#I’ve been almost down right abusing my anxiety meds

[tigerpeachs]

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[mysterious-moonstruck-musings]

Destiny & Deliverance: Chapter 27

Destiny & Deliverance Masterlist ||| Main Masterlist Dieter Bravo X OFC

Series Summary: Natalia Cohen is experiencing major life changes, beginning with leaving an emotionally abusive husband. She is learning how to navigate life on her own while dealing with high functioning anxiety, depression, and mild PTSD. Everything is looking up for her. She is a highly respected consultant for a major LA firm, has her best friend, Lauren, by her side, and is on her path to healing. Everything changes when she meets a handsome and broken stranger on a work trip. He turns out to be a well-known actor, with a heart-breaking past. They quickly develop a connection that will forever alter their lives. 

Warnings: Themes dealing with mental health, emotional trauma, alcohol use, and discussions about suicide. There will be fluff, tears, spicy language, and smut. This will be a slow burn type of story. Read at your own risk.

Chapter Warnings: Discussions about intimate partner violence, suicidal ideation, mental health struggles, drug abuse, and alcohol abuse.

Chapter Quote: "I got to snuggle some baby goats."

It took everything in me to hold back the sob that threatened to escape the instant I heard Dieter’s voice. I momentarily placed my hand over my mouth to hold it in and compose myself. I let out a shaky breath as I tried to find my voice. 

“Dieter?” 

I could hear his stuttered breathing on the other end of the line. He sounded like he was battling with his emotions too. 

He cleared his throat, “Yeah… it’s me.”

I sighed loudly into the phone as the tears started to slide down my face. I felt like my brain had completely shut down on me, unsure of what to say but also feeling the urge to say everything all at once. It was so overwhelming but also awkward since we had not talked in so long. There were still so many things up in the air between us. 

“How’ve you been?” He asked, sounding unsure of himself. I felt like he didn’t know what to say either. 

I sniffed loudly as I wiped at my face, “Umm, I’ve been ok. How are you feeling?” 

“I’m feeling good. Normal, I think…then again…I’m not sure I really know what normal is,” we both laughed nervously.

“I’m feeling better than I have in a long time. I can confidently say that at least,” he added. 

I smiled. It was nice to know that he was feeling better. It helped dampen some of the worry I had been feeling. 

“How are things going, otherwise?”

“Well, I got to snuggle some baby goats during group therapy this morning. I kinda want one now.”  He sounded unabashed about this revelation. 

“Of course you do,” I said in response, shaking my head and chuckling at the thought. 

“I gotta new roommate two weeks ago…Gordon is his name. He’s an interesting guy…he uhhh…” he stifled a laugh before continuing. “He said he came here because the wall outlets were talking to him. Like, full conversations. They finally stopped after he got his meds sorted out. Made me feel a little better about my issues.”

I was a little dumbfounded, “Ummm, I’m not sure if I should laugh about that or not…” Dieter snickered, “He jokes about it now, so I think it’s ok.” 

It felt good to hear him laughing again. I had missed that sound more than I realized. I really missed his voice in general. He sounded different. Better, lighter almost. It was a sound I wanted to commit to memory. 

“Umm…so Gabby said you didn’t take that job offer?” His nervousness had returned with that question. 

“No, I turned it down.” I started rubbing at my shoulder with my free hand as I moved to sit down at the kitchen table. 

“Why? It sounded like an amazing opportunity”

I sighed, now rubbing at the crease between my brows, “It was, but it’s not where I wanted to be or what I wanted to do. I would’ve had to give up too much and I don’t feel like I’m in the right headspace to do that.”

“I hope it wasn’t because of me…”

“No. I mean, I guess I can’t say no. You’re part of it…but my life is here. I can’t leave Lauren or even Gabby and Alex at this point. We’ve all gotten so close. And like I said, I’m not in the right headspace for that. I would’ve been spending a lotta time alone and I don’t wanna do that right now. It just wasn’t where I felt like I should be. I didn’t feel any kind of excitement over it at all, so I turned it down”

I suddenly felt vulnerable revealing that to him, questioning if I should have. I didn’t want him to worry about me when he needed to be focusing on himself. 

“Are you sure you’re doing ok?” He asked quietly. 

“Yeah, I’m fine. You don’t have to worry about me, I promise. I’m just…I-” I huffed, shaking my head. I wasn’t sure if it was ok to finish that thought. I didn’t want to make any assumptions about how he was feeling or make an ass of myself. 

I heard him chuckle quietly over my flustered response, “I miss you too.” 

I was instantly calmed by his words, my anxiety about where we stood easing some. I let out a shy laugh at his declaration, tears still running down my face as I sniffled out, “You do?”

“Of course, I do, so fucking much… I - I’m sorry I haven't called you. I wanted to make sure I had a clear head when I did, and then I didn’t really know what to say after everything that happened.”

I heard him inhale sharply before he spoke up again, there was a tapping noise, like he was drumming his fingers against something.

“Listen, I’ve only got a few minutes left before they cut me off for today, but the reason I called…” 

He paused, clearing his throat nervously, “Umm, so I wanted to see if you would be willing to come here and do a session with my psychiatrist and me…”

“Of course, when?”

“Whenever you can. Just uhh, call my case worker and she’ll get it scheduled.” 

I could hear him shuffle around before he started cursing under his breath. 

“Well, I was gonna give you the number but now I can’t find it...Gabby should have it.” 

I couldn’t help but to snigger at him. He was still a little bit of a hot mess, which I loved about him. 

He followed up with an exasperated “sorry” about not being able to find the number before he let out a quiet laugh at himself. It felt like part of it was his nervousness too. 

“I’ll text her to get it as soon as we hang up and I’ll call immediately.” 

I could hear him sigh in relief before a beeping noise broke into our conversation with an automated message giving a one minute warning. 

“I’ll be there tomorrow if they’ll let me…or at least as soon as they’ll let me,” I said in a rush. Suddenly feeling the pressure of our limited time. I still felt like I had so many things to say to him. 

“I would like that. I…I really can’t wait to see you…” 

His words trailed off, shaking slightly as he was hit with another wave of emotions. 

“I can’t wait to see you either,” I replied with a quivering voice. 

After a moment of silence, there was a clicking sound as the line disconnected. I held the phone against my forehead, trying to get my breathing back to normal. Once I was able to focus my thoughts, I sent a quick text to Gabby to let her know that Dieter had called and that I needed the number for his case worker. I half expected her to call me, but thankfully she didn’t. She replied back quickly with the number and that she was happy he finally reached out. She followed that message up with another asking me if I was ok and if I needed to talk about it. I appreciated her offer, but I was good for now and let her know as much. Once I finished texting with Gabby, I dialed the number for the case worker, suddenly feeling nervousness forming in the pit of my stomach. 

“Sanctuary Hills, this is Sharon,” the polite, yet comforting voice answered.

“Hi Sharon, this is Natalia Cohen…” She cut in before I could continue. 

“Oh, Talia, hi. I’ve been expecting your call. Dieter told me he was going to be calling you.” 

I let out a nervous laugh, slightly taken aback by the familiarity in which she said my name. It made me wonder how much he had talked about me. 

“I assume you’re calling about an appointment for a family session?” 

I didn’t know why, but it stirred something in me when she called it a family session. Technically, I wasn’t his family, but they were treating me as if I were. I could feel the tears prickling at my eyes again as I exhaled out a breathy “yes” in response.

“That’s wonderful news, I know he’ll be overjoyed to see you.” I could hear the smile in her voice

“I can’t wait to see him either,” I replied, still trying to keep the emotions out of my words.

“Alright, let me have a look at the schedule. Dr. Rosenberg did ask that you be prepared to be available for at least a week for additional sessions, if possible.” 

“Additional sessions?” I was confused. I couldn’t recall if the same thing had been asked of Gabby, which caused my anxiety to flare.  

“Don’t worry, it’s perfectly normal for that to happen. It’s mostly educational sessions for family members if they’re willing to participate.”

“Oh, ok. That doesn’t sound so bad.” I laughed nervously. 

“When would you like to come in?” she asked with a calming tone.

“As soon as you can get me in is preferable.” I started tapping on the table as I waited for options, listening to the clicking of a keyboard on her end. 

“How about 10 AM the day after tomorrow?” 

“I’ll take it,” I said a little too eagerly. The anticipation of seeing Dieter again was starting to get to me. 

“I have it scheduled. In case you do end up staying for additional sessions, we have apartments on site for patient families. So, you won’t have to worry about lodging. We don’t want you stressing about that while you’re here.”

“Oh, that’s…nice. Thanks for letting me know.”

“When you arrive for your session, come in the north entrance with the blue awning and they'll get you checked in. It’s a different entrance than where you would have come in before.”  

I thanked her and our conversation ended soon after that. Afterwards, I sat staring out the kitchen window, feeling the anxiousness settle into my gut. Not knowing what to expect was always the worst for me. It was like that call had started a countdown, to what, I wasn’t sure. I could only hope the end result would be something positive. 

The morning of our session, I had a ridiculously early flight so that I could be there in time. I decided to keep things simple with minimal makeup, a messy bun, sunglasses, sneakers, skinny jeans, and one of Dieter’s button up dress shirts with the sleeves rolled up. I had raided his closet while I was at his house cleaning up. It was something small, but being wrapped in his scent or wearing something that belonged to him brought me some comfort during my time without him. His clothing quickly became a staple in my casual attire. 

I was so anxious about seeing Dieter again that the flight didn’t faze me like it normally would have. Though it was an hour and a half, it seemed much quicker as the minutes continued to count down and the distance between us shortened. I could feel myself getting more worked up the closer I got. By the time I acquired the rental car and was on the road to the facility, my chest was heavy. Breathing was getting harder with each mile that passed. 

When I pulled into the parking lot, I could feel my heart pounding in my ears. I sat gripping the steering wheel tightly in both hands and taking deep breaths. I wasn’t even sure why I was so nervous, it’s not like I knew what Dieter was planning to talk to me about. However, deep down I had a fear, though most likely irrational, that he was going to realize he didn’t really want to be with me after this. I wasn’t sure if I could handle that a second time if it were to happen. Without permission, the tears started to streak down my cheeks, and I felt like I was going to be sick. 

After a few more deep breaths, I slammed my fist down on the stop of the steering wheel out of frustration, “Fucking hell, get it together Talia.”  

My head dropped back onto the headrest as I squeezed my eyes shut, still taking deep controlled breaths. After several minutes passed, I let out a slow exhale before opening my eyes. Feeling more relaxed, I did a quick check in the mirror to make sure I didn’t look like a complete mess before exiting the vehicle to go inside. 

I was starting to have an out of body feeling as I went through the check in process. I couldn’t really remember walking to the building or anything the lady behind the desk had just said to me as I sat down in the lobby to wait. After a few minutes, one of the receptionists called my name and led me through a secure door down a long hallway. We passed several offices that had glass inserts in the doors with shades. Most of the shades were pulled closed, however, I noticed one was open. As I approached, I glanced inside and was met with a familiar figure sitting in a high backed desk chair in the middle of the room with his head leaned back and eyes closed as he spun back and forth, his legs bouncing ever so often. He was sitting on the opposite side of a desk from a woman who was possibly in her fifties, with graying hair and a kind face. Though, she did have a slightly overwhelmed look about her as her eyes met mine through the glass. 

I stopped briefly, watching him wave his hands animatedly as he talked incessantly, never raising his head or opening his eyes. I felt a small smirk sneak across my face. He was nervous too. I could tell. My eyes flicked back to the woman, who was watching me watch him with a soft smile on her face. 

My attention was pulled away by the receptionist, who was now at my side waiting for me to continue following her. 

“He’s been driving us all crazy this morning. I think poor Sharon is getting the worst of it. He’s beyond excited that you’re here today.” 

I chuckled at the thought before continuing down the hallway. I was led into a spacious office. It was modern and white with floor to ceiling windows on one side with nothing in sight but nature. All the furnishings were earth tones of brown and deep reds and oranges. I noticed there were a lot of plants filling the space, which added a homey feeling, in a strange sort of way. It also struck me how there were different seating areas on either side of the room. One had a small couch and cushy chair positioned in front of it, while the other had four cushy chairs sitting closely together in a circle. Each of the seats were adorned with soft looking pillows in various shades matching the space. There was a traditional desk setup in the center of the room with two chairs placed in front of it. Each area felt carefully designed to meet specific needs.   

Moments after entering the room, I was greeted by Dr. Rosenberg who first shook my hand, then pulled me in for a loose hug. 

“Talia, it’s nice to finally meet you. I’ve heard so much about you the last couple of months.” 

It took me by surprise, though I felt like it shouldn’t have. There was a certain familiarity and kindness that everyone seemed to have toward me. Everyone had been very warm and welcoming thus far. It was comforting to know this was the type of environment that Dieter had been in. 

I gave her a tight lipped smile as she led me over to sit in one of the four chairs in a circle. To my surprise, the chair spun slightly as I sat in it. Dr. Rosenberg turned hers to face me directly, so I did the same with mine. I had managed to stay composed thus far, but my nervousness was starting to show as I reached up and rubbed at my shoulder. The psychiatrist was silent for a moment as she watched my movements. I stopped, sat up straight and placed both hands on top of my crossed legs to keep from fidgeting. 

I’m not sure why, but I felt the need to appear like I had my shit together. I took a minute to study her as she gave me a soft smile while she continued to get settled, grabbing a notepad, file folder, pen, and glasses from the small table next to her seat. She was probably in her early fifties, maybe late forties. Her long blonde hair was pulled back into a low ponytail, and she was dressed in business casual attire. I could tell she wanted to appear professional, but not uninviting. She was also definitely looking at my body language very closely, which was making me feel antsy. My therapist used to do that, and I hated it. I mentally smacked myself over my thoughts. I was already putting up walls and we hadn’t even started talking yet. 

“Well, it’s been an exciting morning around here. Dieter is definitely happy you’re here. He was asked to leave his group session this morning because he couldn't focus. He’s been bugging poor Sharon ever since.” She laughed and smiled affectionately at her words.

She was trying to get me to relax. I knew that I looked too tense. I let out a breathy laugh as I sat back further in the seat, trying to appear less uptight, but I didn't think it was working. She gave me a sympathetic look suddenly, “You’re nervous to see him.” 

It wasn’t a question. Looking down at my hands, I chuckled to myself briefly before clearing my throat to speak, “Yeah, I guess I am. I just…don’t know what to expect.”

“That’s a perfectly normal feeling. It’s not unusual for family members to worry if their loved one is going to be different after treatment. Is that some of what you’re feeling?”

Her question took me by surprise, “Ummm, maybe. Sort of...maybe not so much about him being different…more about him feeling differently.” 

She nodded, “I understand. I can’t say that he won’t be different. His personality may present differently, more calm, less emotional or moody. He will feel differently in that he won’t be cycling from one extreme to the other, emotionally. As far as how he feels ABOUT things, that isn’t going to change just because he’s stabilized. Does that make sense?” 

I gave a tight nod, “Yeah, it does.” It didn’t do anything to ease my anxiety though because I still didn’t know how he really felt about us. She eyed me for a second before continuing.

“So, I’ll fill you in on my plan for today. First, you and I are going to chat about Dieter’s diagnosis. Once we’re done, I’m going to bring him in for the session. After that, you and I will have a follow-up meeting to discuss the path forward. Does that sound ok to you?”   

“Yeah, that’s fine.” I started to chew on my bottom lip while she flipped through the file in her hand.

“Great. Just so you’re aware, Dieter signed release forms for you to have access to his medical and treatment information. Nothing is off the table, so if you have questions, ask. He made it clear to me that he wants you to know everything and wants you involved as much as you want to be.”

I paused briefly, shocked by that information. I exhaled the breath I didn’t realize I was holding, “Ok...I wasn’t expecting that.” 

She smiled before continuing, “Alright, let’s get to it then?” She raised her brows at me, asking permission to proceed. I motioned with my hand to continue.  

“So, he’s been formally diagnosed with mixed episode Bipolar I Disorder (BD). In simple terms, bipolar disorder is when someone experiences extreme behavioral or mood changes. The extreme highs are called manic episodes, and lows are episodes of depression. Most people with BD go through highs and lows over an extended period of time. Someone with mixed episodes, like Dieter has, tend to experience both highs and lows simultaneously or in a rapid sequence with no recovery time.”

She paused, giving me a minute to digest her words. I couldn’t say I was surprised by the diagnosis, it actually made a lot of his behavior make sense. When I didn’t speak up, she continued. 

“I think what happened with Dieter…he was put on a lot of medication. Antidepressants in particular can be very tricky for someone with BD. It can cause an increased risk of mood destabilization when the antidepressants are not taken with a mood stabilizer. He was on pretty much everything but a mood stabilizer. You add that in with not sleeping, not eating, drinking, anxiety, and episode triggers…it’s a recipe for disaster. Sometimes being improperly medicated like that can trigger suicidal ideation and even psychosis. Honestly, he was fighting a losing battle.”

I leaned forward in my seat, placing my elbows on my knees while I rubbed at my face. I felt anger bubbling in my chest. 

“Why didn’t his therapists or doctors catch what was happening?”

“One reason…lack of experience. BD is also incredibly hard to diagnose because it shares symptoms with so many other more common disorders like anxiety, depression, PTSD, and ADHD, which is what he was being treated for. That’s not to say he doesn’t have those things as well, but if he does, we need to take a different treatment approach.” 

I sighed, shaking my head in disbelief. “Wow, that actually kind of blows my mind.” 

“I know… and I’m surprised that no one thought to look into it, given his family history. It can be hereditary, and BD does have a high suicide rate. Given what happened with his mother, it should’ve been considered. Also, the fact that he experienced trauma in dealing with that incident...trauma often causes the onset of symptoms.” 

I sighed heavily as the tears started to pool in my eyes, “This actually…kind of pisses me off that he had to go through all of this needlessly. He fucking hated taking that stuff because of the way it made him feel.”  

“That brings me to my next topic...It's been hard to get a baseline with him. I feel like a lot of the things he was experiencing were side effects from all the medications he was on. I can’t really rely on his history before he started the medication because he was using recreational and prescription drugs and drinking heavily to self medicate, which could have been making things worse for him during that time as well.” She paused briefly to gauge my reaction, “I assume you knew about his past substance abuse issues?”

“Yeah, he’s mentioned it…What does all that mean?”

“Well, it’s hard to know exactly what his actual symptoms are right now. So, to start, I’m doing the bare minimum. I’ve started him out on a low dose mood stabilizer called divalproex sodium. It’s actually…an anticonvulsant that’s normally used to treat seizures rather than a typical mood stabilizer like lithium.”

I drew my brows down together in confusion, “Why a seizure medication?” 

“That medication increases the amount of a chemical called gamma-aminobutyric acid in the brain. It works to block certain transmissions across the nerves in the brain and creates sort of an overall calming effect. That particular medication often works best for patients that have mixed or rapid cycling episodes. Lithium typically doesn’t get the job done in those instances. He seems to be doing well on it so far. We’ll give it a few more months to make sure everything else is out of his system and reevaluate.”    

“So, he went from taking half the pharmacy…to one thing?” 

“He did. He seems pretty set on limiting the medications as much as possible. He’s been spending a lot of his time doing cognitive behavioral therapy, interpersonal and social rhythm therapy, and psychoeducation to help him manage his symptoms and learn about triggers and that sort of thing. He’s been very invested in it, and it seems to be helping.”

I sighed, starting to feel overwhelmed, “I don’t know what all of that is. I mean, I know cognitive behavioral therapy but…” I shook my head in confusion. 

“No worries, if you decide to continue with the family education sessions you’ll learn about that stuff. I know it’s a lot to take in...”

“Yeah, it is, but I’m happy that he’s hopefully on the right track now.” I took a couple of deep breaths to try and relax some as I continued to process things. 

“One last thing before I bring Dieter in...I know you two were no longer together before his hospitalization and you haven’t really had a chance to work things out. His preference is to stay with you when he leaves treatment. I do want to be able to manage his expectations if that isn’t going to be the case. I don’t want you to feel like you have to allow that if you aren’t ready to take all this on. I want you to know that you can say no.”

I was taken aback at her directness, but also appreciated it. I actually felt like I was warming up to her some and feeling more comfortable with opening up to her. I didn’t hesitate with my response, if anything, I said it with conviction, looking directly into her eyes as I spoke. 

“There’s no question in my mind about him coming home with me so long as he wants to. I’ve known from the start that he was struggling with his mental health, and I promised to support him through it. A new diagnosis doesn’t change anything for me. I’m all in for this.”

Dr. Rosenberg gave me a warm smile, clearly satisfied with my response. “Now I see why he says you can be a force to be reckoned with.”

My eyebrows shot up at her words as she again took me by surprise, “Dieter said that?” I chuckled at the thought as I leaned back in my seat, surprised that was the wording he chose. 

“He’s said a lot of things about you, all positive, of course.” She laughed quietly to herself as she set her glasses on the table. As she stood, she announced she was going to go get him for our joint sessions. 

After Dr. Rosenberg disappeared out the door, I could feel my anxiety returning. My chest was starting to tighten again as my heart beat a mile a minute. Instinctively, my right hand moved to rub at my shoulder. Was he going to be upset about how easily I gave up on us? I didn’t know how he couldn’t be. It didn’t sound like he was planning to end things for good even though that thought kept crossing my mind. It was clearly my pessimism and self-doubt seeping in. The thought of being completely open and vulnerable in this setting was making things worse too. I wasn’t a fan of having an audience, but I needed to get over that and not build up my walls right now. I propped my arm on the rest of the chair and started to rub at my forehead as my leg began to bounce. I couldn’t make myself stop the fidgeting no matter how hard I tried. 

After several minutes passed, Dr. Rosenberg returned with Dieter following behind her. His head was down, clenching and unclenching his hands as he walked. As he approached me, he finally looked my way through his lashes. He gave me a small smile that widened as his eyes dropped down to my shirt, obviously noticing I was wearing one of his. I gave him a shy smile in return. He sat down in the chair directly in front of me as Dr. Rosenberg returned to her earlier spot. 

It was clear he was nervous by the way he couldn’t keep his hands still and how the heel of his croc kept bouncing off the tiled floor. He would only occasionally glance in my direction as we waited for Dr. Rosenberg to get settled again. I took the opportunity to study his appearance. He looked so much better compared to the last time I had seen him. His light gray t-shirt was no longer loose looking around his fit torso. His pale skin had been replaced with a golden tan. His hair was longer and as wild as ever, framing his scruffy and patchy beard. His chocolate brown eyes looked clearer than I had ever seen them and were filled with nervousness and anticipation. 

Once Dr. Rosenberg was ready to start, she filled Dieter in on what she had discussed with me about his diagnosis. She then encouraged him to take the lead going forward and discuss the things he wanted to speak with me about. He rubbed his hands together nervously, briefly chewing on his bottom lip before he met my gaze to speak. 

“So, you’re…ok with that diagnosis?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. I wasn’t sure what he meant and gave him a confused look. “Like, it doesn’t freak you out or anything? I know it’s a lot to deal with.” 

“Dieter, the diagnosis doesn’t change anything. You’re still you. Why would it bother me?”

“I dunno, I’m just afraid that at some point you’re gonna realize how big of a mess I am and run away from it all,” he said sheepishly. 

I chuckled, leaning forward in the seat with a teasing smile, “I realized how big of a mess you were a long time ago.”  He scratched at his chin as a smirk formed on his lips.

“Besides, I’m pretty sure I’ve already seen the worst of it and I’m still here. My feelings for you haven’t changed. You don’t have to worry about that from me.”

His eyes turned glassy at my words as he pinched his brows together, looking downward at his hands in his lap. 

“I don’t deserve you, not after the way I treated you…the things I said. I was such an asshole to you.”

I bit at my bottom lip, shaking my head before speaking, “None of that matters to me. I know you weren’t completely yourself when you said those things.”

“No, I wasn’t but I still knew what I was doing and saying. I apparently tend to self-sabotage things. Some of the things I said, using your past against you, I knew it would hurt you. I wanted the words to hurt so you would let me go. I knew you wouldn’t otherwise.”

“Why though? I don’t understand why you felt the need to end things to begin with. Why was I a burden to you?”

His eyes widened at my question, brows shooting upward as he shook his head from side to side, “No, no you weren’t the burden…I was. I’m sorry I made you think that. I know the night I called, I wasn’t making a lot of sense. I…I hadn’t slept in days, and I was such a fucking mess.”

He licked his bottom lip and chewed at it for a second before continuing, “I could see how you were having to completely change everything about your life to accommodate me and my work just for us to be together. I knew it was eventually gonna be a problem and cause you stress because it was affecting your job. I didn’t wanna ruin your life that way. You shouldn’t have to cater your life to mine, it’s not fair. I love you too much to do that to you.”    

“Dieter, it wasn’t always gonna be like that. It just happened to be shitty circumstances caused by the remote location. If we hadn't been in the middle of nowhere, I could’ve worked without issue. We just weren’t prepared for the challenges that came up. This is a learning experience for both of us. We’ll know better for next time so I can plan accordingly…and it wasn’t like you weren’t making changes to meet me halfway.” 

He couldn’t argue with that. He sighed as he leaned back in his seat, nodding in agreement. 

“I know that now, I wasn’t exactly thinking clearly…obviously. It all made sense at the time.” He rolled his eyes, frustrated with his behavior. He took a deep breath before continuing.

“It was more than that though, I knew I was spiraling out of control. I could fucking feel it happening and didn’t know how to make it stop. I didn’t wanna tell you what was going on because I didn’t want you to worry. I knew you would drop everything and fly back to Canada to be with me.”

“You’re damn right I would’ve… and I should’ve done that anyway.” I could feel my emotions catching up to me, my eyes filling with tears as I looked down away from him. 

“I fucking knew it…in my gut that something was wrong, and I did nothing. If I had just done it…came up there anyway, this probably would’ve gone differently. I could’ve helped you through it, but no…I was a fucking coward. I gave up because I was selfish and wanted to protect myself. I didn’t even try because I was too afraid that I would end up in a dark place again if you didn’t want me to be there with you.”

The tears were streaking down my cheeks by this point. I couldn’t hold them back anymore. I had so much anger for myself that it was making me feel sick. Dieter stood from his seat, closing the few feet between us, then got down on his knees on the floor in front of me. He moved to grab my hands in my lap, but hesitated. I reached up and grabbed his in response.

“I’m sorry I put you in the position to even have to think that. It should’ve never happened. I should’ve been communicating everything with you instead of pushing you away. This whole fucking mess is my fault…I wanted to reach out so many times after that… to try and fix it, but you seemed like you were doing ok so I didn’t want to upset you again.”

The tears were streaming down his face now as he took a minute to try and compose himself. 

“I thought I could move on and just deal with things the way I used to…by numbing the pain. That’s when I started drinking heavily again. Then I saw you at the restaurant, and you looked so fucking amazing…and I was such a dick. I was so angry with myself for that. I couldn’t stop thinking about how I had everything and fucked it up. My behavior after that night was reckless. There are days I can’t even remember because I was drinking so much. I just wanted to not think about it anymore.”

He pulled his hands away, looking down at the floor before wiping at his face. When he raised his head again, the pain in his eyes nearly made my heart stop. I reached out to cup his cheek, but he leaned away, seeming to need space.  

“The night that video of you was posted online…several people sent it to me. I didn’t watch it at first because I didn’t think it would mean anything…but when I finally did…”

He put his hand over his mouth, letting out a quiet sob, before continuing. 

“I could see how bad you were hurting…how bad I hurt you. What I did to you…I hated myself for it because you didn’t deserve that. It also reminded me of what I was missing out on because of how beautiful you sounded and looked…and that fucking song.” 

He paused for a minute, shaking his head. He sniffled and wiped at his face again before continuing.  

“I stayed up all night, watching it on a loop on the tv. I almost called you then, but stopped myself. I drank until I had nothing left instead. Then, when I ran into you the next morning, I could see how fucking broken you were. The way you looked at me…it fucking crushed me. I bought more alcohol and went back to the house. I don’t really remember much after that.”

He shook his head for a moment, pausing to take a few deep breaths, wiping at his face again. 

“I don’t even remember calling you…and…even after everything I did, you still came to me. You could’ve easily told me to fuck off and I would’ve deserved it, but you didn’t. I know I wouldn’t be here right now if you hadn’t. You saved my life…I feel like you’ve been doing that ever since New York. When I say you’re my light in the darkness, I fucking mean it.”

I started sobbing into my hands. I couldn’t hold it back anymore. I felt his fingers wrap around my wrist, pulling my hands around his neck as he moved to hug me. We sat there in an embrace for some time before I started mumbling into his shoulder. 

“I was so afraid you were gonna hate me for giving up on you so easily. I’m sorry I didn’t try harder. Just know that it had nothing to do with you…I clearly still need to work on my own shit.”

He hugged me a little tighter as he buried his fingers in the back of my hair, “That thought never crossed my mind. Don’t even worry about it anymore.”  

He finally pulled back, wiping the tears away from my cheeks with his thumbs as he did so. We gave each other tight smiles as we locked eyes. He turned away, toward Dr. Rosenberg, who I had completely forgotten was in the room, and asked for some tissues. She picked up the box from her small table and handed it to him as he stood. He handed me several and took some for himself before handing the box back to her. She motioned for him to have a seat. As she turned to set the box back on the table, I noticed she was looking a little glassy eyed too. 

We all sat in silence as her eyes shifted between us. Dieter and I glanced at each other, confusion on our faces as we looked back toward her. She chuckled before she spoke.

“I’m not even sure why I’m here. This is literally the first family session ever where I didn’t have to intervene or lead a conversation. You two don’t seem to have any problems communicating, so I’m not sure how you ended up where you were.” 

We both smiled widely at her, surprised and appreciative of her honesty. Dieter spoke up with a chuckle.  

“I think between my fucked up brain and the distance…it didn’t do us any favors. We’re always at our best when we’re physically together, I think. Everything goes to hell when we aren’t. Clearly that is something I need to work on.”

Dr. Rosenberg nodded in agreement, “Well, I hate to separate you two again, but we are running short on time, and I want to have a chat with Talia about the plans going forward. Dieter, I’m pretty sure you have another group session coming up so you better head that way. You think you can focus enough for this one?” 

She raised an eyebrow in his direction as he laughed and nodded. He stood, quickly shuffling over to lean down and give me a hug before exiting the room.  

Dr. Rosenberg wasted no time getting back to business, “Talia, part of his treatment is making sure he has the support he needs when he gets home. That’s why we offer support to caretakers as well, because technically, you will be his caretaker as the only other person in the household with him.”

I knitted my brows together, confused about where this conversation was going. 

“I’m not going to pretend that I don’t know you have a traumatic history because Dieter has mentioned a few things. I don’t know the details, and I get the sense he doesn’t know it all either. I feel like whatever happened with your ex-husband is still affecting you. Is the dark place you mentioned something that you would be willing to talk to me about? Anything you tell me about yourself is confidential, just so you know.”

I sighed heavily as I ran both hands over my face, “So you picked up on that, huh?” I laughed nervously under her gaze. 

“You’re right, I haven’t told him everything. I keep telling myself I’ve moved past it, but after the last few months, I’ve realized that I just locked it away and pretended it didn’t exist. I tend to do that with a lot of things.” She gave me an encouraging smile, clearly picking up on my hesitation as I paused to gather my thoughts. 

“So, the last few years of my marriage, I started drinking heavily after finding no way out of the hell I was living in. The constant mental and psychological abuse was wearing me down, especially after I realized what was happening. When I tried to talk to Justin about a divorce, he would just tell me there was no way out because he wasn’t ready to give me up.” I paused briefly… focusing on something outside through the window. “I uhh, came home early from work one day and found him with another woman that he worked with. He of course said it was my fault, because I wasn’t giving him what he needed in the marriage. I knew what he was doing…and I was determined not to let it go because I felt I had a legitimate reason to end things at that point. I TOLD him I was leaving. I was done asking. When I started packing a bag, he hit me. The first time ever. I mean, he had shoved me around some, but never hit me across the face like that. He told me there was no leaving… that he would just find me and bring me home. Said no one would believe me or help because all of OUR friends knew how I was.”

“Talia, what did saying that out loud just now make you feel?”  

My eyes drifted over to meet hers, “I don’t really feel anything.” 

She arched a brow, “That’s because you're dissociating. I want you to focus on me as you speak and feel what you’re saying.”  

Fuck. She wasn’t going to let me cheat my way through this like my therapist did. I pinched my brows together as my eyes teared up again. I had to face this. I closed my eyes briefly, exhaling slowly. When I opened them and met her gaze, she nodded for me to continue. 

“He wasn’t wrong. I didn’t really have anyone to turn to. He made sure of that. He left after our argument, said he was going out with the guys. I doubt that’s where he went though. As soon as he left, I started drinking. I remember…feeling lost and pretty fucking hopeless after that. I couldn’t believe he hit me, and I was scared it would happen again. I never saw myself as someone who lets their husband abuse them…I felt disgusted over it. I must have drank a lot…because I can’t remember the rest of that night. I - I woke up in the hospital with alcohol poisoning. I guess when he came home, he found me passed out in my own vomit.”

I started tapping on the arm of the chair as the tightness in my chest returned. The tears trickled out again. 

“When Justin finally came to see me, I told him that I was done. If he didn’t let me go, I was gonna find a way out…one way or another and I would make sure everyone knew it was his fault. Given that I had just put myself in the hospital, he took me at my word and agreed on a divorce. I guess he was afraid of what I would do.”

“What did you mean by that?”

I gave a half smile, “I honestly don’t know. I wonder that myself…what I was capable of. If I could’ve done anything.”

“What happened after you both agreed to the divorce?”

“Well, when I was still in the hospital, I reached out to one of my best friends that I grew up with, Lauren. We had kept in touch, even though I actively worked to put up a wall between us so she wouldn’t know what was really going on in my life because I was so embarrassed over it. She didn’t hesitate…she was at the hospital within the hour, and I told her everything. I stayed with her for a few weeks until I got my life sorted out. I don’t think I would have been able to do it without her. Of course, Justin continued to torment me by dragging out the divorce for over a year. It got pretty nasty.”

“What effects do you feel like that experience had on you?” She asked quietly. 

“Experience.” I chuckled. “I didn’t realize twelve years of hell could be considered an experience.” 

She gave me a sympathetic look before I continued, “I mean, I lost myself. I didn’t know who I was. I was who he wanted me to be. After I left him, he was still in my head with everything I did. What I was wearing, how I fixed my hair and makeup, things I said. I couldn’t do some of the simplest things without hearing his voice telling me I was doing something wrong and having a fucking panic attack over it. I couldn’t make decisions…and yes, I would still drink to numb my feelings and calm myself down. Only this time, I knew exactly how much I could drink without taking it too far.”

“Are those things still an issue for you now?”    

I shook my head, “No, I mean, I did all the cognitive behavioral therapy and the sessions. I eventually got to a point where the negative thoughts stopped. I think Dieter had a lot to do with that…he kind of helped me see myself in a different light…but I do still have anxiety sometimes and I think I’ve reverted back to ignoring my feelings… compartmentalizing everything and pretending it’s not there. Throwing myself into work and staying busy to keep my mind occupied. I’ve been doing that instead of drinking the feelings away.” 

Dr. Rosenberg leaned forward, placing her elbow on her knee with a pensive look on her face.   

“Talia…would you be willing to stay for the next three weeks to work through some of this with me? It would be outpatient treatment…a couple hours a day. You can stay in one of our apartments.” 

I sucked in a quick breath. I certainly wasn’t expecting this, but at the same time, I almost felt relieved. My gut told me I needed it and I knew I couldn’t go on the way I had been because I was eventually going to self-destruct if I didn’t take better care of myself. I knew I couldn’t fully be there for Dieter if I was still battling with myself. I sat staring at my hands as I thought through the offer. I could still work remotely, so that wouldn’t be an issue. I raised my head to meet her eyes, “Will Dieter know what I’m doing?”   

“Only if you want him to.”

“I don’t want to saddle him with my shit right now…I don’t wanna mess him up.” 

“Honestly, I think he’s stable at this point. I think he could handle whatever you wanted to share with him. If you wanted, we could even do some more joint sessions, or he can just be there for support if you want him to be. It’s all up to you really.”

“What would you do?” I asked, letting out a stuttered breath with my question. She took a minute to consider her response, biting on the inside of her cheek as she did so.   

“I don’t think it would be bad if you shared everything with him. The more open you are with one another, the better. Communication is going to be a huge factor in keeping your relationship healthy and happy. At least if he knows what’s going on he can support you, just like you support him. Also, if he needs help processing through things, we can help him with that while he’s here…but again, it’s your decision.” 

“Yeah, I mean he knows most of it anyway…Alright, I’ll do it. I’ll stay and I want him involved.”

She gave me a bright smile, “I’m actually really happy to hear that. I think this will allow you to build a solid foundation going forward. I’m excited for your future together. I can tell that you both care deeply for each other and I really want your time here to be successful.” 

I gave her thanks for the opportunity she was giving me. I’ve known for a while that I had things that I needed to work on but didn't really know where to start. The fact that Dieter seemed so at ease with her and was doing so well gave me some comfort and the courage to jump in head first. 

The next three weeks were a whirlwind of educational sessions to help me learn about bipolar disorder; the triggers, coping strategies, and lifestyle changes to minimize stress. I even had an opportunity to learn more about Dieter’s medication and possible interactions and side effects so I would be able to spot them. He had asked that I be involved with his Interpersonal and Social Rhythm therapy, which was designed to help him build a daily routine of healthy habits to manage his moods. Given his job, sometimes a routine was almost impossible for him to keep, but we learned strategies to deal with that when confronted with it. It was all very helpful for the both of us.

I had my sessions too of course. He sometimes set in on them if we were doing something particularly hard that day. His presence helped keep me grounded and got me through a lot. He was taking time to learn about ways to help me cope better and we worked together on effective communication skills. 

Dr. Rosenberg recommended that I start keeping a journal to help me work through my emotions. I was iffy about it at first, but Dieter was also doing it and he loved it. He was very encouraging about it. It was something that I had come to enjoy doing after a few days. We had even taken to having a shared journal between us to better communicate our feelings, which Dr. Rosenberg loved the idea of and encouraged. 

Even though Dieter and I weren’t able to spend a whole lot of time together during those three weeks, I could always feel his presence and support. It’s what kept me going through it all. I don’t think I would have had the strength to do it without him. By the time my last day of treatment came around, he was given the all clear for discharge. It was both nerve wracking and exciting to know that we would be going home…together.

A/N: How excited are we that these two are finally back together? How badly did this chapter hit the feels? Did you cry? If you did, hopefully this will be the last time...unless you are a happy crier. There may be happy tears later. 😉 How are we feeling about Dieter's diagnosis? Does it change how you view some of his past behavior? What about that revelation from Talia? I mean, are we really surprised though; the girl has had a complicated relationship with alcohol throughout the whole story. How do you think things are going to go when they get back home? Do you think they will pick up where they left off or have some growing pains? We will find out in the next chapter. 😁 I am 100% failing at life and did not get the Deconstructing Dieter Bravo post done. I need to do a little fact checking and didn't have the brain power for it. However, once I get that ready, it will be posted HERE. The topic for Deconstructing Dieter Bravo Part 3 will be his diagnosis. I will tag all the usuals in the posts once it is ready. Hopefully you will find it to be educational. 💜 👉 I do want to share some details on upcoming projects that will be released for the holidays. I am participating in the @pedrostories Secret Santa event. I have received my gift prompt, and you may be excited to know that you will be getting a Dieter Bravo one shot from me by Christmas. I already have some ideas swirling around for it and it's not related to any current fics. It should be fun. Be sure to follow the #pedrostoriesgift23 hashtag to check out all the awesome work that will be included for the event. If you would like to be tagged on this one shot, let me know in the comments. 💜 As usual, I have included the chapter mood board below in case you missed it.😘

Next Chapter

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[envihellbender]

Felix Richter's teenage son discovers his father is a serial killer one night.

Rating: Mature (themes/horror)

Fandom: Dead By Daylight

Characters: Felix Richter, Milo Richter

Content: No Entity/Family AU, Angst, father son relationship, abuse, gaslighting, serial killer Felix

—

Milo hadn’t felt good about betraying his father, but the moment he heard what the man was doing, when he saw what he did to that poor man… He had to do something. Running from the house in a t-shirt and pyjama bottoms to the nearest police station was at least something. He felt a lot of anxiety making the statement, almost throwing up at one point but felt a sense of relief when it was signed. The detective took it away and then another officer came to inform Milo that his guardian was here to take him home. He followed them dutifully, but when he saw just what was meant by ‘guardian’ his intestines turned to water and his lungs froze stopping his breathing instantly. He’d assumed a member of his family’s staff would be there, or maybe at a stretch his mother. The last person he anticipated was his father, with how nice the police had been - getting him cups of hot chocolate and listening patiently - he was convinced they were building a case against the man. His shoulders dropped in defeat, his gaze falling to the ground. He didn’t even look at his father’s false, loving smile, or at his soulless eyes. Milo simply stood and listened to Felix thank the officers for finding him, he hated that fake caring voice.

“Thank you for letting me know, gentlemen,” Felix said above Milo’s head. “He is not a well boy, his current therapist thinks it’s Bipolar disorder. He gets fits of mania, he starts to believe odd things.”

How fucking dare he! Milo thought bitterly, anger rising in him like venom.

“That explains it,” the detective who’d listened to Milo so compassionately sighed. That one in particular stung. “we thought he was fairly convinced of what he’d seen. Didn’t seem like a liar.”

“He isn’t, he always has such good intentions. I’m sure he thought he was doing the right thing, he’s not a delinquent,” Felix elaborated, his voice far too smooth and charming.

Not a delinquent, just a psycho, Milo added internally and bitterly.

“Anyway, I’ll be taking him home.” Felix wrapped one arm around Milo’s thin shoulders, a little too tightly. “I’m so sorry about all this trouble he’s caused.”

“No problem, Sir. Get home safe,” the sergeant called to them as Felix guided Milo out of the police station. He was silent as he led him outside into the cold Berlin air, the fact Milo had shown up in dog patterned sky blue pyjama bottoms, a Kraftklub t-shirt, and his trainers with no socks in the middle of December probably hadn’t helped his case.

“Milo, what were you thinking coming out barely dressed?” Felix tutted, not releasing his grip on Milo’s shoulders. It wasn’t as tight as before, it was too secure for him to escape but it was almost loving.

“Are you going to hurt me?” Was all Milo could say, a stammer between two shaking lips.

“Of course not, when have I ever hurt you?”

“I… Well, I-”

“I’m sure whatever your mind has convinced you of has got you all confused and terrified,” Felix interrupted almost sympathetically. Milo’s feet dug into the ground as he stood fused still and refusing to move even as Felix pulled him towards his parked car. The sleek, black Mercedes sat there as a sickening display of wealth in the run down police station.

“I know what I saw,” Milo said between clenched teeth.

“I’m sure you do.”

“I’ve been taking my meds. All of them. This is real.”

“Perhaps we need to make some changes. Get in the car, Milo,” Felix warned as he unlocked the doors. Milo gave in, slipping into the passenger seat, shivering as he sat against the leather seat and found his body growing colder. When his father turned on the engine and the heating hit Milo’s skinny bare arms he let out a sigh of relief, tears now falling down his cheeks. “There we go, isn’t that better.”

“I don’t understand why. Why did you- just give me a reason. Were they bad people? Did you- what was it?”

“Clearly we need to get you some food, a nice warm bed, and tomorrow we can arrange an emergency appointment with Doctor Achen.”

“Don’t you want to know what I saw?”

“Fine. Tell me. What did you see?” Felix sighed in resignation.

“Well, I didn’t want to believe it at first. I mean, I thought it was a strange coincidence. Every time you were working late the killings happened, and at first I was worried that whoever it was would hurt you. You were so calm about going out after dark with a murderer on the loose.

“And then… I was up late, not doing anything in particular just sat up playing some games and I heard it. Weird howling noises from downstairs. So I went down, to the basement, and…” Milo sniffed and coughed for a moment. What he saw behind the door, what he saw his father doing… He repeated it to the police and the disgust and shame led to a rather severe panic attack. Perhaps that was when they began to think Milo was just some lying, crazed young man, he thought.

“My poor boy,” Felix crooned. He rubbed Milo’s back and in turn Milo didn’t have the energy to push him away. “That sounds like such a terrifying thing to witness. Your mind is so cruel to you, conjuring up such things.” Milo wanted to scream, if it had been the case his father was being so understanding and gentle. So much so, Milo began to wonder… what if it was a hallucination?

“I- Maybe you’re right,” Milo mumbled, Felix let go of him and turned the engine of the car on.

“I am so glad you’re starting to ground yourself, starting to realise the truth. A step in the right direction, I think,” Felix responded. Milo was still tense, he hadn’t quite said that. He was only starting to doubt.

That was until he began staring at his father. There were so many clues something was wrong, he almost seemed like the manic one. His speech was faster than normal, and his eyes were wider… but only slightly. Milo couldn’t help but feel like his father was covering something up, as if he did see something that Felix didn’t want anyone else to know. What really cemented to Milo that he wasn’t simply having an episode were his father’s hands. Or more specifically, his fingernails.

Milo saw dried blood encrusted under his thumbnail, that he hadn’t quite washed off. The right thumb that Milo saw press into the stranger’s eyeball as the victim screamed until the sound was carved into Milo’s brain.

[dafuq-lyrehc]

I haven’t spoken about it much here, but it is the main cause for my mental distress. Besides a car accident being a traumatic experience and me realizing that my intense desire for perfection is so incredibly deep rooted that the thought of me doing something wrong makes me want to vomit and cry, my state is also actively trying to fuck me.

I am a medical marijuana patient and my state has a 0 tolerance policy for marijuana when it comes to driving. So every single med patient in the state is basically a walking dui, bc if the police find out your a patient, they can do a blood test. But if you’re a regular user (like me), there will be marijuana in your blood even in you haven’t used it for an extended period of time. I consume almost everyday bc anxiety and the horrors.

So when I got into my car accident in January, I sustained a concussion and the police officer did a field sobriety test. I failed bc I had a concussion…. But the officer took my blood anyway and if the 3 letters I got in the mail from defense attorneys are any indication, the state will be trying to charge me with a dui even tho I WAS NOT HIGH. I don’t drive while high. The thought of it makes me so anxious that I haven’t even tried it. Completely sober, I’ll get paranoid that I’m intoxicated somehow and am swerving and such (when I’m not) and I’ll get so in my head and panicked. So I don’t drive high.

In addition to this, I got a letter from the state requesting I get some forms filled out by a health care provider to assess if I am unfit to drive bc of some kind of condition, including a substance abuse disorder. If I don’t turn in the forms by Feb 29, they’ll start the process of suspending my license, and if they’re not in by March 30, my license will be suspended.

Well, I finally got health insurance last year after not having it for years. The only doctor I’ve seen since getting health insurance is a dermatologist bc I’ve got a chronic skin thing that causes lots of pain and discomfort when it flairs. I saw a primary care doc for the first time after my car accident to follow up. And I can’t seem to find a doctor who is “comfortable” filling out these forms for me. I asked the state what I should and they told me to go to an urgent care if I can’t get one of my doctors to sign the paperwork. I went to an urgent care and they told me that they legally cannot fill out the forms. So my current plan is to just try and get an appointment with random doctors to see if they will do it.

I’ve been trying so hard not to let the looming depression consume me, but the depression got hands. It feels inevitable to lose my license, and I’m just so fucking tired. I feel like I’ve been in this survival mode for my whole life and I try so hard to do the “right things”, but it doesn’t seem to even matter.

Unfortunately, the self harm and suicidal ideation are back. ✌️ I’m trying so hard, and it feels like the effort has never gotten me anywhere. Like maybe the issue is I should just lay down and take it. Surrender and submit. I know it’s the depression talking, but like I said this depression got hands. Can’t drown my demons, they know how to swim. And I’m barely treading water

I also feel so guilty for feeling this way. The accident showed me that there are actually a lot of people in my life who care about me, and I don’t want them to be disappointed. I don’t want to waste their support and let them down. I just really don’t want to be here. Never have, maybe never will

[recoveryreturnum]

Do I Lack Motivation?

   I don’t think lack of motivation is as much of a major factor for me now, compared to before I moved out, away from my abusive family (just over sic (6) months ago), or when I got my first job (a year and a half ago), and when I moved back to England to live with my abusive mother, because there was no other way for me to return to England (almost two (2) years ago).

There was no hope for me back then. I was living with my abusive/family (my step-mother and sister are lovely, and I don’t mind my stepsiblings) and there was nothing I could do to improve my life. Before I was eighteen, legally my choices weren’t my own, and when I was living in the Philippines on a student visa, I legally couldn’t get a job. There was no point. There was no hope beyond waiting to get my life. And I waited for more than a decade. All I could think about everyday was getting away.

Do I lack Self-discipline?

   Yeah, in many ways I do still lack self-discipline. Not having any hope or motivation back then didn’t exactly breed productivity, and I can’t just flip a switch on those behaviours. I’m definitely improving, though. That’s the point of this whole Virtue Plan thing. And the medication I’m on (Sertraline) helps massively. My physiology is less of an impediment.

Vagueness and Difficulty of My Goals

   I have dreams of being a content creator, of being a freelance writer, writing self-employed so I van have jobs of skills I want to learn; such as a woodworking apprenticeship, I want to learn how to make my own clothes. I want to be an ASMR-tist, a YouTube gamer for videos and streaming. I want to go to college for Linguistics, English Literature, Creative Writing, and Philosphy. I want my name in lights and I want to be the best version of myself I can be. I have huge goals, and I’ve very vaguely broken down how to achieve them. But I will achieve them.

Anxiety

   Anxiety has been a major issue for me in the past several months, with so much tension in my body, overthinking, and a breathing issue which doesn’t help. But in the last month since I’ve started taking medication, my body is so much less tense. I feel so, so much better, so the anxiety is lessening.

Desire For Perfection

   Since I have such big dreams, I get subconsciously scared off by where I see myself lacking right now compared to the future. I want to be skilled, competent, confident, knowledgeable, well-travelled, and strong. I feel like I’m still the same little girl who was trapped and couldn’t stop herself from being abused. The me I idealise has left that life behind.

Negative Feedback

   No one’s more hard on me than I am on myself. My colleagues have told me, “[I] overthink too much,” “[I’m] a very sensitive person,” and asked me, “why do you think you’re a terrible person who deserves to be run over?”

And them just noticing these things burn, because I used to have a much tougher persona when I was being abused. I used to intimidate others so they couldn’t bully me, 

But now that I’m in the corporate world, I have to be different. I have to protect myself in other ways, I have to be professional. I accepted that I am new at working t olive, and living on my own, and am not that tough with the new me, and that came as a vulnerability which I had to be humble enough to accept.

Notes: 

I’m taking a break now to go make myself a healthy vegetable dinner. Since I didn’t use Virtue Map yesterday, I will also do Lesson #3 after I eat. I’ve been listening to my subliminals on loop while journaling this. Another procrastination bird killed with a stone.

This Lesson’s Tasks

COMPLETE -- Reflect on all procrastination triggers INCOMPLETE -- Join a support group (optional)

- I’m an introvert to the extreme and am literally on meds for anxiety. No thank you. This journaling and blogging is enough for me.

[idontmeantosoundrudebut]

This is Home (stupid Eretlout oneshot)

Oh hello it is currently 4 am and I've just finished this impulse one-shot about Modern Eretlout haha lol bruh! It's set in Britain by the way, because I'm British and I love my British culture lol! This hasn't been edited by the way so... yeah, it's really bad in my opinion but I need to post some writing because yeah! I'm actually currently working on a long Eretlout fic but I have no idea when/if it'll be finished so haha lol bruh awkward! Oh yeah, warning of abuse and past child abuse and only slightly steamy content, really its just making out and all that!!! haha lol bruh enjoy

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Blood fills his mouth. It drips from his chin, pours from his head, spills from his nostrils.

He opens his red-speckled fist and a tooth lies in the scarlet pool gathered in his palm, it almost looks like gold beneath the glow of the streetlamp that slants into his car. His upper jaw throbs from where he'd yanked out the already loose tooth and he can make out the rivulets of gum-flesh still clinging onto the roots. He stares at it with an unbothered and tired expression.

"Couldn't even punch my tooth outright," He mumbles to himself, opening the glove box and chucking the tooth inside, "Had to yank it out myself,"

It makes a high-pitched clanging sound as it bounces off a half-finished bottle of Captain Morgan and then, silently, it disappears behind the several cigarette cartons that lay piled unceremoniously within (Marlboro Reds, Marlboro Golds, Caramel Blues, Regal Kingsizes, even the odd Mayfair for when he gets desperately low). He reaches a hand inside and rummages through the collection, most of them are empty at this point, he needs to restock and clean out his car, it's been a solid few months since he did that. He shakes a Caramel carton, empty. Another Caramel? Empty. Marlboro Red? Empty. Regal? Ah, lucky day, only half-empty.

A great sigh forces its way through his clogged nostrils and, with the abruptness of a cut artery, blood spatters all over his shirt and along his forearms. His hand freezes mid-air, fingers tight around the bending carton as he blinks slowly, anger simmering beneath his skin because really? Really?! He looks down at his shirt, it was ruined anyway. He'll never get the red out that white, looks like someone's just slit his throat from all the blood that's been pouring down his neck. That table-corner got him good in the head and cut a deep gash just above his eyebrow, the entire right side of his face is crimson with blood and it shimmers in the flickering lamplight.

He bites into the end of the cigarette and lights it with a silver zippo, the flame casting writhing shadows across his blood-spattered hand. The first drag is the best, the first hit to the back of his throat, the first exhale of smoke. Each heartbeat hurts a little less with a little more smoke, a little more tar, a little more death in his lungs.

Snotlout starts the car and drives away. He watches his childhood home disappear around the corner and it feels like goodbye. He can't kind it in himself to be sad about it.

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

He parks outside of Eret's house on the edge of the path, walking up to the red door with a tidy black seven nailed on it.

"Oh Snotlout, love, you alright?" Comes a familiar voice and he looks over to see Chantel from next door, wrapped in her dressing gown with a black bin bag clutched in her hands.

Eret's house is tucked in the centre of a row of brick houses, it's the kind of street where everyone knows everyone and everyone knows everything, whether you like it or not. In the last year, Snotlout has gotten to know a lot of people (and a lot of rumours) who live along this here street.

"I'm alright, Chan," He says honestly (because he is alright, it's just a bit of blood and few bruises) and stamps the butt-end of his fifth cigarette in thirty minutes into the cracked path.

"You 'aven't been fighten' again, 'ave you? With those Trapper boys?" Chantel asks severely, a mother of four, she's very intuned to her maternal instincts and even the slightest sign of distress has them flaring up, "It better not be with those Grimborn brothers! I'm telllen' you Snotlout, those two are shady bastards and its best to stay clear of 'em-"

Snotlout lights another smoke, this one from a full carton of Marlboro Red, and spits blood and phlegm onto the grass, tongue prodding the empty socket in his jaw.

"I haven't been fighting, Chan, promise," He reassures her, and that's also true because he didn't fight back at all, it was more of a beat down, "Just a disagreement with my old man, you know how it is,"

Chantel's back straightens like she's been in the army her whole life and she crosses her arms over her chest, red hair wet and shining like blood in the moonlight. Only four of the streetlamps work and they're further down the road, so the road and paths are alight only from the horseshoe moon that hovers amongst the star-filled sky, the black-asphalt gleaming silver. They've been complaints to the council to get them all fixed, but they won't do anything, they never do, they just leave the poor to rot.

She looks like she's about to say something about it, but he shakes his head at her. Instead of telling him to call the police, she says;

"You're bleedin' like a stuck pig all over the place, Lout, people'll gonna be thinkin' that Jack the Ripper is back from the fuckin' dead," He laughs at that and he offers a straight to her, as a thanks for not making a big fuss over finding him bloodied like a murdered boy in the middle of the night, but she shakes her head.

"You're grand, love, I got a pouch this mornin', save 'em for desperate times," Chantel looks him up and down, black eyes near white in the moonlight, "You look like you're in one now,"

Snotlout agrees with her. He waves a hand to bid her goodnight and goes inside. He closes and he turns on the hallway light. The marrow-deep tension in his bones slips away, causing a breath that comes from the very bottom of his tar-clogged lungs to fall from his lips, and his hurting heart finally stops beating against his ribs like a jackhammer as he leans against the front door.

He's safe, he's home. Because this small, shoddy house with its water-stained ceilings and peeling wallpaper and creaking floorboards is home. It's simple and a little broken, but it's home.

"Snotlout?" Eret calls from upstairs, he can see the bedroom light glow up the hallway at the top of the stairs, "That you?"

"Yeah," He takes a generous drag, then exhales slowly, "It's me, sorry I'm late... Went to see my dad, after work,"

Footsteps ring across the house and Eret appears at the top of the stairs, dressed in nothing but a ratty pair of grey jogging bottoms, his terribly handsome torso bare for Snotlout and Snotlout alone to see. He grins proudly around his cigarette at the sight of those hard abbs, those firm pecs, those faint scars, those old gang tattoos. Oh, what a handsome devil he is and Snotlout caught him all on his own.

"Fuckin' Hell, Snotlout!" Eret comes charging down the stairs like a mad horse and Snotlout barely blinks when he comes over to him, large hands gracing over his oozing temple and along his bruising jaw. The touch is very much welcomed.

"What happened? Were you jumped?"

"No, I wasn't fucking jumped-"

"You've lost a tooth!"

"It's in the car, in the glove box, I'll get Gobber to stick it back on,"

"I don't think that's how it works, darlin',"

Eret drags him into the living and posts him on the black vinyl couch. Hookfang, his German Shepherd, immediately bounds over to him and rests his snout on top of Snotlout's knees, wet nose twitching and throat moving with unfurling whines and whimpers. He pets him affectionally between his ears, humming lowly to Hookfang to help ease the old war-vet. Eret goes to snatch the half-smoked cigarette from his fingers, but Snotlout's reflexes are too fast.

"Hey! I'm not done, asshole,"

"Not smokin' in the house is your rule, not mine, I'm just helpin' you out,"

"Fuck that rule, just for tonight, fuck it,"

With a rich laugh, Eret saunters into the kitchen to get the med-kit. But Snotlout saw the concern and anxiety in those dark, earthy eyes and he heard it too in that laugh, it was a little shaky at the end. Hookfang barks at him.

"Easy Hookfang, I'm okay," He barks again, louder, black eyes glistening with fear, "I know pal, there's a lot of blood, but it's okay, I'm okay, soldier," He ruffles the War-dog's neck lovingly, trying to ease Hookfang's unnerved mood and distract him from the blood. It probably brings back bad memories for him.

Eret comes back with the med-kit tucked beneath his armpit and a large bowl of water cradled in his hands. He set it on the coffee table and politely nudges Hookfang out of the way, the Shepherd in turn leaps onto the couch and curls dutifully at Snotlout's side. Such a loyal friend, Snotlout doesn't deserve something as honourable as Hookfang's fidelity.

"Look like a stuck pig," Eret whisper, running a wet dishtowel along the drying river of blood that pours down his face and throat.

"Ha, Chantel said the exact same thing," He chuckles lowly, watching rivulets of watery blood travel down Eret's powerful forearms as he sponges at the blood along his cheek.

"Chantel?" He queries, eyes briefly flickering to meet his.

"Yeah, caught outside just as I was coming in," Snotlout closes his eyes as he lifts his chin so Eret can easily swipe the already stained towel down his throat. It leaves a funny tightness in his gut and a nice shiver ghosts up his spine at the vulnerable display.

"Well, expect the whole street to know by lunchtime tomorrow," Eret replies, then adds, "I mean, I love Chantel to pieces, but by God, she gossips like there is no tomorrow,"

Snotlout nods in agreement, smoking his cigarette and tapping the ash into an ashtray that's always kept on the coffee table, despite his own rule of no smoking in the house. But he's never been good at keeping to the rules, even his own ones. Eret wipes away the twin-tracks of maroon streaking from his nose and begins to wrap the gash above his eyebrow up.

"We'll go to the doctor tomorrow mornin', yeah? Think you might need stitches,"

"Cool," Is his reply, tired and uninterested.

All the blood is finally cleared from his skin. The towel is scarlet. The bowl on the table is no longer a bowl of water, but a bowl of blood. A swathe of bandages is wrapped around his head like a bandana, but there hasn't been any bleed through for a few minutes so Eret looks satisfied (and rather proud) at his nursing work.

After a moment, Snotlout flicks his finished fag into the ashtray and stares into Eret's dark eyes; he's very tired.

"Thanks for patching me up, babe," Snotlout says quietly, not because he doesn't mean it but because he is full of such a sudden exhaustion that it feels well overdue. His head, his brain, needs a good rest or else he's going to start screaming.

"No problem," Eret soothes his large hands up and down Snotlout's thighs, "Now, are you going to tell me what happened?"

Snotlout sighs, big and heavy, hand settling on the nape of Hookfang's neck and running through the dense fur. His heart shudders, his lung quiver, his blood boils, his body doesn't like any of this. Just get it over with, as he did with his dad.

"I told my dad about us. About me... you know, liking guys and all-"

"And he did this to you?" Eret's voice goes low, like a growl of an animal with its teeth bared. Snotlout would be lying if he said it didn't turn him on a bit. Thick fingers curl protectively around his thighs.

"Eret, don't get yourself all riled up about it, okay? It's done. I knew he'd react like this, it's not the first time he's punched me around and called me a faggot, just this time, he actually had a reason to call me one,"

"Yeah, well, it may not have been his first time but it sure as fuck is his last, do you understand?" Eret snarls vehemently, hands moving from his thighs to his hips and sides, Snotlout doesn't even flinch when he accidentally brushes against a forming bruise, "You are never going near him again, Lout, I won't let you be hurt by scum like that,"

Eret's eyes burn. Dark soil and spitting embers in furrowed sockets. The firm frown on his face and the clenching muscles in his jaw, grinding teeth that thirst for a hating man's blood. It's making Snotlout's throat go dry.

"You're hot when you're angry, have I told you that before?" He says lowly and Eret looks at him, vengefulness fading as he takes note of the wanton look in those pale eyes.

"You may have mentioned it once or twice,"

They breathe on each other's lips, tempting, waiting for the first one to move. Hookfang books it upstairs, sensing the heady change in the air.

Eret pushes Snotlout back onto the couch and crawls carefully over him, their lips immediately locking in a wet and obscene kiss that stretches on and on forever. Snotlout moans as Eret forces his tongue down his throat, golden hands skimming beneath his shirt and touching the tender flesh beneath in a skilled and teasing way that drives him mad. They make out for a while, dominating each other's mouths with vigour and gusto till their breathless and sweating.

The bloodied shirt is pulled over his head and Eret stills above him when he sees the black and blue bruises that bloom along his ribs and chest and stomach, even Snotlout gazes at them with morbid curiously. Fuck, his dad got him more than he realised. Not that it matters.

"I'll kill him, Snotlout, I'll kill him," Eret promises in a snarling growl and Snotlout wraps his arms around his shoulders, drawing him down so he can mumble against his lips;

"I know, but fuck me first,"

Of course, Eret complies.

Later, tangled in a mass of sweaty limbs and exhausted desires, Snotlout knows that he'll be okay. With his head on Eret's chest, he closes his eyes and sleeps because he's home, home has always been in those dark eyes, in those large hands, in those warm arms. Home has always been here.

Eret, a wanderer for most of his life, a lost man at sea who was bound for dirty work, has finally found a place to set loose his anchor. Snotlout is home, is the harbour he'll always be homebound to. He'll protect his Snotlout because who is he but a wanderer without his home.

[greedkinggreaser]

What it feels like to be a failure: An essay about my mental health.

This won't be fancy, nor well written, it's about me and all my imperfections. Don't worry this isn't a suicide note. Entire "essay" under the cut.

Hello, My name is Adonis Randall. I think it's a nice name I chose for myself, I've gone through a lot of names and I always pick 4 letter names, it's not important but I like it. Adonis is the name of someone supposedly amazing, I want to be amazing. I never have felt amazing, no matter how much I gloat and laugh about how great I am and how cool I am, I don't think I'll ever amount to being an actual Adonis. That'd be pretty amazing if I could be though.

I'm 24, almost 25! I like to consider myself part of the trans community, and I like to think I can be a voice for people like me in this community, I'm not.

For as long as I can remember I've struggled with my mental health. In and out of therapists, doctors, and in and out of hospitals and on the end of the rope, bottle, or barrel that I put there with my own hands. I've attempted a few times and only almost succeeded last year, I masked it up as having an anxiety attack (it started off as one) but in reality, I did attempt to overdose on my painkillers I had been using for my cramps. I failed. I failed badly, like at everything else I've been doing.

I feel like I've failed at everything, being an artist, a friend, and a role model. I have a platform and all I ever talk about is how bad I'm constantly feeling, at least for a few months I felt great, I had started taking meds that were actually helping combat my anxiety and depression. and what seemed to be helping with my mood swings! Little did I know that it'd make me hallucinate, so bad that I felt like I was dying, they were so bad, that it brought back such intense mood swings, it was near the end of December too. That was the second time I almost succeeded in taking my own life. I had relapsed into cutting again, the scars are fading quickly thanks to ointment and skincare treatments I know. Thank god for that or my family would have found out and made fun of me for being weak again.

This battle has been my own fight, my own best friends don't actually comfort me, I'm sorry if you're reading you guys, but none of you have helped me that much and I'm not bothered by it, it's nothing new. I'm used to just dealing with it. I know it's hard to deal with someone who seems fine one second and moments later is crying about how they don't want to be alive. It's okay, I'm failing on the actually taking my own life part, partially due to me wanting to be around for people I enjoy talking to (those best friends who aren't too helpful but I love them a lot, they help in other ways, I'm still here.)

Recently I broke up with my girlfriend (they/them), I took it well, I wasn't mad I understood they have their own problems to deal with. This is where I also failed, I was a terrible boyfriend, I couldn't find my way out of my own emotional turmoil to see them having a hard time, they said they need to figure themself out before trying to date again, but I know, well I feel, that it was my fault too for not being emotionally available for them when they needed me.

I'm working on myself, I have been since I figured out there was something wrong, I was 15 when I figured it out, I had to start going to therapy on my own privately through my high school, I didn't tell my family, they thought I was fine and often were part of the problem, and would humiliate me in front of the therapist about all the problems I had, making it out like I was a problem child. Now I'm not in therapy, it's taking a lot to find the right therapist in Indiana that isn't gonna try to recommend Jesus to me as a cure to my problems.

I feel like I failed my family too, I feel like with my younger sister already having severe mental health issues, that me having them too was just a hassle, I wasn't cute, nor was I an outgoing person, my problems didn't seem like a big deal, so with that came with abuse, hitting, screaming and degrading, and even starving me. This is still happening, it's not as bad as it used to be, I mostly ignore them now, and deal with it when it pops up.

I feel that makes me a failure too, my friends have to hear about all the problems my family brings to me, what new trauma will this bring to the PTSD table, what will Adon complain about today. I have a roof over my head and I can buy food, not often but I can buy it. I have 2 dogs, they're my brothers but the dogs love me too. My followers have to hear about this too, I talk about it from time to time on my blog. I told a friend once about my sister, how she has attempted to kill me, how I got into a fight with her once Christmas, where she said I deserved to be raped and I liked it, I remember too, I snapped real bad. It was a month or so after I was discharged from the military, so I'm feeling with that sense of failure, now this chucklefuck is getting in my face. I barely remember that night, I just remember the oldest brother separating us, and the second oldest brother trying to calm me down. My sister didn't talk to me for a few days after that. Which is fine. I kinda hate her guts.

Regardless, my life was a rollercoaster. I always feel like a failure, this doesn't scratch the surface of it all, but I hope that if this isn't too bad of a thing to read, that I'll be allowed to talk about it in a later post.

[faithfulcat111]

Okay, this bit is going to appear to start in a really weird place, but that is because I wrote this entire AU stream of consciousness style in my notes and just broke it into sections to post here cause it was like thirty pages. So part two!

Vanya wastes no time driving to Diego's. She can't get Five out of the car by herself, so she goes into the gym and manages to find Al who looks like he could be in charge and asks if he know where Diego is. Al is immediately defensive, wondering if this is some weird ex. Not Diego's usual type, but hey who is he to judge. When Al asks why she is looking for Diego, Vanya explains that she is his sister and she has their missing brother and needs Diego's help. Sister instantly set off red flags because as far as Al knew, Diego was pissed and fighting with both of them. Al wasn't even sure how many brothers Diego had, having only seen one around (the only sibling around actually), and only heard of the others as a group in passing. But a missing one? No wonder the kid is messed up. He agrees to help Vanya get Five into Diego's room as Diego is out right now and holy shit, that is a legit kid. Too old to be a kid of Diego's, but he almost looks too young to be their sibling. And Vanya is grabbing a couple duffle bags and abandons the keys. Something weird is going on. Al gets the kid inside for Vanya, but decides he is staying out of this mess.

Vanya waits inside. Five isn't waking and Diego takes a few hours to get back from his vigilante stuff. Al manages to catch him and says his brother and sister are waiting inside so don't throw those damn knives at them. Diego is confused, but Al keeps going, saying that his sister showed up with a kid claiming it was their missing brother and the kid looked horrible and, Diego runs into the room and stops short when he sees Five of all people sleeping on his bed with Vanya reading beside him. He is understandably not happy about Vanya just showing up and wants answers about why she and Five of all people are here. Vanya tries to explain the best she can with her limitied knowledge: Five showed up at some point, Dad was keeping him at the house cause he is sick or something due to time travel, Luther tried to contact the siblings, but could only get ahold of Vanya, Luther got Five out of the house before taking off to some important mission to the moon. Luther never saw Five awake and neither has Vanya yet. Diego needs a moment before he asks why Luther even bothered getting Five out. Vanya says that all he told her was Mom mentioned it, that Five needed family. Diego still feels like there are so many missing pieces, but you know what, he'll take what he has and since Mom wanted Five to get out like everyone else, then he is staying out.

Five chooses this moment to come back to consciousness. The two just hear a slight whimper behind them at first and turn to see Five sleepily blinking his eyes open. They stare at him for a long moment before he just screeches. Vanya practically jumps on the bed grabbing Five and holding him which promptly shuts him up. He looks absolutely bewildered. Diego steps forward, cautiously asking if Five knew who they were and where he was at. Five reaches up one hand to touch Vanya's arm and just whispers in a far too raspy voice, "Ghosts can't touch me." And then passes right back out.

Okay, their brother has obviously been through some things and is traumatized af. Diego helps Vanya navigate their brother out of the coat, startling when something falls out of one of the pockets. It's Vanya's book. Clearly it is Five's copy as a quick flip through the pages shows a bunch of equations scribbled through the margins. What stops Diego though is that this is a library copy. And the last date it was turned in was in 2019. Nearly four years from now. Vanya sees Diego holding the book and starts to say something, but is cut off by him just saying that Five definitely time traveled before showing her the stamps showing when the book was last checked in. He then says that Veggie will be looking for them, or at least Five, and they need to go. So he stuffs some things into his own duffle bag, hands all the bags to Vanya, scoops up Five, and leads the way.

This is where I stopped writing for two months because I was working on another AU and had finals and holidays, but I think I remember where I was going with this, so here we go.

Diego, Vanya, and Five take off with only a call to Eudora from Diego (who they are newly broken-up, so it takes awhile, but Diego finally just tells her he has to leave for awhile and if she can keep an eye out for Klaus, he would appreciate it) and Diego telling Al to just box his stuff up or sell it. They leave in Diego's car, although they trade it out at a sketchy car lot the next town over. Why did they take off like this? Diego knows what the evil there father figure is and Vanya quickly figured out they would have to leave to avoid him taking back Five, which is her focus. It doesn't take long for Diego to deduce that is her intentions and for his big brother instincts to take over and decide to run with them and take care of the two.

Through the initial 24 hours after they take off, Five is mostly asleep. They bring him back to consciousness a couple of times to drink something or eat something soft, but he appears to also have some kind of fever.

They end up in a mediumish-sized town in the midwest just big enough that they can disappear into. They pull the siblings trying to get away from abusive situation card with a nice old lady who manages an apartment building and lets them stay and even hires Diego as part of her maintenence crew for the buildings she runs till he can find a proper job. The old lady seems to be under the impression that Five is one of their kids, not little brother, but they can't figure out whose kid she thinks he is, because she clearly knows that Diego and Vanya are siblings and it is a whole thing. They also give fake names when signing their lease, but I'll figure those out later.

Five finally wakes up more coherent then he has been a couple days later under Vanya's careful care. He seems very confused about where he is, understandably, but especially by Diego and Vanya being there. He appears to vaguely remember being locked up by the trauma-meister, but seems hesitant to explain what happened before that. Vanya explains that Luther got him out before taking off on some important mission to the moon on Grace's prodding and Vanya and Diego took off with him as they didn't want Veggie taking him back to his torture chamber.

After a little bit of prodding, they finally get out of Five that he traveled to the end of the world, set to happen in 2019 and they need to stop it and that he was trapped there for two years. Diego and Vanya are doubtful, but they agree to help under the condition that they do it under the radar considering they need to stay hidden from Vegetable until at least 2018 when Five will be, biologically 18.

And that is the premise. There is no permanent orchestra in the town they moved to, but Vanya lands a job teaching music theory and such at the community college and giving private lessons to local kids on the side. After a month of working for Ms. Roberts (I've decided that is their landlord's name), Diego gets a much better job, working first in janitorial at the local gym and a temp trainer, before being hired on permanently. Five is a bit more trouble. People seem to freak him out in large quantities, but he is also a kid, even though he is a very smart kid. And with Ms. Roberts knowing he is a minor, they really don't want the CPS breathing down their necks and taking their technically kidnapped, but very traumatized brother away. So, Vanya finds a local homeschool coalition. It requires that Five shows up for an in-person class once a week, but he can do the rest of his classes online and that gives him plenty of time to work on the end of the world stuff. He picks the music theory class that Vanya volunteers to teach to give Five free tuition.

And the three slowly build a life in this town. Diego and Vanya seem to have silently agreed to just pretend the Book never happened so they can take care of Five. Five clearly has nightmares and freaks out at both people and being without his siblings, so he goes with them everywhere (he ends up auditing all the classes Vanya teaches at the university when he enrolls at 17 to start on a math degree, mainly because he already sat through the classes a couple of times at this point).

They don't contact Vanya's orchestra, they were miffed when she called to say she wasn't showing up anymore the day she got Five. Diego calls Eudora after about six months to check in. She picked up Diego's only box of stuff from Al that he left behind and is holding it for him and agrees since Vanya's year lease is almost up to clear out Vanya's old apartment soon. (She is just being really great, but they aren't telling her the brother they are watching is a kidnapped minor for a reason). She also tells them that she had to put Klaus back in rehap a month ago and he had seemed really confused by her doing it instead of Diego like usual. Diego won't tell her where he is though. She does agree to look into the eye Five finally admitted he has from the apocalypse and will gather all info she can find for when Diego calls back. (When he does a few months later, she tells them the eye doesn't exist, the company it is from hasn't even started making prosthetic eyes yet).

And then, Vanya's pills. Well, she realizes she is running low and since they are laying low, she can't exactly call her old therapist or psychiatrist and get a refill. So, she goes to a new one who flips at the level she is taking (how is that allowed!!!) and starts a plan to wean her off those and onto a new set of anxiety meds that would be better for her. Vanya starts to feel happier and better overall. There is complaining about the bad lightbulbs Diego always buys because one seems to shatter every two months and she always seems to know what either boys are muttering even across the room, but none of them really notice Vanya's powers. Maybe because Five seems genuinely terrified of his own at the moment and they all know they can't draw attention to themselves as former members of the Umbrella Academy, but powers are the furthest thing from everyone's minds. Diego even goes to a sort of seedy tattoo artist and gets his covered up, playing up the umbrella as a stupid drunk mistake he wants to forget and Five takes to wearing long sleeves and bracelets so people can't see his. Five also goes and sees this therapist and gets classic GAD and PTSD and goes on anxiety meds too eventually. Vanya just has SAD and over the time they are in this town, she eventually gets weaned down to an as needed pill, which she only is to take for an attack which ends up being once every couple weeks or so. Five is on daily meds. Dunno yet if this will be relevant, but to give you an idea of the starting point I have for each of them. Five also has asthma from all the ash.

[bigskydreaming]

Hey friendly reminder that I honestly do not want anyone to follow me unless they actually WANT to which means they are free to unfollow, refollow, leave and come back and leave again or WHATEVER as many times as they want, for any reason whatsoever. Including if my posting styles of the moment get to be too much for them or are not to their liking, etc?

BUT I have been seeing a surge in comments in notes and stuff on various posts of mine about the length of my posts or the rambling of my posts and like....I know? This is not new information to me? But I post the way I post at any given time based on the resources I have at any given time and the fact that its often a matter of I can post a long rambling post or I can make no post at all.

Like, I really truly do not like going into specifics about my situation more than necessary or when not necessary, because like, my situation is boring to me, I don’t particularly care to dwell on it any more than I have to. But the fact of the matter is its still a thing that exists so here goes: yes I have physical issues like near constant migraines and pain and also vertigo, and yes I have neurodivergencies like C-PTSD and ADHD and yes I have circumstances that include near constant stress from eternally being in the negatives, financially, as well as being almost constantly hungry from a lack of money and limited options for eating due to the physical constraints of my jaw as well as being consistently sleep deprived because there’s only so much sleep you can get when there’s no such thing as a physically comfortable sleeping arrangement for you currently, all while existing in a constant limbo of I literally have NO idea when any of this will change for me because haha fun fact WE LIVE IN A PANDEMIC.

My point is like......all of these are things I’m not shy about, but they don’t exist as bullet points in a checklist of identity or circumstantial traits, they all exist at all times as points of fact that influence and inform and interact with each other.

So my financial situation and limbo of not being able to move forward with my surgery because of the chaos of the health care industry during a pandemic directly informs both the way stress impacts my mental health issues, but also my ability to treat my mental health issues by way of medication, nutrition, rest.....ie, almost every cent I make via work, etc, goes right back out the door to keeping up my insurance premiums of $850 a month, because even though my surgery is paid for, there’s still elements like hospital stay fees, anesthesia, etc, that won’t be paid until the day of surgery itself, and which I will not be able to pay without my insurance remaining current and active. Which means that I had to prioritize an insurance package that would net me THOSE benefits, which means I had to sacrifice parts of insurance that are no longer in that package, but which previously made things like my medications, refill appointments and therapy more affordable for me. 

Which means that I have to prioritize my medication and therapy etc and maintain my therapy and PTSD, depression and anxiety meds as the most important to upkeep, while my ADHD meds are pretty much priced out of accessibility for me at the moment. Like, the specifics of my metabolism and various trial and error with different meds over the years and the way my body rapidly adapts to various meds and plateaus to a point where they cease to have any real impact on me means the only ADHD medication that’s consistently effective for me is Vyvanse, which there isn’t a viable generic form of that I can take, meaning a monthly refill of it is $350 without insurance, which I flat out can not ever afford anymore, which means its been roughly two months since I last popped an ADHD pill.

So yeah, that directly impacts things like my ability to self-edit, make a point briefly, or refrain from circling back to the same point several times over and over because I literally forget that I made it.

Now of course ADHD medication is not the be-all and end-all and its not like there aren’t various other life-hacks and coping strategies for working around ADHD even without it, after all, I didn’t even get diagnosed until I was 26. But these various other adaptations rely on things like good nutrition (which I can not regularly afford, or even consume....most leafy green vegetables for example, or fruits other than berries, are literally nonstarters for me because I don’t have enough leverage with my one-sided jaw to CHEW them in the first place, and the ingredients for making smoothies regularly are again, expensive). So nutrition as a hack for ADHD management is pretty much out - I’m too busy prioritizing eating anything I can, whenever I can afford to. Other adaptations involve getting lots of rest: something that again, physically isn’t all that viable for me these days, even leaving aside the effects of constant stress on attempts at getting meaningful rest, along with the constant stress and constraints of trying to work as much as humanly possible in my circumstances, in order to keep bringing in income to go to insurance, rent, and food and meds. Then there’s also the stabilizing effects exercise and physical activity can have on the brain and various neurodivergencies like mine, but the migraines and vertigo make most forms of exercise a nonstarter for me, with most of the rest invalidated by the fact that I’m pretty much always hungry, tired, and in chronic pain.

Now let’s examine work and the viability of obtaining more sources of income to help with all this. Well, my options are limited there too due to the ecosystem of factors in play. I’ve been trying for awhile to find even a part time job in my area I can do, but the problems are even though I can make myself mobile and active through my pain issues and migraines, and am even good at gritting and bearing it and acting like I’m smiling and laughing and happy even while in excruciating pain (yay, perks of childhood abuse making a career in retail viable even while practically dead on my feet, lololol)......there’s the simple physiological limitation that I just can’t stay upright RELIABLY for more than a couple hours at a time. Eventually, dizziness knocks me on my ass. Downside of a jaw that’s constantly hanging with all its weight from one side of your face, fucking with your ability to even stand up straight, not to mention causing inner ear and equilibrium problems at random whenever you open or close your mouth in the wrong way (or mere approximation of ANY kind of way).

So, standing upright at any kind of customer service or retail job is one issue. Stocking stuff, that sort of thing.....not really an option when you’re likely to drop all of it at any given moment. But then there’s bracing myself at cash registers, something like a job at Starbucks or hell there’s a Jamba Juice nearby, that’d also get me an employee discount for smoothies I can drink regularly. Course, there’s the whirring of blenders and such, which pair great with constant migraines. Etc. Etc.

BUT. I’m a well-rounded person with lots of skills....which lead to things like my freelance graphic design business as a book cover designer, as well as various writing endeavors, etc. And all of these are things that I DO do, currently. They’re how I make my income as is. There’s absolutely more jobs out there, but the fact is as a freelancer, FINDING additional jobs is a time consuming and spoon consuming process, that is additionally impacted by factors like ADHD, so not only does looking for work require time that’s not already being spent working, it also requires the management and expenditure of mental resources that I have to prioritize FIRST towards applying them to what work I already DO have, given the absence of ADHD medication and minimal coping or regulatory habits allowing for me to be all that productive WITHOUT said meds.

Not to mention the strain sitting in front of a computer all day for work in venues like graphic design, etc, puts on migraines, so there’s only so many hours I can devote daily or in one sitting to doing things like cover work. Much of my writing time is spent not actually writing, but me just dictating into notes on my phone and then copying and pasting all that into the appropriate formats for fiction, nonfiction and just random posts. Of course here then I have to prioritize applying my mental resources to first making sure the stuff I write to make money gets edited or properly pared down to size and isn’t repeating the same shit over and over and over, then doing the same to stuff I write fic wise as one of my few escapes from Real Life BS so I can at least point to having SOME kind of life (as this has been my daily existence for years, and uh.....people having things they like or like to do, as much as is humanly feasible, only becomes MORE of a necessity the more stress involved in their day to day life, not less). 

Meaning by the time I even get to posting, like.....as much as it may look like I do a lot of it, the speed at which I write when I have any kinds of spoons to apply to posting or composing thoughts at ALL means I actually pour out a lot in a little span of time.....BUT that’s not like, a Skill so much as its a Fact. Its just the way I am and it comes with its downsides as well as its upsides....Im good at banging out a lot in a short amount of time, but ONLY when I just....let it go, versus try and regulate it all or squeeze it out bit by bit. I’m a sprint poster these days rather than a marathoner, even if the length of my thoughts makes it LOOK like the latter.....the reality is for me it tends to be all or nothing, its whatever I can get on the page BEFORE I lose my breath or train of thought. So that’s why it looks the way it does, because that was the only form it was coming out at the specific time and space when I had the energy and brainpower TO get it out, and going back in hindsight and editing it for clarity or brevity AFTER I gasp it all out requires energy and breath I do not have PAST that point, so it becomes a simple equation of well do I want a post to exist here at all or not at all.....and I err on the side of posting. This isn’t a defense because there’s nothing to defend, mind you, I’m simply explaining my way through my thought process, approach to things, and realities of my day to day existence for you to do with whatever you want. Its just a perspective you may not have had before. Whatever. 

Of course, even this doesn’t exist in a void. Something that’s always a factor in my awareness when posting is like......I’m lucky enough to have a large enough following that cares enough about what I have to say for whatever reasons or puts enough value in what I have to say or the things I write and create, that I’ve been able to supplement my financial needs when absolutely necessary at times, by way of donation posts. I try not to lean on them more than necessary because I am keenly aware that they are a gift from people, many of whom I do not know and will likely never meet, and as such, not something I have any form of expectation for. I make donation posts when and where I do not in the anticipation of getting them met, but simply for a lack of any other options whatsoever. I’m limited in the work I can do, and the time and energy I can devote to finding more of that same work. There’s not a ton of other career paths I can pursue even from behind a computer due to my lack of a college degree, and the fact that even when I’m qualified skill or knowledge wise, I lack the specific credentials for verifying that I possess those skills or knowledge in a way employers are inclined to recognize and/or validate. Going BACK to school to get said credentials is an expenditure of time, finances, and other resources I do not have to spare at the moment or any time soon, especially not in the name of shoring up a lack of all that in the present term. 

I dropped out of college freshman year after my gaybashing and rape. I never went back to it for a variety of reasons that were only half about resources and half about intent. My family is not a presence in my life and hasn’t really been in any significant way since I was eighteen, so college in the first place was something I had to be entirely self-sufficient about....I was only able to afford to go the year that I did go by way of academic scholarships that were dependent on grades I couldn’t keep up in the wake of what happened to me, and that I couldn’t exactly ever get back without a foundation to build upon, like high school and my initial academic career. Then in the half that was about intent, I eventually moved into pursuing my actual interests like writing, graphic design and acting. One of the things I’ve always loved about those is that output and portfolio nets you more than credentials most of the time....they ARE your credentials. I was actually pretty damn successful as an actor for years, not in the way that leads to being someone that people would recognize, but in the way that leads to being able to support yourself doing what you love. All the skillsets that I have but could not back up with things like a diploma were still useful to me as an actor in a way that they’re not in terms of getting things like tutoring or teaching jobs.....I speak multiple languages but I’m self taught, I have a black belt in karate, I’m a classically trained pianist, I know a whole lot of shit about random shit that I just learned because I wanted to, and all of that got me the kind of work that I was looking for and meant I COULD work and make a living off those things for years throughout my twenty....work that I would not have been able to get if I had been back sitting in a classroom instead. The primary currency of my years as an actor were life experiences and I had those in spades, and I was very good at what I did, if I do say so myself, and the reasons I never advanced further career wise tended to have less to do with whether or not I booked the roles I auditioned for and whether I got the auditions at all......

I’m getting a bit off topic here but I’m just saying there’s definitely a convo to be had at some point, about the roles and opportunities I turned down because I wasn’t willing to sleep with someone or put up with their advancements in order to do so. Something that’s a dime a dozen in Hollywood and the thing is.....I was a sex worker, for years, before I moved to Hollywood and started working as an actor. But there’s a distinct difference between the way people talk about, interact with and perceive someone who’s gotten roles because of sex, advanced up a corporate ladder because of sex...versus, gotten paid because of sex. I didn’t turn down offers of roles for sex because of my hang-ups about sex but rather other peoples’......I had a problem with various parts of the industry that would have thought nothing about me getting a role because a producer wanted to sleep with me, but would have turned up their nose at me because I slept with someone to get money for groceries before. Basically I’m just saying the specific bullshit Hollywood has not just about sex but predatory behavior got in the way of my career advancement because there were some games I just wasn’t willing to play....which hails from the very life experiences that oftentimes made me so good as an actor in the first place.

Which brings me back again to my main point......none of this exists in a vaccuum. Being the sum of our life experiences and variables means being the SUM of that, at ALL times, both in large and small ways. We are never just a LIST of identity traits or experiences. They all constantly loop back around and feed into each other and inform where we are at every second of every day and where we GO in each second, what we DO with our days and the choices we make.

Which is where so much of my discontent with fandoms, on social media in general, with PEOPLE in my day to day life comes from: this desire people have to compartmentalize, to ZERO IN on specific factors or variables or instances and act like it even CAN be divorced from all other influences. Its not that you can’t FOCUS on one thing at a time, its just even when you do that, that doesn’t like....snap all existing connections that thing has to everything outside of your area of focus.

As an example, my attitudes on being a survivor and various kinds of fiction get me a ton of pushback from various corners, and its all geared around the same premise: don’t like, don’t read. Put a wall up between you and it. Focus on just what you’re doing and forget what everyone else is doing.

But it doesn’t work like that. It CAN’T work like that. And this commitment people have to pretending it does just because that pretense has been working for them, THAT, I’d argue, is the true wedge in fandom spaces.

Everything about me is connected to something else. I’m a childhood abuse and incest csa survivor. When my therapist asks me to picture a moment from my childhood when I felt safe or protected, I got nothing. I don’t have that resource. I don’t know what that feeling is meant to feel like, because I never felt it. And that connects directly into the fact that when I was gaybashed in college, after they dumped me in a fucking park, bleeding and covered in writing, I didn’t even think about going to the hospital, the police, let alone calling anyone like my parents, I just picked myself up and walked back to my dorm, cleaned myself off as best I could, and went to class next Monday morning. That’s fucked up, I shouldn’t have had to, but its what I did, and there’s no divorcing that from any of the contexts of WHY that’s what I did, and why I didn’t think there was any other logical recourse or option for me then. Just like all of that also links back to growing up in the closet and entering high school the same month Matthew Shepherd was attacked, and then when he ultimately died two months later, and watching everybody’s reactions to that informed the fact that I did not remotely feel safe in the aftermath of my attack, disclosing what happened to people around me, or just like I didn’t take it on face value that even if they said appropriately sensitive things to me to my face didn’t mean that like when I was a freshman in high school and everyone was reacting to that, they wouldn’t revert to callous jokes about fags the second they felt a little less out of the spotlight or in the right company for those jokes. 

And all of that directly links into my feelings not just when people write rape and gaybashing scenes that make no attempt at any kind of catharsis but rather only appear to exist for the fetishization, the glamorization, the VALIDATION of the idea that in the right context, those kinds of scenes can be hot to the right audience rather than demoralizing to the figure who’s pain and humaniliation is required for everyone else’s entertainment....but it also additionally plays into the reactions and attitudes I have when people look at me going “wow, really don’t like the lens you’re using here or the environment you’re creating around an experience that is never anything BUT painful and traumatic for someone who lived it, like I did” and choose to respond to that by saying things that amount to “well you’re basically just like conservative southern assholes who hate free speech when you say stuff like this,” cuz y’know.....that’s describing my literal oppressors. That’s lumping me in with the actual literal kind of people who are the SOURCE of my trauma there, all because you felt butthurt and defensive about how I said I wasn’t comfortable with the kinds of jokes and output you were making about scenes that aren’t that far divorced from my own personal reality, and that I shouldn’t HAVE to divorce from my own experiences just to exist within certain fandom spaces.

And just like the fact that being an incest survivor is directly relevant to the fact that my stepmother always made an effort to keep me at a distance because not wanting to admit to what happened to me and how it played into our family entanglements was directly linked back to the fact that she and my aunt were both incest survivors who never got the opportunities to deal with what happened to them, which in turn directly plays into the fact that ultimately my aunt ended up taking her own life a few years ago, which also very much informs my attitude towards people interacting with incest ships as something cutesy and uwu, as my aunt was literally the only person in my family I ever WAS close to or comfortable with. And there’s no divorcing any of that into nice neat little compartments that make it easier for anyone on the outside looking in to just peek through ONE window to see what they might see, and try and act like it doesn’t matter what’s in any of those other boxes because it has nothing to do with the only one they want to concern themselves with.

And my lack of resources and emotional state post gay-bashing led directly into my sex work for various reasons, which led in various ways to better things for me in some respects, while compounding certain traumas of mine in other respects, and there’s no divorcing any of that from the rest either. There’s no ‘my time as a sex worker was good’ even though some of it was and there’s no ‘my time as a sex worker was bad’ even though some of it really was. And a lot of the attitudes of some of the rich assholes who paid me for sex and viewed me as a plaything they could do anything to directly informs my resistance to letting powerful assholes in Hollywood hold roles over my head in exchange for sex, even though the latter could have advanced my career in huge ways and led to me being a lot more financially stable and self-sufficient by the time my physical issues emerged due to the jaw joint on one side of my head eroding through and snapping completely just like that in turn was a long-building repercussion of not just my gaybashing, but my decision to never go to the hospital and get checked out after it.

None of this can be cut away from the rest and trimmed into neat little pieces that don’t color outside the lines or impact anything else. Just like my gaybashing itself can’t be divorced from my white privilege, and the fact that it played into the fact that I survived that night in the first place. Something I say not in some weird white guilt kinda way like people try and project onto others for even acknowledging white privilege, like no its not like I fucking wish I died to prove some kind of weird point, what I’m talking about is just the simple basic AWARENESS that multiple and even contradictory factors exist in even the most extreme of situations. And its never anything BUT self-serving to pretend that you can frame it as otherwise.

And so when I talk about being a survivor, just like with all the rest of this, I’m not talking about some arbitrary status of survivorhood that exists in a specific point in time and is only relevant to some singular event I survived, its applicable to everything about my life big and small. I’m a survivor every single day I’ve survived, every day I wake up and keep moving forward despite the pain and stress and lingering trauma of what was done to me one night sixteen years ago, I’m surviving what they did every bit as much as I survived it that night and in the morning after as I dragged myself back to my room. Just like my status as an abuse survivor stemming from childhood directly informs everything about not just my coping mechanisms but my entire freaking worldview as someone who grew up throughout childhood learning to view the world through a lens in which he was simultaneously not safe due to the presence of victimizers in his own home, while at the same time still having certain protections that others don’t have in life in general due to not just again my white privilege but my male privilege, my cis privilege.

And that’s what makes it so laughable and so offensive when people act like I’m defining myself by being a survivor as some kind of singular identity trait whenever I raise it as something of relevance in fandom discussions that have EVERYTHING to do with stances of abuse apologism and homophobic ideas that directly play into why I was so unsafe in certain parts and times of my life, because who the fuck is anyone else to tell me how my experiences as a survivor and how they shaped me are or are not relevant to ideas pertaining to those very things, when brought front and center and face to face with me in various fandoms due to the insistence of fandoms at large on KEEPING these things front and center in almost ALL fandom discussions? Like, the hilarious irony of people who have so wholly centered certain types of ship and content in terms of their own personal fandom identities that they can’t help but feel personally attacked when someone so much as says “I don’t like the ideas you’re broadcasting alongside your choice to amplify and signal boost this kind of content because you’re not JUST signalboosting the content itself, but these specific perceptions of it and ideas in support of and in apology for it.”....like, turning around and saying IM too defined by my views stemming from my existence as a survivor. The call is coming from inside the house, lolol.

Again, none of this can be divorced from the rest. It can be focused on one piece at a time, but its connections to everything else that informs it in various RELEVANT ways, can not be made IRRELEVANT just because you don’t like the picture that forms when you’re forced to look at the WHOLE picture instead of just willfully condensing the frame to just the part you like or want to talk about.

And to bring it all home, looping back up to what I opened with:

Do you know how often I hear people say shit about the length of my posts or the rambling nature or in various ways act INCONVENIENCED by various things about how they have to interact with my posts when that interaction itself is still completely voluntary?

Taking in everything I said in this post, the way it all interconnects and informs other things, I’d like to ask anyone who has ever objected to some post somewhere or derided one because of something as ultimately nonconsequential as the length of it, something where its literally just like....scroll a few more seconds......do you apply the same energy and scrutiny to posts that cross your dash that are filled with various things like racism, transphobia, rape or pedophilia fetishization or abuse apologism, or do you let that slide by without acknowledgment before looking at a post that makes you sigh because of how fucking LONG it was and think...this, THIS is what I’m gonna choose to speak up about?

Because that’s ultimately what this is all about. Here’s the kicker with everything I said....my life could be better, I want it to be better, from the biggest aspects of it and pain issues to stuff just like.....the fandom communities I immerse myself in for my own attempts at having something to counterbalance real life stress. But at the end of the day, there’s no my life sucks or my life rocks....its still just...my life. And it has its good as well as its bad, and that ultimately hails from my choices, and the fact that like....even while there are choices I literally CAN’T make, I can be comfortable with the ones I DO make.

And so like......would my life be easier in some respects now if I’d gone back to school and gotten a diploma and had more job opportunities available to me? Yeah, for sure. But that awareness doesn’t mean I regret my choice NOT to go back to school when I DID have more opportunities for that, because the acting career I had at those times instead was the choice I made, with intent, and its one I’m still glad for making. Those experiences still matter, still meant something and still mean something to me. 

And do I wish that I’d coped with what happened to me in college in different, healthier ways that would have given me more tools for how I interact with my trauma and who I became after that, rather than how I did? Yeah, sometimes, for sure. But not without losing my awareness that the choices I did make at the time were not made in a vacuum, and can not be edited in hindsight....there were reasons I made them, reasons that were informed by everything that had happened to me previously and stemmed from a lot of things I still didn’t have control over and as such always placed a cap on the range of choices that were available to me back then, because there’s a difference between choices that exist in theory versus choices that exist as something that might viably be chosen at a particular place and time.

The world is big and complicated. Life is big and complicated. WE are big and complicated. And nothing about understanding any of that is IMO benefited by putting most of our effort into SHRINKING our worldviews, constructing artificial frames that don’t just focus us in on specific aspects of it for finite periods but attempt to then treat that as its own individual thing utterly disconnected from anything else that might be going on OUTSIDE that picture frame.

So if you’ve read this far and you’ve taken anything away from this big long rambling post that could be a lot shorter, could be a lot less rambling, but could also just not have been posted at all and I’d rather have it exist in this form than let everything in it go unsaid.....

My request would be that your takeaway be this: to look at your choices in regards to some specific finite interaction in even just one of your fandoms, and see what happens when you open the frame back up. If you widen the scope. If you let other things into the picture. Are you still comfortable with the choices you make or don’t make in light of THAT image, are they any different from the ones you made or would have made when keeping things as small and contained in your awareness as possible, just because that was easier for you to conceptualize, easier to navigate around, just....less COMPLICATED?

Because things aren’t made less complicated just by the mere fact of WANTING them to be.

And if your choices are more born of what you’d say or do IF the world were as finite or as limited as its sometimes easier to pretend it is......is that really the approach you want to go with and the reasoning you want to stand by?

And similarly, if there are choices you make and that in ORDER for you to feel comfortable making them, you feel a need to tighten your focus or shrink your worldview around one specific element or area and leave out all the rest and only then are you truly comfortable with doing or saying something, like......

Its important to remember that this isn’t the only option you have for making yourself more comfortable with things you say or do or think, or even just have in the past.

The other perfectly viable option exists: you can simply....make different choices.

[hedwigstalons]

Bad Things Happen Bingo - Scott/Alan + Addiction/Withdrawal

Second story is done.  There are still a few squares left to be claimed so pop me an ask or comment if you want to chuck something at your favourite (or not so favourite) character.  Thanks for all the requests so far - I will get to them all over time.

Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go

Prompt: Addition/Withdrawal

Requestor: @hodgehegposts​

Words: 1620

“Please Virg, it....it hurts.”

He’d never managed to be as stoic about pain as Scott, nor did he have anywhere near the thresholds and tolerances of Gordon, but he didn’t usually have to resort to begging to get the analgesia he so desperately needed.  He tried to be brave and ride it out like his brothers but the explosion and resulting injuries had left him in a world of pain.

Virgil took in the creased features and the glisten of a tear drop just threatening to escape the scrunched up blue eyes.  He wanted to help.  All of them had an inbuilt protectiveness over the youngest of their set, by rights still a child yet so willing to shoulder the same burdens as the rest of them.  He let out a regretful sigh.  “Sorry Alan, no can do, you’re already up to safe dose limits.”  

“Please, it’s doing nothing.  Isn’t there anything you can give me?”  The accompanying whimper tore at Virgil’s heart

“You’re already up to the limits on the good stuff.”  He smoothed a hand through Alan’s hair but the action only seemed to hurt his brother more and he quickly withdrew.  “Look, last dose was at midday so you can have another in, what, two hours.  You can last that long, can’t you Champ?”

Even through the haze of pain that made the hours blur together Alan could tell that something wasn’t right. 

“I...I didn’t have any then.  Was asleep.  Please Virgil.”  There was a hiss as another wave of fire caused his body to tense and the threatened tear gave up it’s fight.

Virgil frowned slightly and brought up Alan’s medical records.  There was no doubt in his mind that the pain his brother was experiencing was genuine and extreme but he couldn’t administer the longed for relief.  There, clearly marked up on the chart, were two tablets issued in the middle of the day.  Either Alan was confused with the pain or something else was seriously wrong.  

He needed a second opinion and who best to consult than the most qualified medic of them all.

Xoxoxox

Sally took in the hunched form of her eldest grandson slumped at the desk, his head supported by one arm.  A myriad of reports were projected in front of eyes that gazed unseeingly at the reams of files.  She stepped up quietly and shut down the projection, the sudden change in lighting sparking a reaction from the care-worn man.

“Grandma, what’s happened?  Is it Alan?”  A hand on his shoulder caused weary eyes turned to meet the face filled with love and care but also clearly edged by worry.  He instinctively tried to straighten and push his own issues to one side, his thoughts instantly flying to the blonde form currently confined to the infirmary.  The subtle nod he received sent his imagination into overdrive.

“Yes, he isn’t responding as I would have expected.  I’m worried that there is something going on that I’ve missed and I need a second opinion.  Virgil is currently preparing transport to the main trauma hospital in New Zealand.”

“What do you mean he isn’t responding as expected?”  Scott’s own medical training flashed to the forefront of his mind as he ran through possible scenarios.  Fears that the blast that had his youngest brother laid up in the infirmary may have caused hidden damage.

“His pain response is extreme.  With the injuries he reports, and what I can find on my scans, he should be comfortable as a minimum but he isn’t.  I’m worried about internal injuries and if he needs emergency surgery, well, it’s going to need a proper surgical team.  We’ll need to be able to tell the hospital as much as we can though to aid their investigations or we risk them doing more harm than good so if there is anything else you can remember about the incident, any information you think could help at all, you need to tell me.”

Sally watched the man in front of her carefully.  He might be the Commander but he was still her grandson.  She’d watched him grow and knew his tells, his response now was crucial to how she proceeded with a delicate situation.  She could almost read the thoughts flitting across his face; self preservation mixed with a fear that Alan could be subjected to unnecessary treatments.  In the end the need to protect and care for his siblings won out, as she had hoped it would.

“There’s no need to take him to the mainland.  Alan just missed a dose of his meds, that’s all.”

“Really?  Because his chart clearly shows you gave him the maximum not so long ago.”  A few taps on the holo-controls and the damning document was glowing in front of him, his entry clearly visible on the bottom line.”

His face crumpled as realisation hit.  His grandmother knew exactly what he had done.

“You’re grounded.  I’ll be taking over until both Grandma and I clear you as fit to return.”  Virgil stepped out from his place in the shadows causing Scott to jolt in fear.

“You can’t.  I’m handling it.”

“Scott, you’re not handling it.  You stole Alan’s pain meds.”

The real enormity of his actions hit him like a tsunami.  He knew all too well what it was like to need that blessed relief, it was what had got him into this mess in the first place.  He had placed his own need over that of his baby brother and condemned him to unnecessary pain.  He slumped and buried his head in his hands, his face grey as the blood drained away.

“Is he…?”

“He’s fine.  Grandma found something different he could have.  Not as good as the opiates but we couldn’t risk giving him any more of those until we were absolutely certain.  He’s getting by and we can get him back on track, now we know.  But now we need you to tell us exactly what you’ve been having and how long it’s been going on for.”

They had a good idea of course.  Virgil had laid out his concerns regarding Alan’s pain to their grandmother but instead of being worried for the youngest Tracy she had surprised him by being more interested in Scott.  The difference between them though was that Sally had trained and practiced during the opioid crisis.  She had been taught to spot the signs of addiction and abuse in substances that were now far better controlled.  She had hoped that it was something she would never need to deal with again but any discrepancies between drugs charts and what the patient claimed they were taking was a massive red flag, but in this case the flag was waving at the prescriber rather than the patient.   

As soon as suspicions had been raised they had trawled the controlled drugs log with a fine toothed comb and found enough evidence to determine that Scott likely had a serious problem.  Getting him to admit it was just the first stage towards his recovery.

Scott took a deep breath and let it all spill out.  How he’d forced himself back into active duty too soon after an injury of his own.  How it had been so easy to just write out a quick prescription, ostensibly for the rescuee who in reality had needed nothing, but then to take the drugs himself when the flare of pain had almost left him unable to fly home.  

All the Tracys had access to controlled drugs.  Every ‘bird contained a stock of analgesia that the brothers, with their emergency responder training, were permitted to issue to those victims that needed immediate medical help before transfer to hospital.  The same ruse had been repeated time and time again.  

But then the dependency had set in and he’d found himself needing the narcotic hit just to get through the average day.  What had once been a last resort became a commonplace action with more and more scripts written up.  Today had pushed him over the edge.  A lull in rescues had cut off his usual means of obtaining his supply, and he’d felt the anxiety building as his body became starved of its chemical fix.  He’d stood there in the infirmary, tasked with giving Alan his midday medication, but the figure in the med bed had been asleep.  He’d watched that small figure tossing fitfully between the sheets for a moment then filled in the charts and callously taken the drugs for himself.

Scott’s barriers broke and he slumped as the wave of self-loathing crashed over him.  He felt a protective duty to all his brothers but none quite as much as Alan who had been so young when tragedy struck and plunged him into that parental role.  To realise that he’d directly caused his brother unnecessary suffering triggered a wave of nausea.

A pair of hands landed on his knees, breaking through the retrospection that engulfed him in remorse.  He hadn’t registered his brother moving but there crouched in front of him was Virgil, those soft brown eyes showing only compassion, not the contempt he deserved.

“It’s okay Scott.  We can get through this.”

It wasn’t okay.  It was about as far from okay as life could possibly be but Virgil had a rescuers heart and he was the poor soul lost in the hurricane.  He clung onto that lifeline of hope and vowed to do whatever was needed.  There was a long road ahead.  A road that was going to be punctuated with the pain of withdrawal but he would get through it, he needed to for the sake of his family that he knew would be beside him every step of the way.

[sunflowersunshinevol6]

My Way

Chapter Four

Warnings: kidnapping, substance abuse, psychological abuse, stockholm syndrome, physical abuse, violence

A/N: this chapter is pretty dark. Fair warning

Clara was propped on her elbows, head in hands, feet locked together, as she watched Harry lay out his ‘tools’ on the opposite bed. He had lifted a floorboard in the van, to reveal a box, filled with tons of weapons, some she didn’t even recognize. The tv played commercials in the background, neither of them were paying attention. Harry touched the tools gently, almost affectionately. It was strange to her. He began putting them, one by one into a duffel bag.

He had explained to her that sorting his tools was like pregame for him. Looking at them and thinking about what he'd use them for amped him up. It made her shudder.

“Keep the door locked. Don't answer it for anyone. I'll be back in a few hours,” Clara rolled over onto her back, sighing.She counts the tiles in the ceiling, she hasn’t had her meds in days and she can feel the tide coming in, the anxieties slowly creeping up, ready to drag her down again.  “Clara?” Harry came to her, he leaned over her face “Princess,” he said gently, “what's wrong?” She wrinkled her nose.

“I'm not a princess,” she insisted. Harry chuckled.

“What's on your mind?”

“Its my meds,” she swallowed down the lump forming in her throat, “I've been off my medication for too long…..”

“For anxiety?” She nodded.

“And other things.”

“Are they over the counter or?”

“Doctor scripts.”

“What happens when you go off them?” Clarafurrowed her brow, she doesn't know how to describe it.

“It's not good,” she can see the wheels turning, as Harry tried to find a solution to Clara's current problem.

“I have a suggestion….but before I give it, I want to know what you want me to do.” Clara was taken aback by Harry's sudden thoughtfulness.

“I want you to stay,” she said honestly.

“Clara-” Harry warns.

“Please.”

“You know I can't.”

“Why not.”

“Because.” He was getting irritated. She continued.

“Because why?”

“You know why .” He growled.

“I want to hear you say it.”

“I have a job to do.”

“Killing innocent people isn't a job, it's murder.”

“If I killed innocent people I would have killed you in that gas station a week ago.” he hissed standing up. He walked away from her, dragging a hand down his face, the room was silent, his words hanging in the air. “I don't kill good people. My family , doesn't kill good people.” He clarified, “We kill the scum of the earth. The evil fuckers that walk around free. Pedophiles, murderers, rapists, people like that. And you can say I'm a hypocrite, or whatever you want. But this is who I am. It's who I've always been. And I like it.” He glared at her, daring her to say something.

“So you’re like Batman.” she said after a while. He gave her a confused look, she sat up, turning to face him fully. “Like Batman. A Vigilante. You know, someone who takes the law into their own hands, cuz they think the law officials can’t or won’t do it.” Harry chewed on his tongue thoughtfully for a moment, before nodding.

“Batman….I like that. Yeah. We’re like Batman…...So since your idea isn't possible, would you wanna try mine?” she shrugged. “You ever smoke weed before?” he asked her. Clara shook her head. “figured,” he went into the bathroom, Clara heard him rummage around and when he came back out he had a little ceramic bowl in his hand and a lighter. He sat on the edge of the bed beside her. “If you're okay with this and you want to try it we will. It might help you relax, it works different for everyone. But it’s been known to treat anxiety and depression…..We can’t just go out and get your medicine so, this would be the next best thing."

“I want to.” Clara said in a small voice.

“We’re gonna do something called ‘shotgunning’. That's where I inhale the smoke and then blow it in your mouth, you inhale and hold, then release. Since it's your first time I don't want you to get too fucked up.” he raised the bowl in his hands, she didn’t like the way it smelled. It stunk. “If we do it my way I’ll be able to atleast kind of control the amount you take in. And since you’ve never done it before you won’t need much. Just a little hit to take the edge off and see how you like it. If I just let you straight up hit it you might go too hard and end up sitting in a corner too high to move.” she looked at him in horror. “It’s cool. I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen to you, like it did to me my first time.” she nodded in understanding. “I’m only offering because I can’t have you running around here having a panic attack and drawing attention. You’re almost home free. Don’t want to ruin that now do we?”

“I guess not.”

“Good. Give me your hand.” Clara held out her hand and Harry took her thumb and first finger making an ‘o’ shape. He intertwined her three other fingers with his own and made the ‘o’ shape with his fingers. “When I start to lean in, you do it too, and I’ll blow the smoke through my hands into your mouth. Inhale as much as you can. Hold it for like, thirty seconds I guess, and then exhale. I’ll go slow.” Clara adjusted herself, sitting up on her knees. Harry brought the lit bowl to his lips and took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving Clara. She watched him, fascinated as he made a squeaking, sneezing sort of sound and closed his lips, holding his breath.

He leaned in and she pressed her fingers to her lips.

His breath was cool as it hit her parted lips, she inhaled, eyes beginning to water, and almost choking, it sort of burned. Harry breathed slow and she expanded her stomach until she couldn’t take anymore. She pulled away, releasing their hands and held her breath. Harry stood, going to the mini fridge to grab a bottle of water just as she began coughing and sputtering. She felt like her throat was bleeding, it really hurt. Her ears felt like they needed to pop. But as she coughed, she felt the pain beginning to fade, like she was stepping outside of her body, she knew it was happening, but the pain was becoming distant. The waves of anxiety were pulling further and further back. Harry walked back over, handing her the bottle of water. She took it gratefully.

“How are you feeling?” he asked her. Her eyes felt heavier, almost as though she were squinting at him.

“Good. The waves are gone.” Harry looked at her for a moment, opened his mouth, then closed it again before turning to grab his duffel bag.

“I’ll be back in a few hours. You’ll probably be sleeping. I’ll try not to wake you.” Clara waved her hand at him as she fell back against the bed. She felt light, like she was floating. Her legs tangled and her body felt pain free. It was a nice feeling.

Harry shut and locked the door behind him.

And it led him here. To this shitty motel in the middle of Bumfuck,Egypt.. He had watched them for the last day, his damsel and her captor. He looked like a dick. He was the tall, athletic, frat boy type. Definitely a fuck boy. But he was bigger, and Alex was smart, if he couldn’t take him he would wait until he left. And when he saw him climb into that shitty van and drive away, he knew it was his chance.

Alex had been searching for Clara since the news broke she was missing. He was angry. Someone else had gotten her first. And at a fucking gas station! Really?! But that wasn’t going to stop him. He would rescue his damsel and she would be grateful, loving even. Happy to share her life with him. He scoured every news report he could find, made a special website dedicated to finding her and sorted through tip after tip, focusing on only the most logical ones.

He stepped out of the bushes, knife in hand and duplicate keycard in the other. He smirked, thinking of how gullible the front desk clerk had been. She hadn’t even asked for his I.D. Too busy on her phone. You can’t get good service anywhere these days. He stalked up to the door and pressed his ear to it. He couldn’t hear her, but he knew she was in there. The smell of marijuana wafted through the door. He inhaled deeply. God was smiling on him today. That was sure. This would be way too easy.

He looked so different. He was pale, gaunt and had dark circles under his eyes, light stubble on his cheeks. His hair was even more shaggy and unkempt, a wild look in his eye as he held up the knife in his hand. He looked like he hadn’t changed his clothes in days. Alex. Collins. Had found her. She sucked in a sharp breath.

Clara was flushing the toilet when she heard the door open. She rolled her eyes, hiking her pants up and buttoning them, before swinging the door open. “Did you forget…..some….thing….”The words died on her tongue when she saw him.

“It’s all right.” he said, holding up his hands, talking to her in a calm voice, like she was a scared animal. “Everyone’s been looking for you. We’ve all been worried.”

“How did you-”

“Come on Clara, you know me,” he rolled his eyes, stepping closer to her, she took a step back in reflex. “You know I’ll never let you go. You can run, you can hide. You can move three or four fucking states-leave the country even! And I will always find you. I’ll always be here.” he smiled at her, “And you know why?” he tapped the knife against his temple, “cuz I’m in here. I’ll always be in here.”Clara felt a hard surface behind her. Shit. Alex grinned, stepping closer still and placing the knife against the base of her throat. “You’ll never be rid of me.” Something sharp poked Clara in the side, she reached up, trying to hit him, but he blocked her hand with his arm. Her eyes widened as she saw the tip of the needle he’d had hidden in his sleeve. She grabbed at him, her legs suddenly felt like jello, he backed up and she fell forward, onto her knees. “Nighty Night.” the floor came rushing towards her, but darkness met her first.  

Clara was standing at the beginning of a long pier. Ahead of her she someone. A woman, in a black dress, long brown hair flowing behind her. Leah. She began to run. Calling out to her lost lover. The more she ran the further Leah seemed to get-

One. She wasn’t in the motel room anymore.

“Wake up.” Clara groaned, someone was shaking her shoulder, making her brain bounce around inside of her head. It hurt to open her eyes, but when she finally did, and they adjusted she realized two things.

Two. She was chained to a mattress, Her arms hanging from the headboard.

She looked over to see the face of her nightmares. Alex stood over her, he had been the one shaking her, Clara tried to scream, only to feel a gag covering her mouth. Panic began to snake up her body, lighting her on fire with adrenaline. Alex walked around to the front of the bed. Towering over her like the boogeyman.

“Now, I understand if you still don’t trust me….I’ve done some things that….You might not agree with.” Clara snarled, her eyes narrowing. Alex ignored her. “But you’ll see soon enough, that it all came from a place of love. I mean look at you!” he shouted, pointing at her, “I saved you! That man! He would have killed you! Or left you to die! I would never! I found you! I saved you!” He came back around toward her, and sat next to her on the bed. He looked at her with a tenderness that made her want to puke, she was repulsed, disgusted and her heart ached. She couldn’t look at him without thinking about Leah. What he had done to her.

“Now I love you. And I hope you see….I hope you see what I’ve been trying to tell you all along. That you love me too.” he pulled the gag down off of her mouth. Clara sighed in relief, her jaw ached. “Tell me. Tell me you love me.” she hawked a big loogie, and spit it at him.

Rage flickered over his face, it passed quickly, before he stood, scratching the back of his head. “I hate you. Fuck you.” she spat again. He tsked, shaking his head.

“I was hoping we wouldn’t have to do this. But I can’t have you trying to run away.” He pulled a thick board from beneath the bed, and something else, that dangled from his arm, just out of Clara’s sight. She glared at him, resilience conquering her fear. “You ever see the movie Misery?” Clara had. She hated it. But she didn’t answer him. “This kind woman saves her favorite author from a snowstorm and he’s ungrateful. So she punishes him. So he’ll see that she loves him. She just wants him to be happy with her and make things right.” They must have seen two very different versions of that movie. “You know what she does when she finds out he snuck out? She hobbled him.” And it was that moment, that Clara realized just what he was intending to do. She squirmed, trying to get away, only then did she realize her feet were chained too. He sets the board between her ankles. “Don’t squirm or I’ll miss and it’ll be worse." Tears streamed down Clara's face, loud, broken sobs escaping her throat. Alex lifted the sledgehammer over his shoulder with both hands.

“Alex! Please!” Clara cried out for mercy. He shook his head, face unchanging.

“You’ll learn to like it here. Or at the very least, you’ll learn to see things my way.”

He brought the hammer down.

Harry felt good. Blood splattered his shirt and his chin, his hands were covered in the dried substance. But he felt relief, a good kill was kinda like sex. It released the tension. He could focus all of his anger. All of his hate. All of his rage. That’s why he was so good at it. He could focus and then disassociate quickly when it was over.

But this time was different. He worried about Clara. He’d called the hotel room a couple times, she didn’t answer, so he figured she fell asleep. But that didn’t sit right with him. It wasn’t as late as he’d expected, surely she’d still be up. He shook his head. He didn’t even know why he was worried, what did it matter, tomorrow he’d be leaving her at a bus station with a ticket and going to his own home.

He did feel kind of bad for lying to her. But he didn’t know what else to do. If she knew that the real reason he took her was to use her, in case the cops caught him, she could freak. So he shouldn’t feel bad for wanting self preservation. But he did.

And he couldn’t stop thinking about her life. About her anxiety, and how she, like him, had lost someone who meant the world to her. He shook his head, trying to get her out of his mind. She was nineteen and he was twenty five. Not to mention he kidnapped her! There was no way anything could ever come from that. Nothing good anyway. He was the bad guy. The bad guys never get the girl.

He pulled up to the motel room and parked the van, slamming the door as he stepped out of it. But when he saw their room, he dropped his keys and ran inside.

The door was standing open, and when he went in Clara was gone. All of his things were there, everything was in order. She was just….. gone. He cursed and ran a hand through his hair, jogging outside to pick up his keys and come back in. Maybe she took off on her own. He thought. Saves me a trip to the bus station. He tried to feel some sort of relief, but it didn’t come. There was a feeling of dread in the room, and when he almost stepped on the syringe on the floor, he knew. He knew Clara hadn’t gone of her own free will. What the fuck happened? He fell back onto the edge of his bed, holding the syringe in his hands. There was a bit of liquid still inside. He watched it move as he tilted it back and forth in his hand.

Clara learned fast early on. Just submit and she wouldn't be punished.

Six Months Later:

The hobbling wasn’t even the worst of the things Alex had done to her. He completely stripped her of her identity. Bit by bit. To the point that she no longer even spoke. Just limped around with her head down and her mouth shut. The abuse she faced was almost always psychological, only getting physical when she really infuriated him.

If she screamed or fought he drugged her. If she cried out he would hit her harder, if she didn’t do what she was told he’d cuss her up and down until he was blue in the face. Only to turn around and tell her how much he loved her, and how he just wanted her to be happy with him. She tried to be strong, to be brave at first, but he learned of her phobia and her anxieties, and he would often play on those to keep her in a submissive, and docile state of being.

Alex had forced her to watch as slowly, little by little, news coverage and search parties dwindled. He told her her parents thought she was dead, that no one was looking for her, and eventually all the hope left her. She shut off, and became even more of a shell of herself.

The more docile she became, the more freedom she had. She was never allowed outside, but she could peak out the window. She was no longer chained to her bed at night, but he did lock her door. If he needed to leave she could wander about the house, but was locked up if he had guests. This was her life now, and her week as Harry's hostage, faded into obscurity.

Clara. Leah. Harry. Alez. None of that was real anymore. She had completely dissociated from who she had been. She was beyond numb. She had become hollow.

[duhliriouss]

A Pawn & A King:

Chapter One

AN: This is a long ongoing story that will contain many chapters around 3000 words each. This will contain lots of angst, abuse, smut, drama, conflict, oh and smut! Please let me know if you have any suggestions you would like to see in future chapters. Some constructive criticism is much appreciated as well since this is my first FanFic. If you haven’t already, please read the Prologue below before proceeding to chapter one. Enjoy!

Prologue

Warnings: swearing, therapy, angst, abuse, self harm, mental illness

Summary: Y/N had lived her whole life in Gotham being unappreciated and disgaurded. With no family and an abusive roommate to rely on, Y/N doesn’t have much of a choice to resign anywhere else in the city. Yet she keeps on giving naively until her decent into madness and her meeting of the Joker.

Word count: 3,033

Disclaimer: I do not own Joker - Todd Philips or any character associated in Joker

Chapter One:

Your day carried on like any normal Monday. Surprisingly, you always felt at ease while working at the bank. Away from your reality. Away from anything that resembled your worthless life and place you called home.

You didn’t sleep well last night.

Your last hours dragged as you struggled to hold normal everyday conversations, Yet you always held a smile. No matter how tired you were you tried hard at your jobs. You cared.

You always cared. Too much it always seems. No one ever saw you angry. Your anger only consisted of getting red hot in the checks and running away with tears flying down your face. You’ve always been an emotional person that it make you ache day in and day out.

You felt things intensely.

All this has made you quite the pushover over the years. Someone could slap you across your face and you’d thank them, and/or apologize for anything you might have done wrong.

You hated this about yourself. One of your major flaws was muttering apologies for every action you made. Your psychiatrist has helped you discover over the months it was how your, now deceased brother tormented you all your childhood. And of course not letting you forget the disappointment your father had for you all your childhood years.

You knew you shouldn’t be sorry for most of the things you apologized for. But you’ve lost control on how to handle yourself when the real moments came.

The clock hit 4:00 pm and it was finally time to finish the rest of your exhausting day.

You swallowed hard as your feet left the building.

You didn’t like walking through the allies and streets of Gotham. You were used to being alone and even though you’ve walked alone in these streets over and over day by day, you always clenched yourself tightly looking down at your feet as you walked a steady pace, only focusing on point A to B.

Walking by people fighting and screaming, creepy men whistling as you hurried by, ignoring the robberies and drug deals as you focused your attention on the ground was a daily thing in Gotham. Yet it never ceased or lowered your fear.

You made your way to the train station and took a seat. You finally looked up to take in your surroundings for the first time since you left the bank.

Graffiti scattered most of the walls, mixed with flyers and Thomas Wayne For Mayer posters. Your eyes darted carefully around you to find just a few other passengers. Not sensing anything intimidating you focused your attention back on the poster.

Moving Gotham Forward

you huffed a small laugh quietly under your breath. You didn’t give a shit about politics. But some things you couldn’t help but chuckle at.

The city has always been run by the rich. Spilling their euphonious sounding lies as the city eats it up year by year. And when you see Wayne on the news, You don’t see a difference. That was one thing you wouldn’t let yourself be a pawn over.

~

“How’s your job”

“It’s good.”

“Home?”

“Fine”

You kept your eyes down fidgeting and twisting your cigarette in between your fingers.

Every week your multiple breakdowns gave you mental notes to talk about in your therapy sessions. Yet when the time came... you just sat there. Struggling to say anything at all.

The quietness and the burning of her eyes on you quickened your heart rate.

“Have you been journaling like I asked”

“No Mam” Your voice was soft and apologetic.

“And why’s that?”

You finally lifted your gaze to meet hers

“I don’t have time, I never have any time”

“Ah”

You watched silently as she traced her pen over the stacks in her folder printed with your name. Silence filling the room again.

“How does it feel coming here every week, having someone to talk to. Does it help?”

You took your time trying to find the right answer. You didn’t know. You never really knew anything once you sat in that seat. Once you walked through those doors you WERE a closed door, fumbling over your words. Frustrating yourself when you couldn’t find them.

“I - I don’t know. I think it was better for everyone around me when I was locked up in the hospital”

Your sentence started off nervous but as your heart rate slowed to your words, you felt the familiar numbness hit your chest.

Unbeknownst to you, your physiatrist noted the strangely similar, yet still different personalities you and someone else shared.

“I’m here to help you, you shouldn’t let yourself feel a burden to the world around you”

You couldn’t help but let out a cold, almost sarcastic laugh. Taking a drag off your cigarette you shifted your body to sit up straighter. You replayed her words in your head and frowned shamefully, Furrying your brows together and keeping your gaze downward

“I’m sorry. I’m not laughing at the fact you’re trying to help me. I just -“

You didn’t struggle with your words this time. You simply didn’t know how to tell her you’ve been living with someone whom has beat you countless times, made you feel more of a burden than anyone else. Never mind everyone else in your life. You didn’t have a family because of your burdens. No one at your jobs appreciated you and now that you think about it, you don’t think you’ve ever met anyone who has actually appreciated you for you.

But what can you do? You were stuck. You didn’t have any other choices in Gotham to resign to. And being manipulated by Harvie for years now.. frankly, you were just too scared to make any decisions in your life.

You noticed you haven’t said anything in awhile.

You looked up again at the woman you knew didn’t truly care about the struggles you went through. Her eyes stayed down at your papers, flipping through the pages.

“You’re on 3 different medications, Y/N. Would you like me to up the dosa-“

“Yes, please”

You responded fast and eagerly. You’d do anything to not feel so bad anymore.

“Alright..” her words were flat and unamused.

“I’ve also been noticing your Bipolar Disorder has been more; manic recently. I’m going to prescribe you Lamotrigine. Just don’t take it in the afternoon with your anxiety med, and start taking your birth control in the morning instead. Taking all these together can make you become rather reckless.”

Your mind drifted off at “manic”. You stared past her left shoulder as she continued to speak into a complete zone out.

You were precisely dead inside.

“Can you remember that?”

Your eyes darted back to her. You gave her a warm fake-like, but believable smile and nodded your head

“Yes mam, thank you”

Her eyes studied you carefully then up at the clock that hanged over the door behind you.

“It seems our time is a little over schedule”

You both stood from your chairs rhythmically

“Let me know how you’re feeling next week”

“What?”

“You know, any side affects, nausea, change in mood”

“Oh yes.. right. Okay” you gave one last, sheepish smile before turning on your heels to the door. Keeping your head down preparing yourself to face the public again.

You opened the door quite fast and started to walk, fumbling to try and get your hands into your coat pockets to pull out another cigarette. Before you could take a third step you bumped right into something solid.

You bumped into someone. You clumsily tried to take a few steps back but a pair of strong hands kept you in place from falling, both hands on your elbows.

Your face shot up to look at the face of who you just humiliated yourself in front of.

But you were met with gorgeous, humbling green eyes.

“Oh.. hi Arthur” your cheeks instantly flushed still embarrassed and not sure how to react. As your eyes stayed locked, you took in his features being so uncomfortably close to him. His hair was slicked back and his lips curved into a slight smile, making the crows feet on the corner of his eyes accentuated

“Im so sorry, clearly I don’t pay attention to my surroundings as often as I should”

He let out a breathy laugh, letting go of your arms. You now kept your eyes to your feet.

“Where are you so eager to get to anyway?”

“I’m not sure. Just in my own little world I guess. I uh.. also have to stop at the corner store to pick up some food items for dinner tonight. Then I have to go to the laundry mat to put in a couple hours..”

You found yourself rambling. He didn’t need this much explanation. Stop talking!

You finally stopped and cleared your throat along with one deep breath. Not hearing anything you decided to slowly look up and meet his gaze. Arthur almost looked as nervous as you were. But he still held a somewhat amused smile.

“Y/N, are you alright? You seem more flustered than usual”

“Yes I’m fine.. just a busy a schedule today is all. Again, I’m sorry for running into you.”

He studied your face as you spoke. Noticing the dark bags that had accumulated under your beautiful (y/e/c) eyes. His eyes then wandered to your flushed cheeks before briefly landing on your plump red lips. You suddenly felt attacked under his gaze and tried it focus on anything else around the hallway.

Arthur noticed this.

Feeling awkward for clearly making you more uncomfortable he cleared his throat and went to stutter out a goodbye before entering the room you just left seconds before. But instead surprised himself with the boldness of what he said instead

“Would you like to get coffee tonight?”

“I - I can’t, I have to work and and cook dinner for Harvie and I tonight”

“Oh.. right” he laughed nervously “sorry that was stupid of me to ask..”

“It’s okay”

A silence filled the hallway

“Hey, can I uh” he slicked his hair back anxiously “can I at least give you my number? You could really use a real cup of coffee sometime this week. just call me on a night your not so busy, maybe?”

His sudden boldness caught you off guard.

You and Arthur didn’t know each other well. But you’ve been acquaintances for some time, and have run into each other quite often.

You first met when you had group therapy sessions together from time to time when you both were in Arkham State Hospital.

You also saw him once in awhile at the laundry mat when he picked up him and his mother’s clothes

And now coincidentally enough, you both saw the same physiatrist in the same day. He always was the appointment after yours. It has left huge opportunity’s for small talk. Which you both indulged in any chance you could get.

Most conversations you both shared with each other were rather awkward and short. But there was this strange feeling that made you not mind so much.

You could sit for hours in awkwardness with this man. He never intimidated you. And you felt more yourself in his presence.

But you still didn’t really know anything about him except that he lives and takes care of his mother and lives down the block from you.

“ s-sure..”

you looked up innocently at him. You didn’t think about your answer as it just poured out of you. You felt like you were under a spell Everytime he spoke to you. Especially now.

He gave you a ear to ear grin at your answer which was short stopped when you both noticed there was no pen or paper.

“I have a pen!” You unnecessarily shouted.

You dug through your black crossbody cotton-like purse and pulled out a pen with the banks name printed on the side.

“Here! I uh.. don’t have a piece of paper though...”

he chuckled at your ditziness and took two strides over to you until he was mere inches from you. Taking the pen from you

Your heart skipped. Adrenaline shooting up your spine deliciously.

You didn’t realize how much taller he was, your head only reaching to the mid of his chest.

Your nostrils filled with a sweet smell of cigarettes and a slight scent of .. some sort of mint?

You felt dizzy

“Can I see your hand?”

Without a word you lifted your left hand just enough for him to snatch it and it up bring it up to his chest. He began to write his number on the back of your hand.

You twitched to the sudden pressure he put against the skin with the ball of the pen.

neither of you spoke as he took his time to write. Your eyes instinctively fluttered shut, enjoying the gentle and subtle contact your body hasn’t felt for a very long time.

After finishing he gently let go of your hand. Bringing it back to yourself, you examined his work. Taking in the attempt he had made to try and hide his messy handwriting which failed beautifully.

You looked back up at him, your cheeks beaming red

“See you around, Arthur”

The air was heavy as you turned and walked away down the short hallway as fast as you could , overstimulated by everything that just happened. You needed to be alone outside again so you could breath and make sense of everything.

“See yuh” he let out softly, Barley enough for you to hear before shutting the main door behind you.

Once outside you turned and leaned your back against the old concrete wall, eyes shut and arms against your chest. You took a minute to breath. Once your heart rate slowed down you opened your eyes again and fumbled in your coat pockets again to light a cigarette. You took one long inhale then managed yourself to peel yourself off the wall and continue on with your day.

You were still very much flustered. You could not for the life of you stop thinking about what just transpired.

There was always a weird flirtatious vibe when you and Arthur had some time to converse,

but this was different.

You suddenly had a new feeling towards him that left bursts of butterfly’s go up your body.

You tried to shake it off as you got back on the train to go to your second job.

You were a little late. 10 minutes to be precise.

You walked through the doors of the laundry mat to find your boss, Nyle sitting at the register area looking not so amused

“You’re late, Y/N” he didn’t look up from his paperwork that was laid out on the desk

“I know I’m so sorry, I just..” You couldn’t lie. “I uh, my therapy app-“

“You think I need a fucking reason? You show up and do the fucking job. You only do three and a half god damn hours. If you can’t do something that fucking simple, you’re fired”

Tears sprung in your eyes at his words. You never got used to Nyle yelling at you. He was an old miserable man that was never happy no matter how well you preformed. Every little mistake was taken seriously.

“Y-you’re firing me?”

“Oh give me a break. You’re gonna cry now? You act like this the first time something like this has happened. You’re either late or you never do what I ask”

“I’ve only been late a small handful of times since I’ve worked here over a year ago! And I do what you ask of me all the time! It’s never good enough for you because your expectations don’t make any sense!”

Your breath caught in your throat and your body started to tremble. You shook as you felt heat rise all throughout yourself.

“Get out”

You turned and flung the doors open to leave, tears streaming down your face. You held on to yourself tightly as your turned into a dark ally and let yourself drop against the brick walls.

Audible cries left you and you didn’t care who was around to hear.

You took in your surroundings and didn’t see anybody. Piles of trash filled the ally and around yourself. You looked up but the cities buildings towered over blocking the sky.

You closed your eyes, your head raised against the brick. You muted your sobs so you could listen.

You heard a couple’s argument around the corner of the other side of the ally, sirens in the distance, more screaming that seemed even father away, and groups of laughing and clattering coming from a pub next to the ally side you just entered.

You started to silently laugh to yourself. Looking down at your cigarette, twisting and turning it between each finger. Your legs were half bent displayed out in front of you.

You stared at the amber of the cigarette while still listening to the cities commotion.

Without much thought you slowly turned the cigarette so the amber floated just centimeters from the back of your right hand. You slowly pressed it against your skin listening to the sizzle as it bubbled your delicate skin. You didn’t twitch or move to the sudden pain it Illuminated.

Instead you managed to display a small genuine smile.

The smell of burn skin hit your nostrils. You pushed harder until the cigarette was out completely, letting it fall from your hand.

Closing your eyes again you started singing softly to yourself.

( quick AN: Let’s stay together - Al Green)

Whatever you want to do

Is all right with me

Cause you make me feel so brand new

And I want to spend my life with you

You were talking about yourself

The familiar imaginary music beaming in your head. Your head stayed up against the cold brick, a sinful smile stretched ear to ear. Your arms laid stretched out to either side of your body Your voice cracking as you sung:

Oh baby

Let’s, let’s stay together

Lovin you whether, whether

Times are good or bad, or happy or sad

[meanminyxrd]

smokey eyes by lincoln but its andreil

i doubt anyone is going to fully read through this, but i like to song analyze. i like to take songs i find and explain why i’ve added them to my aftg playlists. this first song i’m going to “explain”, i suppose, is smokey eyes by lincoln. it’s added to neil’s playlist.

The first verse is as follows:

Smokey eyes, are you feeling good?

For now, you’re here with me

Seems like we’ve waited long enough

For someone else to make us feel complete

It’s not a bitter flavor, and it’s not a sweeter drink

I’m scared to ask you if you would do the same for me

at the beginning of whatever this thing with andrew is, neil believes that he is not important at all to andrew. he thinks that andrew doesn’t care as much as he himself does. but he’s okay with that; he’s gonna die by the end of the year anyways, so might as well have a good time. but still, it hurts. ‘are you feeling good?’—he wants to make andrew happy like andrew makes him feel happy. he wants to make andrew feel safe like andrew makes him feel safe. and for fucks sake, they HAVE waited long enough to feel happy and complete. they haven’t had anything like… THIS… their whole lives. and what they have, it isnt stereotypically sweet, but it isn’t in any means bad or bitter. it works out for them, and that’s what matters. and he cares so much about andrew that it hurts, it almost tears him apart to suddenly care about anyone but himself, but he doesnt think andrew cares back and is too scared to ask.

Smokey eyes; that’s your name, isn’t it?

At least that’s what I call you

When I call you, do you shake the way I shake

When I call to say I’m through?

“No, I shake the way you do at shows

So people know you’re cool

Violently, but still controlled enough to screw.”

you cannot tell me neil doesn’t come up with nicknames for andrew. my favorite head canons come from when neil is sleepy and calls andrew ‘drew and i get so weak reading them. as for the shaking part, its like neil’s saying ‘if i called to end it, whatever this thing is, i would be heartbroken and shaking from the anxiety and pain of it all. would you?’ and the only answer he can imagine coming back is that andrew doesnt care, and that all he was was a cheap fuck, because in the beginning that’s all andrew dares to show.

now, after the hotel in baltimore scene, he thinks andrew cares at this point. why else would andrew have fought for him to stay? but we all know how absolutely fucking oblivious neil can be. when he’s with aaron at the cabin during their vacation, he expresses he doesn’t believe andrew would care enough to do anything drastic for him. he genuinely believes that if aaron asked andrew to drop neil, that andrew would in order to keep his promise.

cut to the chorus of the song:

So help me make amends with all my friends

Most other people are just dead ends

There’s nothing worse than making friends

again, after baltimore, he knows andrew cares, but he doesnt know what to do about it or how exactly to cope with this revelation. if andrew cares, then it can’t be that much, right? because what could neil josten, a made up character and personality, have to offer to any of the foxes? yet he needs to make amends with the foxes. they’re all he has, and leaving them would break his heart. he is basically begging andrew not to send him away, begging wymack to let him stay. he wants to make amends, and most people who he’s tried to trust have just hurt him, so they’re dead ends. he hates that he’s attached because what could be worse than getting attached? but he cares, and he wants to fix it, fix this. he knows lying to them was wrong and he thinks the foxes will shun him because he’s the son of the butcher and also the yakuza is not just after kevin but him as well. he hates that he’s attached, but he is, and he wants to fix it.

Sticky thighs, are you wild now or just a memory?

Some people want to be your friend

Some people just want to be free

And the worst thing about me is that I’m somewhere in between;

I might miss you, but I’m still trying to get clean

‘some ppl wanna be ur friend’, the upperclassmen do attempt to include andrew in things, a lot more after neil kinda coaxes them to but the same nonetheless. it’s not easy trying to include the monsters, but neil’s relationship with both “sides” of the team are important to him, so each side tries their best to at least attempt to get along. ‘some ppl just want to be free’ ie aaron. aaron wanted out of the deal but didn’t know how to really get around it. nicky wanted to be more friendly with the upperclassmen but was held back by andrew’s rules. and neil, he’s somewhere in between. he wants to be (boy)friends with andrew, but he also still has this feeling of wanting to run, to leave before andrew leaves, and when he thinks of leaving he misses andrew but he’s also just trying to do what he thinks is best for both of them.

You’ve had enough to drink

You know you’re drowning in the flavor of

Cough syrup and Vicodin

You’ve got the bitter flavor down so

Dab the sweeter drink on a napkin, then

Hold it up to your mouth so you can sleep

andrew usually doesn’t get drunk, as he states he knows his limits, but he totally does when he’s really upset and isn’t gonna be driving. for instance, after a rough game without his meds he would be rewarded with alcohol from wymack. in the author’s notes, there’s a scene where andrew goes to wymack’s apartment to talk about neil and he chugs alcohol then, too. whether he’s able to admit it or not, andrew abuses alcohol as a way to cope. this lyric, to me, alludes to the use of drugs or drinks to cope.

Quiet lies that you’re telling to

Those black and screaming skies...

I hope you’re walking around campus

Contemplating your own smallish size

This is not what all my idols told me college would be like

I hope someday you learn to take your own advice

the quiet lies are in the blank stares, the flat expressions, the mean words and obvious apathy. andrew’s apathy keeps him safe, but neil sees through it. he knows its a lie. he’s knows that there’s more to this misunderstood monster and he wants to learn all about it. he hopes that andrew is able to think about bigger things, even when neil isnt there to try and get him to. he hopes andrew isn’t as impassive as he tries to make others believe. he hopes, and truly believes, that somewhere in there, andrew cares about neil.

furthermore, college is nothing like its made out to be. college, for neil, has been both hell and heaven. he never thought he’d even end up going, let alone go to play exy of all things. andrew is always giving neil advice, but he never follows any of it himself. andrew is all about getting neil to open up to him, but is hesitant to open up as well. neil understands, but he also hopes andrew warms up to him a bit. he enjoys their trust for trust relationship and genuinely wishes that one day andrew will be okay. maybe not good, but okay. because that’s a start.

and, scene.

thank you for reading if you read this far! i’ll probably end up doing more, tbh, because i really enjoy writing these. that’s all for now, though!

[la-bruja-de-la-literatura]

This PSA is for everybody, not just witches!

I've been seeing a lot of post about folks who are sucidal, so I am creating this to help others who feel as if they have no-where else to go. Please note that I am NOT a medical professional, just a witch who wants to educate others. (I have a similar post on my Amino, so if you've seen that this is more or less the same).

If you are suffering from anxiety, depression, severe mood swings, violent tendencies towards yourself or others or suicidal thoughts, do not only rely on witchcraft...get a professional!

Listen, I love witchcraft. Big witchcraft fan, me. But! We are human beings on top of being magical, woo-woo creatures. You wouldn't light a candle to cure a stab wound, would you? No! (If you thought yes, please reconsider that. Immediately.)

While this is a tad of an exaggeration, as I'm assuming (and hoping) that most of us won't get stabbed, you get the gist of it. It doesn't show a lack of faith in your belief to get help for mental illness. It is a bodily illness, after all, that can be a silent killer because there are often no obvious physical symptoms.

If left unchecked, mental illness can affect your physical health as well. Insomnia, eating disorders, lethargy, panic attacks and other such things often are side effects of suffering from mental illnesses, such as anxiety and PTSD.

Keep in mind that different people suffer different symptoms. Let me provide a personal example. Whenever I suffer a panic attack, my body acts as if I'm hung over. I get congested, I get severe migraines, and I can't focus on anything. It can take me an entire day to get back on my feet. Yoga, guided breathing techniques and meditation may help me calm down or stop an impending attack, but these (still very helpful) methods have their limits.

Now, real talk: therapy can be expensive if you live in places like the US and don't have health insurance, but I encourage you to not give up just yet.

Here are FREE resources that you can use:

[National Suicide Hotline|https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org]

Even if you are not immediately suicidal, these folks are here to help! I used it recently, and they told me that they can act as therapists to those who cannot afford it. Don't be afraid to contact them, they are very nice people.

[Other Free Options|https://www.cnet.com/news/suicide-hotlines-crisis-hotlines-to-call-or-text-when-you-need-help/]

These are different crisis hotlines, and some are made to support abuse victims, the lgbtq community, trans folks, and more! (Small note: these are mostly based from the US, and I'm unsure if they work internationally, so check that out if you're not in the US or a US territory).

Like ASMR and want to see what a good therapist would be like? Try the [ASMR Psychologist|https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCxVy6w2y7XIn3HzG4feDLWw]! She is an actual, real-life therapist who offers a series of therapy sessions with journaling prompts.

Lastly, there are some affordable options to consider. Many of you may have heard of this, but [Better Help|https://www.betterhelp.com] is a great way to get a therapist. I actually was able to chat with them for free at first, and they offered me selections appropriate for my circumstances. Even if you don't have a large income, you may still be able to get professional counseling from them.

If you do have some sort of health insurance, try going to [Psychology Today|https://www.psychologytoday.com/us] and putting in your zipcode will give you a list of therapists, what they specialize in, and whether or not they are offering phone and/or video sessions, especially these days.

Look, I'm only 25, but I've been through a lot. I've lost hope, almost gave up on life, and almost renounced witchcraft. If had this information sooner, I may have been spared a lot of unpleasantness.

While it's true that you may have a therapist who you don't like or a bad experience, the benefits of finally getting help outweigh the negatives. Please remember that you can always find another therapist, or stop taking a medication if it's doing more harm than good. In fact, most therapist will tell you to stop taking meds that aren't helping you.

Don't feel the need to settle on your mental health, and don't let a possible bad experience make you give up on you. Get better so you can get back to doing awesome spells, rituals and meditations! And don't beat yourself up of you cannot do any of those things right now! Now go forth and work on you, babes. Y'all are worth it, no matter what you may believe.

Stay well, say safe and stay magical. Till later, brujxs!

[mickeylovebot]

THERAPY - fluffy/sad gallavich oneshot

Mickey and Ian had been married for a couple years. They lived together, happily. They took turns making breakfast. They went on dates every couple of weeks. They still fucked all the time, everywhere they could. They were still in love, but now it was comfortable. They weren’t endlessly fighting for one another. They knew they had each other. They knew they could love and rely on each other. They were soulmates, together at last. One night, though...

“Mick. Mickey, wake up.” Ian shook Mickey worriedly. Mickey had been twitching in his sleep, gasping for air.

Finally, Mickey awoke, looking around like he didn’t know where he was.

“It’s okay, Mick. You’re here. I’m here.” Ian tried to reassure him.

Mickey looked into Ian’s eyes and immediately felt a bit better. And then a bit embarrassed. “Fuck.” He complained.

“Are you okay?” Ian laid back down, spooning Mickey and gently rubbing his hand. “That’s your fourth nightmare this week.”

“I’m fine, don’t fuckin’ call it a nightmare.” Mickey said defensively.

“Mickey–”

“Can’t hear you. I’m going back to sleep.” And that was that. But Mickey kept his eyes open, and snuggled back into Ian, silently fearing falling back asleep.

Ian kept his eyes open too, staring at the back of Mickey’s neck, counting his neckhairs, knowing that Mickey was going through something Ian couldn’t fix.

Ian woke up earlier than Mickey for work. On his way out, he kissed a half-asleep Mickey on the cheek and they exchanged “I-love-you”s before the day. Ian worked as an EMT. Mickey worked as security in another south side store. But Mickey was off that day.

“Hey Mick, I’ve got a funny story ab–” Ian said loudly once he’d gotten home. It was usual for them to share what happened during their days. They shared everything. “Mick?”

But he couldn’t see Mickey. He checked every room frantically, finally making his way to the bedroom, where Mickey was curled up in the corner, shaking and sweating, staring blankly at the floor. “Mick.” Ian ran over and kneeled down next to Mickey. “Mickey, baby, what’s wrong?”

Mickey didn’t respond, didn’t even blink. Ian looked around for anything, a broken window, a mark, anything, and finally saw Mickey’s tattooed knuckles strained because he was holding his phone so tightly. Ian managed to loosen Mickey’s grip, which Mickey was still unresponsive to.

Ian saw that the phone was open to the middle of an article, where a teenage boy was talking about how his father abused him in detail. Ian started tearing up, realizing what Mickey might be going through.

“Mickey, can you look at me?” Ian asked Mickey quietly. He knew what it was like. He’d seen it a million times as an EMT. And he knew that’s how he’d looked whenever he was having a panic attack, whenever he was having a flashback, whenever his meds had gone out of balance. Mickey blinked. “Mickey, please. Look at me.”

Mickey finally, slowly, looked up at Ian. Ian had never seen him so scared.

“You’re safe.” Ian said. “You’re safe here. Nobody will hurt you here. He’s not here.”

Mickey kept staring at Ian. Tears were starting to well up in his eyes as well.

“C’mon, let’s get you up, get you to the couch.” Ian took Mickey’s hand and arm and tried to help him up. Mickey was almost burdening Ian with his entire weight. He could barely stand. But they made it to the couch, where Ian sat beside him, facing him, holding him. Tears were pouring out of Mickey’s eyes now.

“It’s okay. It will all be okay, Mick. You’re safe.” Ian tried to soothe him, like he soothed his patients, like he’d been soothed before. Eventually, it worked. Mickey fell asleep, to which Ian laid him down gently and put a blanket over him. Ian couldn’t bear to leave Mickey like that and fell asleep too, sitting up, holding his hand. When he woke up, Mickey wasn’t there. He went searching again and found him lying on their bed, staring at an opened beer bottle on the side table.

Over the years, Mickey opened up about a lot of things. He was getting more and more in touch with his feelings, which was miraculous, really. But Ian knew that something this deep would be hard to get out of him. So all he did was lie down and spook Mickey again, silently, and to his surprise, Mickey spoke up.

“I’ve stabbed people,” He began, “I’ve been shot. I own like a million guns. I’m the shortest guy I know and I still have a fucking great right hook. I have guys that will listen to anything I ask. I’ve tried to kill people, a few times. And yet somehow, somehow...” His voice cracked a bit. He couldn’t say the rest, but Ian understood.

“Mick,” Ian almost laughed at the ridiculousness, “You’re still tough. You’re still the guy who will throw a punch at anybody for anything, hell, half the time you don’t even need a reason. You’re still the guy who people should be afraid of. You’re still the guy who’s endlessly sarcastic and sometimes cold. You’re still the toughest guy I know. And... you’re still the guy I fell in love with. And if I wasn’t so in love with you I think I’d be scared of you too.” He whispered that last part. Mickey gave a somewhat sad chuckle. “But he’s your dad, Mick. The piece of shit who raised you, if you can even use that word. Of course it was gonna bother you eventually...”

Mickey said nothing, for a moment, and turned around to face Ian. He had that same look in his eye that he had for years. The look that said the blood pumped in his veins for the stupid redhead in front of him. He still looked sad, worried, angry, but the love he felt for Ian got through all of that. He gently cupped Ian’s cheek and looked him right in the eyes. “But why now?” He said quietly. “Why is that bastard giving me nightmares now? I didn’t even have fucking nightmares when I was nine years old.”

“Well,” Ian pulled Mickey closer, “You’re relatively safe now. You’re not constantly thinking about the next drug deal, the next shooting, the next time you have to beat a guy for mistreating one of your prostututes. And you never dealt with it... so, your mind decided to deal with it now.”

“I don’t want him to have power over me like this. Not anymore.” Mickey said with a clenched jaw.

“I know, baby, I know.” Ian kissed him softly and then Mickey laid his head on Ian’s chest.

He wrapped his legs around Ian’s and listened to his slow heartbeat. “What do I do now?”

Ian knew what to do next. But he figured he’d leave it for the morning. He’d let Mickey just rest. He’d put on Mickey’s favourite show and make his favourite food for dinner. And in the morning...

Ian quickly ended his call when Mickey came to the kitchen for breakfast.

Mickey raised his eyebrows. “Who was that?”

Ian hoped he’d have more time to think of how to tell him. “Um... a therapist.” He said honestly.

“Oh, why, your meds out of whack again?” He asked casually as he put a waffle on his plate.

“For you, Mick.” Ian admitted quietly. Mickey’s mouth hung open.

“No. I’m not goin’ to a shrink.” He said sternly.

“You need somebody who can help you, Mickey.” Ian pleaded.

Mickey shook his head. “You help me. I don’t need a doctor. I’m not bipolar, or depressed, or anything. It’s just a fuckin’ nightmare.”

“I’m not... I can’t be there all the time. I can’t make your nightmares go away. But a therapist could help you deal with it yourself. A therapist could really make it all go away for you.”

Mickey stared right at him, speechless. “I said no.” And Mickey went for his jacket.

“Mick–” Ian tried to stop him, to sit him down, to talk about it.

“I’m goin’ for a walk before work.” Was all Mickey said. He looked at Ian once more. He looked like he knew, deep down, that maybe Ian was right. And then he quickly kissed him on the lips, said “I love you.” And left.

The day trudged on slowly for the both of them. Ian was sick with worry about Mickey. Mickey was sick with guilt about leaving Ian in the dark like that. They both waited impatiently for the end of the day, where they could talk. Ian came home first, and was pacing around the apartment, trying to find something to do, something to clean, to keep his anxious mind off of it until Mickey got home.

And when Mickey finally got home, Ian shamelessly rushed to the door and took Mickey by surprise with a kiss.

Mickey grinned into the kiss and pulled away. “What was that for?”

“I was worried.” Ian said breathlessly.

Mickey rolled his eyes. “You don’t need to–”

“I do.” Ian interrupted. “You’re one of the very few people I actually care about. I do need to fucking worry.”

And Mickey, seeing the distress Ian was under, let go of his emotionless pose. “I’m sorry.” He said with eyes that were just as sorry.

“Can we talk about it? Therapy?” Ian asked.

“Fine. But just talking.” Mickey was already on the defence. But he would listen. For Ian’s sake.

Ian nodded, “Okay, come in, I made tea.” He didn’t admit that he made tea because he needed something to distract himself with.

“Tea?” Mickey muttered to himself.

Ian set the tea down on the coffee table. From the few times Mickey had tea, he remembered: one sugar. And black for himself.

Mickey sipped his tea and watched Ian awkwardly. Neither of them knew where to start.

“I need you to be okay.” Ian blurted out.

“I’ll be okay.” Mickey tried to reassure him. But Ian knew that nobody would be okay after what Mickey’s gone through.

“Why don’t you want to go?” Ian asked genuinely but still with anxiety.

“I dunno...” It was the truth, he wasn’t sure. “I don’t want anybody picking inside my head.” Anybody but you, he thought.

“What if I go too?” Ian asked, out of nowhere.

“What? With me?” Mickey asked in a way that already said no.

“No. On my own, just... I’ll tell them things too. About Frank, maybe. About never having a real parent. About Monica... I’ve been through, uh, half the shit you’ve been through but I probably need it too.”

Flashes of moments flew by where Mickey had to be the protector, the comforter, the one who held Ian when he cried, when everything came back up. He remembered how his chest tightened and how he’d do anything for Ian never to feel that way again.

“I don’t want to either,” Ian continued, “I don’t like bringing that shit up. But if you will, I will.”

“You’ll really talk to them? About everything? A stranger?”

Ian nodded quickly. “If it means you’ll do the same.”

“Fuck,” And Mickey’s wall had been broken down. “I’ll try it. I guess.”

Ian looked both surprised and ecstatic. He immediately pulled Mickey into a tight hug. Mickey pretended to be annoyed.

“Thank you, thank you.” Ian said quietly, sincerely.

“I said I’ll try it.” Mickey pointed out as Ian pulled away from the hug.

Ian couldn’t help but kiss Mickey, holding the back of his neck gently. He kissed Mickey’s cheek, jaw, neck.

“If this is the gift I get for going to therapy maybe I’ll go quite a bit,” Mickey joked.

“Shut up.” Ian smiled. They looked at each other so genuinely, so adoringly. “I love you.” Ian said, as if it was coming out of his mouth before he knew it, as if he was admitting it for the first time.

“I love you too.”

And just like that, Mickey was taking another step in his life, for Ian, like everything was, always for Ian.

Ian sat thankful, comfortable, and mindlessly kissed the silver band on Mickey’s ring finger. And Mickey noticed, and felt warm inside. And they were okay, together.

[claryaastark]

Strings of Fate

05162020

She goes South, he went North. He walks downstairs, she rode the elevator upstairs. He rides the bus, she gets down because it’s the place of her destination.

I smiled as I saw the invisible strings that tangle around them. If they can feel or see it, I am certain that one of them will trip, or choke to it.

I put the golden bow and arrow that I was holding, and touch my chin. I looked at my reflection on the well ; the well of destiny. It was deep and crystal clear. And beyond, I can perfectly see that there are millions, millions of red strings that tangle around. If people can only look to planet earth through my perspective, they can see that this world was not blue nor green. It was red. Millions of faces, all trying to chase their fate. Some that are in wrong path, many are lost. And some were on their way to their true fate. And some are lucky, that they found where, who and what they are meant to be.

People’s fate in this world was sorted. There are complex tangle, those who are often lost, confused and indecisive with their fates. Some people who belong to the complex tangle, are those who die without having the chance to find their true fate. The other one, was the simple tangle or simply the lucky ones. They are the ones who find their true fate, and live their lives happily, with their loved ones, passion, success and profession. And last was the neutral tangle, those who find their fate but still feel lost, and empty. Like there is something that’s missing. For me, they are the most unfortunate ones. They get all the things that they want, the success that they aim, but still feel empty.

My brows furrowed as I looked at the pair of complex and neutral red strings that glimmer among the oceans of string. I heaved a sigh and massaged my forehead. This kind of fate was the most complicated ones, I am seriously having a hard time on making way for these kind of people. Forgive me but I was not a God. I was just a mediator between their true fate, and their way to it. I was just a traveler who tries to pull their strings together, but in the end it is still the will of God that will lead them to their true fate. Seriously, this job is way more complicated than those job that I entered when I was still a human. I sipped my coffee and stare at the pair of complex and neutral strings, I smiled bitterly as I saw myself to them. They are unlucky.

Let me tell you a story. But to spoil you a bit, this is not a love story nor a life story. But this is a story about love and life. Difference was big.

She is Yssa, a doctor, and she belongs to the complex fate. He is Sam, an engineer, and he belongs to the neutral fate. And this is what happens when a neutral and complex fate, tangle together. It is literally choking.

15 years ago, Yssa was a stubborn and a happy-go-lucky college student. During her freshman year, she just loves living her life to the fullest. She loves to party, drink, go out with her friends and her mantra was literally “You Only Live Once”

She also loves socializing with people. She has this lovely aura that can make people fall in love with her just by seeing her smile. She is light and soft, she loves helping those who are in need. She even became a part of their school’s student council department during her sophomore year. She has the talent in music, and became prominent when she joined their University’s band. Their life is simple, she has a happy family, a religious parents and very supportive siblings. Her life was perfect — almost perfect.

Until a tragedy came to her life.

It was 4th of August, year 2005. Yssa was on her way home after attending her friend’s party, it was almost midnight. She was walking along the Timog street, as five drunk men approached her. She tried pushing them away, but they forced themselves to her. She tried to scream, to call for help, but there is no one. The rest was history, she was raped and that’s when she started hating her life.

A lonely boy. That’s what they called him.

Sam is an introvert, and socially awkward. He never mingles with anyone, he always wear his headphones because the noisy world irritates him. He was bullied during his high school days because of isolating himself from people. He has the talent in art and it became his way of expressing himself. He was abused by his father when he was a child, his mother abandoned them. His family was messed-up, he doesn’t even had people whom he can consider as home. He was always alone, alone and sad. He was used to this life, to the feeling of emptiness and sadness.

Until she met someone that changed her life.

It was 4th of August, year 2005. Sam was sitting alone on one of the benches on his favorite park. The ambience is good and quiet. He loves sitting there to feel the deafening silence and let himself consume by loneliness. He was taken aback when a girl approached her.

“I’ve been seeing you often here, you know what? This is my favorite spot, but since I always saw you sitting here, I just moved to another spot... there”

The girl pointed the bench on the dark part of the park while pouting her lips. Sam just looked at her, and never said a word.

“What do you listen to? Can I?”

Still, Sam has no word. He just removed his left earphone and handed it to the girl.

“Oh my God, they are my favorite band as well! You must listen to No More Bad Days, I do not know you but take that as a song from a stranger”

The girl smiled, and for the first time, Sam smiled too. A genuine smile. And that’s where they started.

It was almost midnight when they decided to part ways. Sam was walking along, smiling, volume’s up while listening the song that the girl had recommended. He doesn’t care about the world around him.

And that is the first time that I pulled their strings together.

Yssa was on her way home, to south. And Sam was on his way home, to North. And they met in the middle. They crossed their way, only two of them on the street. But sadly, he never heard Yssa’s scream as those 5 men forced themselves to her because he was wearing his earphones.

They did cross ways, but never noticed each other.

Yssa started hating her life after that tragedy. She dropped all her subject, she just spent her life on home. Taking her medicines, monthly counseling and quarter therapy to recover from her trauma. After a year of being raped, she changed so much. The happy Yssa has turned into someone opposite. She enrolled for a new course and moved into another University, still continuously taking her medicine. Moving on is not easy for her, though they caught those people who molested her, and she got the justice, still, it was more than traumatic. But she decided to build a new life. She never made friends with anyone, she became always alone. She became socially anxious, she loves wearing jacket, to cover her body from anyone. She never reveal her skin, and that makes people think that she is a weirdo. Even to her own brother and father she became distant, afraid to trust any man —even her own family. During her sophomore years, she decided to dropped her course again, because of her anxiety of people and being abused again. And that’s where she decided to do arts. She took online classes, and it seems like in there, she found a little call of passion and happiness. And after almost 3 years, she can say that she is slowly recovering from trauma.

Wearing her jacket, beanie and pants, March 14, year 2008. 1:30 in the afternoon, she decided to go outside to buy materials for her new piece. She was still anxious but after dropping her second course, it was her first time to go outside. Her mother insisted to buy the stuff for her. But Yssa refused to, she said that she can go alone outside.

On the other hand, Sam’s life has totally changed. To sum it up, the girl that he met that night became his friend — and their relationship turned into something more. The girl has became Sam’s girlfriend. After living almost all of his life alone, sad and empty, Sam has finally found a reason to pursue, to dream, to live. He turned into a happy man. He still hates the noisy world, but he learns to socialize with people and smile often. And that is because of his girlfriend. The girl changed him. He treated the girl as his own family. He also learned to forgive his parents for bringing him such loneliness. He is now a graduating engineering student, and all his success was for her. He almost had everything now, the love that he is craving, the forgiveness to his family and to himself, the happiness, the success. And he doesn’t want more. He is contented.

14th of March, year 2008. It was a day before his graduation day. Sam and his girlfriend decided to go on an Art’s shop, to look for art materials because Sam will be joining an online art competition. They used the stairs instead of riding the elevator. Because Sam’s girlfriend loves to walk.

And that’s the second time that I pulled their strings together.

Yssa rode the elevator, and they met at the shop. Sam was on the right side, looking for an acrylic water color, and Yssa was on the left side, looking for a sketchpad. And in the middle was Sam’s girlfriend.

They met again, but they didn’t notice each other. Because Sam was looking to her girlfriend— to another girl...and behind her girlfriend was his true fate, — Yssa.

The strings glimmer as their eyes met and rapidly glance with each other.

A year after that encounter, Yssa had quit arts and decided to enter a new University again. Where she took BS Psychology. Upon doing arts, she realized that she can express herself and fully recover from her trauma by trying to study her mind, and understand herself. She decided to help others who are going through the same trauma, by being a Psychologist. Time passed by, until she finally finished her bachelor's degree. She entered med school to pursue her calling, which is to become a Psychiatrist. Her College life was never been easy. She still isolates herself from people and never made friends with anyone. But as time goes by, she finally learned to smile at people again. To open a conversation and to comfort someone. Opening up about her trauma was difficult, but being a psychologist, she learned to deal with it. There are still nightmares that haunt her every night, things that make her remember what she experienced. But little by little, she build herself again.

It was 16th of May year 2012. Yssa was exhausted, med school is stressing her out. But she was thankful because her mind was too occupied with academics. Not with other things. She wears her usual jacket and beanie outfit. Many years have passed, but she can't still have the confidence and braveness to show her skin to people. She rode the bus and is on her way for their blood letting acitivity. It was a project conducted by the college of medicine, and every student was required to donate blood. With too much exhaustion, she puts her earphones, and sleep.

He is back to his old self, more lonely, alone and sad. After 6 years of being together, Sam and her girlfriend broke-up.

He also thought, that the girl was the one for her. They imagined and dream their futures together, they did all the things together. Sam's girlfriend was a part of him, and when she left, Sam was never complete again. The girl left to chase her dream abroad, and after a year of leaving, she married another guy in there. The reason why she left Sam and exchange him from the guy that she just met there was simply, falling out of love. Sam loathed the world again. He became miserable, he did all the things just to forget and move on from the girl that he only loved all his life. Starting over again without the part that made him whole, was hard. He busied himself with work. He became a very successful engineer, he has all the skills that make him famous. He adored by a lot of people. He has the money, the fame, but still, a big part of his life was missing. And that gap will never be filled by anything.

It was 16th of May, year 2012. Sam was on his way home, it was a gloomy day and he doesn't have any umbrella to protect himself from the rain. It was also the day of his car’s coding, that's why he doesn't have any choice but to commute. He was waiting for the bus on the bustling street of Marcos Hiway, and behind him was tents, full of medical people, doing a blood letting activity. The bus has finally arrived.

And that is the third time that I pulled their strings together.

Yssa was getting down the bus and Sam was riding into it. They bumped their shoulders together. The strings glimmer as they looked into each other's eye and said sorry.

They talked. But they never noticed each other.

Aaaaaaaa, I stretched my arms and drink my coffee. I smiled as I saw their strings glimmer again this time. I'm wrong, they are lucky. The will of God had put them together.

For the first time, I saw a complex and neutral strings that successfully tangled with each other. They are lucky, because unlike me, I never tangle with a neutral string. When I was a human, I fell inlove with a girl that belongs to the neutral string, I thought we were the ones for each other. But even before confessing my love to her, she killed herself because of emptiness and feeling unloved. I blamed myself for not showing that I truly care for her, that there is someone who loves her so much.

And with that, I killed myself too.

And this is my consequence. I became a mediator of fate. The one who pulls the strings of people together. The one who make way for them to meet and have their own happy endings. Life is ironic, right? I am the one who make people meet their true fates, but I, myself was alone and unhappy.

Life is a cycle of emotions. All people were played by their own destiny. God knows His plans for us, but people are the ones which are responsible to find their ways to it. In life, we were tossed and twisted, and it hurts. To assume today that everything’s gonna be fine, but tomorrow you’re gonna wake-up with another uncertainty of life. People must learn how to deal with it.

I smiled bitterly and look at the golden bracelet that glimmers on my left wrist.

CUPID.

My name was beautifully engraved on it. The only memory that she left on me.

Anyway, I smiled as I saw Yssa and Sam's string glimmers together. It was beautiful. Being with your true fate is beautiful.

The bus engine started again. Sam was on his way home, and Yssa was pumping a rubber ball while donating her blood.

Unluckily, in just snap, the bus had an accident when it swerved lane because of the slippery road and bumped into a ten-wheeler truck. Half of the passenger had died.

But he survived.

Sam was moved into the hospital where Yssa is currently studying. A lot of blood has lost by Sam. And luckily, there are thousands of blood with the same type as him on the hospital. Their strings glimmer that it almost blinded me, out of thousand bag of bloods, the doctor gets the bag of Yssa's blood.

He survived. And Yssa's blood was running through his veins. And they will never know.

Their strings tangle together as Sam woke up with a face of a smiling girl beside her.

A very unexplainable emotion, his heart skipped a beat.

"Hi Sam, I'm Yssa, your volunteer doctor"