Can i just like,, stop thinking about him for two damn minutes
C-ptsd has me fucked up rn since everything’s going great at the moment and my brain is utterly convinced that it’s all going to shatter and just,,, all go away and i hate it and its terrifying bc it’s telling me to run away from this amazing potential relationship because what if they’re like him
What if they’re gonna try to control me and isolate me
What if they ignore boundaries and guilt trip me
What if they try to convince me to ignore my moral standards and use me to their own benefit
And logically i know they’re not like that, they’re two amazing people that I’d love to really be in a relationship with, they’ve always offered help and understanding and when they even suspect they’ve reached -not even crossed- a boundary they stop and check on me and im hhhhhhh
They make me feel wanted and actually attractive for once in my life and they actually care about whats going on in my head and are genuinely interested in hearing about my special interests and are so incredibly sweet,,, but,,
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Tony: *through Spider-Man suit intercom* “PETER!!!! ARE YOU LISTENING TO ONE DIRECTION WITHOUT ME AGAIN!!!!! 😡”
Peter: *drops cheerio* *Switches off Steal My Girl* “Wha-What Mr. Stark? Pppppffh NOOOOO￼￼OO!!!!”
Peter: *Turns off intercom* “Karen?”
Karen: “Yes Peter?”
Peter: “Erase my “Swinging Playlist” along with the last half hour of footage from my suit…. Thanks…”
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@jeoseungsaja | ❛ it seems important to mention all the things that went wrong ❜ (Saja tO...HAN? IF YOU WISH TO, IF NOT, TOTALLY DISMISS THIS)
hieu minh nguyen - not here
A sigh. Breathless body and beatless heart shouldn’t react so humanly to the given situation, but if there’s one thing that these supposedly beings of death do well, then it’s emulating human behaviour. They behave as though they are still alive, some more than others, and they’re often unconscious of these demeanours until someone points them out to them, or when they’re sitting amidst only themselves and some introspection and observation suddenly reveals these things.
Han is semi-conscious of them. Han, though, doesn’t really care about these things. No, he cares more about the situation, about the reason he’s here.
He knows the Saja he’s standing next to is experienced, on one hand because he stands by his side, rather than at the side of the newbies he’s staring at, and on the other, you can tell by the way they hold themselves, by how naturally their hats sit on their heads, just how long an individual reaper has been a reaper.
Han has been doing his own job for far too long himself.
Although it doesn’t seem as though those centuries of experience protect him from new surprises.
The two reapers before him - he hasn’t found monikers for them yet, but he’s definitely thinking of a few now - have their heads lowered, eyes seeking either the shoes encapsulating their feet or the ground beneath them. And on a normal day, repenting is enough if the charge is this young.
But this is... Goodness, what is this.
“All the things that went wrong... Saja,” the two instantly lift their head, causing Han to stop before he can finish his sentence and wave at them dismissively, pointing with his thumb at the older among them in the same motion.
Then he turns. Maybe actually facing the man will help differentiate who he’s referring to. His lips part, just as his eyes capture the crown attached to the reaper’s front. Huh.
Okay, King Saja it is.
“I can tell you’ve been doing this for a while. Could you tell us, from your personal experience, why, when we mess with the mind of a person, we do it 1. rarely, 2. minimally, and 3. certainly not to the point of keeping them stuck in a hallucination that forces them to see worms everywhere they look?”
And with that line, he points, without looking, to the table he’s standing next to. Or, rather, to the man hiding underneath it, with his palms firmly pressed against his eyes. Han’s presence helps blocking him from view: the way he’s standing would force someone to see him before they could see the man, and perception brushes past him like water on ducks. But that doesn’t block him from the view of Han himself and the reapers, two of which would rather look anywhere else.
His hand returns into the pocket of his trousers.
“What are all the things that went wrong there?”
Harry, showing Louis his new house: Over here is my Louis Blue kitchen with matching appliances and walls and tile. This is my bedroom with Louis blue sheets and carpet and curtains.
Louis: Harry don’t you think this is a little much?
Harry: Too much? It’s not enough. I’m also planning to get a Louis blue bathtub, Louis blue pool, Louis blue siding…
*20 minutes later*
Harry, hears a knock on the door: Who’s that? I’ll get the Louis blue door
Woman: Hello. I’m from the London Mental Hospital and I’m looking for a someone named… Harry Styles?
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