#I wanted to bury myself alive from the guilt of making her feel unhappy even though I don't particularly regret my 'overprotective' actions

[kuunibal]

Any shows you recommend?

Currently, I have three recommendations in order of preference. They are centered around fictitious serial killers with a theme of finding someone who truly understands and accepts you, bones, bloodshed, and all. The first two are also rather yandere-coded.

I can discuss any of these at length if anyone is interested, although I have not finished the last one yet. I think I focused on describing the writing and production design more than the plot and characters...

NBC Hannibal: This is three seasons of beauty. The writing is poetry, wrought with heavy metaphors and a degree of pretention. There is also careful attention to the details of the set design, costuming, and literally everything else that can be (and has been) analysed for years. The violence is grotesquely gorgeous, and the entire show has a surreal, dream-like quality to it that hollows you out and then settles in the pit of your stomach like a particularly evocative piece of art.

Also, Mads Mikkelsen is a talented actor (I can go into more detail about his work), and Hugh Dancy as Will Graham is absolutely stunning. As in aesthetically angelic. As in "I am no better than Hannibal Lecter in the way I get Stendhal syndrome looking at this man and feel the urge to paint him". I originally thought I was similar to Will Graham's character while first watching the show, but my darling said I was actually more akin to Hannibal despite never watching it. She was right, of course. All that aside, I highly recommend. In the words of Will Graham, "It's beautiful".

[As an aside, my new username has nothing to do with Hannibal, although I don't mind the association. I am referring to cannibalism as a whole.]

Strangers in Hell (Also known as Hell Is Other People): This is a Kdrama similar to NBC Hannibal in regard to the characters with the contained descent to madness of High Rise or Parasyte, visuals of The Shining, and the occasional thematic Breaking Bad-styled transitions. It has gorgeous coloured lighting, creative camerawork with the set design, and emotive acting (I am always impressed by Lee Dong-wook's acting range.). Highly underrated, in my opinion. And it is only ten episodes long, which if you are like me, you could binge-watch in one night.

Dexter: I started this show because an instructor of mine said that I reminded her of it/the main character. It could have simply been because I was in covered in human viscera and have a morbid enthusiasm and sense of humour, but he is relatable from what I have seen so far. It's quite funny, and the internal monologuing is reminiscent of American Psycho if you enjoy that narrative style. I hear that the plot gets strange towards the later seasons, however.

[honeysofte-archieve]

only one.

Fandom: The Wayhaven Chronicles

Rating: T

Pairing: Female Detective/Ava du Mortain

Word Count: 1,776

Genre: love confessions hell yes!

i’m here a year later offering you a continuation to my first ever wayhaven fic: say your piece (or let her free) (18+, nsfw). excuse any clumsiness, this year has been THE WORST ever when it comes to writing. i hope you enjoy!!

Vesper knows, of course, that Ava would eventually ask again.

It is pretty much a certainty only biding its time and she is mostly fine with the thought of it coming up again. If their roles were reversed, she would similarly want to know the full details of the point of the matter— knowing her own nature she would be downright obsessive at getting true answers not shrouded by the delirious (although lovely) aftermath of sex.

But Vesper still hasn’t decided what she will actually answer when her time is up and her time runs out surprisingly soon as it’s not even a full day before Ava has seemingly gathered enough courage to ask.

“Detective,” Ava starts, but coughs and corrects herself immediately after Vesper shoots a pointed, even sharp, look over her shoulder. “I mean… Vesper Louise.”

It’s very attractive, hearing her own full name from the lips of the woman she loves and for a long, while both of them only smile at each other, a gentle blossom of a relationship cradled carefully between them, safe and sound, at least for now. Vesper is not optimistic enough to think that something like this, happiness above everything else, could last forever.

[ read at ao3 ♥ ]

“Better,” Vesper answers. Then she frowns and adjusts the temperature of the stove before flipping over the crêpe cooking, or burning, on the frying pan. “Though the Louise is a bit much, don’t you think?”

“It is a beautiful name,” Ava comments somewhere behind her. “You should not be ashamed of it.”

Vesper is glad Ava can only see her back or she would certainly notice the pleased flush on her cheeks. She clicks on the range hood and watches how steam begins to diffuse around the stove, clearing the air in a quick movement. The smell of already cooked crêpes is mouthwatering.

“I’m not ashamed,” Vesper answers with a shrug. She drinks a sip of her half-draught red wine sitting on the counter next to her. “I just think it’s a mouthful to use in everyday conversation.” She pauses. “But it sounds nice… when you say it like that.”

There’s a pinch of genuine curiosity in Ava's voice. “Like what?”

As if you loved me, Vesper thinks but is not brave enough to voice it yet. “Never mind,” she says instead and almost jumps out of her skin when there’s suddenly a strong pair of arms wrapped around her waist.

“I would like to ask you something,” Ava says quietly and drops one very cautious kiss on Vesper’s shoulder like she’s not sure whether it’s welcome or not. Vesper revels in it, feeling as if the kiss left an invisible burn mark through her shirt onto her skin.

“Hold that thought,” Vesper answers, a little too hoarsely, before quickly flipping the last one of crêpes on a nearby plate, snapping the stove off and reaching her small body across the counter to be able to rinse her hands in the sink.

Then she deftly hops on the counter and pulls Ava close by folding her arms around Ava’s neck. Now that Vesper is finally allowed to be physically affectionate with her, she won’t stop. She never will. “Okay, all done,” she says cheerfully. “What’s going on inside your head, baby?”

How curious it is that having the permission to use a simple pet name for someone can feel so ground-breaking. She also finds it a little funny calling a 900-year-old powerful vampire baby but so far Ava hasn't protested the nickname beyond a small frown of confusion.

Ava hesitates, her expression a deep frown. Vesper smooths out the wrinkles on her forehead with the tip of her thumb, smiling fondly at Ava who still slightly hovers over her, even like this.

“The station's rumour about you and the… the reporter man. Your former partner, I suppose,” Ava begins, her face scrunching openly with distaste, and Vesper can feel how her own expression falls in the moment of silence that cloaks them under. “Was it true?” Ava asks quietly, watching Vesper carefully under her pale eyelashes and making the other woman feel immediately like the world’s shittiest person alive.

Vesper sighs. She doesn’t want to be dishonest, but she also wouldn’t like them to linger on the topic of Bobby again. “Would it even matter if it was?” she asks, sighs very deeply again afterwards just for the sake of reprimanding her past self.

Vesper Louise Graves, you’re a fucking idiot, will be engraved onto her tombstone, no doubt. Feels exactly on-brand for her.

“I suppose not,” Ava answers after a long stillness of consideration, but she doesn’t seem to be completely sure about her answer. “Regardless, I simply find myself... curious, nonetheless.”

Vesper cups Ava’s rigid jaw onto her palm and presses a simple kiss on her forehead.

“It’s true,” she admits and is prepared for the shudder that travels through Ava’s whole body in the wake of the confession. Her breath quivers with hidden pain she’s gotten too good at hiding, her eyes pressed closed and throat gulping for breath.

“It didn’t mean anything, Ava, not like you do,” Vesper adds carefully, keeping her voice calm and kind. She rubs the corner of Ava’s unhappy mouth with her thumb, though it does nothing to hinder Ava’s crestfallen expression and Vesper feels painfully aware that her choice of words sounds like someone trying to console their partner after an act of infidelity.

Part of Vesper feels like that is what it was. That she betrayed a trust or some unsigned vow of devotion and oh, does she loathe herself for it more than anything. Rational thinking doesn’t help with bone-deep guilt.

"It was a mistake," she continues soothingly, trying to ignore the rapid banging of her heart, open for the world to see. "One made out of sleep deprivation and--"

Vesper quiets and thinks. Ava looks at her keenly and she's not sure what she should continue with for she doesn't want to make Ava feel even worse by admitting the overhead conversation with Nate that influenced the bad choice more than any other reason Vesper could come up with.

"I'm sorry," she murmurs instead, voice regretful and sad. She kisses Ava's temple, lets her lips linger on the sensitive skin longer than necessary. "I'm an idiot," she says quietly into her ear and Ava shivers at the sensation before pulling slowly away.

"You are not an idiot," Ava says, unimpressed. "You're a very intelligent woman as I'm sure you are aware of yourself."

Oh, perfect-- a clear way out. Vesper grabs it like a lifeline.

"I mean... I sure do love science," Vesper answers with a grin and it's not even remotely a lie. "It's kind of my speciality. Like, did you know that orcas are actually just big dolphins, but sort of whales at the same time? Pretty cool, right?"

"Vesper Louise," Ava sighs. She doesn't appear frustrated, but her voice just has a tiny flavour of kind impatience, like she knows how difficult this is for both of them. "You are deflecting."

"No kidding."

There's a long, pointed silence before Ava's brow arches, a tiny, almost mocking gesture. Vesper almost flips her the finger but she's beyond acting like a child. At least, she usually is.

"I just…" Vesper buries her face in the crook of Ava's neck, a place of warmth and comfort, almost. It helps if she doesn't need to meet her eyes. She swallows. Overthinks.

These words end up being true: "You scare the shit out of me."

Ava stills. "Scare you?"

Why does she feel like crying right now? "You scare me because…" Take a deep breath, Vesper Louise, and just say it.

"Because I love you so much I can barely stand it," Vesper finally says, the words that haunt her every waking moment she spends with Ava. It feels good and absolutely horrifying to finally say them aloud.

"I just… I don't know how to describe it any better. I feel like I'm dying, all the time, just thinking about it. About my feelings for you."

Ava is mute while she speaks and Vesper appreciates right now more than ever. Usually, the vampire's silence is frustrating, just another wall between them, but now it feels more like a comfort, a blessing in disguise.

And Vesper is crying now, failing not to, her eyes wet and lips trembling.

"I don't know what else to say," she murmurs. Ava's hand lingers on the back of Vesper's neck which reassures her that Ava is not going to escape, not this time.

"I was scared and hurt so I kissed him and it meant absolutely nothing to me. I don't have room in my heart for anyone else but you. That's all there is to it. I'm sorry."

Ava is still and quiet but remains relaxed in their embrace, her hand moving soothingly across the other one's back. After a while, she presses the smallest of kisses against the curve of Vesper's quivering jaw.

"Thank you," Ava whispers breathlessly and Vesper isn't quite sure what the words even mean. She's about to open her mouth to ask why when Ava tucks a few messy hair strands behind Vesper's ears and lifts her down-turned chin up with a fingertip.

"Please, do not cry, do not be scared," she whispers tenderly and with devotion. "I am the idiot one."

There's choked laughter and a sneeze against a shirt collar. "No shit," Vesper snorts, her eyes shining with happiness. She has never been in love like this, has never felt so protected and safe as she does every moment with Ava.

"You're my idiot, though."

The words are still questioning and hesitant but Ava smiles, smiles like a thousand suns for how bright it is.

"That I am," she says, her green eyes filled with warmth and gentleness, and dare one say it, love. "As you are mine. Always."

This is when Vesper grabs Ava's ears onto her hands and pulls her closer to kiss her with all that she is, with lips and tongue and teeth, because she can't not to. She's allowed to love and be loved, and be imperfect with faults and downsides, and still be someone of value.

Someone of importance to Ava du Mortain.

"Fuck Bobby Marks," Ava mutters darkly onto Vesper's lips when they part for breath, making Vesper's eyes widen in surprise at the crass language before she burst into giggles against Ava's mouth and kisses the frown between Ava's eyebrows away again.

That's right, she thinks.

Fuck Bobby Marks.

[we-pay-for-everything]

Dear Parents...

We (your children) are not an accessory that complements your person. 

We do not exist to fulfill and complete your life. Our accomplishments aren’t your accomplishments. You don’t get to strip us of our agency and take credit for our successes, yet hold us responsible for our faults and shortcomings (a lot of which you created). 

Let me tell you about my mother. I’m sharing this with you, hoping you will relate to my experience, and take comfort in our shared frustration. 

My mother has a crappy life. She works hard to support my dad and I. She’s mentally ill yet unaware of the fact. She doesn’t know how to enjoy herself and the things she does have. According to her, I’m the only good thing in her life. She loves to talk about me. When she pays me a compliment, she also takes a moment to pat herself on the back. She’ll say “You’re so smart. I developed your brain with games and books when you were little. Not many parents do that. I did.”. My good grades, my looks, my belongings, all reflect back on her. Yet, when I was depressed, she blamed me. She’d say “You’re addicted to the internet.”, or “I didn’t raise you to be lazy.”, or “You’re a disappointment.”. 

For most of my life, I was the good girl. I didn’t share my sorrows because I knew my mother wouldn’t believe me if I did. I always had to be happy, or to pretend to be happy, because she was the only one allowed to be sad. When I was depressed, my unhappiness took center stage in our lives. Naturally, my mother alternated between denying I was unhappy (and saying things like “But you smile so much! You have everything. How can you be unhappy?”) or begrudgingly acknowledging my pain (she sometimes even realized she was partly to blame for it). 

My depression was hard on me, for obvious reasons, but my family, instead of uplifting me, was the source of a lot of pain and guilt. They didn’t understand what I was feeling, and I couldn’t tell the whole truth, because they wouldn’t hear it. The truth was that my family is the very crux of my mental illness. I had hinted or flat-out told them that in the past. But now? Now I know truth isn’t a moral obligation. It’s a tool. And lying or shielding my parents from the truth protects myself and them. It causes frustration and pain too. I have to live a lie every day. My repressed anger is permanently lodged in my lungs, choking me, crushing me.

Now that I’m better, I’m no longer a disappointment. I’m my mother’s pride again. Nothing has changed for me. I didn’t change as a person. I didn’t decide I wanted to smile and go to school again. I’m still ill. I feel a lot of the things I felt at my lowest. The difference, to my parents, is that I’m back on track to graduate and earn lots of money in my future career. Their dream for me is alive again in their hearts. I’m tougher now too. I’m not as vulnerable and needy. When my mother tries to manipulate me or shame me, I fight back. Yet I still pretend and keep things buried. Like I said, not a whole lot has changed. My parents still need me to lie to them. And I do. Even if it hurts me not being able to express myself, and be who I am.

The event which prompted this text happened today. My mother was feeling down. As usual, I’m the person she comes to when she wants to rant and blow off steam. She firmly believes in spewing poison at others to make herself feel better. The fact that she poisons someone else in the process never crosses her mind. She told me how frustrated she was with her life. Like many times before, she expressed a desire for me to be small again. When I was little, she was my hero. She felt special and important. My mother often asks me to be little again. To be powerless, to care only for her, to be the perfect receptacle of her crushed dreams and ambitions. Who asks a person to not be who they are for them? To be less for them? I’m her object, her possession. In a TV show, I’d be the male hero’s love interest, who exists only to make him look good and his story more interesting. But I’m not a possession. My value doesn’t decrease just because I’m not who she dreams me to be, because I don’t agree with everything she says. 

She told me that she maybe shouldn’t have sent me away to college. I said that I had agency, I chose to go. She replied with “You were a minor. I allowed you to go.”. She asked me if I was happy away from her. I said yes. In my mother’s mind, her existence completes me like mine completes hers. She believes that I would be happy living with her every day for the rest of my life. She knows she would be happy if I stayed near my home. That’s why she questioned her choice. She was less interested in how happy I was to live somewhere else (I’ve expressed that I am many times already), and more interested in how much she misses me when I’m gone. Living with me every day is a dream to her. She gets to vent at me, to look at me and bask in the feeling of a job well done. And I? I feel frustrated and oppressed. I have to fight to assert my independence and my agency, my personhood. Every day with her becomes a battle. She’ll never believe that I have my own life. 

Yesterday, my mother communicated her fear that I’d be all alone when she died. I told her that I had friends. My mother was skeptical. “No one loves you like I do”, she said. The life I built for myself is meaningless to her. Without her, I’m nothing. And I let her think that, to an extent. My mother is the “strong” one. She takes care of my dad and I. She doesn’t have depressions. She herself says that she has “broad shoulders” to carry everyone else’s problems. 

It’s an illusion. And she doesn’t know the cost of that illusion. She doesn’t know I allow her to feel that way. She doesn’t know that my strength and her weakness is this: she needs to be lied to. She can’t accept the truth. It would ruin her, and me. So I allow her to feel strong. I keep my thoughts to myself. I don’t disagree with her when it comes to certain topics. I allow her her self-aggrandizement. I allow her to think that my dad and I need her desperately, when the truth is that she perhaps needs us more. Her sanity depends on my ability to keep up this ruse. If I told her “I’m happier apart from you”, she would, not only deny it, but also lash out and break down. The fragile peace in our home would be broken. This lie about who she is as a person and as a mother is essencial to her well-being. It’s a lie that I corroborate on, directly and indirectly, all the time. Her “strength”, her “accomplishment” as my mother, is my lie. And it’s the only thing I can give her. I can’t live with her or near her. I can’t be who she wants me to be. This is what I can offer her. This delusion. It’s f`*cked up. But it’s all she’s got. And it’s all I have left in me to give her. She’s taken too much from me already.

And so, I want to express my admiration for all of you who deal with this crap too. Shout-out to every single person here who feels like their parents’ property. You are not. You are your own person. You live for yourself, and no one else. Keep fighting. You have to. There’s strength in this. There’s no strength in forcing someone to be yours because you can’t live any other way. 

[harryedpotter1]

1st February 1998

“Clare?”

“I can explain! Joji, please just listen to me!”

I hate her. I hate everything about her. I could hex her. No, I could kill her.

I will kill her

“Joj…”

Please stop talking.

“Okay there’s so much more to this than you know”

If she doesn’t stop talking sooner I swear…

“And I didn’ t know Harry would get hurt…”

Hurt?

Did she really just say hurt

As if Harry just had a broken limb.

As if he could heal

As if he was still alive

As if he was not buried 7 feet underground

“Joji! Please just listen!” She cried out

She’s crying.

Tears of guilt

Tears coming from a filthy person

I don’t even realize I have grabbed my wand from my front pocket.

I have never been mad before. I never had the privilege to be mad..

Anger has never taken over my mind

But the anger was like a venom that was consuming every moral I had left in me, every moral I was taught to believe in was replaced

Replaced with nothing but pure hatred and anger.

Anger that I kept as a child when Uncle Jamie picked me up from St.Mungos after my mom died.

Hatred that I hid inside me.

Hatred that was only ever directed towards only one person I hated the most.

Myself.

“Joji Please”

Fred?

Fred is here.

I turn around to see a much older looking Fred Weasley.

A tired Fred.

An unhappy Fred.

“Fred?”

My cheeks were wet.

I’m crying.

I wanted to run into Fred’s arms and go home.

I want to go home.

But the ice in his voice matches the ice in his eyes.

The unwelcoming tone of my name

Mixed with pain.

Pain that I caused him.

Pain that I put him through.

But a voice interrupted our moment.

A cold voice

A voice I wasn’t familiar with.

A voice I thought I heard once in a dream.

A voice that made me feel grim.

“Well Miss.Potter, what a pleasure to finally meet you…”

“Let me introduce myself, I’m Tom… Tom Riddle…”

…………..

1 January 1998

“What do you mean he’s dead?”

“We found his body outside hogwarts grounds”

“So you’re saying th-”

“Yes Voldemort is Dead”

“ This doesn't make any sense! Why are his followers still acting like he's alive! He’s dead! Shouldn’t this madness be over!”

“Arther, I don’t know”

“We need to find the prophecy”

“Dumbledore said it was destroyed”

“He lied..”

“I know where it is…”

“Sirius?”

……………..

Date: TBD

“Clara! Find Ginny! They’re looking for Ginny!”

Ginny

I hurried off to the only place I knew she would be.

The only place that no one will ever find her.

The only place I know she’s safe.

“ Gin-”

And there she was.

Dead.

“little late aren’t we, my dear”

[vasilyevna-a]

SENTENCES FROM LEO TOLSTOY’S WAR AND PEACE. translated by richard pevear and larissa volokhonsky.

-  ‘ how can one be well when one suffers morally? ‘ -  ‘ is it possible to remain at ease in our time, if one has any feeling? ‘ -  ‘ i often think how unfairly life’s good fortune is sometimes distributed. ‘ -  ‘ she’s from a good family and rich. that’s all i need. ‘ -  ‘ i fear for my powers before such an audience. ‘ -  ‘ i think it would be hard to return to the old ways. ‘ -  ‘ you treat me like a sick person or a child. ‘ -  ‘ believe me, i’m suffering as much as you, but be a man. ‘ -  ‘ try to weep. nothing relieves one like tears. ‘ -  ‘ i know nothing except that i had a hard time getting to you. ‘ -  ‘ so you never noticed before how beautiful i am? ‘ -  ‘ why are you shouting so? you’ll frighten them. ‘ -  ‘ you see, my friend, i’ve been thinking about you. ‘ -  ‘ they say he has totally compromised her. ‘ -  ‘ to the health of beautiful woman and of their lovers! ‘ -  ‘ you are a scoundrel! ‘ -  ‘ i knew she was a depraved woman, but i didn’t dare admit it to myself. ‘ -  ‘ she alone is to blame for everything. ‘ -  ‘ you believe everything you’re told. ‘ -  ‘ it’s better for us to part. ‘ -  ‘ with god’s mercy, there’s no need for doctors. ‘ -  ‘ how well she dances, what grace! ‘ -  ‘ a bullet in the head is all that’s left to me. ‘ -  ‘ if for some reason you find conversation with me unpleasant, say so. ‘ -  ‘ i shall never dare to say that i know the truth. ‘ -  ‘ what’s the matter with you? are you ill? ‘ -  ‘ ah, she’s such an unhappy and lovely woman! ‘ -  ‘ come to dine tomorrow in the evening. you must come. ‘ -  ‘ i’m alive and it’s not my fault, which means i must somehow go on living the best i can, without bothering anybody, until i die. ‘ -  ‘ why do you think that way? you shouldn’t think that way. ‘ -  ‘ how can you sleep! just look how lovely it is! ‘ -  ‘ well, do you recognize your old mischievous friend? ‘ -  ‘ will you hurry up, finally? ‘ -  ‘ let the dead bury their dead, but while i’m alive, i must live and be happy. ‘ -  ‘ one could just fall in love with her! ‘ -  ‘ you should be ashamed to buy such pearls in the country! ‘ -  ‘ what is it that makes a city pleasant? it’s pretty women, isn’t that so. ‘ -  ‘ he’s madly, quite madly in love with you, my dear. ‘ -  ‘ how she blushes, how she blushes, my delightful one! ‘ -  ‘ why shouldn’t i have fun? ‘ -  ‘ wherever you are, there is depravity and evil. ‘ -  ‘ i said that a fallen woman should be forgiven, but i did not say that i could forgive. ‘ -  ‘ if you wish to be my friend, never speak to me of that. ‘ -  ‘ why are you going? why are you upset? ‘ -  ‘ i hope it was all a misunderstanding and that no one is to blame for it. ‘ -  ‘ see what they’ve brought to us! ‘ -  ‘ you take it all too much to heart. ‘ -  ‘ a woman sacrifices herself for you, she suffers, and there is her reward. ‘ -  ‘ consult only your own heart. that’s all i have to say to you. ‘ -  ‘ for every sin there is mercy. ‘ -  ‘ how happy i am, and how unhappy! ‘ -  ‘ where there’s laws, there’s lies. ‘ -  ‘ i suppose you must be sleepy? ‘ -  ‘ there’s no need at all for you go. ‘ -  ‘ when two persons quarrel, both are always guilty. and one’s guilt suddenly becomes terribly heavy before a person who is no longer there. ‘ -  ‘ i wanted to listen at the door, but i knew you’d tell me. ‘ -  ‘ it will never happen again. i give you my word. never. ‘ -  ‘ i’ll do something that even he would be pleased with. ‘

[jbmcdonald-blog]

More blog than anything, but...

I think I’ve seen tumblr used as a blog...? I had an author blog, but it’s pretty much defunct at this point. These are thinky thoughts, but lacking a blog I use on a regular basis, I might as well have my thinky thoughts here. ;)

So. In Real Life, I pay my bills by training dogs. It’s a great happenstance that I managed to be really good at two things in life: writing and dog training. It’s a small miracle that I like both and can make a living at one while still working on the other.

Again, IRL, I’m one of the only dog trainers in the SF Bay area that will work with dogs who are aggressive toward people. (I heard a rumor years ago there was another, and I think there must be one slightly farther south, but I’m not sure. My asking around hasn’t gained me much.) As it happens, I also have VERY good results. So, enough backstory so you know what’s going on: 10:30 at night, July 3rd, I was driving home and saw a collar-less old dog (I thought) wandering just about half a mile from my house. Being me, I stopped to pick him up. Only because of my heavy background in dog behavior, body language, training, and aggression, did I spot there was An Aggression Problem. By the end of this week, shuffling through clues (behavioral, factual, vet-opined, and various other ways) I now believe he was a failed fighting dog (because he’s too nice to succeed at that), around 3 years of age, badly abused as an adult but not a puppy, able to be rehabilitated, and needing lots of vet care. So the last week has been setting up a gofundme and posting everywhere asking for help (please please please do not start asking me questions and whatnot without checking the gofundme link for answers, because they’re probably there - I’ll post it in another post), working heavily with the dog to make him safe, testing him out with my amazing, awesome, wonderful dogs (I owe them several steak dinners at this point), taking him to and from the vet an hour plus away (because that vet, those techs, receptionists, etc know me in my dog training form, and will let me do things they would NEVER let anyone do -- “Hey, guys, I’m bringing in a pittie who’s afraid of people and will growl and lunge if you look at him too long. It’s cool if we don’t muzzle him, right? I promise I’ll walk you through not getting bit. 0:D” Which, in turn, helps dramatically with rehabilitating), answering questions, sending thank-yous for donations, and ever more training. Also, not sleeping well.

ALL THAT is just the backstory.

Basically, it’s like when people want me to re-train their dog who also happens to need vet care. Except I’m not getting paid, so I can’t hire done the obnoxious life stuff I now have no time for, like cleaning the house. Since Dog (Flea, actually) is also intact and has never been in a house before, this means he’s also being destructo-dog and marking, so I have to watch him like a hawk when he’s inside. This is not relaxing. To relax I put him in his crate or outside, and then deal with my guilt. >.>

ALL THIS to say, I’m basically overworked. Normally, my life is like this: 1 week per month I board dogs. Every other month or so, I board for two weeks. When I’m not boarding dogs, I try to write minimum 4 hours per week.

Right now, I have the work of boarding, without the pay, and feeling like I should write. Okay, now we get to the meat of my post.

When I’m overworked, I veg out. I don’t write well. I watch TV and play Candy Crush, and then wonder why I have a headache. It can’t be staring at screens, surely. >.> Now, this is the exact opposite of what’s good for me. I mean, this is good for me for a day to two, to unwind and relax. But after that, I do much better if I’m writing/blogging/walking dogs/being productive. Right now is my “writing time.” It’s easy enough to leave the house so I can get that done, but do I do it? Nooooo. I feel guilt over what I think I “should” be doing (working with Flea every minute of the day, except when I’m working with my own dogs because they need to know they’re not being replaced, except except when I’m actually working or cleaning the house, except except except when I’m getting my horse out), which makes me less productive instead of more so, which makes me bury myself in TV and Candy Crush, and then I stay up too late, wake up too late, drag through the day, am too tired to function except for TV and Candy Crush, feel guilt, stay up too late, wake up too late...

Healthy: Getting exercise (which, I swear to god, is a word I will NEVER BE ABLE TO SPELL). Going to bed on time. Writing if it’s writing weeks, working with dogs if it’s boarding weeks. Have some downtime, with as little screen time as possible - especially in the evenings.

The totally 100% self destructive cycle: what I am currently doing.

Today is a great example: Me: I should get up and either take Flea out to socialize, my dogs out to walk, write, or go see my pony for pony therapy. Also me: Yes, I should. Let’s play Candy Crush. Me: Wait-- that’s not-- ooooh, look, shiny. Also me: Right? You deserve this break. You’ve earned this break. Your life is haaaaaarrrrrrrd. Me: ...I got out of bed four hours ago and all I’ve done is thirty minutes of emailing and texting clients and three and a half hours of playing Candy Crush or watching Lost In Space. Or as I like to say, LOOOOOOSST IIIIIIIN SPAAAAAACE! Also me: LOOK! SHINY! Me: I really do need to get to work. This argument has been going on for an hour now. Also me: Fuck that. Me: No! Work! Look, if you just get up, you can have sugary cream with a little coffee in it. Also me: Just play until this life is over. Me: Okay, I’m all out of lives. I should-- Also me: Facebook! Let’s just check Facebook really quick! Me: I need to GET UP. Just GET UP. Then you can even sit back down. Also me: But then what will you do? Walk your dogs? You’re running out of time in the day, now. If you walk your dogs, you may not have time to write. Me: Then I’ll write. Also me: But your dogs have been cooped up, and you know Lily gets depressed if she doesn’t get out. Oh, and don’t forget you have to do Cash’s physical therapy. You missed yesterday. Me: And I only got the exercises for him two days ago... Also me: So, so far, utter failure there. Look, Candy Crush has reloaded another life... and if you just delay for five minutes, it’ll load ANOTHER life. Me: ...I should get up and do something. Also me: But what will you choose to do, therefore choosing not to do something else? Me: I’m going to get my dogs out and then go see my pony. I’ll enjoy that. Also me: So that’s the priority now? I thought you were making writing a priority? Me: Okay, so I’ll write FIRST, then-- Also me: Oh, so you’re going to run the risk that you won’t get the animals taken care of today? Shouldn’t they be your priority? Their lives, health, and happiness depend on you. They’re ALIVE. They should ALWAYS be the priority. Me: Okay, so first I’ll take Flea to the park for socializing. Then I’ll write, get the pony out, and take dogs walking when it’s cooler, this evening. Also Me: You know you often end up skipping the last thing. Are you prioritizing this new dog over your own dogs? Me: ...what? Also me: Just saying, which is more important? New dog or your dogs? Me: ...I... Also me: Or the horse? She’s in a box stall. She’s cooped up unless you get her out. Do you think she’s happy like that? Me: Okay, pony first, then-- Also me: YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO BE PRIORITIZING WRITING. Me: *sits down in defeat and plays Candy Crush or watches TV for the rest of the day.*

I read once, recently, in somethingorother on how to talk to people, that the second you say “Yes, but” what you’re really saying is, “No,” or “I disagree,” or “you’re wrong.” I’ve held that up whenever I want to say “Yes, but” to someone, and found that it’s not always true. But (haha), it’s definitely true for me in this situation.

Furthermore, I know that if I get up and start doing something, anything, I’ll continue doing more things, and I’ll feel better. That doesn’t help actually get me up, though. I know that if i keep sitting there, I won’t do any of it and I’ll be unhappy and the cycle will continue. That doesn’t help, either. I know that to make myself happier, I need to get up and be productive, and/or exercise, and/or eat better, etc. It doesn’t make me do it.

My dad has been in AA for most of my life. (34 years? Something like that.) He talks about his drinking days, and thinking, “Just put the glass down, you don’t need another sip,” and then taking another sip as if his arm belonged to someone else. I get that. It’s exactly how this feels, especially once the cycle starts. Normally I can help end the cycle by taking a day or two and going to my honey’s house, leaving my dogs (and even boarders) with my assistant trainer for a night or two. This time I can’t even do that, because Flea is so twitchy. He’s doing AMAZING, but a set back right now would break me and slow down his progress dramatically. I don’t feel like I can trust him with others unsupervised, yet. His signals that he needs space are just too easy to miss.

I kind of think of this as the “But” phase of the cycle, the hardest one to get out of. I need to get up/but I’m so tired. I should do something/but what should I do. I need to prioritize my dogs/but what about these other things I want to prioritize.

It’s exhausting. Meds help (for anxiety and ADD), but not always enough. The cycle just has to be broken. Easier said then done. >.> But hey! I’m blogging. That counts as writing, so one step out of the hole I’ve dug. It took me three hours from the time I decided to do it until I actually managed to do it, but I still managed in the same day. That’s something, right? RIGHT.

[bromfieldhall]

What Makes You Beautiful - A Mentalist Fanfiction

TIMELINE: Set some in the future after series four finale. Minor spoilers.

SYNOPSIS: “Yesterday I made a New Year’s resolution. I’m going to give myself one whole year to woo and win the love of California Bureau of Investigation’s Senior Agent Teresa Lisbon.”

PAIRING: Patrick Jane/Teresa Lisbon

Previous Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9

CHAPTER 10

"But when you smile at the ground it ain't hard to tell, You don't know you're beautiful"

~ What Makes You Beautiful ~ 1D

October 20th – 5.53pm

We caught a case last week where a man had a tragic background vaguely similar to myself.

Family killed in a car accident, him the only survivor. The other driver not convicted due to a technicality. The almost insane thirst for revenge…and he got it. Much good it did him. He just swapped one prison for another. Not that he seemed to care.

It was like sitting there and looking at a cracked mirror image of myself. What I could have become but for one person. There but for the grace of Lisbon, go I.

To say it was uncomfortable viewing is an understatement but there was one thing about his situation that finally forced me sit down and take a good, long hard look at myself.

It's been way overdue but, as is always the way, the solution to what appears to be, at times, an insurmountable problem is generally very simple.

Life is peculiar like that.

It's also confusing and frustrating. A source of joy and love and sadness and remorse…but at least I'm still here. At least I have a life to experience all these sometimes wonderful, sometimes turbulent emotions.

And that, I believe, is the crux of my problem…and my guilt.

I was so absolutely certain that my remorse was all tied up with my unhappy past that I didn't bother to look for another cause. Didn't even entertain the idea that my reluctance to take off my ring was for any other reason than my part in my family's untimely deaths and my need to make some inner peace with that.

And although that much is true to a certain extent, I soon realised it wasn't the basis for dragging my feet over its much delayed removal.

It's actually to do with the fact that I didn't die.

Years ago, Lisbon said that she thought I'd choose life…well, she was wrong. I never did. Oh, I admit I had moments of compunction over leaving her behind, I mean I loved her, even then…just not enough. Not like now. My vengeance was everything to me back then. There wasn't anything I wouldn't or didn't do to get it…with the odd exception. The entire time I searched for Red John, I was so certain that I knew what the inevitable outcome would be when I finally confronted him. Ultimately, I was prepared to die.

So when I didn't, I just wasn't emotionally equipped to deal with it. Like the man who lost his family in the car accident I developed some warped kind of survivor's guilt, I felt bad for not actually dying…and I believe that's the real reason I've found it so hard to move on now.

I'm punishing myself for still being here.

For trying to forge a new life…maybe even have another family one day when everything inside me is telling me that I shouldn't even be alive. I shouldn't be having the opportunity to go on. That I should have sacrificed myself like I unthinkingly did my wife and daughter…

Fourteen months after the event and I've finally figured it out. Better late than never I suppose but it still bothers me that I was so quick to see in another what I was so blind to see in myself.

But at least I understand my guilt now. What's more, I found I came to terms with it far quicker than I'd expected. It's much easier to forgive myself for living than it is finding some rationale for getting my family killed. At least Red John's death went some way to help me deal with that.

I glance down at my hand and smile. My ring is feeling lighter by the second now. The compulsive need to wear it is not nearly as strong as it was and I've decided that when we go back to Lisbon's place tonight, as has become our habit, I'm going to take it off.

It's time.

"Jane, can I see you in my office please?"

I look up from my book with a ready smile, which rapidly fades when I see the troubled expression on Lisbon's face. Something's happened. Something bad by the look of it. I immediately put my book down on the couch and get up to follow her, keen to find out the problem. I only hope I can help.

"What's wrong?" I ask as soon as I shut the door to her office behind me.

"Sit down," she requests with a nod of her head to the chair on the opposite side of her desk.

She's not looking at me directly and a sense of foreboding starts to inch its way up my spine as I do as she asks.

"Well?" I prompt when the silence stretches between us for a few moments.

"Valley State just called me," she begins casually and my stomach plummets. Lorelei is incarcerated there. "They said they've not been able to get hold of you this week and wanted me to pass on a message."

"Lisbon, I can explain…" I quickly try to cut in but she's having none of it.

"I'm sure you can. You have an explanation for everything, don't you?" she replies acerbically.

I can see the anger simmering away just beneath the surface of her strained but still calm exterior and know it won't take much to make her lose it. I decide to try and diffuse the situation.

"Look, I didn't want to bother you with it," I say dismissively. "It's no big deal."

Her mouth tightens grimly at my words my hopes of this not turning into an argument take a downward turn.

"As your superior I have a right to know when a prison inmate requests a visit from one of my team," she snaps curtly.

Really? She's trying to make this about work?

"Well, I'm sorry Agent Lisbon but as I declined to go I didn't think it was important," I retort, feeling my own irritation start to rise. "Besides we both know what this is really about, so stop acting so put out."

"Oh? And what's that?" she asks brusquely.

"You're upset because you think I harbour some kind of romantic feelings for Lorelei even though I've told you many times in the past that I don't," I state matter-of-factly.

She stares at me in silence for a few seconds then I see her anger melt away, leaving disappointment and hurt in its place. I'm confused…and a little concerned because I can't help but feel that I've let her down in some way.

"You think I'm jealous of Lorelei?" she asks in disbelief then shakes her head with a sad, wry smile and continues, "I'm not. I just don't like the fact that you hid this from me, Patrick." Her use of my given name tells me this is serious and when she looks down briefly before returning her gaze to mine, I note with growing trepidation that there's a look of defeat in her eyes as she adds, "How can we have any kind of relationship if I can't trust you to be honest with me?"

Her words are spoken so softly and yet I feel the sting of every single one of them as if I've been slapped. How the hell do I answer that? Whatever I say will have already been contradicted by my actions in connection with Lorelei.

Still, I have to try…

"Teresa, I admit I should have told you about the calls; I made a mistake…"

"It's not just the calls," she interrupts sharply then noticeably brings herself up short and lets out a sigh. "You know what? I'm not doing this here. Just go. I'm done."

Where my stomach had fallen sharply before, now it starts to rise and I feel the nausea sit at the back of my throat at her words. I have to know what she means but dread it at the same time.

"With the conversation?" I ask, trying to control the quiver in my voice but failing miserably. "Or with us, Teresa?"

"Both!" she snaps incensed and my breath catches in shock. But then I breathe again when I see her look immediately contrite. She closes her eyes and pinches the bridge of her nose before saying wearily, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean that. I'm just angry and tired and hungry…not a great combination for me. I think I'm going to go home. Alone."

She opens her eyes and I nod silently. She gets up and gathers her things together quickly then, after bidding me a cursory goodnight, she leaves.

I go back to my couch heavy hearted and sit down feeling dejected. I have no-one to blame but myself and although I know she doesn't really want to see me, I also know that I can't leave it like this. It's the kind of thing that will fester and, for once, I don't want to just ignore it in the hopes that it'll go away. I want to make it right.

I try and occupy myself for an hour but my book no longer holds my interest and there's only so many cups of tea even I can drink so I spend most of the time simply sitting and thinking of what to say to save our relationship.

If I'm not careful, I could easily ruin this for good…if I haven't already that is…

Lisbon is understandably upset and even though she apologised, I know that she wouldn't have said what she did in the first place if there wasn't at least some part of her that had meant it…however deeply buried.

I check the clock and see it's time to go. I make my way down to my car then drive over to her apartment, stopping to buy some take out on the way. Partly as a peace offering, partly because I know she won't have eaten anything despite her admission to hunger. She just doesn't look after herself well enough.

I pull up outside her place then get out of my car and walk up to her apartment. I take a deep breath then exhale slowly as I knock firmly on the door and wait. After a few moments the door opens slightly and Lisbon scowls at me silently.

Not a great welcome.

"I brought food," I say holding up the paper bag with a smile.

She eyes the bag suspiciously then, to my relief, opens the door wider so that I may enter. I place the food down on her kitchen counter then turn to see that she's walked over to the far side of the room. The atmosphere feels awkward and everything about her stance is prickly and defensive; from her sullen expression, to her folded arms and rigid posture. I sigh inwardly at the task I have before me but I don't balk. She's worth it.

"I thought I told you I wanted to be alone," she says suddenly. "Why do you never listen to me?"

"I do…I just chose to ignore you this time," I reply lightly.

"You always ignore me," she mutters as she looks away.

I let her remark slide and take a couple of steps towards her only to stop when she visibly stiffens even more if that's possible. Despite her seemingly outward rejection of me, I take heart from the fact that she did let me into her home. Somewhere deep down she must want to sort this situation out as well.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you about Lorelei," I begin sincerely. Her mouth thins into a grim line at the mention of the other woman's name but it needs to be said. "I thought that after the first call she wouldn't bother me again so I didn't say anything."

Lisbon shakes her head and rolls her eyes.

"You just don't get it do you?" she retorts unhappily. "You should have told me anyway, whether they called again or not."

"Why? Because of work?" I counter wryly.

"No…because we're supposed to be together," she argues irately. "That's what couples do, Jane. They don't hide things from each other, they talk, they share…and it's not just this thing with Lorelei, you do it all the time."

Guilty as charged but I feel I have a valid reason.

"It's only because I don't want to see you upset," I try to explain, hating the way she keeps making veiled references to us parting ways.

"I'd rather be upset and know you've been honest with me than have this feeling of…of betrayal that I have right now," she replies angrily. "This feeling that I don't mean anything to you." She stops suddenly and I can see the anger abruptly leave her taut body making her sag a little as she adds with obvious pain, "You hurt me."

Oh, God. Is this really what my own irrational fear and confusion has done to her? I've been so wrapped up in sorting out my own issues by myself that I didn't even realise that at the same time I was effectively shutting her out.

I close the distance between us to come to stand in front of her. My hands fist at my sides where I so badly want to touch her but won't because I can practically feel the rejection emanating from her tense, diminutive body.

"You mean everything to me, Teresa," I tell her earnestly.

The disbelieving look she gives me is like a knife to my heart and suddenly, nothing seems important anymore. Not my ring, my house, my demons, my misguided urge to protect her…all I know is that the three little words I've been too afraid to utter are now the easiest thing I'll ever have to say.

"I love you."

I hear a slight hitch in her breath and her eyes widen as she stares at me in shock. I can feel my own heart slamming away nervously in my chest but whatever happens now, I'm glad that I've finally told her. I've wanted to for so long now and I just pray that down to my own stupid foolishness it's not too late.

I watch her face carefully, anxious for a clue as to what she's thinking. Then, just when I'm about to make a stuttering apology for revealing such feelings, her stunned expression slowly fades and a light blush stains her cheeks. My throat tightens and I find breathing just that little more laboured as her lips suddenly quirk up into a small, shy smile and she looks down, biting on her delectable bottom lip.

I don't think I've ever seen her look more beautiful…or I've ever felt more relieved.

I say her name softly and when she looks up at me demurely from under her lashes I lean in, unable to hold back any longer. I need to seal my declaration with a kiss. As my lips meet hers she yields to me willingly, our arms wrapping around each other so tightly that I'm sure we'll never let go. The kiss is fierce and sweet and desperate and tender as I think we both know just how close we came to losing each other.

Finally I'm forced to relinquish her mouth in order that we can both draw breath, but I don't loosen my hold.

"If I'd known this was the best way to stop you being angry with me I'd have told you how I felt years ago," I joke with a grin.

"Yeah, well, don't think it'll get you out of trouble every time," she retorts with a smile.

"I won't," I assure her, suddenly solemn. I want her know how serious I am. "And I won't keep things from you from now on, Teresa, I promise."

She winces slightly then shakes her head.

"Don't promise; do it because you want to, OK?"

"I will," I agree sincerely. I know we still have a lot of things to work out but at least this is a start.

She nods and pulls away a little.

"I'm starving. What did you get?" she queries with a smile of anticipation.

I follow her lead to drop the subject for now and kiss her again before I let her go. We dish out the Chinese I stopped to pick up on the way then sit together on her couch and eat our food as she watches some reality show on the television while I just watch her.

I'm well aware she hasn't said she loves me back but although I'm a little disappointed, I'm not worried. Unlike myself, she shows me how much she cares every single day just from her simplest of actions. And considering how upset she was over everything, I know I need to show her that I mean what I say before I should expect her to make any kind of commitment, verbal or otherwise, back.

It's late by the time we've finished our dinner so I make a move to leave. We share a lingering kiss in her doorway then I bid her goodnight and walk over to my car with a spring in my step I haven't felt in years.

When I get in, I grip the steering wheel and the light from one of the street lamps catches my ring, drawing my attention as it glints brightly. I look at it with a smile and allow myself a few moments to reminisce about things past before I slowly reach over and pull it off.

I clasp it tightly in my hand for a second then resolutely put it into my vest pocket for safekeeping. My finger feels naked without the familiar metal band and I'm sure it'll take a little getting used to, but after today, I'm ready.

Finally, it feels right.

END CHAPTER 10