I was in and out of sleep, so was Harry, I could feel him shuffling around in the bed, trying to get comfortable and groaning every so often. Sleeping doesn’t come to me easily now, last night I was concerned about my father, I do not know where exactly he is or if he is okay. I genuinely think he is starting to lose his mind, it would explain his shift in behaviours. One minute he’s trying to marry me off and the next minute he’s angry at the world.  

I shift the covers around my body and groan, a desire to stay in bed overcoming me sharply as I gradually wake up to the sound of an unfamiliar voice down the hallway, “I heard there’s a princess, I want to meet her.” 

“Gemma, shh,” Harry hushes her, “She’s asleep, go away. You’re not following me in here,” Harry continues, doing his best to whisper but failing. 

I chuckle to myself as the door opens, “Damnit, Gemma, piss off,” Harry again mutters, pushing her arm away from the doorframe and closing the door behind him. 

Harry glances over at me and smiles, “I’m sorry, she’s uh— she wants to meet you.” 

“She wants to meet a princess.” I correct him. 

“Mhm,” Harry hums, “She doesn’t mean that in a bad way; she means no disrespect.” 

I sit up in the bed and shrug my shoulders, “Is ‘she’ your sister or?” I ask, unsure of who is summoning me and wanting to meet me. I know Harry has a sister, I have never met her so I can only assume the woman eager to meet me in the hallways’ is no other than his sister. 

Harry nods his head, “Yes, my sister who seems to have a problem with boundaries.” 

“Well,” I chuckle, pulling the covers towards my shoulders, “She sounds lovely.” 

“She’s a pest,” Harry responds, “But, she did bring some clothes for you,” Harry places a pair of leggings and a long sweater on the bed, “Mum bought some clothes while we were asleep for you to go through, probably warmer than this,” Harry holds up the white sweater. 

“I am sure it is fine,” I assure him, appreciative that his mother and sister were both kind enough to take into consideration that I have no clothes besides what I left London in. 

When I was woken up by Harry, I had no clue that we would be evacuating and I would have nothing besides the clothes on my back and my phone. 

“It’s a bit crisp this morning.”

“Says the person who isn’t wearing a shirt,” I point out. 

“Do you know how painful it is to put a shirt on without help? It was easier to just throw on the bloody sling and sweatpants. Should let my mother shop for me more, these are comfortable,” Harry gestures towards his pants, causing me to raise a brow. 

I can’t deny the fact that if it wasn’t for his damn shoulder, I’d gradually make my way closer to him, and allow my hands to flow across his shoulders before travelling themselves down his chest, where my thoughts would become entangled with only one—him.

My hands would examine the texture of his body, moderately working their way past his abs, and then my fingers would sweep across his V-line in a teasing matter where his sweatpants would fall to his ankles. 

I cock my head to the side, admiring the way his hair has been brushed but still appears rumpled, he has his sun-kissed tan from the summer and his few tattoos seem to catch my attention this morning. 

He has the body of a faultlessly chiselled sculpture and it’s destroying me in all ways. 

“Do I even want to ask what you’re thinking about?” Harry distracts me from my stare. 

I bite my lip and gaze up at him, trying my best to conceal my smirk. 

Harry clears his throat and begins to step around to my side, “You have that look.” 

“What look?” I innocently inquire. 

Harry leans down and kisses my lips sweetly, “The look where you want to make love,” Harry whispers, drawing away from my lips and enticing me further. 

“Why must you always say ‘make love’?” 

“Because fucking the princess just isn’t as romantic.” Harry outright responds, “Not very respectful.” 

“Whatever,” I roll my eyes, “Soooo…” I trail off with a grin. 

Harry sighs and shakes his head, “I can’t, Anna.” 

“How many times will you deny me until you give in? Talk about playing hard to get,” I huff, crossing my arms over my chest. 

I have lost count how many times I have been denied.

“I hate to break it to you, but you do realise I fucked my shoulder and can barely move it after carrying you last night?” 

“I had a better chance of getting anything out of you while you were on morphine.” I laugh, playfully teasing him.

Harry chuckles, “Probably,” he nods, “Believe me, I wish I still had my morphine.” 

“Mhm, change the subject, sounds about right.” 

“Spoilt.” Harry laughs, delighted by the fact I’m still sexually frustrated. 

I raise a brow at him, “Spoilt? Me? How? You haven’t touched me in quite some time.” 

“Anna… baby…” Harry sighs, “How about tonight?” 

“Last time I heard that, you ended up hurt and I was shoved in a bloody pantry thing, hiding from people who wanted to kill me, soooo.” I trail off, reminding him of the last time those words left his strawberry-red lips.

“I promise, tonight.” 

“I’ll be pissed if I’m shoved in a pantry.”

Harry smiles, “Nothing bad will happen, you won’t be shoved into pantries and your life won’t be on the line.” 

I grin at Harry and nod my head, agreeing that tonight will work, as long as nothing negative happens by then. 

“Mhm,” I hum, “Whatever you say,” I respond just as the door to the bedroom opens. 

Harry glances over his shoulder towards the door where his sister, I assume, stands, leaning on the doorframe with an angelic smile while locks of chestnut-brown hair curtain her face.

“Do I need to cutesy?” Gemma questions under her breath, staring at me half a smile painted across her lips. 

“Yes,” Harry responds with a smirk, watching his sister do her very best at curtsying to me. 

I raise a brow towards Harry before I shake my head, “No, I’m just Anastasia, I’m not a princess while I’m here,” I smile at her, not wanting anyone to treat me and different than what they would a normal civilian. I don’t expect them to curtsy to me or refer to me as ‘Princess,’ I expect nothing besides kindness, and that is what I have been shown so far. “He is just being a jerk,” I assure his sister. 

His sister nods her head, “It’s what he does best. I’m Gemma, his sister.” 

“Yes, this is my sister, who is very kindly interrupting,” Harry interjects as he pulls his phone from his pocket, “You at least could have knocked.” 

Gemma shrugs her shoulders and walks past Harry, not caring about his comments, “If you need any clothes, just let me know. I don’t know what Mum picked out but if you need anything, just ask.” 

“I need you to leave,” Harry smiles, and again, Gemma ignores him, entirely brushing him off and sorting through the clothes Harry placed on the bed from their mother. 

“Thank you, Gemma,” I appreciate her being kind. She doesn’t have to be nice to me and offer me her clothes, quite honestly, she doesn’t have to do anything for me, this is the first time she has met me. She has every reason to be standoffish with me. “I’m going to make coffee,” I push the covers of the sheets off my body, “Give you two time to catch up,” I wink towards Harry, well aware that he doesn’t get to see his family too often, I think it is best to give them some time, even if it is just a few minutes while I make coffee. 

♔♔♔

I walk down the hallway with two cups of coffee in my hands, making my way towards Harry’s childhood bedroom. The last time I tried to make our coffee, it did not go nearly as smoothly as it did this time. Not that it is a very big achievement, but I smile to myself, quite pleased with how my coffee turned out, even if it is a simple task. Making coffee in the palace is not something that I do, I never get the chance to— it is all done for me. I know how privileged and spoilt it makes me sound, but in all fairness, I would change things if I could. I want to be able to do mundane things such as making coffee and washing linens. 

“So, can you tell me what happened and why you’re up here?” Harry’s sister challenges him just as I stop outside the door.

“I could, but then I’d have to kill you.” 

“It can’t be that serious,” she scoffs. 

“Drop it,” Harry warns sternly, in a way I’d never expect him to act towards his sister. 

“You’re such a hardass, don’t forget you used to chase butterflies in the garden as a kid.” 

“I don’t pry about your job, don’t pry about mine.” 

“That’s because you’re an ass and never ask me about my job… not that it’s very interesting compared to yours.” 

“You think keeping your wife alive is interesting?” Harry snaps unhappily.

“Well, she isn’t your wife yet, but yes. Seems like the palace life is interesting… Speaking of which, Harry, are you sure you want this?” Gemma asks, causing my heart to sink in my chest. She doesn’t sound like she approves of our relationship. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Are you sure you want to marry into the royal family? It’s a big fucking deal… Putting aside all the shit I don’t know and the danger you’re currently in, do you realise how much work being a royal is? Your life will never be the same again.” 

“There’s a reason we are keeping it quiet. I love her, I want to be with her, I don’t care about the royal family and the monarchy narrative, I care about her.” 

“You have to care about the monarch because you’ll be a part of it, Harry. She won’t choose you over the crown, she can't hand it off to someone else. You won’t be normal.” Gemma explains the things that I have already tried to explain to Harry before. He is aware things aren’t normal. 

“I don’t want her to choose me over the crown, I’ve accepted she has major responsibilities, I know what I’m getting into, Gemma. I don’t need you to tell me what I’m getting into, I see it every day, you just read about it in history books and on social media.” 

“I’m making sure you understand that this isn’t going to be easy. You won’t work, you will do royal duties, is that what you want? You should be working towards being the president of operations, not suddenly becoming royalty.” 

“I’m aware. I’m a big boy, I can make my own decisions. I can still work security, I don’t want Matthew’s job right now. I’m marrying her, if you don’t like it then that’s just too bad. I’m not here for your approval, quite frankly I’m not here at all for you.” 

“There you go being an arse.”

“You bring out the asshole in me when you act like I’m not capable of making decisions. I’m your little brother, I get it, but I thought you of all people would be more accepting. I expected mum to be the one to convince me not to marry her, instead, mum's the one who encouraged me to propose. I had my doubts, I know I’m not good enough for her, she deserves Prince Charming and I’m just some guy from the country-side who became her security… but damnit I try every day to be the man she needs, so do me a favour and at least pretend to like her until we leave.” 

“I do like her, Harry.” 

“Then this conversation doesn’t need to go any further,” Harry dismisses her and I let out a breath. 

I should have walked away when I heard them talking, I shouldn’t have listened in to the conversation because now I don’t know how I feel about everything.

If his sister doesn’t have faith in us then who the fuck will? 

“I have coffee,” I announce, pretending like I didn’t hear them as I step into the bedroom and hand Harry his coffee. 

Harry kisses my cheek and takes the cup from my hand, wasting no time with taking a sip, “Much better than last time,” Harry grins. 

“I’ll leave you two to settle in, I have some sewing to do,” Gemma excuses herself politely, standing up from her position on the bed and walking out without saying anything further. 

I look towards Harry, wanting to question things but there is a time and a place, right now isn’t the right time. I can’t start something at this hour of the morning, I don’t want to start our day on a shitty note. 

♔♔♔ ♔♔♔

Harry grins at me while he launches a blanket towards me and makes his way towards the open fireplace that has been roaring since sunset. He pokes the logs a little before adding the last log to the fire, ambers crackling and disbursing in their brilliant colours of red and apricot. 

He comes closer to me and kisses my cheek before falling beside me and getting comfortable, his hand making sure to move the blanket so I’m covered and warm. “Have you found a dress you like, love?” 

I shake my head and hand him my tea, “No, it’s hard when I need to try them on,” I answer. 

Just because it seems good online it doesn’t mean it’ll look good in person, wedding dress shopping without a boutique is harder than one would think. “Starting to wonder if we should just get married at the courthouse.” 

Harry shakes his head immediately, “No, you deserve the dress of your dreams at the very least.” 

“Harry, I don’t need it… I just want to get married. We can go to the courthouse.” 

“Anna—“ 

“Jus’ think about it? Your Mum understands where I’m coming from.” 

“My mother agreed with you?” Harry raises a brow. 

“Can you just think about it?” 

“You want me to just take you to the courthouse?” 

“I don’t see why not.” 

“You’d be happy to go to the courthouse right now and get married? No dress, no family, nothing?” Harry questions. 

“Yes.” 

Harry nods his head and sighs before standing to his feet, “I’m going to bed.” 

“Are you mad?” I question, watching as he begins to walk away, “Harry?” 

He turns and peers over at me, “No, are you coming to bed?” Harry questions while walking down the hallway, leaving me by myself in the living room.

I wander into his bedroom and close the door, “Are you seriously upset with me? You can’t just walk away from a conversation because you don’t—“ I begin to express my frustration with him walking away from me and the conversation about our wedding, but I’m swiftly cut off by his lips hitting mine and his body pushing me against the wall. 

He drags his mouth from my own and leaves sweet kisses down my jawline, moving to my neck, “Not mad,” he mumbles against my warm skin, causing my heart to skip a beat. 

His hand slips under my shirt and we begin to dance our way to the bed before he pushes me to fall to the bed.

Before anything more, Harry’s phone begins to ring, causing him to drag his mouth from my own, “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Harry huffs, reaching over and grabbing his phone from the side table. “Hello?” Harry snaps in an unhappy tone, making it a point to show he has been inconvenienced. “Matthew, I’m busy right now, I can’t drive…. What? You’re out front already? Well, fuck, give me a few minutes to get dressed…” Harry hangs up the phone and looks at me. “Anna, I’m so sorry…” 

I shake my head and heavily sigh, “It’s fine. What’s happening?” 

Harry kisses my cheek before forcing himself off the bed and makes his way towards some of his clothes his Mum graciously bought him, “I have to work with Matthew.” 

“What do you mean?” I question, unsure of what Harry means. He shouldn’t be having to work, he’s on my service and there is nothing for him to do besides make sure I’m safe. My parents are in other places, so it isn’t as though he had to escort them anywhere. 

Harry’s hesitant to speak and takes a moment of silence to gather the right words to say, “We need to handle some stuff at Windsor and Buckingham.” 

“You’re driving back to London? I don’t think you should be driving at this hour.” 

Harry shakes his head, “Matthew is.” 

“Why though?” 

“Anastasia, you don’t want to know.” 

I shake my head and sigh, “I’d like to know. Seems suspicious to me.” I am not trying to start an argument by any means, I just want to know where he is going and why. With everything that has happened and how my world is entirely upside down, it makes me feel better to know what is going on instead of being left in he dark or being blindsided. 

“Anna, you make my job hard sometimes,” Harry mutters, “I have to go and help move Victoria.” 

“What?” My eyes grow wide while he does his best to pull on a sweater. 

“You heard me, I need to go move her,” he responds. 

I look at him, bewildered by the fact that he’s having to do such a thing, the sheer idea of him going back in the tunnels to her makes me uneasy. 

I flashback to what I saw in the tunnels and her lifeless body lying on the concrete. 

I don’t want to ask any more questions, I don’t need any more answers, nor do I want to know any. I don’t want to be apart of anything that has to do with Victoria right now. 

♔♔♔ ♔♔♔

I’m pulled from my slumber when Harry gently caresses his hand to my arm and kisses my cheek, “Hey, Baby,” Harry whispers, “I’m home.”

I gradually push myself up on my elbow, grasping my focus as Harry kisses my forehead, “Go back to sleep.” Harry adjusts the covers, drawing them more towards my side of my bed before placing a phone down on my side table, “Your new phone to call your parents off.” 

“Why do I need a new phone?” I tiredly question, unsure of why the old one that I have is being replaced. 

“Precautions to make sure it isn’t tapped and tracked, I will get rid of your old one when I wake up. Now, go back to sleep.” 

Ever since Harry left, I’ve been uneasy and sick to my stomach, I’m not sure what it is but even just hearing her name managed to unsettle me. I move to sit up against the pillows while Harry places his phone and wallet on the side table on my side as well, “Go to sleep, it’s four in the morning.” 

I shake my head and Harry sits down on the edge beside me, “Why? Are you having nightmares about everything?” He softly asks, remembering the last time I was up here and the fact Henry left me with nightmares the first night.  

“No… I’m not feeling too well.” 

Harry presses his hand to my forehead, “Well, no temperature. Do you want me to go get you anything?” 

“No, it’s okay,” I half-smile at him, “Get in bed, you’re probably exhausted.” 

Harry shakes his head, “Move forward a bit,” Harry instructs, gently pressing his hand to my back, “I’ll stay up with you,” he continues, beginning to rub soothing circles on my back. “Would you like tea or a heating pad?” 

“I’d like for life to settle down, Harry.” 

“I am doing my best to make it happen.”

“You can’t,” I sigh. 

There isn’t much that Harry can do to settle life and normalise things. None of this is his fault, my family issues do not stem from him, but I can’t help but continue to replay the conversation in my head that he has with his sister. 

Harry doesn’t deserve this. He doesn’t deserve inconsistency and scrutiny of things. He deserves a lovely girl who is normal, someone that will make sure dinner is on the table when he gets home from a long day at work and will pour him a drink to his liking. Harry deserves someone who isn’t in the spotlight of the world and who doesn’t need to be watched twenty-four-seven. Although I am aware that he does deserve better, the selfish part of me doesn’t want to care. 

Harry swears up and down this is what he wants and that he is aware of what he is getting into, but due to the current events, I don’t even know what I am getting into anymore. I don’t know what each day will hold, for all I know, by tomorrow morning I could be whisked off to America because there is suddenly another threat— things are unpredictable.

“Harry,” I begin with a soft voice, “Is this what you want?” 

“To be awake at this hour? No.” Harry shakes his head. 

I don’t think anyone wants to be awake at this hour.

“No,” I shake my head, “Us? Getting married and being apart of royalty.” 

Harry continues to rub my back, “I want to marry you, I thought that was pretty clear.” 

“But you do know it won’t be easy, right? You know that being married to a Queen will have disadvantages, right?” 

“I accepted that when you said you would not abdicate and refuse the crown. I want to marry you, where is all this coming from?” 

“If it came down to it, Harry, I would give up the crown for us, but right now I cannot. There is nobody to take it that is a good fit, the monarch would go into the hands of a distant cousin and I don’t want to risk that. I don’t want to risk us either, it is going to be hard, it won’t be easy, and… and you won’t have as much freedom, you deserve the life you want to live.” 

“Mhm,” Harry hums, “Anna, did my sister say something to you?” Harry instantly questions. 

I shake my head, “No.” 

“You heard her conversation, didn’t you?” 

I don’t respond, I stay closed-lipped and allow the silence to penetrate the bedroom. “Shouldn’t eavesdrop, darling,” Harry heavily sighs before I feel him press a kiss to my shoulder, “I know what I am getting into, my sister overstepped her mark, I can make my decisions. I want to marry you, let’s get some sleep.” Harry continues, moving to kiss my cheek, “I love you, don’t forget that,” Harry adds, carefully moving beside me. 

“Just making sure this is what you want.” 

“If it wasn’t, I wouldn’t be here.” 

“You have no choice, you’re the bodyguard,” I chuckle. 

Harry shakes his head, “I don’t have to be in bed with you, and I don’t have to be planning a wedding. Don’t overthink it, ignore my sister. Your bodyguard is tired and would like to sleep.” Harry presses, pulling the covers over his body

♔♔♔

Harry’s POV

The rain has been falling heavily for the last hour, and it's almost like the heavens have ultimately decided to open up and they don’t want to close. 

I stare down at the steam emanating from my hot tea, my hands cupped around the edges, the heat radiating warmth through my body. 

I should be curled up in bed with the gracious covers around me and my beautiful partner beside me, asleep, instead, I’m perched at the kitchen table, staring into an abyss of a cup looking for answers that I’m sure I won’t be able to discover. Most people find answers at the bottom of a bottle, and I am almost at the point of finding a bottle of whiskey but I don’t think that will solve much. 

There are a few things I need to figure out.

Why Victoria is dead and why she was in the tunnels.

How long before Victoria is reported missing and whether she will be found.

How I explain things to Anastasia.

When will things go back to normal? 

If I could come up with a resolution for everything, perhaps life would be a little bit more indulgent, unfortunately, at some point, things became so hectic that I don’t have any answers. I think the next time I have a cup of coffee, I will need to add a shot of whiskey to it. I require something to help calm me down and soothe these damn questions that I can’t figure out. I feel as though I am attempting to piece together a puzzle that doesn’t have all the pieces. I am sure that the king has more pieces to this puzzle that he will not reveal just yet. 

I can’t begin to imagine how Anastasia feels, it lies heavily on my mind and I don’t know how to ask her how she is processing everything. Even if she does open up and tell me how she feels about the chaos, there isn’t much I can do besides console her and hold her. I am useless purely because I do not have answers for any of the questions that could be asked. I  know she will have questions, she always has questions. 

“Why do you look so glum?” My sister distracts me from my drowning thoughts. 

I glance up from my mug and discover my sister stepping closer, her hair thrown up in a bun and her sweater falling off her shoulder as she yawns. 

“I thought you moved out years ago?” 

She rolls her eyes at my comment, “Likewise… Some of us visit our mother and stay for a few days.” 

I don’t respond, I just take a sip of my tea, not wanting to banter with her at this hour. “So, why are you so glum? Where’s your princess?” 

I glare at my sister and she curls her lips up into a smirk. She’s doing this to purposely piss me off. 

As kids, we continuously took the piss out of each other and found ways to get under each other’s skin, and usually, I’d be all for our banter, but right now, I’m exhausted and I don’t want backhanded comments… especially when it comes to Anna who is on the direct path of an emotional breakdown. 

“Do you not like her or something?” I asked with irritation, unsure of where my sister stands when it comes to my relationship. 

Whether my sister likes her or not, it doesn’t change my decisions of marrying her, but I’d still like to know my sister’s thoughts. 

“I do,” my sister nods. 

“Then what is with the damn comments when it comes to my relationship.” 

My sister lifts her shoulders into a shrug, “Daddy Issues.” 

I roll my eyes and sigh, “You’re annoying. Dad treated you well…. daddy issues my fucking ass,” I shake my head at her, attempting not to laugh at her comment. 

Contrary to popular belief, we always got along with our father, he wasn’t the villain in our family story. Our parents went their separate ways but it wasn’t for any drastic reason like he was an asshole or cheated, no. 

Our parents outgrew each other and weren’t on the same path when it came to life— they had different goals and aspirations— they were perfect for each other until they weren’t. They served their purpose together and split ways civilly. They can see each other in the street and have a conversation, and they can see each other at family events pertaining to my sister and me, there’s no issue there. 

“I like her, I do, I just like to aggravate you. Can’t believe my little brother is in love.” 

“Mhm… Well, it would be nice if you were a little nicer to her. I know being nice isn’t apart of your personality, but she could use with nice people around her.” 

My sister isn’t the nicest of people sometimes, she is a hard person to read. My sister is highly sarcastic, sassy and very hard to get a grip on whether she likes you or not. There is a fine line between her liking you and disliking you— a fine line that is hard to distinguish. 

“I’m nice,” my sister defends, “I bought her clothes!” 

“Gemma…” I trail off, “She heard our conversation yesterday and thinks you don’t approve of her.” 

“Harry, that was me just looking out for you and making sure you know what you’re getting into. I read the news articles, I’ve read the biographies of past royals—“ 

“That’s different. I don’t care what you read and how you keep up with the history of the royals, but be nice to her, and don’t give her any doubts.” 

“She has doubts?” My sister questions.

I nod my head, “She heard our conversation and cried over it, so just keep your comments to a minimum.” 

“Is that why you’re so glum and seem like you’ve had your firstborn son taken from you?” 

I shake my head and leave my cup on the table before I bury my face into my hands and rub my face out of frustration and exhaustion. “I have a girl in there sleeping while her world is turned upside down. I haven’t slept because I had the privilege of moving a corpse, and if that isn’t enough, some of Anastasia’s jewellery was taken from Buckingham and I don’t know how to tell her.” 

“What kind of jewellery?” 

“Her expensive pieces and the ones I bought her. I don’t know how they took her stuff but didn’t manage to take the royal collections.” 

“Have you checked the pawn shops?” 

“Gemma,” I begin, “I haven’t had time to track down her jewellery, I was busy moving a fucking body.” 

“Are you going to tell her?” 

“I don’t want to… maybe? I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m doing. Starting to think running away with her is the best option.” 

In all honesty, life would be better off somewhere else, less drama. 

“Give me a list of items taken and I’ll find them. You should tell her, don’t have a closed-off communication, that will make things worse.” 

“What are you? Sherlock Holmes?” … “I don’t know if she can handle it, Gemma.”

I don’t want this to be what pushes her over the edge. 

“I have a few friends in the jewellery industry, just give me a list and we will see what we can do.” 

“Where were your jewellery friends when I was looking for a diamond ring?”  

“You never told me you were looking for a ring,” Gemma responds with a chuckle. 

She has a point, I did not tell my sister, sometimes I don’t confide in her all the time, she tends to come to me more than I go to her when it comes to things

“Mhm,” I hum, “I need you to keep an eye out for any suspicious activity or people around here. If anyone saw us moving the body, they’ll come for me or her family.”

“Oh, great, so we are at threat?” 

“Not you,” I shake my head. “Just me, her and her family. Nothing major,” I half-smile, trying not to scare my sister, “I’m going to go back to bed now and check on Anna,” I dismiss my sister before she can say anything in return. 

I walk down the hallway with my thoughts rattling my brain. 

How am I meant to tell her someone somehow stole some of her personal items? 

It is incredibly creepy that someone managed to get in her room. It had to have been done while we were away or after we had moved them into Windsor. I’m not sure how anyone can get into Buckingham and take her jewels, Buckingham is highly surveillance. 

I’m not sure what I’m meant to say to her, “Good morning, I love you… oh, and by the way, some of your jewellery was stolen.” — I don’t think that would be suitable for a morning wake up call. 

As my hand reaches for the doorknob of my old childhood bedroom, my phone rings. I heavily sigh and quickly grab it from the pocket of my sweatpants and quickly answer it, not wanting to wake Anastasia or my mother down the hallway. 

“Hello?” 

“Harry, my best pal,” Matthew cheers on the other end of the phone. 

I raise a brow, well aware that he’s trying to butter me up, “I saw you a few hours ago, what do you need?” 

“We need to have a bonding session.” 

“We bonded last night,” I respond, “I don’t think we need to bond,” I chuckle, walking towards the living room to pace the area without disturbing anyone. 

“I think we do.” 

“What needs to be done this time?” I sigh, unsure of what entails this bonding session. 

Surely it can’t be worse than last night. 

“We need to report to the king.” 

“He’s in the Netherlands,” I remind Matthew. 

“I’m aware, he needs us, we have things to take care of.” 

“What does this entail?” 

Matthew goes quiet before he clears his throat, “My engine light is flashing red like a code red sort of flashing, you should look at it. Come outside and look at it,” Matthew instructs, forcing me to read between the lines. 

Code red… code red… code red means the king needs us to do something under the radar that shouldn’t be spoken about over the phone or with anybody else. 

I hang up my phone and I walk my way to the front door. I take a break and I open the door to Matthew standing on the porch with an umbrella by his side. “Get your shit, we’re flying to the king.” Matthew bluntly instructs, not batting an eye with his instructions.

I heavily sigh, “Matthew, what do we have to do?” 

“I don’t know yet… but it isn’t pretty.” 

“Matthew, I physically can’t do any more dirty work, I can barely move my shoulder at this point,” I inform Matthew of the fact I’m not meant to be hauling dead bodies off and tampering with evidence to take the media attention away from the King and his family. 

I’m meant to still be on bed rest and taking it easy. I wish I was bedridden with morphine, this shit is getting to be too much to have to handle.

Matthew nods his head, “I understand, but this is important, code red sort of important, just like last night was a code red. Let’s go, you’ll be back tonight.” 

“Let me tell them I’m leaving,” I respond before stepping back inside the house. 

I find Gemma at the table with her iPad and a cup of coffee in her hand, her eyes gazing up towards me while I walk closer, “I need to go, tell mum I’ll be back tonight, be nice to Anastasia and tell mum to check the security systems, keep the doors locked.” 

“Do I need to be—“ 

“No,” I cut my sister off, “You don’t need to be concerned, just precautionary,” I respond, walking away from her before she can say anything. 

I step into my bedroom and walk closer to the bed, I sit on the edge beside Anastasia’s sleeping body. I gently press my hand to her arm, “Hey, sweetheart,” I whisper, slowly waking her up, “Hey, it’s just me,” I assure her as soon as her eyes open. 

“Harry,” she mumbles my name sleepily, causing me to smile. 

“I have to go, I’ll be back tonight, don’t worry though, you’re safe with Mum. Call me if you need me,” I lean down and kiss her forehead, “The gun is in the drawer beside you, Mum and my sister know what to do if anything happens, not that it will, just makin’ sure okay?” 

Anastasia hums her response and I adjust the covers for her and stand to my feet. Her hand wraps around my wrist and I look down at her, “Be careful, okay?”

I nod my head, “I will, I love you.” 

“Promise? I love you too.” 

“I promise,” I agree, giving her a small smile before taking my keys and wallet off the side table and stepping out of the bedroom. 

♔♔♔

I walk through the front door of my mother's house, more than thankful to finally be home. I feel the warmth wrap around my body and welcome me, and I couldn’t be happier. The flight home was fucking cold after we were stuck in the rain for a while, not to mention the drive from the airport to my mothers was just as miserable, Matthews rental car didn’t have heat, we both shivered and cussed the world for our problems. We tried to stop at the liquor store to find a bottle of whiskey to warm us up, but they were closed, we even tried to find a hotel but all hotels had no vacancy out here, so we suffered through the cold. 

I wander down the hallway and my mother stands to her feet from the couch, instantly coming to me, “You look like hell.” 

“Thanks, you’re so sweet,” I chuckle as she takes my shirt and jacket from my arm, “Mum, I can wash it and—“ 

She cuts me off, “Shut up,” my mother shakes her head checking to make sure the pockets are empty, “You’re cold, here grab a blanket,” my mother frets, stepping away and grabbing a blanket from the couch, wrapping it around me like a little kid. 

“Thanks, Mum,” I smile at her before I kiss her cheek. “I appreciate you, how was your day?” 

“Clearly better than yours,” My mum grins and I nod my head in agreement. I think most people have had a better day than I have. “I spent it inside reading and helping your sister sew, I don’t know why she wants to sew but she doesn’t need to be near my sewing machine,” my mother chuckles sweetly to herself. 

I can only imagine how it turned out with my sister sewing or attempting to sew. My sister is very talented but there are just some things she shouldn’t even try, sewing and most crafts are not one.

“I’d take teaching her to sew over what I had to do, any day.” 

“What did you have to do?” 

I shake my head, “I can’t talk about it, I’m not allowed to… maybe later I can tell you, just not right now,” I respond. 

My mother nods her head and shrugs, she knows there are some things better left unsaid, and today is one of them, “Anastasia has been quiet, slept most the day, I think something is wrong.” 

“Is she still unwell? I’ll check on her.” 

“She didn’t seem too well, but we did talk a little about the wedding. She is excited about it, by the way, but she hasn’t had a chance to try on dresses.” 

“I’ll take care of it, if it ever stops raining, I have a plan.” 

“And that is?” My mother questions curiously. 

“I’ll tell you more In the morning, goodnight, Mum.” I cheekily grin, folding up the blanket and placing it down before walking into the kitchen to make a tea. 

♔♔♔ 

I enter my bedroom and close the door behind me silently, just in case Anastasia is sound asleep. I observe Anna curled up in the bed, the comforter wrapped around her, “Hey,” she smiles tiredly towards me. 

“Hey, Mum said you still weren’t feeling well, thought I’d bring you a tea,” I hold up the mug, stepping closer to her and sitting on the edge of the bed beside her while she sits up. 

“Thanks, where have you been?” 

I grow withdrawn for a moment, unsure of what to tell her, I didn’t think of the cover story that I would tell her, it didn’t cross my mind. I have been too busy to thin about what to tell her.  “Harry?” She takes the cup from my hand and narrows her eyes down on me. 

“I’m not allowed to talk about.” 

“But…” 

“I was with your Dad, he says hi,” I inform her of her father’s request. The brief times I did manage to speak to him, he was insistent that I make sure I pass his message on, “He loves you and can’t wait to give you a hug.” 

“Sounds shady.” 

She isn't wrong, it is ALL shady; I would prefer to forget about the last few nights that have occurred.

“That’s because it is,” I nod my head, “It isn’t getting any better at this point.”

“I told you I think he’s losing his mind.” 

“I would be too if I had angry people coming after me,” I mutter, “But it's okay,” I quickly assure her, not wanting to scare her any further or cause her more stress. I am doing my best to destress her situations and fix things. 

Anastasia heavily sighs and rolls her eyes, “Is there a way to fix the mess he has created?” 

“Sort of.” 

“Then why don’t we do it?” 

“Anna—“ 

“Don’t leave me in the dark, Harry, it isn’t fair. I’m just as affected by this mess.” 

“You really don’t want to know my solution.” 

“Why? Why are we not going ahead with the solution.” 

“It’s highly illegal.” 

“I’m not sure I understand.” 

“Anastasia… How do you deal with people who have too much power, such as those in the mafia or with affiliations with the mafia?” 

“I don’t know, Harry. Stop cat and mousing me, tell me your plan.” Anna snaps before pressing her fingers to her temple and rubbing her temple. 

I wish I could fix things for her and give her a normal life. I am doing my best but right now, I am failing. 

I sigh as she takes a sip of her tea, “Anna… fight fire with fire…” 

Her eyes burn with hatred as she glares towards me, her lips screwed into irritation, “You’re being annoying.” 

“Jus’ don’t worry about it, okay?” I lean over and kiss her forehead. “Let me handle it.” 

“I don’t like how you’re handling it.” 

“Well, I am sorry. How are you feeling?” 

“You’re changing the subject,” Anastasia is prompt to point out the obvious. 

There are some things that are better left unsaid. Where I was and what I was doing is best unknown at the moment. 

“What happened to you? What’s on your shirt?” Anastasia leans forward and presses her hand to my shirt, looking closely. 

I look down and grab the white material between my fingers, stretching it so I can what Anna is looking at.

Fuck. 

“Oh, Matthew accidentally cut himself trying to open a box and I guess he got his blood on me, no big deal,” I lie straight to her face, beginning to unbutton my shirt, wasting no time with sliding it down my arms as I stand to my feet. 

“Do you want to lie to me again?”

“No, but I need to talk to you about something, some of your jewellery has been taken.” 

Anastasia doesn’t respond and I turn to gaze at her over my shoulder, “Anna?” 

“I heard you. There’s nothing I can do, it is just jewellery.” 

“I will get it back for you, I will do my best, darling, I promise.” 

“You got mail, it is on the dresser over there,” Anastasia points to the dresser and I step closer to it, taking the envelopes in my hand. 

“These are for you,” I inform her, looking down at the envelopes that seem familiar, they’re dressed as they would be If they were going to the palace for her to read and reply back with, but there is something odd about the envelopes, they’re all the same with the same handwriting but one is addressed to me. “Where did you get these?” 

“Your sister said they were in the mail, I haven’t opened it, I assumed mine were letters from the public for me to read and reply to, I just haven’t had the energy to do it.” 

“No, but how did they get here?” 

“I am guessing my carrier, Harry,” Anastasia responds, “How else would they get here? Throw me mine so I know whether I need to reply to them.” 

I shake my head, flipping the letters over and seeing that there is no return address, “Baby, these aren’t forwarded from the Palace,” I inform her, placing hers back down on the dresser and sliding my finger through the edge of the one addressed to me. 

“How do you know?” 

“I didn’t give the Palace a forwarding address for your mail.”

“Why not? I still have duties to attend to.” 

“First of all, you’re sick and don’t need to be worrying about it, second of all, it isn’t safe to have mail forwarded because then people will know where you are.” 

“You don’t need to tell me what I need to be worrying about,” Anastasia responds, not too pleased with my comment. 

“Okay,” I sigh, “Fair point, I was out of line, but nobody needs to know where you are right now,” I return, unfolding my letter and opening it up to read what it says. 

“I know about you and Anastasia, you can run but you can’t hide.” 

I take a breath and fold the letter back up, grabbing Anastasia’s as well in my hand. “What are the letters for?” 

I rub a hand over my dark stubble before shaking my head, “Nothing, I’m going to take a shower.”

“You’ve been spending too much time with my father.” 

“What?” I question as Anastasia pushes the covers off her body and gets out of bed. 

“You heard me, you’re acting just as shady as he is, and quite honestly, I don’t like it.” 

“You’re paranoid, go back to bed,” I respond, stepping into the bathroom and flicking the light on, only for Anastasia to follow me. “Are you joining me in the shower?” I raise a brow cheekily, attempting to distract her from the argument she is most likely ready to create— she has a valid reason for being irritated and wanting answers, but I don’t need her to worry. I don’t want her to be consumed even further by what is happening or by what could happen. 

I am trying my best to protect her from the shit show that is currently going on, she has dealt with more than enough and at this point, I am going to do everything that I can to not push her over the fucking edge. I know she is close to the edge and I will be damned if she goes over it. 

“I don’t think I am paranoid, Harry. I don’t like this. Why can’t you be honest with me?” Anastasia questions while I turn the knob to begin the water to heat up. 

I turn to face her and I step closer to her, “I am being honest, believe me when I say there are some things better left unknown, please don’t make this harder than what it already is.” 

Anastasia pulls her hand away from my own and stares at me relentlessly, “Seems like everything is left unknown until it boils into something bad that can’t be hidden.” 

I nod my head, “What is it you want to know?” 

“Where were you?” 

“With your Father. We had to have a private conversation, can I have my shower now?” 

“This conversation isn’t over,” Anastasia dismisses me and I heavily sigh as she storms out of the bathroom. 

This is bound to be an interesting night. Just when I thought that things could possibly settle down, I now have to face her. I lean on the vanity and stare into the mirror, taking in deep breaths in an attempt to think things through in a way that won’t destroy her.  

I am not sure how to explain the mail, unfortunately, this isn’t the first letter I have received in the last month or so, I don’t think it will be the last, but I do know that it seems like whoever is sending these letters knows my every move. Nobody knows that we are here beside her parents and Matthew, the new guy doesn't even know, Matthew put him on paid leave until we need him. The only thing I can think of is someone within the palace staff has managed to figure things out and is trying to leak information… I highly doubt her parents would be behind the letters, although that would be a plot twist, I can’t say that it wouldn’t be something that could happen, after all, nothing seems to be off the table at this point. It is time I tell Matthew about the mail I have been receiving, and it is time for us to come up with a plan to figure out who is behind it all. At first, I didn’t think much of it all, but now with them sending things to my mother's house, it shows they are watching me- they’re watching Anna. 

I pick up the envelope with Anastasia’s name on the front of it and I open it, holding my breath with every inch of the paper that rips between my fingers. I take the piece of paper out, slowly unfolding it before I read the ink scribbled on the paper. 

“I know about you and Harry… It will all be revealed soon. Stay alert, Princess, you’re next.”

I fold the letter back up and I place it in the envelope, not wanting to even see what the other one says. I believe these are empty threats by someone bored and lonely, probably a normal civilian, but at the same time, there is a part of me that is concerned it is one of the people who Is after her father. They’re not going to stop until the Ace’s get what they want and the King refuses to give up his power and money to them. He has paid his dues and that isn’t enough for that money-hungry family. 

It could be Henry, I wouldn’t be too surprised if he is the one behind this, but I have this feeling the reasons for his previous behaviours weren't based on his logical thinking but more so his mothers. I think his mother was behind a lot of his erratic and psychotic behaviour, I think his mother is the true evil one. I am not remorseful that she is no longer living, quite honestly, it was just a matter of time before she did more damage to Anastasia’s family. Anna doesn’t know this, but I have been watching Victoria from the moment I met her at the Garden party. On my off days, I would do my best to follow her in an attempt to figure her out, she didn’t do many things out of the ordinary, but there were a few red flags that I did take note off, none of which were enough to build too much against her in such a short time. Matthew did his best to keep track of Henry and Victoria and the one thing we can’t seem to figure out is… Who is Henry’s father? 

There is no name attached to the man that the King was talking to, there was never a man around at the Garden event that introduced himself as Henry’s father. I have tried to look up birth certificates but I can’t find Henry’s, I can’t even find Victoria’s marriage certificate. 

I push away from the vanity and take my suit pants off, dropping my clothes to the floor before getting in the shower. The steaming hot water hits my body and I feel a sense of stress leaving my body for a brief moment. My body isn’t cold and shivering and all the negative things that I have dealt with in the last two days are washing down the drain, hopefully, to never return. 

My shower wasn’t as peaceful as I had hoped, my thoughts kept reminding me of everything happening, almost to the point I wish I had an excuse to call the nurse for more morphine, although my shoulder is still painful, there is no way the King or Matthew will allow me to sleep peacefully with morphine and no pain and no worries. Oh, how I took it for granted to be able to sleep all day and not deal with the issues happening in the Royal world. 

I step out of the shower and Anastasia is leaning on the doorframe with a blanket wrapped around her body, I raise a brow but I do not say anything as she watches me reach for my towel and wrap it around my lower body. From the way her lips are pressed firmly together and the way her eyes watch my every move, she isn’t watching me because she finds me charming and good looking, no, she is watching me because she has things to say or she is trying to read me in an attempt to figure shit out. 

I shuffle closer to her and press a kiss to her cheek as I slide past her, still not saying a word. I step towards the clothes my mother bought me and I pull out a clean pair of sweatpants, wasting no time with pulling them up my legs before running the towel through my hair to dry it briefly. I place the towel in the hamper and glance over to Anastasia who has her arms crossed over her chest. “How’d you get the blood on your white shirt? That is going to be hard to get out.” Anastasia gestures towards the shirt I let fall to the floor before I went into the bathroom. 

I heavily sigh as I pick it up from the floor, “I told you.” 

“That was a lie, you and I know that.” 

“Anastasia, please don’t,” I shake my head. I don’t want to explain today to her. 

“You’re unbelievable.” 

“Please, don’t be mad with me, it is for your own-“ 

Anastasia rolls her eyes, “Jus’ don’t worry about it,” Anastasia cuts me off, “I hope you’re not turning into my father, I really don’t.” Anastasia informs me as she walks into the bathroom. 

“Anna, don’t be angry with me,” I slump my shoulders as she closes the door. 

I fall to the edge of the bed and run my fingers through my hair. I have fucked up with not telling her, I do not blame her for being upset, but as I have said, it is for her safety. I am not sure who I am attempting to convince more, myself or her. 

It is hard to draw a line between my job and being her partner, sometimes there isn’t even a line, sometimes I have to choose which one I want to take the role of. 

After a few minutes of staring at the bathroom door, waiting for her to exit, I force myself to my feet and walk to the door, I knock on the door, “Anna? I know you’re mad but you don’t need to lock yourself in the bathroom.” … “Anna? Are you okay?” I question, getting no response before I take it upon myself to open the door. 

I see Anastasia resting on the floor with her back against the bathtub, “The world doesn’t revolve around you,” she half chuckles, “Do you really think I would lock myself in here because I am mad?” 

“Well… I-, I I am an idiot, we know this already… You okay?” 

“I have never been better, I mean, after all, I have no clue what is happening with anything, I fell over a dead body, I have been whisked away from my home indefinitely because people are after my father, and to top it off, my soon to be husband is acting weird and shady.” 

“I meant how you felt.” 

Anastasia simply shakes her head and I sit down beside her, I slip my arm around her lower back and she rests her head on my shoulder, “Not trying to argue with you, or be mad with you, Harry.” Anastasia softly whispers, “I just hate all of this. I don’t want you to be like Dad.”

“I know, baby, I know,” I nod my head even though she can’t see me. “I do too. I am not your Dad. I just work for him and take his orders.” 

“Are we going to get through all of this, Harry?” 

“We will, it’ll all be okay,” I assure her, attempting to comfort her even though I don’t know what’ll happen next. I can’t tell her that it’ll be smooth sailing from here because I don’t know if it will, but I do know that she and I will be okay. 

“You’re not going to want to leave?” 

“Of course not, nothing your father causes will make me want to leave. I’m here for the long haul, I’m here to hold your hair when you’re sick, even if you’re mad at me,” I inform her and she gently nudges me. 

“I’m not mad,” she mumbles. 

I’m here to be a shoulder you can cry on, I’m here for it all. I’m here for all the good times and the bad times, I’m here for as long as you’ll have me. I’m in this completely. I hate that you’re doubting me though.” 

“Everything is just a mess.” 

“It’ll all be okay, do you want to get in bed? It’s a bit warmer than these cold tiles.” 

“No, I feel sick.” 

“Okay, we will stay here,” I respond, kissing the top of her head. 

“You can go to bed, I’ll be fine.”

“And what fun will that be? Won’t have you to steal the covers,” I half-heartedly joke with her, trying my best to lighten the mood. “Plus, when the wife says to go back to bed, you never go back to bed, it’s a catch. Never leave the wife when she’s unwell.” 

“You left me today.” 

“I had to and you were asleep.” 

“Left your sick fiancé to see my father.” 

“Your father pays my bills,” I respond with a small laugh. 

“Mhm,” Anastasia hums, “Do you love me enough to go to the store and get me anti-nausea meds? this is horrible.” 

“I would, but everything closes out here at ten. We can call your royal doctor, she has all sorts of great meds.” 

“You really love her, don’t ye’?” Anastasia finally manages to giggle, “Must have been some strong stuff,” she nudges me playfully. 

“The best sleep of my life, she had me feeling great for the first two days. Then reality hit.” 

“I don’t want to bother her, she’ll have to drive up here and it’s too much of a hassle.” … “I’ll survive. So… will you tell me what’s in those envelopes up there?” 

“Nope.” I honestly respond. 

“Nothing is stopping me from getting up and grabbing them.” 

“You don’t have the energy for that, if you did, you’d have done it already.” 

“Fair point,” Anastasia agrees, “I’m sorry about earlier and throwing a fit.” 

“You have every right to feel how you do and want answers, but it’s in your best interest not to know them, it’ll stress you out, I rather if you let me stress over it instead, okay?” 

“It’s hard. Harry. I feel like everything is crumbling around me. I can handle it, I don’t need to be protected.” 

“It is crumbling, I won’t lie, it is a shit show.” 

“Way to go in being comforting.” 

“I won’t lie to you about it, everything is crumbling around us but at the end of the day, you’re safe, your parents are safe and it’ll all be okay.” 

“You keep saying that… who are you trying to convince? You or myself?” 

“Both,” I respond in all honesty. “Love, I want us to have an open communication, I don’t want us to hide things.”  

“Well, that is a little far fetched considering your job, darling,” Anastasia points out. 

I can’t say she is wrong, she has a valid point, but she is missing what I am trying to say, “I do my best to communicate, I only hide things when I need too,” … “Not that it makes it any better, I just-, I want you to know I am doing my best with balancing both and I am not trying to hide things, I just have to sometimes…” 

“Shhh, I know, quit fretting, I get it, I do. It is frustrating, but I understand, I just had a moment earlier, Harry. No need to keep worrying over it.” 

I let out a breath of relief and hold her a little closer to me, grateful that we have the sort of relationship where we can talk things out, we might get mad, but we don’t give up, we come to terms with things, we consider each other’s feelings and we get through it. 

“Harry, we do need to talk about our marriage though.” 

“What about it?” 

“How it will affect you… Harry, I will be Queen within the next year, my father wanted to hand it over by the end of the year, December isn’t too far off, I don’t know whether he still will pass it down but if he does, your life changes unless we continue to keep it quiet.” 

“Well, since Henry isn’t married to you, I don’t think you will be becoming Queen. The whole point was for Henry to gain a higher title than what he already has. And, if you do become Queen, we will cross that bridge when we get there, I think we should hold off going public, but your family should at least know.” 

“You okay with just taking it day-by-day to see what happens with the crown?” 

I’m not sure why she has so many doubts when I have done my best to reassure her, I can only thank my sister for this one. Anastasia wasn’t this doubtful until meeting my sister. 

“Of course,” I nod my head, “But, do I get to wear a crown and a robe like they do in movies?” 

“What the fuck kind of movies do you watch? No, Harry. You don’t get to walk around with a crown and a cape. Do I walk around with a crown on?” Anastasia questions. 

“No… You never wear a tiara, why?” 

"Single ladies don't typically wear tiaras unless they are born into the Royal Family as a princess. Tiaras are not worn before 6 p.m.. They are worn on formal white tie events and state occasions such as state banquets. For the most part, I have skipped these events up until the last two years, which, my mother and father have not given me a tiara to wear… Once I am married or Queen, I will wear one or I can wear a crown.” Anastasia informs me on the etiquette of crowns and tiaras. I don’t know the difference between the two, and due to not wanting to sound like a moron, I don’t want to ask her what the difference is. 

“So… I don’t get a crown?” I curiously question. 

I don’t give a flying fuck on whether I am entitled to wear a crown or not. I’m not in this for the family jewels, the crowns, estates or anything. Quite frankly, none of that means a bloody thing to me, I’m in this for Anna. 

“You can wear a gold coronet.”

I gasp, “I don’t want a knockoff crown.” I respond, unsure of what a coronet is, but it sounds close enough to a crown. I can only assume it’s a step down from a crown. 

“Fine,” Anna chuckles, “I will bestow upon you a crown you can wear. I am sure there is one in the family, we have many jewels and crowns.” 

“Great, and can I also require a robe?” 

Anna laughs, “Don’t push your luck.”

“Can I have my own crown?” 

“For my coronation, the royal jeweller can make you your bloody crown.” 

“They should match, somehow… You know?” 

I wonder how long she’ll keep this conversation with me, I don’t mean any of it, like I’ve said, I don’t give a rats ass about the crown, I’m currently trying to keep her occupied in an attempt to make her feel better. 

“I love how you’re more interested in your crown than the fact you will have a lot of power.” 

“How will I have power?” 

I have enough power as it is, any more and it might get to my head. 

“Sweetheart, everyone will have to curtsey to you… Every member of the royal family will have to bow or curtsy to you…. But the future Queen thinks it’s time for bed, sitting on this cold floor isn’t going to cut it.” 

I stand to my feet and offer my hand to help her up, she presses her hand with my own and I gently pull her to her feet, “I do have another question though regarding the royal ways,” I begin. 

“Mhm,” Anna hums as we begin to walk out of the bathroom and into my bedroom. 

“If we were to have kids…. How do we raise them?” 

“Already anticipating children?” 

“No, you mentioned while I was carrying you out of the tunnel that we weren’t having kids, but if we do… do we have to raise them royally?” 

“Uhm….” Anastasia pauses to think for a moment, looking over at me, “We will decide how we raise our children, I will leave the monarch before I allow them to tell me what to do with our hypothetical children. If I’m Queen, I call the shots.” 

“Mhm…. And will they be raised in a royal way? Will they have a title?”

“Unless we choose otherwise…. I don’t know if I want kids to have to go through what I have as a royal. I wouldn’t strip them of their title but I don’t know… it’s something to think about after we are married, we’ve barely managed that yet.” … “Let’s just go to bed,” Anastasia smiles over at me and I nod my head with a smile. 

I’m more than happy to get in bed and fall between the sheets with her beside me, but I am distracted by my phone vibrating against the side table. I walk over to it and read the messages on my screen, “I’ll be back in a minute,” I inform Anna before I step out of the bedroom and walk down the hallway to the front door. 

I open the front door and stare at Matthew, “Look, Matthew, if you want me to leave again, I’m not, I haven’t slept much in the last 48 hours, Anna’s sick and I’m not going to—“ 

“Relax,” Matthew interrupts me, “I’m not on your doorstep for another job, I’m here to tell you I’m patrolling the house and watching so you can relax.” 

“Oh.” 

“But I’m glad you’re defensive and don’t want to leave your girlfriend while she’s sick, it’s kinda cute when you’re not the dick of a security guard.” 

“Knock it off, you’re making me sound soft.” 

“You are,” Matthew chuckles, “At least with her, it’s good, you’re getting softer and better at being her partner and not her security guard.” Matthew points out and I nod my head. It’s a transition sometimes to go from a security guard who can’t show much emotion to her boyfriend. 

“Are you done?” I laugh. 

Mathew nods, “Is she okay?” 

“She’s fine, with everything that has happened, her being a little under the weather is a better outcome than her emotionally spiralling, I think it’s the stress that has finally caught up with her.” 

“Does she need the doctor?” 

“No,” I shake my head, “I will put letters in the letterbox, I need you to take them, read them, and find out who’s sending them. They know I’m here and I don’t want to take any chances. They’re involving Anna now,” I inform Matthew of all the letters that I’ve received over the month, plus the ones Anastasia saw that were sent to my mother's house. 

I’ve done my best to keep the letters to myself and Matthew, not wanting to make something out of nothing. 

“Do you have any leads yet?” 

“No… I assume the Ace’s but Victoria is dead so that leaves who? Henry? His unknown father? Their mob? Matthew, the mafia aren’t people I want on my ass or the crooked government officials the king knows.”

“I’ll see what I can find out, just keep her safe and inside.” 

I nod my head, having no intentions of stepping outside with her unless it’s the back garden. “If you don’t mind, I’m going back inside where it’s warm.” 

“Try not to get too soft on me while I’m out here patrolling and keeping your ass safe.” 

“Ya, about time you watch my ass instead of me watching yours,” I respond before stepping back into the house. 

A Few Days Later.

I overhear the sound of the glass doors open as I stand on the back porch, gazing at the garden that is beginning to frail and change colours with the changing of seasons. I turn around and offer my mother a small smile as she closes the door behind her, but she doesn’t smile back at me. 

I cock my head to the side and watch as she fidgets with her hands, her teeth chewing on her bottom lip— she wants to say something, but she doesn’t know-how. 

“Just spit it out,” I distract her from her anxiousness. 

She shakes her head and sits down on the patio furniture, crossing her leg over her knee before tapping her fingers on the armrest, “I know I’m not allowed to ask but…” my mother trials off and I raise a brow, unsure of what question she’s about to ask. All I can gather is that it’s about my job. She’s aware I can’t discuss everything with her, but that doesn’t always mean she doesn’t attempt to ask. “I saw your shirt.” 

“What shirt?” 

“The one you wore the other night.” 

Oh, fuck. Here we go with that white fucking shirt. 

I nod my head, gesturing for her to continue. “It isn’t your blood, if it was then you’d have a wound.” 

“Who says I don’t?” I question, catching my mum off guard. 

My mother stares at me and narrows her eyes down onto me, she’s not thrilled and doesn’t want to participate in my sarcasm and half-assed answers. My mother stands to her feet, steps closer and takes it upon herself to lift my shirt, inspecting my body. 

I gently push her hand away, “If you don’t mind, it’s quite chilly,” I adjust my shirt to cover my torso. 

“Harry—“

“Mum,” I cut her off, “I already had it out with Anastasia over this, please don’t ask questions or read into this.” 

My mother shakes her head at me, “I can’t just not read into it… Surely there’s an explanation.” 

I nod my head, “There is, but I can’t give it to you.” 

“Then maybe you shouldn’t have blood-stained shirts in the laundry for me to wash.” 

“I love you, and I appreciate everything you do for me… But, in my defence, I didn’t ask you to wash my clothes or that shirt, I was meant to throw it away. But apparently, everyone wants to see it.” 

“I’m not a fan of this.” 

“Join the club, you and Anastasia can have weekly meetings about it,” I mutter before heavily sighing, “Look, maybe later I can discuss things with you, but right now I can’t. On other news, since the wedding people are setting up, I’d really appreciate it if you and Gemma could participate in this… Help Anastasia pick a dress and get an idea of what she wants.” 

My mother glares at me, “I know you planned this.” 

“What?” 

“You have a wedding designer here bringing in dresses and everything else to keep her mind off of whatever the hell you’ve been up to and whatever it is you’re planning to do.” 

“While you are helping her with a dress, I’ll simply be doing paperwork,” I inform my mother, covering the fact that she’s partially correct. I had planned to surprise Anna with a wedding dress designer for a while, it just happened that right now suites all scenarios, it’ll keep her occupied and away from social media and it’ll give me time to do ‘paperwork.’ 

Of course, my paperwork will include doing some investigating on the Ace’s and the mafia they’re involved with, along with figuring out the whole situation with Victoria in the tunnels, and if I have enough time, I will hopefully manage to figure out where the fuck we are going to go from here. Anastasia and I can’t stay with my mother forever, at some point we will have to move Anna back to Buckingham or one of the other palaces. With us getting married, I’d think it’s suitable that we have a proper conversation about where we plan to live, obviously she’s going to want to choose Buckingham or the palace in Ireland but I think we should have a nice place away from the royal family, perhaps a little cottage. We need a place that’s just for me and her that has no royal affiliation to it. 

“When exactly are you getting married and where?” 

“Where and whenever she picks.” 

“Aren’t you concerned they’ll tell the media?” 

“Confidentiality contract,” I respond, “I’m going to go check on Anastasia,” I dismiss the conversation, mainly because my mothers dagger eyes brutally murder me and I can’t stand it. 

I walk inside and make my way down the hallway catching Anastasia just as she’s stepping out of the bedroom, “Good morning,” I smile, kissing her cheek instantly before bringing her into a warm embrace. She mumbles a good morning into me and I chuckle. “How are you feeling? I just put the kettle on for tea.” 

“I feel a lot better, still a little nauseous but it’s bearable.” 

“You look better than the last few days, no offence... I have a surprise for you,” I inform her, watching as she looks at me with curiosity. 

“Mhm, what is it?” Anastasia hums. 

I intertwine her fingers with mine and lead her to the end of the hallway where the dress designer has been setting up. I open the door and step in the room, allowing Anastasia to see the countless wedding dresses on wracks lined against the wall, “Anastasia, this is Charlotte, a creative director of a luxury fashion house. She will assist you with dresses and if you can’t find one will help design one, if you wish. Charlotte, this is my soon to be wife, Anastasia,” I introduce the two ladies, stepping back as they greet each other. 

“I brought a few dresses for you to look at, try on and see what you like if none of them works we can literally go to the drawing board, whatever you envision is, is what I want to create,” Charlotte sweetly informs Anastasia, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t curtesy,” Charlotte stammers and I can’t help but chuckle to myself. 

It never gets old when people get bent out of shape over curtseying. “Please,” Anna quickly shakes her head, “There’s no need, I’m not a princess, I’m just someone who wants the perfect dress,” Anastasia informs Charlotte. 

“I’ll leave you two to it… Mum and Gemma will come in and help if you’re okay with that, thought you might want some company?” 

“That would be really nice, thank you for this,” Anastasia smiles towards me before stepping closer to me and kissing my lips. 

It’s the least I could do. All she wants is a sense of normalcy, she doesn’t want the big fancy royal wedding with spectators, she isn’t asking for more than having a dress and getting married. I’ll do everything I can to make sure she gets the wedding of her dreams, even if it’s a small ceremony in the back yard with the sheep. 

Anastasia pulls on my hand as I go to walk out and I stop on my tracks, she grows quiet for a moment before leaning up and whispering, “I don’t know if I can afford a designer dress, Harry, without dipping into the royal—“ 

I gently cut her off with a kiss, “Money isn’t a factor.” 

“But.” 

“It’s covered, no matter what you pick, it’s covered. Get the dress of your dreams, don't worry about money or whether the royals will pay for it, I have it covered.” 

“Harry—“ 

I shake my head, “Don’t worry,” I kiss her lips again before walking out of the room, well aware that she’ll stand there and argue with me all day if I’d let her. 

While Anastasia is occupied with the wedding with my mother and sister to soon be right behind her, I slip out of the house and make my way to the parked car on the street. I open the door and relax on the passenger side, “Bloody Hell, do you not know what heat is?” I challenge Matthew with a gasp, leaning forward and turning the heat on, “Seriously, I know you’re older but heat was invented many years ago,” I continue, pressing my hand to the vents. 

“Harry, it is not that cold.” 

“There’s frost on the grass, it is ten degrees this morning.” I point out the fact the grass is insignificantly wet and there is a slight mist of fog lingering from the overnight temperatures.

“Well, put on a jacket,” Mathew smirks, “Besides the point, you’re late, the King has already called.” 

“I had to occupy Anna… I am glad I missed the call, I don’t even want to know what he wants now.” 

I am starting to have this yearning of avoiding the King at all costs, but I obviously can’t, he pays my bills and I am in love with his daughter. I will never get away from him. 

“You don’t get to pick and choose when he is the boss.”

I sigh and look at Mathew, “Anna is being weird with me since I won’t tell her what happened, I can’t do more shady shit,” I inform Mathew, “At least let me marry her before causing problems, she is less likely to leave if we are married.”

Mathew laughs and shakes his head, “That sounds like a great relationship. Either tell her or lie.”

“I don’t want to do either. The king said he would kill us if we told anyone...”

The King was very specific with his instructions. 

“He can’t hurt a fly, he has us do his dirty work, Harry. Do what I do.”

“Lie?” I question, unsure of what he tells his wife when he suddenly has to leave or when he is never home. 

“Tell her you can't talk about things because what was discussed is confidential.” 

“That would be great but my future wife is the future Queen and she saw the blood on my shirt, that is the issue. She wants to know where the blood came from.” 

“Next time, get rid of evidence you moron,” Mathew shakes his head, “Look, tell her someone was hit by  a car and you saved them.” 

“Oh, yes, let me dig myself into more of a hole,” I huff, looking down at my phone and scrolling through my contacts, “The private detective I hired to keep an eye on Henry hasn’t found anything, Henry has been staying at a cottage an hour outside London. A small two-bedroom cottage and a vegetable patch.” 

“Where?” 

“ Singleton, but I don’t know why he has tried to go off the radar and hide… Took a while for the lead.” 

“And what are you going to do with this lead?” Mathew asks. 

“Well, nothing. I can’t do anything, if I do, it would be stupid, he would instantly link me to Victoria’s death, I have to stay quiet… Plus, he isn’t doing anything. Actually, do you think he had anything to do with Victoria’s death?” I curiously begin to question. 

There isn’t much of reasons for Henry to suddenly go into hiding, I didn’t threaten him besides when he tried to take Anna’s horse, he got away with his psychotic behaviour, in fact, I think the King gave back the horse without Anastasia knowing— not that she would care— I don’t think she will ever get on a horse again. 

Mathew stares at me for a moment and thinks, “Unlikely, it is his mother, what motive would he have? Ask the detective where he was that night, plus, nobody knows about Victoria yet, there haven’t even been reports of her missing, the media is quiet.” 

“A little too quiet,” I mutter, “Anyway, what did the King have to say?” 

“We are on media duty, we need to leak a story or two.” 

“What are we leaking?” I ask.

“This is the part you’re not going to like… He wants to use Anastasia as a decoy from everything. He wants the media and the people to believe that she has stepped away from the palace to focus more on her royal duties privately and to better grasp things.”

I roll my eyes, “Not the first time he uses her as a decoy. Why can’t the actual Queen be used? Why is it, Anna?” 

“Well, the Queen isn’t as popular, quite frankly, at this point, nobody gives a damn what the Queen does. Everyone is interested in Anastasia, you are aware she will be Queen soon? She is big news.” 

“Whatever,” I hum, “So we have to leak stories that aren’t true to suit the King’s narrative? Can you do it? I don’t want Anna hating me much more. I don’t want a divorce before I m even married.” I ask Matthew as he begins to drive up the road. 

“I can,” he nods, “But you have to take the next call from the King.” 

I agree and nod my head, taking the file on his dashboard and beginning to read through it to get an understanding of what the King wants and what exactly we need to do. 

#harry styles imagines #imagine harry styles #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles blurbs #harry styles prompts #harry styles fanfictions #harry styles fic #harry styles one shots #harry styles preferences #1d imagine #imagine 1d #imagine one direction #harry styles fanfics #fanfic one direction #one direction fanfiction #one direction fan fiction #one direction blurbs #harry styles blurb

[elyvorg]

Imagine if the students successfully “defeated” Monokuma in trial 5, and also that Kaito incidentally had about one more day to live as of that point in time. (This is the end result of my trial 5 AU, not that any of the story in that post is particularly relevant to the AU story I’m about to present here.) An anon suggested to me that, from here, the students could demand that Monokuma owes them a life – in other words, he has to nurse Kaito back to health for them.

I had my doubts over whether it’d be the right call to actually trust Monokuma with Kaito’s health in that situation… but then again, that’s the fun part. What if they did make the mistake of entrusting Kaito’s life to Monokuma? What cruel things could he do while still technically complying with their demands?

Here’s what I thought of: Monokuma “saves Kaito’s life” by making a huge Flashback Light full of Kaito’s backstory plus all his experiences throughout the killing game itself, and all those memories get shoved into a fresh body. This would create a new person who is essentially still Kaito and is also perfectly healthy. Ta-da, Kaito gets to live!

Meanwhile, Kaito – our Kaito, the one who actually went through the killing game with his friends – well, he’s not needed any more. So, completely unbeknownst to anyone else, Monokuma just leaves him somewhere to die.

Aaaaand my thoughts on this idea escalated rather a lot, to the point that there’s kind of a whole story here.

Kaito’s death

Kaito is taken to some empty room somewhere – I dunno, maybe there’s a bed in it to at least give a vague impression that it could be some kind of hospital room, but maybe not even that – and told to just wait for the nurses to come and see to him. So he waits, his suspicion growing, and it doesn’t take long for him to get the sinking realisation that nobody’s coming, are they. He goes to open the door to try and look for Monokuma and yell at him to stop screwing around and keep his goddamn end of the bargain, only to find it locked.

With a chilling dread, it hits him that this was all a trap – a really obvious one at that, one he literally walked right into like an absolute moron. Monokuma never had any plans to cure him at all.

He’s going to die here, in this room, completely and utterly alone.

Kaito wouldn’t just give up, of course. He’d furiously try to bust down the locked door keeping him trapped there, but… his body would be so weak by now that he wouldn’t stand a chance. He’d only end up hurting himself even more, and after a while he just wouldn’t have the strength to keep trying.

And he might have more or less resigned himself and been mentally prepared for the fact that he’s not surviving this illness – though losing that glimmer of a way out he’d almost thought he had really, really kind of sucks – but, this is worse than he thought it’d be. Up until now, he'd finally begun to feel some relief in that, even if he does still end up dying, at least he'll die something of a hero, surrounded by his friends. Not like this. He never wanted to die like this – pointlessly, uselessly, alone and forgotten like he never even mattered. He doesn’t even have anything to distract himself with or to do to feel like he’s making a difference in his final hours. There’s just nothing but waiting to die, the pain getting harder and harder to bear as he feels his body slowly tear itself apart.

This is probably the absolute cruellest possible way Kaito could die from his illness, so much worse than how it happens in canon. (And, damn it, he hasn't even been to space…!)

Kaito would have no idea what's happening outside of the room he dies in, so he might be able to console himself to some extent by thinking that, once he’s gone, when Shuichi and Maki never see him again and realise they were tricked, they’ll be furious and will fight to avenge him. (Or, perhaps there’s still a chance, if they realise that something’s up soon enough, that they might be able to come for him in time and somehow save him after all…? It’s such a long shot – his death feels so close, dammit – but they’re his heroes, they’re amazing, so maybe—!)

But in reality... they wouldn't even know. They’d just obliviously leave him there to die, because Kaito would be right there with them, cured like Monokuma promised.

Kaito’s survival

That’d be the second horrible part of this – but not because this new Kaito who meets up with Shuichi and Maki all “cured” would be like some hollow imitation who isn’t truly Kaito at all. No; that’s not how it works. Flashback Lights create real people.

While I said at the beginning of this post that the one who died alone was “our” Kaito, that wasn't really quite fair of me. The other Kaito who's here now deserves to be thought of in exactly the same way. He would be our Kaito too, one hundred percent. Much like how Alter Ego Gonta was another Gonta, this is another instance of Kaito, separate from the one who died, but still him.

On the one hand, the new Kaito could have been made from a clone of the original Kaito’s body, so that he looks completely identical and nothing seems amiss at first. But on the other hand, he could be in an entirely different body – which is the version I’d rather lean towards, because that’d make things get awkward and painful a lot more quickly.

(If you want something to picture him as looking like: because it makes sense that Team Danganronpa would have picked a body that looked kind of similar and still fit his character, I’m imagining one of Kaito’s beta designs. I went for the one with poofy hair and eyebrows to rival Taka’s, specifically because he doesn’t look too similar to our Kaito, yet he nonetheless still has a very dorky Kaito energy to him. Meanwhile, his clothes would presumably be exactly the same. That and, despite the poofy hair, Kaito would totally grab some hairspray at the earliest opportunity and attempt to style his new hair into his trademark spiky upwardsness, just to try and look and feel a bit more like his usual self. The result would be, uh… something. It’d be something, all right.)

Some time after taking Kaito away to be cured, then, Monokuma presents Kaito’s miraculous recovery, brazenly handwaving the new body by claiming that extensive plastic surgery was totally necessary to save him. Maki and Shuichi would initially be all “?????? don’t mess with us, how the FUCK do you expect us to believe that this is Kaito”. Except... it is. His face and voice are completely different, but everything about how his eyes light up when he sees them, and the way he talks, and how quietly hurt he seems when they question if it's really him - it's still absolutely Kaito. And he appears to be just as genuinely confused as they are by the different body once they point it out to him and show him to a mirror.

Maybe they'd also confirm it by asking him things that only the real Kaito would know – and he knows all of it. Not just knows it, he obviously feels it, too. After asking him his favourite spaceship and seeing him visibly restrain himself from launching into a huge excited ramble about why that spaceship is so cool (exactly like he didn’t restrain himself from doing last time)… they can't deny it's really him.

The last thing Kaito remembers is being led away by Monokuma, and then he woke up like this; he must have been unconscious for whatever the hell was done to him in between. He and his friends end up concluding that Monokuma must have saved his life by… transferring his consciousness into a new body? Which seems more possible than they might have imagined considering how the Virtual World worked, now that they think about it, so maybe they'd be able to accept that.

(Is transferring a consciousness like that actually possible in this universe, though? Or does the Virtual World computer just create a virtual copy of them from their memories while the original one sleeps, and then Flashback Light their virtual self’s new memories back into their real body when they log out? That’d mean the virtual person would have to be deleted afterwards. It’d be painless and they’d never remember it, but in a sense, it’d be killing them.)

Kaito himself is pretty chill with it once he’s got over the initial shock. Sure, it’ll take some getting used to looking like this – he’s gonna have to grow himself a new goatee, to say nothing of the hair – but still, he’ll take this over dying any day. (He’d almost forgotten what it felt like to not be in pain.)

It'd still be super awkward for Shuichi and Maki, though, trying to adjust to Kaito looking and sounding completely different on the surface, constantly reminding themselves that this face and this voice is still Kaito. The two of them – especially Maki, who has a harder time trusting people instinctively – wouldn't quite be able to shake off the nagging possibility this could be some kind of impostor aligned with Monokuma who's just really really good at acting like Kaito. Of course they'd want to believe in him, because a different body is still infinitely better than losing him, but it wouldn’t quite come naturally.

Kaito, being Kaito, would very much pick up on the signs that his sidekicks are still a little subconsciously suspicious of him. It’d sting, but he wouldn't bring it up. Kaito's always fine! Now that he's healthy again, he’s got absolutely nothing to worry about! …which is to say, he doesn't want to go admitting to his new worries, not when doing so would be giving them even more reasons to feel like he's not quite Kaito and secretly not really want him around.

Kaito’s existence

But just when Shuichi and Maki have started to really get used to Kaito’s new body and things are beginning to feel somewhat normal between them again, everything would come out during the equivalent of trial 6.

As Shuichi figures out what Flashback Lights really do and Tsumugi starts trying to make everyone despair over how “fictional” they all are, Kaito, because he’s Kaito, would be having none of her bullshit. (However, I’ll keep this part brief here since I’m hopefully going to do a regular trial-6-with-Kaito AU at some point that should really be the place I expand on this properly.)

Sure, learning that they’re “characters” created from fake memories when the killing game began is kind of a lot to take in, but it doesn’t change the reality of who they are right now. The only thing that matters is what they want to believe, and they obviously want to believe that they’re real, just like they always have! Hell, their pasts being fiction is great news in Maki Roll’s case – she never really killed anyone, and she’ll never have to!

And Tsumugi’s claims that nothing matters because it was all “fiction” for entertainment are even more bullshit. Their pasts may be made up, but the entire killing game really happened. All those people really died. Every bit of the pain and suffering they and their friends went through in it was absolutely real.

But as he’s saying this part, Tsumugi turns to Kaito with a scathing grin. “How would you know? You weren’t even there.”

Before anyone can question what she means by this, she turns on another video – and this one’s not an audition tape. There were Nanokumas in the room where the original Kaito died. His final hours were recorded, as proof that Kaito is dead.

They wouldn’t watch the entire thing – he was in there for something like twenty-four hours – but she could have put together a “highlights reel”, some of the moments where Kaito couldn’t help but express exactly how lost and scared and desperate he felt. And of course it’d culminate in the moment of his death, just to hammer it home and make sure they know that it’s far too late to save him.

As Shuichi and Maki are reeling in horror from the suffering Kaito went through and the fact that they let that happen to him, Tsumugi goes for the decisive blow. She explains how the new Kaito came to be here, calling him a “fake”, an “imitation” who “tricked” them while they left the real Kaito to die.

And… Kaito kind of starts to believe it.

…See, one of the reasons this scenario really grabbed my interest (other than the prospect of Kaito dying scared and helpless and alone while also not being gone from the story afterwards) was that until now I didn’t think it was possible to give Kaito existential issues. He just has too much conviction in who he is. Under regular trial 6 circumstances, the reveals about Flashback Lights and his backstory being fake memories would barely faze him at all.

His memories are fake and all those things in his past never really happened? Okay, so he’s kind of shaken to realise his grandparents and fellow astronaut trainees don’t exist – but in that case, if none of the people in his memories are real, then the only person those memories matter to is himself. And if he feels like they were real, they might as well have been, at least in terms of the person he is now because of them. Oh, but the person he is now isn’t real, because the “real” Kaito is that murder-happy asshole in the audition video? Well, no, that dumbass was just somebody else, duh. Maybe he had the same body and possibly even the same name, but that doesn’t matter. The real Kaito, the one and only Luminary of the Stars, is right here! That's who he wants to believe he is, so it's who he is, dammit. End of discussion.

But in this situation… the real Kaito was undeniably the one who died alone in that room. Not him. His memories might feel real, but he doesn’t have the right to feel like those events happened to him, not when the memories belong to somebody else – someone who actually experienced all those things, whose friends that he experienced it all with are right here. It’s like he’s just stealing those memories, stealing that identity, stealing Kaito’s entire life. That’s not fair.

He still wants to be Kaito; he’s never gonna want to be anyone else, but… there’s no way he deserves to decide that, does he? Not when the real Kaito died, and Kaito’s sidekicks are still here and grieving for him. Knowing that, and with Maki Roll and Shuichi giving him these hurt, horrified looks that say You're not Kaito… maybe he really isn't.

(But Kaito is the only person he wants to or even knows how to be. So if he's not Kaito, then… who the hell even is he?)

Kaito’s friends

With Kaito stunned into speechlessness, and Shuichi and Maki shaken from the undeniable demonstration of how easy it is to just fake an entire person, leaving them also questioning how real they really are despite Kaito’s earlier efforts, it seems like Tsumugi’s succeeded in making everyone despair.

(at this point Keebo is supposed to barge in with his hope nonsense, but hey, how about we don’t have that clogging this up when I’m trying to tell an interesting story here)

But after a little while of none of the others having it in themselves to protest Tsumugi’s claims, Kaito (or, well, someone who once mistakenly went by that name; it doesn’t matter now) speaks up – hesitantly, because he still isn’t sure he really deserves to. “Hey, c’mon, Shuichi… This isn’t like you. You can’t just give up like this.”

(He resists the instinct to add, “You’re my sidekick,” because no, he’s not.)

It doesn’t matter about him, but Shuichi’s still absolutely real. He’s Shuichi Saihara, the Ultimate Detective who’s gonna save everyone, right? Never mind what Tsumugi says – that’s who he wants to be, who he’s always been trying so hard to be, so that’s who he is. And if that’s the case, then he can’t let something like this get him down!

“I guess this doesn’t mean much coming from me, but… I believe in you. For real.”

Shuichi stares at him in dawning realisation. This is… exactly the kind of thing Kaito would say to encourage him at a time like this. Especially the way he’s selflessly helping someone else even though he’s the one who’s got to be suffering the most right now. He… really is Kaito, isn’t he?

Kaito doesn’t meet his eye, muttering that that’s not really for him to decide. But… if Shuichi and Maki Roll want him to be Kaito, then – he glances at Shuichi hopefully – then maybe…?

Shuichi firmly tells him that no, that’s wrong. Kaito was just asserting that Shuichi and Maki and everyone else here get to decide who they want to be, so why should it be any different for him? If he wants to be Kaito, then Shuichi’s with him all the way. And Maki feels the same, right?

Maki puts in, slowly, like she’s still figuring this out as she speaks, that she’s been thinking hard about things since he pointed out that this means she never really killed anyone. It’s true that it’s a relief to know that nobody ever died because of her, but… she still feels like she killed all those people. It still hurts, because all of those memories feel real to her.  So in that sense, it’s like she might as well have actually gone through all that hell.

Then… it must be the same for him, right? Even if it wasn’t really him who trained with them and supported them, he feels like it was, doesn’t he? So… he might as well be the same Kaito. If her feelings matter even if they came from fake memories, then so do his.

Hearing both their words to him, Kaito’s face gradually lights up into a huge, somewhat desperate grin. Of course he wants to be Kaito; there’s nobody else he’d rather be! And, Shuichi and Maki Roll, they… they still wanna be his sidekicks, right?

Of course they do. Shuichi and Maki were pretty shaken by the initial shock of seeing Kaito’s death and realising where the Kaito standing in front of them came from, to the point that their kneejerk reactions in that moment might have made him feel like they didn’t see him as Kaito or want him around. But having a little bit of time to process it and reflect on it, and seeing how badly Kaito was hurting from thinking this is how they feel about him… there’s no way that’d be what they settle on. They’re his friends – and they can’t bear to lose him twice.

Maybe they messed up in the sense that they let Kaito die on his end, but they also simultaneously didn't lose Kaito on their end. This person who's here for them right now is still him, and none of what happened to the other Kaito is his fault. How could they just throw away this second chance? They’re still going to need Kaito’s support – and this Kaito needs them, too, more than ever. It’s awful that they failed Kaito once, but they can at least make sure to never fail him again.

(Kaito tells them firmly that no, they didn’t fail him. There’s no way Kaito would have ever thought that, no matter how afraid he was at the end.)

Epilogue

After escaping and settling into the outside world, as the survivors put together a gravesite for the friends from their game who didn't make it, they make sure there's a grave there for Kaito as well. Kaito, Shuichi and Maki visit it from time to time. It only seems right to do so.

The other Kaito, the one who died scared and alone, would have been happy to know that this’d be how it ended, Kaito reflects: to know that he still gets to live on, in a way, and keep being there for his sidekicks. That he didn't just die useless and forgotten. He's certain of it - because he's Kaito, too.

  [part 2 to this post - because I had another fun idea that branches off partway through this one - here!]

#danganronpa v3 #danganronpa v3 spoilers #kaito momota #shuichi saihara #maki harukawa #friends #training trio #v3 aus #writing #my buttons #hello my name is elyvorg and my hobbies include wrenching my own heart out #definitely not what anon signed up for when they innocently suggested their idea #but i hope they're proud for being the reason this story exists now #duplicate kaito au

[formulatrash]

sorry if this is like. an invasive q but as someone who has been open about mental health issues: did you have any really bad periods overlap with school/uni? and if so do you have any tips because... like. is it worth toughing out a degree, or do you prioritise mental health knowing failing will probably fuck you up worse in the long run, esp for financial reasons?

Hey,

I definitely did - I am the classic ‘extremely bright kid whose performance gradually slumped and slumped until I scraped a pass on my degree and tried to forget it ever happened.’

Here’s something I will say: academic qualifications are great but they are worth what you get out of them, not the piece of paper at the end. If you’re able to maximise a degree and learn eg: how to get further funding, make connections, gain skills etc then: great! It’s going to help your career prospects. But the bit of paper saying you finished, somehow, doesn’t help your career prospects that much, if you’re unable to do anything with it. 

If what you’re doing is stewing in mental hell, then right now is not the moment for this course or maybe for you or for whatever circumstances are going on.

Universities have ways of suspending studies, usually and even with like A-Levels or whatever you can opt to take a year out and come back. Schools and unis would prefer to help you take some time out than to fail a student, so definitely talk to your tutor or head of studies - they’re genuinely there for this, as much as it might feel like you’re bothering them. I wish I had tbh.

What do you actually want to do, right now? There’s nothing shameful in saying just some work that you can competently get done, without it coming home with you, to take off the mental ‘you’re a failure, you’re a failure, you’re a failure’ beating. Retail work made me happier, much more productive and much more able to read and enthuse about things than my degree ever did. I’d come home and write, y’know. 

Be kind to yourself; physical/mental health analogies are questionable but if your degree was causing you some severe allergy, where your skin turned red-raw and you struggled to wear clothes, then you wouldn’t think ‘oh I should push through this for the certificate’ you’d think ‘I need to get this sorted, so I can come back and do my degree properly.’

I had to quit a job recently because I realised I had gone, how you say, fucking mental and I couldn’t manage to do it. And screaming at myself that I should be able to do it because on a good day, in the right circumstances I absolutely could have done it in my sleep, was just stupid. 

It was making me low-level suicidal all the time and combined with, y’know, Everything™️ I just needed to get the fuck away from the mental torture chamber about it. You can’t just keep giving yourself another 400V of pure self-hatred and, when your quivering brain stops crying enough to even try and do the thing, effectively laugh at all of its distress signals that it can’t right now and hook it back up.

It’s really hard to be kind to yourself over the markers that we’re driven towards by society but an uncomfortable truth is also that: the world is changing so rapidly we don’t honestly know what the hell anyone will need in 10 years so if what you need right now is a break in beating yourself up and getting more miserable, take that out. Work out what you really want before you keep forcing yourself down this line for what could be the rest of your life; if you’re finding your degree distressing now, that piece of paper telling you you need to make something of it will rule your life. It’s ok to have to rethink, it’s really very dumb we make choices like this so young. 

(I did international relations, seemed very pressing at the time; absolute garbage, wish I’d done media studies and video editing)

#advice asks

[roronoasanjii]

I thought it was a shame to just leave this in a folder and never do anything with it so here’s an old Critical Role fic idea I came up with. It’s only written like notes but I still really like it.

Hope you enjoy!

Caleb is in the witness protection scheme. He killed his parents when he was younger (thirteen) and they sent him away and changed his name to protect him after he spent a couple of years in a mental health facility. He came out the other side of it feeling better than he did, but still majorly suffering from depression.

Caleb is an orphan, through his own doing, and none of his family wanted anything to do with him so he is now in foster care.

He has a deep British-German mix accent.

He attends the same high school as the gang, having being enrolled there when he left the mental health facility and came to live at the group home. He struggled to make friends out of fear of anyone knowing who he was, but he comes to be friends with a guy called Mollymauk in his classes who then further introduces him to the rest of the gang.

Caleb hasn't been fostered when we first meet him, he's still in a group home which he hates, and the gang notice this so they try as much as possible to keep Caleb away from there by inviting him out, or round to their houses.

At some point Caleb is fostered and the gang immediately notice that he seems different; he's barely said anything to any of them since they arrived at school. Molly is sent over to talk because they're not stupid; they know that Caleb seems to be at his calmest around Molly.

Caleb tells Molly what's happening and he offers reassurance, telling Caleb that at least this means he's going to get out of the group home

Caleb is fostered by a woman called Veth. At first glance, it's obvious that this woman is overly keen about the prospect of having a child, despite the fact that Caleb is anything but, now seventeen.

Caleb notices how out of touch with society Veth is, but not from her own doing. People look at her and judge heavily for reasons that he can't fathom, but it happens quite regularly.

He hears crying one night and tiptoes down the stairs to hear Veth talking in the kitchen quietly to herself. Caleb overhears her talking about a son and a husband, which he realises are the missing pieces in this house that should be there but aren't. It's also pretty clear that she's been on her own until she fostered Caleb.

Caleb isn't stupid. He sees the link between the clearly grieving broken mother who needs a replacement for the child she lost and him. Caleb believes there's nothing more to it which doesn't help him feel more at home, instead doing the exact opposite because he doesn't know who she wants him to be.

Veth tries her hardest and makes sure to try and allow Caleb to feel safe in the house, but he still struggles with the balance of it all and the sheer amount of changes in his life of late. Upon noticing this, Veth asks him if he's okay and manages to wriggle out of him the fact that he overheard her in the kitchen. She puts two and two together and correctly guesses that he thinks he's a replacement.

His accent slips, falling away in his fear.

"Luke was my child, and I love him... But you are not Luke."

Caleb feels like this is it, this is the moment when he gets sent back to the group home again, he's blown it already because he dared to even compare himself to Veth’s own flesh and blood son. Caleb kicks himself for being so stupid, but Veth isn't finished.

"I fostered you because you are a kind young man with a bright future ahead of him that just needed someone in his life who cared. You're not a replacement and you were never meant to be one. I don't want you to be Luke; I just want you to be Caleb."

Caleb nods and accepts a hug from Veth when she offers him one. She has noticed the change in accent.

"Is that German?"

"Yes." He clears his throat. "I'm uh, I'm German. My parents moved here when I was very young."

"So why where you doing that accent?"

"I think we're both a little scared of what people would say to us. I learnt quickly that children are unkind, the others at school would tease me and call me horrible names, and then my parents… passed away and I went into the system. No one wanted to foster some weird German kid, and I hated myself so I changed my accent trying to make myself a different person. I wanted to be anyone else but me, but I couldn't.”

Veth strokes a hand down his cheek and smiles.

"Like I said, I just want you to be Caleb. You can speak however you like here."

"It's just, strange, you know, after all this time."

"Well whatever you come to decide, it will sound lovely either way."

The two become closer after this.

Veth and Caleb do something together that he really ends up enjoying. Veth comments that it's the first time she's seen him smile, which only makes Caleb smile more, because it's true, he truly had a good time. But that only just makes Caleb head worse because now the thoughts come back about how he doesn't deserve to be happy because of what he did.

He starts to isolate himself which scares Veth, and he barely talks to her. She becomes more and more worried about him until she calls his social worker to ask for advice.

When Caleb returns home from school to see his social worker's car parked outside he immediately becomes panicked. Going inside confirms the sight of his social worker and that's when he immediately feels betrayed. He thought things were going well with Veth and he was seriously trying his hardest to make it all work but now she's abandoning him just like everyone else.

Caleb runs off, unaware of the actual reasoning behind the visit and Veth panics. Her and the social worker rush to try and find him, which Veth eventually does. He's covered in mud and soaked through when she comes across him, curled up under a tree and sobbing. She pulls him into a huge hug and she fusses about how he's silly for running away and how he could have gotten hurt, or pneumonia, or worse and Caleb feels so much guilt in that moment because he remembers their conversation about Luke.

Veth lost her husband and child in a way that left her feeling useless because how they died was out of her control. There's nothing she could have done to save them because she wasn't even there when it happened, she found out afterwards when they had already passed.

Caleb connects the dots to realise that a lot of Veth's responses to things he does probably stem from never wanting to lose someone ever again if she has a way of preventing it. So when he walks home in the dark, if anything happened to him she would always know that she could very easily have gone and picked him up if she'd known, or when he runs off without any warning that anything could happen to him and she wouldn't know before it was too late, exactly like Luke and her husband.

Veth tells him that there is nothing that would ever make her give him up. Ever. Caleb nods, feeling a little better, but ultimately knowing that if she knew the truth, she would get rid of him in a heartbeat. He makes a pact with himself to stop unintentionally giving Veth a heart attack by accepting her offers on things such as lifts because it clearly gives her peace of mind.

At one point the gang notice bandages or bracelets, or just a slip of Caleb’s sleeves that reveal scars on his arms. They immediately presume the worse and panic. They try talking to him about it which doesn't go well at all. Caleb leaves the school and walks all the way home in the rain in his big brown coat and scarf that Veth bought him - his most treasured possessions along with the books that she has gotten him too.

When Veth gets home she knows something is wrong and asks if Caleb wants to talk about it. Caleb declines but Veth sorta’ doubles down saying that she really needs to know because she's worried. In a moment of bravery, Caleb pulls up his sleeve to reveal the scars on his arm and rope marks on his wrist.

Caleb tells her that he didn't do this but then nicely asks her to not ask any more questions than that, which she reluctantly agrees. She then takes out her tablet and starts tapping away. When Caleb asks what she's doing, Veth is looking for ways in which he can cover them up because she can see how much they upset Caleb to look at. Caleb is overcome with a feeling of love due to how just genuinely lovely she is. He thinks he doesn't deserve her.

Veth tells Caleb, who's in his room feeling shitty, that she has a surprise for him. Caleb is curious as Veth pushes open the door a little more to reveal, a cat. Apparently Veth adopted her for Caleb, hoping she might help him when he's feeling down or upset.

Caleb falls head over fucking heels in love with this cat immediately, naming her Frumpkin for no particular reason other than he can. The two become practically inseparable.

On the anniversary of the murders there is a news report which plays on TV, Caleb is at somebody's house when it does and he just immediately panics because he hears everything and it makes him feel sick to the point where he sprints to the bathroom and pukes heavily and violently, breaking down in sobs. Molly comes to the bathroom to check on him and they talk, Caleb doesn't admit anything and Molly doesn't push him to, admitting that this can stay between them and the others don't have to know so they don't start questioning him.

Caleb goes home, stating not feeling well as his reason for leaving early. He walks back, which Veth once again tells him off for, pointing out that its black dark outside and anything could've happened to him. She rants at him in a mother-henning way for a couple of minutes before taking a breath and pulling him into a hug. That's when Caleb breaks down in apologies, begging Veth not to get rid of him.

Veth cements the fact that she will never do that, but states that she thinks it's time that he tells her what's really going on in that head of his. Caleb tells her that he can't, but as she progressively looks more and more hurt by feeling like a bad parent and shut out by him, Caleb eventually caves.

"My name was Bren Aldric Ermendrud."

Caleb tells her about how they put him in a mental health facility for a few years, and the older woman helped him. This woman asked Caleb what he was in for and in his absolute lowest state, tells her the truth of what happened, admitting that he was groomed to do it by a man named Trent Ikithon who lied to him about so many things. The woman, being the first and only person he has ever opened to about it, tells Caleb that he was only young when it happened, and that it wasn’t his fault. Yes he may have committed the act, but he wasn't in the right headspace, and was made to do it by an adult. This led to Caleb feeling a little better for the first time and her encouragement for him to accept therapy didn't fall on deaf ears with Caleb doing exactly that meaning that he ended up being discharged early.

Caleb tells Veth everything and feels sick once again after doing so, not able to look her in the eye. There is silence in the living room of the house for a painful amount of time before Veth just smushes him into an absolutely enormous hug and tells him firmly that the woman in the facility was right, it wasn't his fault, and that the true blame lies in the hands of Trent.

Veth puts two and two together with the scars, which Caleb admits is true, Trent did that to him. She asks him what he’d like to be called, and he states that he still wishes to be known as Caleb

After this, the two only become stronger, their bond growing as does their protectiveness of one-another.

Caleb and Molly's relationship grows too as they become strong friends, Molly looking out for him on days when he really needed a friend. All is going well until Caleb arrives at school one morning to a tense, horrible atmosphere.

There are a lot of tearful looking eyes and sad faces. Caleb, confused and worried finds the gang to ask what's going over. He notices Molly's older brother, Caduceus from the year above.

"What happened?"

Jester deflates as she sighs, wordlessly pulls him into a hug. As he pulls away, Caleb notices the ostentatious missing member of their group.

"Where's Molly?"

Caduceus scrubs a shaky hand down his chin, clearing his throat.

"He uh… he died. Last night."

Caleb's breath catches in his throat as his hand flies to his mouth, shaking his head as tears come to his eyes.

"No…"

Caduceus pulls him close and hugs him, getting emotional himself.

"Everything was normal and ordinary until it wasn't. Molly coughed up blood, Mom took him to the hospital… and an hour later he was dead... just like that." Caduceus takes a breath to compose himself, clearing his throat once again. "Our Aunt is planning a memorial service, you guys are all invited. You don't have to do speeches and all that if you don't want to but the choice is yours. You know Molly; he would've loved all this fuss. No doubt he would have applauded the pageantry of it all."

"Oh." Caleb opens his satchel and takes out the large notebook Veth bought him. From the mess of papers and coursework handouts in the back he flicks through them until he arrives at a purple coloured sheet. "Here."

Caduceus takes the piece of paper, unfolding it.

"It's Molly's favourite poem, he uh, he wrote it out for me in English class because he said I was uncultured for having never experienced Yeats."

"Thanks, this is perfect for the memorial. Are you sure you don't want to keep this?"

"If you want it you can have it. If not, you can give it back to me at the end of the service, I don't mind which."

Caleb is unsurprisingly quiet after Molly's death. Veth looks after him, so does Frumpkin, the ginger tabby having become accustomed to lying across Caleb's shoulders, tail hanging down over his chest.

As if she knew of his sadness, Frumpkin made sure to stay close, never leaving Caleb's sight when she felt he might need her.

The gang all attend the memorial. It is held in the local park Molly loved. A thin layer of snow had fallen that morning providing a beautiful backdrop. Beside the purple flower beds, a large tree branch had been stabbed into the ground, Molly's eccentric coat draped over it, blowing gently in the wind.

Caleb doesn't make a speech and he feels like a traitor for not being able to man enough to do it, but he feels a hand reach close and take hold of his own with a gentle squeeze. Beau. She had been a godsend in the past week or so since Molly's death.

Despite the fact that they famously didn't really seem to ever get on at high school, Beau had gone above and beyond to make sure he was okay, offering him someone to talk to, and being there for him when he just needed to let it all out.

After the memorial, Caleb struggles with both the finality of saying goodbye to Molly and the sight of the flames from the barbecue set up to serve food, the scent causing him to gag a little as he walks off through the park to the tree Molly used to read beside. Caduceus follows him over.

"You doing okay, Mr. Caleb?"

"Why do you call me that?"

"I don't know. You've always been quite an enigma so it seemed fitting, plus, I know irritates you so there's that too." Caduceus answered with a smirk before offering a soft smile. "Molly wouldn't want you to be crying. Try and think about all the good times rather than the bad, that's how he'd want you to remember him."

"I know it is, it's just…"

"It's hard I know, but you're not alone in this, you have people who care about you, myself included. Don't think that you can't talk."

"Thanks, Cad."

He nods, clapping Caleb on the shoulder.

"Oh, I almost forgot." Caduceus reaches into his pocket and hands the contents to Caleb.

"What's this?"

"A letter from Molly and his tarot cards, he wanted you to have them. He was always talking about you being a little lost, maybe they just might help. I don't know... Molly was into this bullshit more than I was.” Caduceus smirks before walking back over to the other guests.

 Caleb takes a breath before opening the small folded piece of paper clearly from a hospital notepad. Clearing his throat he begins to read.

'Hey Cay,

I'm stuck in here puking my guts up and something tells me that it's not looking good for me. Fucking cards.

I haven't got much paper so be prepared for tiny handwriting, I'm sure you'll manage.

Anyway, the first thing I wanna say is, you're cute, and if I wasn't slowly internally bleeding to death then there's no doubt I wouldn't have tried wooing you eventually.

Second, stop being so afraid of everything and live your fucking life dude. It's feeling more and more like you're gonna' have to live it for the both of us so get out there and do shit. Kiss a girl, kiss a boy, tell Veth how much she means to you, get yourself adopted, accept more invites from the gang, get some therapy for that old noggin of yours, I don't know, just promise me you'll not block everyone out. That's what worries me most about potentially dying, you not going to the others for help because I'm not there anymore to come to you. Please, don't be alone.

I hope someday we'll meet each other again.

Take care of my brother for me.

Love,

Molly x'

Emotionally wrecked after the memorial and reading Molly's letter, Caleb actually calls Veth to get a lift home for once rather than just walking. Weirdly though, he doesn't get an answer, the phone just ringing and ringing. Finding that strange, Caleb grabs a ride from Fjord and Jester.

When he walks in, the light is on in the kitchen and Veth is sitting at the table holding a bag of peas to her face, one arm huddled proactively to her chest.

Caleb enters to see her covered in bruises, anger flaring immediately.

"Who did this?" He asks low and furious.

"Caleb, I'm fine."

"You're not fine, you're hurt. Someone did this to you and you need to tell me who that person is."

“It's just a bump."

“It's more than a bump! People treat you like you're below them and I hate it. They stare, they judge, they whisper shit, it's vile! You shouldn't have to deal with that.”

“That's my concern, not yours.”

“Why are you so calm about this, someone nearly broke your fucking arm. Get mad about this, get angry.”

“And what would that achieve?”

“I don't know, more than just sitting around waiting for the next person to hurt you.” He shouts before scrubbing a hand down his face, keeping his hand over his mouth as he shakes. “I didn't mean that. I'm sorry, I shouted and I didn't mean to… I'm sorry, I'm sorry.” His weak tone whimpers as he drops down to one of the seats around the table and cries.

“Caleb, it's okay.”

“It's not okay. Nothing is okay, everything's just shit and it makes me so angry sometimes, and it scares me. I don't want to be that person.”

Veth stands up from the table and walks round to Caleb, wrapping her good arm around him in a hug, gently resting her chin on the top of his head.

“What you are, is a sweet boy who cares about everyone and never wants to see anyone he loves hurt. That is a blessing not a curse. You have a big heart, Caleb, and that's a beautiful thing.”

After this point, Caleb stands up for Veth a lot more in situations where people are being awful towards her.

When one of Veth's brothers, Morrell visits, he patronisingly talks about how it's good that she now has Caleb to look after her.

"You know, Nottie, if you feel safer having Caleb protecting you, maybe you could start doing more, rather than just alternating between work and being in the house all day."

"I think there's a bit of misconception here. Caleb and I have a very special relationship. It is that of a parent and a child, regardless of the fact that he isn't technically mine. But I am the parent in this situation. It's my job to protect him. He's my boy, and I keep him safe. I want him to thrive, and get better at school, and grow into the wonderful young man I know he's going to be, because he can achieve great things.’ She takes a breath. ‘When I fostered him he was a scared little boy who was afraid to speak up out of fear of being hurt, and tried to act invisible in case one wrong move landed him back at the group home. As we have gotten more comfortable, he has gotten more comfortable and come out of his shell. It's my job to protect him, because I love him, and I am his parent. It is not his job to protect me."

Morrell nods.

"I'll admit; I had the wrong idea about the two of you. Caleb sounds like a good kid."

"He is." Veth nods. "He's going to be a great man someday."

"He will."

"Does he know that you think of him as a son?"

Veth shakes her head.

"Maybe you should let him know, it might make him feel a little better, especially after everything that's happened recently, he needs you more than ever."

"I'll talk to him."

Before she has the chance to do so, Caleb’s world gets shattered once again.

Caleb is looking around the house for Frumpkin. Unable to find him he goes outside to hear a pained meow from just beyond the driveway. There lies Frumpkin, who has clearly been hit by a car that hasn’t even stopped to check to see if she was okay.

Caleb panics at this point, bundling Frumpkin into his arms and grabbing his phone. He knows Veth is at work so he calls Fjord and Jester instead begging for their help. Jester stays on the phone with him to try and reassure him and keep him calm while the two of them drive over, pick Caleb up, and take him to the vets where they try and save her.

Long story short, the vets won’t operate on Frumpkin unless they are paid upfront for the medical costs, its company policy no matter how much they want to help the cat. The amount of money they would need is beyond substantial, and it’s money that a fucking orphaned foster kid like Caleb just doesn’t have, and he knows Veth doesn’t have it either so he refuses to ask, knowing that she’s already done too much for him anyway by just having to deal with his shit in the first place.

While Caleb is being comforted by Jester, Fjord discreetly calls Veth from Caleb’s phone (which he got Jester to sneakily swipe), and tells her what is happening. She rushes down to the vets to find Caleb in the back room of the vets sitting on top of the doctor’s table with Frumpkin curled up on his lap, hugging her gently.

Hating to see her boy so broken, she goes back to the vets in the lobby and begs them to accept a smaller down payment, even saying they can charge interest on the other payments too if they have to. The head vet, who seems to be the owner agrees and Veth partially pays.

A confused Caleb is practically dragged kicking and screaming from the backroom, desperate to be with Frumpkin, and Veth manages to get him calmed down, telling him that they’re going to try and save Frumpkin.

"What? But… how?"

"I paid them."

Caleb looks torn.

"No, you shouldn’t… you shouldn’t have done that, you don’t have the money and I can’t ask you to do that for me. It’s just a cat, I can get another one."

But Veth knows that’s not true. Caleb is too infatuated with that cat to ever think that way, he’s just trying to not take up space, something he has a history of being very good at.

"Frumpkin is your friend, and there is nothing I wouldn’t do to keep her with us. Fuck the money, I can think of no better use for it then saving family."

Caleb looks stunned in that moment, wide eyed and astonished as he wordlessly wraps his arms tight around Veth.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you."

The vets manage to save Frumpkin and if he wasn’t already, Caleb becomes even more protective of her, making sure she’s okay after all her surgeries. When they’re allowed to take her home, Caleb is soft and kind with her, not letting her out of his sight.

On a lovely sunny day, Caleb decides that Frumpkin needs some fresh air. With the stitches gone and her feeling a lot better, they take a walk together slowly round the neighbourhood. Veth wasn't home when they left but there was a note from her on the counter saying that she would be back soon.

As they walk past the church, Caleb notices Veth knelt down beside a small grave in the graveyard with a book open on her lap. He debates on whether to just keep walking and let her have her privacy, but ultimately decides that she might someone with her.

As he approaches, Veth notices the two of them and smiles.

The grave is marked:

‘In loving memory of Luke Brenatto’

Caleb notices the lack of her husband's name.

"If it's none of my business just tell me to shut up, but why isn't your husband’s name on here too?"

Veth looks a little confused at first before she understands why Caleb would think the way he does.

"When Luke and Yeza were involved in that accident, neither were expected to live. It took a long time for the paramedics to arrive and even longer to get them out. Luke… he didn't make it, but they managed to get Yeza stabilised. The man I spoke to in that hospital wasn't my husband. He was cold as if a part of him had died with Luke, and it probably had. Yeza packed up and left after Luke's funeral and I've never heard from him since."

"That's awful."

"People deal with loss in different ways. Some grieve a little, some grieve a lot, and some just never get over it at all. Yeza was one of those people." Veth turns to look at the gravesite which has fresh flowers beside it as well as a weathered toy bear and various tealights in brightly coloured holders. "Every so often I come out here and I read to him. I know that probably sounds weird but it helps."

Caleb shakes his head.

"No, it doesn't sound weird at all, I'm sure Luke loves it, wherever he is."

The social worker visits go well every time until the all-important one approaches, the meeting about what Caleb is going to do once he turns eighteen and becomes a ward of the state, free to leave the system and live on his own independently.

Caleb truthfully admits that he doesn't know what he's going to do, and that he hasn't put much thought into it. This is when Veth offers him another option. She wants to adopt him.

Caleb doesn't know how to react and looks terrified, mostly out of fear of her changing her mind, which leads to Veth once again reiterating the point that she loves him as her own and would never ever give him up. Caleb is her son through and through, and that she wants to make it official.

Caleb accepts and the paperwork is completed for the adoption to become official.

#critical role #caleb widogast #nott the brave #mollymauk tealeaf #caduceus clay