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cicinicole-14 · 4 years

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it’s always the darkest before dawn

hey listen, the entire jolexgroupchat fucking bULLIED ME into writing a part two for ‘denial isn’t just a river in egypt’ and that was very rude, but y’know it yielded results somehow, so like ??? take that what you will… anyway here’s this. enjoy.

Relief floods her entire body as soon as her eyes land on him. The feelings of dread and worry that had been wracking her body at the thought of returning to an empty loft with a baby that she had nothing for, by herself, terrified her. But just the sight of him brought relief through her.

She couldn’t cross the loft fast enough, practically catapulting into his embrace, grateful he was on the couch, fearing she’d knock him over if not.

She melts into his arms, burying her head into the crook of his neck, holding him so close, so tight.

The feeling of his arms wrapped around her waist and back, holding her against him, just like he used to. She inhales his scent, letting it flood her senses and relishes in the fact that he’s real; he’s here, for her, for them.

She pulls back, with tears in her eyes, but still, a sad smile on her face. “Come meet our son.” She says, pulling him up as she stood, leading him over to the bed where his carrier lay.

Meredith gently unclips the straps from his chest and between his tiny legs, adjusting the hat from covering his eyes and carefully lifts him out, presenting him over to Jo. Jo cradles him gently against her chest, tucking her head down to look at him and then back up at Alex.

“This is Luca. Luca, meet your Daddy.” She says, passing off the baby to Alex.

Meredith takes the moment to excuse herself, wishing the two a congratulations on their baby before slipping out of the loft, leaving the new parents to themselves.

Alex takes the baby from Jo, supporting his tiny, jello-y body in his massive hands.

Jo takes a step back, taking in the sight of how tiny Luca looked in Alex’s arms, the sight of Alex holding his son, the sight of seeing her family together. It resonates through her and she lets out a breath she’d seemingly been holding in, letting the calm feeling course through her.

She was happy. She felt whole. Everything was right.

Until it wasn’t.

Until Alex mentioned he was leaving the following week, on Sunday morning. Because he had a job, and kids, and an Izzie, and a life, all back in Kansas, where he didn’t belong. A life that she didn’t fit into.

And the feelings of dread resume. The feelings of denial come back, except this time, she isn’t able to deny the fact that she has a child, not with the way that he’s waking her up in the middle of the night every few hours to nurse. His constant crying to be held or soothed, or changed. The need of just being a newborn, and she just doesn’t have the energy anymore. Her world is cracking and crumbling, threatening to fall apart, only three days left until her shred of happiness will disappear again.

The three days pass in a blur, and she deteriorates even further.

The knocking at the loft door is almost concealed by the sound of Luca’s cries, but she doesn’t care. Whoever’s on the other side will go away eventually, she hopes.

Her hopes are crushed when there’s a key in the lock and the door slides open, and she can hear Meredith talking to her, but she doesn’t listen to her. And then Luca’s cries grow quieter, into soft whimpers and then smooth sounds of suckling.

“Jo! When has he last eaten? How long has he been crying?”

She doesn't answer, only clutching the pillow closer to her chest, taking a deep breath and inhaling the lingering scent of Alex still left on the pillowcase where his head lay, just that morning, mere hours ago.

Meredith paces the loft, feeding the baby and quietly getting him to sleep before putting him back in the crib across the loft, Ellis’ old one.

Meredith stays, the day, the rest of the week, stays every night, sleeping right next to Jo in the bed and seemingly takes care of them both, watching Jo slip further. She watches as Jo’s routine of getting up with Luca to feed him, clothe him, bathe him, all falter. She sleeps longer, harder. Her appetite fades and her mood fluctuates between being alright and conversing with Meredith to downright anger with her.

Meredith watches the light drain from Jo’s eyes, further and further every day. She watches as Jo starts refusing to take Luca from her for feedings, thus resulting in her having to give him formula. She watches as the bond she knew Jo had with her son, slips right out from under them.

She calls in reinforcements, in the form of Link, who Jo just ends up yelling at them both and barring Link from even being in the loft entirely after stating he was worried about her and concerned for Luca’s well-being.

She yells at Meredith for having the audacity to call Link in the first place, but ultimately decides to let her stay, having no energy to continue fighting with her, or energy to deal with the screaming child in the crib due to the influx of loud voices in the tiny home.

Meredith steps out late that night, calling Alex to inform him on what’s been going on. To ask him for help, to see if he would know what to do.

They gave Jo until the end of the week, gave her room to improve on her actions before Alex returned, but she hadn’t.

She had still been withdrawn and distant. Her son had barely seemed to know her by the end of his almost first month of life. And it broke Meredith’s heart to see such a close friend of hers going through so much heartache.

Alex returned on a Thursday, late in the evening, with a suitcase in hand, to see for himself just how worse for wear Jo really was.

“You left, again.”

The sound of her voice makes them both freeze as Meredith looks up at Jo just as Alex settles himself into the loft, ready to take Luca from his friend.

They both turn and stare at her, not knowing what to say. She’s still lying in the bed, unmoving, not even looking in their direction, he’s surprised she even knew he was there due to the lack of acknowledgement.

She doesn’t say anything else after that, and he apologizes, but there’s really nothing else he could say other than sorry.

He leaves early Monday morning, and Jo’s slight rise in demeanor fades again, and she goes back to the detached shell of a human she’d been.

She doesn’t eat again, doesn’t speak, doesn’t even flinch when Luca cries anymore, and Meredith’s grasping at straws, looking for answers at this point.

“She’s got PPD, Mer. I’ve seen the signs in parents in the NICU. It’s hard, but she was a huge candidate for it. The history of depression, the abandonment issues and past trauma I forced upon her by leaving her, pregnant and alone. The medical complications with his birth. Almost every risk factor I could name, she’s got.” He says into the phone.

“What do we do? I can’t keep doing this. I can’t watch her as she throws away her life like this, Alex. I can’t watch her become this shell of a person when I knew how happy having a family with you would make her. I know she loves Luca, but I can’t watch her do this to herself anymore.” She’s got the phone wedged between her ear and one shoulder while she props Luca up on the other, patting his back to burp him.

She knows Jo can hear her, and she feels bad, initially, but maybe hearing how this was affecting her too, maybe it would spark something in Jo, she hoped.

“I’m coming back on Friday, I’m taking them both here. I can’t keep missing work, or leaving the kids, but I’m worried about her. I know she does better when I’m around. I don’t know if it’ll help, but they’re both coming here to live with me.” He says, “She doesn’t have a choice. I can’t watch her go through this, knowing I’m the reason why.”

“What about the twins? Have you told them? Izzie?” Meredith questions.

“Iz knows. I told her everything once I came back from the last trip. She’s the one that suggested moving Jo out here, since she’d seemed to do better with me around. And we’d sat the twins down together the other night to tell them about Jo and their baby brother Luca coming to stay at Daddy’s house, and they’d get to see them both when it was my days with them.” He sighs, and Meredith can only assume he’s rubbing his hand over his face, thinking about the upcoming adjustments for them all. “Izzie even pulled out boxes of old baby things she still kept from the twins. And the new crib will be here on Thursday before I leave. I just need her here, them here. I need her to be okay.”

“She will be, it’s always the darkest before dawn. It’s Jo. You know she’s going to be okay. She just needs a little help.”

Friday hadn’t come fast enough for any of them. And it left Alex in a whirlwind of emotions and things to accomplish and do before the very short weekend was over.

Meredith had helped him so very much. Even Schmidt and Link had too, helping get things from the lot packed quickly, all while Jo had yelled and protested about leaving her home. About how she didn’t need anyone’s help and that she hated each and every single one of them for doing this.

But the moment that Sunday afternoon had rolled around, and Alex stood at the loft door, baby carrier in one hand and suitcase in the other, all hell had broken loose.

Jo had screamed at him, yelling how he couldn’t just take her son away from her. How he was ruining their family and how she hated him.

But Alex had just calmly set the carrier down onto the ground, careful not to wake his sleeping son, and reached out for Jo. He was careful of his actions, making sure she knew he wasn’t going to grab at her making her think he’d hurt her, but instead, he reaches out his hand and rubs her upper arm before she stills, and he takes the moment to pull her fully into his embrace.

He holds her, firmly, yet gentle, as he begins to swipe wisps of hair from her face that had fallen from the tangled bun on the top of her head. “Jo. Jo, listen to me.” He says softly, trying to get her attention. “I’m not taking him from you, I told you this, I promised you this. You’re both coming with me. I can’t be in two places at once, but you need me with you, so I came back here for you, to get you. We’re going to Kansas. We’re going to be a family there, together, remember? Remember what we talked about last night? You’re going to get to meet Eli and Alexis, and they’re going to get to know you, and grow up with their baby brother. They can’t wait to meet you.” He promises.

Her shaking anger starts to dissipate, and his tight embrace loosens as he backs away from her, just enough to look into her eyes. “Can we go now? We don’t want to be late for our flight.” He says softly.

She only nods in response, wrapping both her arms into his, fearing to even let go. He struggles for a moment, wondering how to juggle the baby, Jo, and the suitcase at the top of the loft stairs before ultimately deciding to leave the bag to walk Jo and the baby down to the car before returning to put the suitcase in after.

They return to his house later that evening, and he welcomes her home, hoping that the change of scenery might help.

He settles her in, showing her around before leaving her suitcase in the guest room, watching as the first thing she did was crawl into the bed to sleep.

He lets her, knowing that just traveling alone could wear her out in this state.

He decides on making dinner, her favorite boxed macaroni and cheese, in hopes it would entice her to put something in her body besides the protein bars they’d all been forcing her to eat just to basically survive.

He walks up the stairs with a sleeping, full Luca in one arm and a bowl of the macaroni in his other hand, leaving the bowl on her nightstand before putting the baby in the new crib in his room.

He turns in for the night a few hours later, and just as he’s drifting off to sleep, he feels her slip in bed next to him. He doesn’t say anything, just wraps his arm around her waist and pulls her close, inhaling her scent as he begins to drift off to sleep.

A cry startles him awake, and he turns to roll over and slip out of bed to sooth the baby, but she’s beating him to it, already halfway out of bed.

“I’ve got him.” A quiet whisper into the night.

And he watches as she shuffles across the room in the dark, lifting the baby out of his crib and reaching for the water bottle and container of formula on the changing table next to them, preparing a bottle like it was second nature to her. He watches her pace the room, feeding their son in the dead of night, as if nothing had been wrong.

The three simple words echoing in his ears that change his world. Three simple words that gave him the hope that everything would be okay again.

#cici writes #jolex #jolex fic #alex karev #jo wilson

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anemonenemerosa · 4 years

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Oops sorry!! I just assumed with oknutzy! Maybe 17 for Wolfstar 🥰

No worries, anon! Since your request was already written by @mooncat457writing (read it, it’s sooo good) and no other prompt of the list was simliar, I thought of a new one and wrote something for you. I hope you ike it!

"The door fell shut behind me while getting the mail. Now I'm stuck outside on a windy October day"

The bright side of locking yourself out

It was 1 pm when the insistent ringing of the doorbell jerked Sirius out of his dreams. He grumbled for a few moments before his brain caught up and reminded him that he'd ordered a replacement for the broken gear-belt of his motorcycle. And Sirius really needed to get the bike repaired 'cause taking the tube to and from work was just the worst. So, he jumped out of bed and raced to the door of the building – there's no way he's missing the mailperson! Tough luck, Sirius was just in time to see the backlights of the delivery-truck disappear behind a corner.

"God, damnit!" He cursed loudly, mentally just warming up for a full-on rant when a particularly forceful wind-gust shoved half a ton of leaves in Sirius' face and caused an unfortunate bang behind his back.

No. Please no. Slowly, as if keeping off looking might undo what the dreadful noise promised, Sirius turned around, finally staring at the firmly closed door. It is just now that he realised that he's not only stuck outside on a rather unpleasant mid-October day, no, he's stuck outside barefoot, only wearing his pyjama bottoms and a worn shirt. No phone, no keys. It began to rain, no umbrella. What. A. Day.

Just two months ago, Sirius still lived with James and that wouldn't have been much of a problem. Back in the day, James was still writing his final assignment for his degree and stayed at home all the time.But since he graduated, found himself a paying job and moved in with Lily, Sirius lives alone for the very first time in his 25 years on this planet. And while he loved Lily dearly, Sirius couldn't always stop himself from feeling a bit abandoned and lonely, which was ridiculous, of course. Since they got together, James and Lily never let any doubt creep in that Sirius was anything but loved and treasured by both of them.

But the sentiment was of no use just then. In that moment, he needed to find a pragmatic solution. What does one do, trapped outside with no phone, no keys and no shoes? Sirius sighed in resignation. One does walk to the next cafe, beg them to use their phone without coming off as a complete nutter and call James to rescue him.

About five steps from the door, Sirius stopped dead in his tracks, quest forgotten. Walking right up to him was his neighbour from upstairs, the most intriguing person Sirius has ever met, or almost met, seen that they had never talked before.

The guy seemed very unassuming the few times he saw him in the stairway with his knit sweaters and washed out jeans. He was very quiet in the mornings as if he unknowingly considered that Sirius, as a bartender, worked during the nights and really needed his mornings to sleep. During the afternoon however, enjoyable music wafted down through Sirius' open windows together with the delicious smell of freshly cooked food.

The neighbour -Lupin, it said on the mailbox- stared at Sirius with wide eyes for a moment before he stepped closer, holding his umbrella over both of them.

"Erm." The other man said instead of greeting him.

"Please don't ask." Sirius implored him, completely done with this day already. But then again, Lupin had a nice voice.

"Right", Lupin laughed, "You live in the basement, right? Black? I'm going to ask anyway... aren't you cold?"

Not what Sirius expected to be asked. Naturally, his response was eloquent, he was absolutely not caught off guard, "Uhh -yeah, I live here. And- and I'm cold... but I thought you were-"

"-going to ask why you are out here?" Lupin laughed again, a really nice sound, "You clearly locked yourself out. No one goes around in the rain in October like this. Want to come in to mine? Dry off and call someone?"

With that he looked pointedly at Sirius, who took the glance as a clue to have a look at himself. So, summed up, he was drenched, with dirty feet and unkempt hair. Not the first impression he wanted to make on his neighbour. He's a proper adult now. Anyhow, this was by far his best option "That would actually safe my day."

Without another word, Sirius was led upstairs, offered a warm shower and some soft clothes, which were a bit too big for him (Lupin was at least half a head taller than himself). Clean and dry, Sirius sits in Lupin's little kitchen for his next task: calling James, who couldn't leave work for another three hours, meant that Sirius either waited for another four hours or paid 600 pounds for key-service to open his door, which he found out in the next call. He got a string of curses off his chest and was met with an astounded look of Lupin, who had poked his head though the door. Today, Sirius was impressively good at presenting himself at his worst.

"I'm sorry." He mumbled, not looking at his generous neighbour.

"Nah it's fine." Said one just shrugged, "What did your friend say?"

"Another four hours or 600 pounds." Sirius supplied, feeling a little miserable.

"Oh, unfortunate. Do you want to wait here? I have some work to do but you can hang out if you want."

"No, thank you. That would be too much" It really would.

"No. Really, it's no bother. I wouldn't offer if it wasn't alright." Lupin waved him off, "I'm Remus, by the way. And before you ask: Yes, Remus like in the Roman mythology"

"Nice to officially meet you, Remus, like in the Roman mythology." Sirius bowed mockingly, "I'm Sirius, and before you ask, yes, like the star and yes, I've probably heard all of the serious-jokes in existence by now."

With introductions out of the way, Sirius was sat on the big and comfortable couch in the living room with a nice cup of milky tea. He had no idea what to do now and felt a bit awkward, but his neighbour seemed unbothered by his surprise-guest.

"Sorry to be such a bad host but I have a bit work to do, I didn't get to do last night. If you like, feel free to take whatever book sparks your interest from the shelves." Remus apologised and put on some quiet music over his phone while settling in a cosy armchair across the couch with a stack of papers on his lap. It was only then, that Sirius realised how good-looking Remus was. His hair, light brown, wavy and a bit shaggy was falling slightly into his bright hazel eyes, focused on the papers in front of him. Suddenly, Remus huffed, scrunched up his slightly crooked nose (dusted with freckles that spread over his cheekbones) and lifted his left hand to his thin-lipped mouth to gnaw at his thumbnail.

"Displeasing literature?" Sirius heard himself asking before he could check the question in his mind for stupidity.

"You have no idea." the other man grumbled, "That one actually wrote that the inhabitants of Egypt are the mummies!"

Sirius couldn't help but bark a laugh at the affronted tone of Remus' voice,

"So, you're teaching history?"

"Yeah." Remus sighed and plucked a red pen from the little table beside him and began vigorously scribbling onto the paper.

The conversation felt to be over for now as Sirius' host seemed, indeed, quite busy. So, Sirius took up the offer to have a look at the bookshelves lining three walls of the room. The carped felt warm and soft under his bare feet while he strolled along the shelves. Quickly he recognised several of his favourites among the countless books and when his eye caught on The Little Prince, he couldn't resist to take it with him back to the couch.

When he was settled again, Remus looked up to see what Sirius had picked and smiled around a soft hum "I've read so many books and this is still one of my favourites."

Sirius couldn't help but smile back. "Mine, too."

From then on, they sat in a far more comfortable silence than before, both engulfed in their literature. Now and then, Remus huffed or snorted and shared some of the more entertaining mishaps of his students. It felt like they've been spending their afternoons together like this for years. Sirius was simultaneously at peace and properly creeped out.

After a while. Remus got up and returned with a fresh cup of tea for both of them. Steeped for exactly long enough, with the perfect amount of milk in it.

"It's wild that I've been living here for a little over two months and we barely even saw each other, isn't it?" Sirius commented, cradling his new cup in his hands while Remus got once again comfortable in his armchair.

"No, not really." The other man supplied with a slightly sad smile, "See, I teach evening classes from around 7 pm to midnight, get home around 1 am and because I'm an absolute night owl, I usually do my grading and preparations right after until 4 or 5 and then sleep 'till noon. And while I thrive in my rhythm, it's a bit hard to meet, or just come across, people... or get to go out for breakfast. It's silly but I love breakfast and until I get up, most places have switched to the lunch-menu already."

What are the chances. "And here I thought that you were so quiet in the mornings because you are psychic and just know that I sleep during that time." Sirius couldn't help the chuckle bubbling up his throat at the puzzled expression of the man across him. "I'm a bartender and work from 8 to 3 in the morning during the week and until 5 on Fridays and Saturdays." He elaborated, "after that I'm often too riled up to go directly to sleep, so I often go to bed around 6 and sleep until 1."

Remus just stared at him. "Our schedules are nearly identical."

Sirius opened his mouth to reply when the sound of the doorbell interrupted them. Remus got up to open the door to a hurried James, who handed Sirius the spare-keys, kissed his cheek and stormed off again.

"So, this was James. Is he your boyfriend, then?" The cosy atmosphere dissolved with the appearance of a wary look on Remus' face.

"Nah. He is my best friend, practically brother. I know, kissing is rather uncommon between two male friends, but we've been doing that since we met fourteen years ago, and I don't give a shit about convention." Sirius explained with a fond smile on his face.

After that, they parted rather quickly as both men needed to get ready for work, but a lot still lingered in the air, unsaid. His shift went over much too slow for Sirius while he brooded over the change in the atmosphere at the end of his stay with his neighbour.

The next day, Sirius woke up with a plan. A potentially humiliating plan, but worth the risk. He got up much quicker than usual, fired up the oven and began preparing. Around 12:30 Sirius knocked at his neighbour's door and was met with a sleepy Remus in pyjamas.

"Hey- erm... good morning! Here are your clothes!" Sirius began far too loud. All he achieved was a furrowed brow on the other man's face.

Get a grip, Black! "Uhh...OK. Listen, I really like you. Would you like to have a breakfast-date with me?" He tried to put on a winning smile while lifting the tray in his hands a bit.

Remus, who had blushed furiously during Sirius' rambling, blinked at him once before a wide grin spread on his face and he stepped aside to let Sirius and the warm croissants in.

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just-anka · 4 years

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I realised I haven’t really regularly posted here since like... I don’t even know, September? It’s been a while, anyway. A lot happened, and I now feel like actually writing a post for the first time in a while, so here goes haha. The first bullet point is entirely work waffle so feel free to skip. Apologies in advance for the fact that this post will probably reach novel length by the time I’m done.

• I took a week off in late September before Ben started his new job so we could go to the mountains for a bit, and it was a much-needed little break from work. And pretty much right after I got back, work got completely mental - nothing bad as such, just one thing after the other, loads of deadlines, so many important things. First I was finishing up data for a paper (first authorship was being debated which is partially why I threw myself into the job so much, but it looks like it’ll be the PhD student before me’s now, which is how it should be tbh, it’s much more hers than it is mine), then the date for my first committee meeting was set and I suddenly had only two weeks to prepare (did not think it was going to be that short notice, whoops, had a very stressful two weeks but all went well - for us, this meeting means presenting our research plan and preliminary data to a committee of four professors so they can give you input, it’s not suuuper formal but still pretty stressful), then I had to write the report for that (I love writing so that one was okay), then there was suddenly a lot to do for a really important cooperation with a company (big money responsibility which stressed me the fuck out), and then, just as I thought I was pretty much done for the year, I realised I needed my lab book up to date for my end of year meeting with my PI (which wouldn’t be such a big deal, except I didn’t have a lab book at the time. Never got around to starting one. So nine months of lab book were written within another very stressful week). Whew. Even writing this out makes me feel like that was a lot haha.

• After the end of year discussion, I really was done for the year - I officially worked until the 23rd but there was not that much actual work happening, and with the pressure off after months, I properly crashed for a few days. Ben left for England on the weekend after to see his family for christmas etc, and I spent most of that weekend sleeping and doing very little. It was needed. Then my mum came to visit me for the holidays and we had four really lovely days together, also involving a lot of chilling (the only actual thing we did was that magical winter hike that I posted some pictures of the other day).

• And now I’m skiing! I was planning to go to England as well for NYE to see Ben’s family, but with the corona situation escalating again lately I decided it was too risky for just a few days. So I made a last-minute plan to go skiing by myself instead, because all that involves is a 2 hour train journey. I’m actually staying in a hotel too, which I’ve never done by myself before, I’m usually a dorm in a hostel type of person, but well. Covid has changed a lot of things :D trying to stay safe and away from people, which is of course not entirely possible in a ski resort, but it’s going okay. The skiing itself is great, it’s really nice having some time to go at my own pace and a few days in a row. Today was day 4 and I’ve really found my groove again (more on that later). There’s not much snow though so not many off-pisteing opportunities :/ I’m staying until Monday and then it’s back to work on Wednesday.

• Speaking of skiing, we’ve got season passes this year, my first season and Ben’s second. We’ve just been doing on the weekends so far - since the 21st of November I just realised while looking back in my calendar! That’s one hell of an early season start haha. We did just one day three weekends and then one full weekend right before Ben left. The first few days were bloody hard. For context, I learned to ski before I learned to walk and loved it as a child, then stopped for a few years because I felt like I wasn’t progressing anymore and was getting bored with it, basically. Then last January I went to France with Ben and his skiing friends and got introduced to freeriding and the idea of ski touring, and now I’m back to loving it haha. I’d ideally like to not have to resort ski anymore at one point (meaning touring) because I know it’s terrible from an environmental standpoint but... idk. It’s currently my only option, and I love it a lot, so I guess it feels okay? Anyway, since I learned to ski so early, it’s the one sport that I’ve always been pretty good at and like, never get scared, at least not on piste. Until this year. The first three individual days were just all kind of horrible, the conditions weren’t ideal with very hard surface and tons of ice and pretty busy slopes, and only steep terrain open as well (Engelberg, our “home” resort - we have a season pass that encompasses a bunch of resorts so we’re not limited to one - is literally dead flat beginner’s slopes, which weren’t open in the beginning, or red runs that should be black and black lol). Pairing loads of ice with my old skis which barely have an edge anymore was... not ideal. I was so scared constantly and it made me like I lost all my ability etc etc. But yeah, turns out I just needed a few days and some easier conditions to get back into it, and now ice and steep stuff and everything is fine again. Who would’ve thought. (a sensible person, probably).

• But then, the full weekend we skied in December was awesome! Saturday already felt much better and then it snowed a bunch over night and Sunday we spent all day powder skiing, basically. I learned SO much and just had an absolute ball! Definitely one of the best days skiing I’ve had, and one of the best days recently in general.

• Plus that whole weekend was just lovely, car camping in a campsite full of huge campervans was pretty fun :D I love the looks we get when people see the car and clearly wonder where we sleep. And we’ve got our setup perfected for winter now so both the nights were toasty. Friday night we had dinner in “bed” watching a movie, and Saturday night we sat in the little kitchen (the campsite has it open for everyone, but everyone else there has a camper, so it doesn’t seem to be used much) drinking tea and playing cards and ahh. Camping in the mountains. My ideal life eh? (though the weekend before this wonderful one, we got snowed in because it dumped over a metre over night completely unexpectedly and that was stressful as hell, but I think that’s a story for another day, if ever, I’m kind of trying to forget that day :’D)

• Yesterday I also finally took the plunge and ordered new skis. Been debating for ages which ones to get but I’ve finally decided and I’m now very excited!

• Ok this post so far reads as “work and skiing” which is pretty much what November and December were and probably what January is going to be too haha. Ben and I want to ski another week together end of January as well, and there’s some big exciting work things coming up as well.

• Even though I have to admit, now that I’m on a break, I’ve spent a lot of time dreading work and questioning my career choices and all of that lark... sigh. I love my job most of the time, but I kind of hate having a job? If that makes sense? Sometimes (okay a lot of the time) I just wish I had more time for other things that I care about. But I also now I’m lucky to have that job, especially this year, and lucky to have a job I don’t hate, and get to do a lot of fun stuff on the side, even if it often means little sleep and downtime.

• Speaking of things I care about, I was on a proper roll with writing for a few days before and after Christmas. It’s ebbed off again a bit, but it was still pretty cool, and my totally-useless-all-cheese-project is now 33,000+ words long and like, half-way there story wise. Had a lot of fun with that.

• Lastly, Ben is still in England, and he’s coming back next Sunday, and I can’t wait! I miss him so much when we’re not together it’s actually silly. Although it’s less stressful this time than the last few times because... we live together, his work just offered him an unlimited contract from January, and I’m stuck here for another 2-3 years, so it looks like we’ll actually get to be in the same place for now. Which is all I wished for last year, and I’m so damn grateful - that stability really is the best thing 2020 has brought for me. And, as he said, even though we were apart for the start of the new year, it will hopefully bring more time together than any previous year ♡

• Okay I think this is long enough now, if you actually made it until here you’re a hero and I will try and post a bit more regularly again now to avoid this size of mind dump :’D I hope you all got into the new year alright, it feels very strange to me that it’s 2021 because I actually slept through midnight on new year’s for the first time since I was tiny haha but I’m sure a lot of people feel the same way!

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visionsofus · 4 years

Note

Hi! I’ve been reading some of your Wanda & Vision mixtape series and after the season final, I HIGHLY recommend giving “Our Corner of the Universe” by K. S. Rhoads a listen! I think your series is such a great idea and it’s so well written; warm without being cheesy.

You seriously are trying to break my heart with this song - I'd never thought about listening to it in the context of Wanda and Vision but boy once I did my heart was in pieces. Anyway! I hope you like where I went with this.

| read on AO3 here | mixtape playlist | send me an ask with your song/prompt request |

track #8 of Wanda and Vision’s Mixtape ~ Our corner of the universe

Synopsis: In which Wanda and Vision are coming to the end of a few weeks together in Paris pre-IW and Wanda dreams a life for them where they no longer have to run and hide. Unknowingly, she draws Vision into her dream and they both must contend with the idea that this reality isn't something that will be easy for them.

Paris had grown colder in the last few days, as though the city knew the time was coming when Vision would have to leave. The sun had disappeared early that morning behind a cover of clouds that had seen the day through until sunset, leaving a soft rain to patter against the glass French doors. They were huddled in bed now, Vision tracing soft patterns about Wanda’s back as he watched the rain drizzle down the glass.

“Tomorrow is too soon,” she whispered, her head shifting slightly from where it was resting atop his chest.

“I know,” he murmured into her hair, kissing the top of her head affectionately.

“One day we won’t run like this,” Wanda said looking up into his eyes and Vision tried to smile. Normally he was more hopeful, but it was now coming to the end of their second year of meeting up like this and it was difficult to see a future where they could be else. Of a time when they might have a life together that was more than stolen moments in distant cities.

“One day we’ll be able to live together in one place, we’ll have neighbours and friends, we won’t have to hide.”

“I hope so, my love,” Vision said opening his arms wider as Wanda got under the dark bed covers for the evening. Once she was settled, he slid off the bed and went about turning the lights out and checking the doors were locked. It was routine for them now. Once Vision was sure that everything was safely locked up, he joined Wanda, pulling a blanket from the foot of the bed atop the covers for added warmth.

Wanda shuffled closer to him as he lay down beside her and he opened his arms for her to rest atop his chest once more. They were often inseparable like this on the last night, needing the physical connection of each other to remind themselves to be present in the moment and not spend their precious hours dreading the coming morning.

Vision ran his fingers through Wanda’s hair in calming motions as her breath slowed. Eventually he stilled and started to drift off himself, into the version of sleep that his synthezoid body demanded.

Neither of them was conscious when Wanda’s hand twitched atop Vision’s chest, red mist forming before dissipating in the air between them.

Vision didn’t dream. It wasn’t that he couldn’t, if he really wanted to his synthetic brain could replicate something close to the dreamlike state that humans experienced. But he generally preferred the endless quiet that came with his brain’s resting state. The chance for stillness, even for a few hours, was a relief. Perhaps there was an element of self-preservation to it, the fear that Wanda would be caught and that he would have to watch her be imprisoned once more haunted his waking hours enough, he would rather not be consumed by the same thoughts at night.

So it came as something of a surprise when Vision found himself opening his eyes to warm sunlight, despite his brain reminding him that he was indeed, still resting. It disconcerting trying to reconcile his physical form, which remained in the Parisian apartment in bed beside Wanda, and his mental form currently cast in sunlight somewhere, somewhen, else.

Judging from the light streaming through the four paned windows opposite his face, it was early morning, where though, he couldn’t tell. Slowly, Vision rolled over and came face to face with the peaceful, sleeping face of his partner. She sighed softly and shifted closer to him.

“Go back to sleep, it’s too early,” she whispered to him.

“It’s night-time,” Vision said in confusion.

Wanda’s eyes opened and she scrunched her nose up at him. “Just a few more minutes.”

This put him at ease, it was exactly what his Wanda said most mornings. “Of course, a few more minutes,” he said, and Wanda sighed happily, moving closer to rest her head upon his shoulder like a pillow.

“We should stay like this forever.”

Vision smiled and his eyes drifted closed against the sun, wishing that every morning might be like this.

He started when he suddenly found himself standing in an unfamiliar living room. It was a cosy space, mostly occupied by a large red couch and a collection of armchairs assembled around a flat screen television. He spun on the spot looking around for Wanda.

“Vis? Is that you?” Came Wanda’s disembodied voice and Vision followed it through the next room into a quaint kitchen complete with cluttered island and wooden dining table.

“Darling?” Vision said hesitantly, closing the kitchen door behind him. “What’s going on?”

“I just wanted to make sure that your evening is free for next Friday, we’ve been invited to dinner,” Wanda said running her fingers atop a calendar and marking a square with a black marker.

She was dreaming, that much he was now sure of. This strange transition to what appeared to be a few hours later was the most obvious indicator. Not to mention the haze like state of their surroundings, as though the interior designer had given up halfway through the décor process. Kitchen tiles faded off into exposed wall, there were two clocks hanging above the sink ticking in opposite directions, and though there were cookbooks sitting on the kitchen island, when Vision tried to make sense of their titles, he found he couldn’t read any of them.

He’d talked with Wanda about what kind of house that she would like one day, but that had been a while ago and he’d been hesitant to add himself to that image. Now here he was in her dreamscape, in a made-up house that they appeared to live in, together.

“So that is a yes for you next Friday?” Wanda said absentmindedly as she began to move around the kitchen assembling a breakfast of scrambled eggs and bacon.

“Yes,” Vision said, deciding it was best to play along, distantly recalling that it wasn’t a good idea to wake sleepwalkers. He didn’t want to give Wanda a fright or force her into a lucid dream state. Instead he watched in wonder as she continued to navigate the space with ease, her hands finding the cupboard with the saucepans and the cutlery drawer without hesitation, it was fascinating to watch. He wasn’t entirely sure how Wanda had drawn him into her dream, but for now he was content to observe.

“I was thinking of making Paprikash to take, what do you think?” Wanda asked as she brought her meal to the table and gestured for him to join her.

“I think—” Vision began, watching her smile up at him as he hovered about the table. “I think that is a wonderful idea.”

“I’m glad you think so,” she said grinning and taking a napkin from a pile on the table, “perhaps I can teach you how to make it properly?”

“I’d love that,” he replied, thinking tenderly of his pathetic first attempt at the dish all those years earlier. Back when he’d been a lovestruck being, not entirely capable of processing the wave of feelings he got every time she was near. He supposed not much had changed, if anything the feelings had grown more intense.

Before Vision had time to further dissect the space about them, the scene changed yet again and he found himself standing in a park whose grass was slightly too green, the colours of the playground a little too bright. The colours lost their saturation around the corners of his view, as though the paintbrush had run out of paint for the edges.

Vision instead turned his attention to the woman walking beside him, her arm tucked into the nook of his elbow as they strolled through the park. He was distinctly aware of Wanda chattering away about their imaginary schedule for the weekend, suggesting a movie the following day at the outdoor cinema with their neighbours and reminding him of the community meeting the following Wednesday.

He smiled softly and listened to her creating this life for them, wishing it into existence. He was content to just hear her speak, to gain this glimpse into a future they clearly both wanted, even if it was just a dream for the time being. It reignited his desire to fight for a shared life with Wanda. The running and hiding had been wearing them both down recently, but it humbled his despair to know that Wanda still longed for this version of life. It made him want to do as much as he could to get them something close to this life.

Vision turned his face to the sun as they walked, relishing in its warmth as glimpses of light made it through the greenery above them. Her hand was a constant on his arm, her voice in his head telling him of all they both wished for, birds providing a background chorus.

His eyes opened once more, smiling as he turned his head to look at Wanda. It took a moment to realise this wasn’t part of the dream, that he had returned to their current reality once more.

It was still dark outside and for a brief moment his heart held onto the hope that time had paused while they dreamt, that it was still evening, but a glance to the digital clock on their bedside table told Vision it was nearing 7am. He was due to get the train at 10am.

Wanda was still curled against his side, her breathing slow and steady, one hand had reached across the covers as they slept, reaching for him. He took it rubbing her cold fingers to warm them up. As he did so, she stirred beside him.

“Wanda,” he murmured to the morning air, brushing her hair off her cheek with gentle touches.

“No,” she whispered back, scrunching her eyes closed causing little tears to leak from the corners. “I didn’t want to wake up.”

“I know,” he said.

“I wanted to stay there.”

“One day.”

Wanda opened her eyes at this and looked up at him, her questions clear. He smiled tightly at her but was sure it came across as something closer to a grimace. Understanding reached her eyes and he nodded sadly, confirming that he’d seen it all too.

“One day,” he repeated, like a promise and she slid her arms around his waist in answer, pulling herself closer to his warmth.

They held each other for as long as they could afford before knowing that they had no other choice than to get ready for their respective departures. With their bags packed, Vision set about making a quick breakfast for Wanda, the same scrambled eggs and bacon she’d made in her dream world. She stayed pressed to his back, her arms wrapped around his waist, as though afraid he’d disappear like her dreams.

At the station they waited at the platform as the train pulled in. Vision hated this part the most, hated that he had to be the one to turn his back first, but Wanda never told him where she was going next, it was to protect them both.

“We will find a way to that home,” he whispered at her ear as they hugged one last time.

“You really think we could have that?” she asked, voicing the question they both seemed too scared to ask all morning.

“I promise to you,” he said holding her hands tightly between them, “that I will do everything in my power to make that life for us.”

She smiled and leant forward to kiss him one more time.

“Travel safe,”

“And you,”

And Vision was leaving again, not knowing when they’d next be able to meet up, or for how long. At least some of his hopelessness had turned to hope in the last few hours, reignited by the knowledge that she longed for the same life he did. Doubt was always following him, and he’d started to wonder if he’d been overstepping where they were at in their relationship, but he could no longer ignore how right it had felt. They’d find a way to that corner of the universe, one day.

#wandavision #wanda x vision #scarletvision #ScarletVision fanfic #visionsofusfics #wholesome domestic stuff but also sad SV #longing for a life they can't have yet #hurts more in the context of WandaVision #but no spoilers or anything

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gustafsnightangel · 4 years

Text

Shattered Lives Ch 31 Pt 1

The days following Sildie’s birthday passed with the usual pre Christmas rush, work, and kids. Sildie and Gustaf got caught up in the holiday spirit, buying presents, squaring away the legal paperwork, working out the logistics of moving. It was a little daunting for both of them. Then there was the Christmas party and dinner with his family Christmas Day. Out of the two, Sildie didn’t know which she was dreading the most. At least she was on vacation until the kids went back to school mid January and had the time to chew on it all. She needed this time with them, with Gustaf. The time to make sure the six of them could coexist together.

“I have some good news.” She said sitting down at the table with a fresh pot of tea after the kids had gone to bed.

“I like good news.” Gustaf smiled, and tugged her into his lap. “I like good news and you in my lap for Friday night tea dates.” He kissed the nape of her neck and lingered, the scent of her grounding him. They had reinstated their Friday night tea dates as a way to talk about anything and everything, a designated weekly vent and purge session. She’d missed them.

She reached over and grabbed her messenger bag and pulled it into her lap.

“No work.” He growled, and it wasn’t his usual playful tone. “You’re on vacation Sildie.” And he’d see that she’d get the rest and relaxation she needed.

“It’s not work. It’s my good news. Our paperwork came in today. Approved by your lawyer and mine, all we need to do is sign and I can file on Monday.” She said quietly, she still wasn’t sure this was actually happening.

“Get me a pen.” He said without hesitation and she chuckled as she held one up. She stopped him before he took the pen by gripping it tightly.

“Read it first. You know it as well as I do but read it before you sign, just in case.” She said gently. He was being rash and stupid and he knew better, read before you sign and read everything. Kissing her cheek he started to read.

“Just excited.” He mumbled. She leaned back as his arm came around her.

“I know you are but read first.” She sipped her tea and snuggled into him staring at the tree, all lit and sparkling. They were about to move in together, be a family. Her gaze rested on the digital frame that held a Christmas photo of when the twins were still babies. Quinn and Dana happy, the pang of grief echoed in her chest. Whatever it takes Quinn, she thought, I’ll see them all happy and cared for if I meet the same fate as you. Please don’t hate me for it, she said silently, he’d a good man.

After reading through it he signed the bottom and handed her the pen. She felt as if a huge weight had been lifted off her shoulders once pen had been put to paper and her own signature had been placed next to his. The kids would be safe, whatever happened to her, they would be safe and cared for.

“Can I ask you something?” He said kissing her on the spot below her ear.

“Of course.”

“Move in with me?” He grinned against her skin as she chuckled. He felt suddenly alive and excited.

“Not wasting any time are you?” She laughed

“Fuck no.” He kissed her, long and slow. “I want to be in our bed. Move in with me.” He murmured.

“After Christmas. We have the party tomorrow and then dinner with your family. Boxing Day we can start moving.” She said softly. She was excited but it terrified her. They hadn’t told the kids yet, and what if they hated the idea.

“So that’s a yes?”

She giggled. “It’s a yes. Yes I’ll move in with you. Yes we can tell the kids. Yes to sleeping in our bed.”

“Have I told you lately how much I love you?” He grinned kissing her hard. It was like all his Christmas’s had come early.

“Repeatedly.” She was smiling so hard her cheeks were hurting. “At least every hour.”

“Then to keep that winning streak going, I love you Sildie.”

“Sweet man I know you do.” She placed a hand on his chest over his heart. “I love you too.”

“You’re moving in with me.” He said quietly as if the thought hadn’t really sunk in yet, that shit eating grin spreading across his face.

“Yes I am.” She whispered. His kiss was other worldly, nothing short of mind blowing.

“Are you ok to sit with the kids tomorrow? I have some shopping to do that I didn’t get a chance to do last weekend.” She asked as she filed the legal paperwork back into her bag.

“Sure. What time’s the party again? Six right?”

“Yes, and you’re sure Bill is ok with all of them?”

“He offered. I was on the phone with Alice and overheard she was booked. I think Alida and Oona are coming over for a bit too, so Lily will have a playmate.”

“I need to make sure I have something nice for them.” She said as if making a mental shopping list of things to get and do tomorrow.

“No you don’t.” He said firmly.

“Gustaf.” She sighed.

“You don’t Sildie. He’s doing it because we’re family and because he wants to.” He said gently, it would take her a while to get used to that, to be able to depend on family without feeling guilty for it. “Let him help. The poor guy has been wanting a rematch with Finn on Mario cart anyway. He’s still in disbelief that he was bested by a seven year old.” He snickered.

“Is he ok with it being overnight?” She asked sipping her tea.

“He’s fine with it. He has all the details of the hotel and the party. Things will be fine.” He reassured her, and he’d have to do it again a thousand times over before leaving tomorrow night. He kissed her neck, lingering, tasting. “I know we’ve been busy as hell the past week or so, but I miss you.” He murmured, that low tone making her belly quiver as his hands roamed under her silk blouse to find the gorgeous black lace beneath. “I’ve missed touching you.”

Between her work schedule, court, and the kids Christmas parties with friends and school camp activities they’d had a dry spell. Then there was the legal paperwork and moving in, they were both a little stressed, a little anxious. Sex hadn’t even crossed her mind until just now.

She turned in his arms to straddle him. “It’s been a rollercoaster. So much crammed into each day, I’m fucking exhausted.” She chuckled.

“I feel much the same. I like being with the kids but it’s taking a bit to adjust.” His huffed laugh was humorous. “It’s full on, all the time with them. Will your work and court schedule get easier in the new year?”

“To a point, unless I take partner and then it’ll be much the same. Which reminds me.” She fished around in her bag again and handed him her legal pad. She had the most elegant writing he noticed. “Would you take a look at this? It’s my list for Oliver and I want to make sure it doesn’t sound too demanding or ungrateful.”

“Of course.” He kissed her. “You’re considering it.”

She shrugged. “Still on the fence. I need to get past Christmas and revisit it again once we’re all moved in with you. I need to see it with a clear head.” Her kiss was tender. “Things will change when you’re out of town and I want to be sure I can handle it.”

“You’ll have my family as backup.” He said softly and twirled the loose wave of hair around his finger. “And we can always book Alice to take the pressure off you. Or we can hire a housekeeper and or a nanny. You’re not alone anymore love. If I can’t be here physically to help then I’ll find another way.” He kissed her sweetly. “When are you going to give Oliver the list?”

“In the new year. I’ve already told him I need to get past the remainder of this year, especially with all the changes. He understands and partner isn’t something they want to rush into either, even though they want me to start yesterday.” Her chuckle made him smile.

“That’s a good plan. Can I read this tomorrow?” He asked as he glanced at the pad. “I don’t think I’ll comprehend much tonight.”

“Whenever, there’s no rush.” She kissed him sweetly, her hands wandering to dip into his sweats and stroke him.

“Sildie.” He breathed. “My Sildie.” His hands streaked up her thighs and pushed her skirt to bunch at her waist before his mouth took hers tenderly.

“I need you.” She whispered. “Right here, right now.” She kissed him, mouth hot and hungry. “I want to ride you.” He hooked her g string to the side as she slipped his tip along her wet heat.

”Take what you need love.” He murmured, mouth claiming hers roughly.

It was that soft cry as she impaled herself on his cock that always made him weak for her. She rode him slowly, his massive hands on her ass grinding her into him as he stretched her, filled her.

“So big.” She moaned as she threw her head back offering him her throat. Not wasting the opportunity he savaged it, her release cresting. “Gustaf.”

“Take me with you.” He groaned as he felt her body bow before she came hard, her pussy clenching him tightly as she rode him. “Sildie.” His breath caught as he held her onto him buried deep inside her as he came, spilling his seed.

“I love you.” She said softly, his face cupped in her hands. “So much.”

“I love you too.” He held her close as they caught their breath.

She yawned. “Sorry, now I’m beat to hell.” She chuckled.

“To bed love.” He said gently with a smile. “Big night tomorrow.” He leaned his forehead against hers.

“I’m still not too keen on going.” She huffed, but she also wanted to get it over and done with so she could move on.

“I know, but I’ll be there. We can get the business end done and then enjoy a night out.” He kissed her slow, lingering to take it deeper as she relaxed.

“It’s not the dedication that’s freaking me out, it’s all the people coming up afterward to tell me how sorry they are, or stories of his time in court. I don’t know if I can handle it all being shoved in my face all night. Sorry I’m rambling and...” She closed her eyes and took a calming breath as his lips pressed a kiss to her forehead, lingering to help her find that calm she desperately needed.

“Will there be dancing?” He asked against her skin, hopeful.

“Yes.”

“Good. I’ll just dance with you for the rest of the night so they can’t talk to you.” He smiled.

“That’s not a bad plan.” She looked at him, kissing him quickly. “It beats getting shit faced and blubbering in your lap outside my front door.” She grinned at the memory.

“And we have a room in case it gets too much and you need to get the hell out of there.” He had created a safety bubble for her. A quiet space where she could retreat to because he knew at some point tomorrow night a panic attack was highly likely. “Speaking of a room. Bedroom, let’s go, because I need some damn sleep too.” He laughed. Lily had decided that 5 am was her new wake up time regardless of the holiday season and for the past week Gustaf’s sleep had been cut short. He’d made sure Bill was ok with the kids for most of Sunday because he was getting a damn sleep in after the party.

She curled into him and plummeted into sleep, exhaustion and relief that there was no work to rush off to for a few weeks taking her under hard. She’d been better since getting past her birthday. The grief was still there but it seemed manageable, like she’d turned a corner and was able to exist without it constantly consuming her. He was slightly worried that it would rear its ugly head in spectacular fashion at either the party tomorrow or with his family, he’d prefer it to be with the latter. They at least would understand and she’d have the space to distance and collect herself if needed. It felt like a ticking time bomb just waiting for her guard to be down before blowing up in her face again.

His own anxiety was a little high too, she was moving in. He wanted her with him, in their bed, under one roof, comfortable, as a family. It did not negate the fact that it was scary as hell, especially if the kids hated the idea. He’d dropped a few questions to feel them out, what they were thinking and they seemed like they’d be ok with it. He was hoping the work he’d done on their rooms made it easier. Sleep took him a little while later and it felt like he’d only just passed out when Lily was up chattering to them.

“Morning little lady.” He slurred, the cobwebs of sleep still addling his brain.

“I’ll get her.” Sildie mumbled and stretched out on top of him before kissing him sweetly. “Go back to sleep love.” She murmured. “You’ve had her and her crazy ass wake up schedule for the past week.”

“K.” He breathed and sleep took him under again.

Sildie changed a somewhat grumpy Lily and headed out to make some tea. “Well little lady if you’d just sleep longer you wouldn’t be such a grumpy pants.” She chuckled, snuggling her in and kissing her head. She would let Gustaf sleep, the man had been up with the kids and keeping them occupied for nearly two weeks while she’d been plowing through work and a mentally taxing court case. She felt a little guilty for leaving the house and kids for him to deal with and knew it wasn’t a habit she could fall into. She never forgive herself if she took advantage of him, or made him feel like she was.

Once Brendan had surfaced she left Lily with him cuddled on the couch and took a shower, Gustaf was still out cold. After spending most of the morning with the boys, she changed Lily and sat of the edge of the bed.

“Dad dad dad. Sooch.” Lily said softly.

“Time for dad dad kisses huh?” She set Lily down on the bed and stroked a hand down his chest. He snapped awake with a sharp inhale and blinked at her.

“It’s eleven love.” She said gently as he looked around wondering where the hell he was.

“Shit I didn’t mean to sleep that late.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Sorry I know you have shopping to do.”

“It’s ok you needed it.”

“Dad dad.” Lily squealed and his low chuckle made her smile.

“Hello Lily bear.” He said and lifted her up the bed to kiss the tiny girl before snuggling her in.

“Would you like some tea?”

“I would, but first.” He tugged her hand and she chuckled as she curled up with him. “My two best girls.” He murmured, the familiar sentiment choking her up. Damn it she thought, she couldn’t get emotional now, she’d never get through the night. His kiss chased that thought away, slow and loving. “Morning my love.”

“Morning.”

“You heading out shopping?”

“I’ll make you some tea first, but yes I’m about to try and do shopping.”

“Brave girl.” He chuckled. “It’ll be madness.”

“Yes but I have stuff to get.” Like for tonight, she thought. She had her dress, she just needed the underwear. And she had a plan for that underwear. She kissed him tenderly and got up to make a pot of tea.

Gustaf came out carrying Lily as she set the teapot on the table to steep for him. Her belly did a little flip at his disheveled look, all soft, warm and rumpled, still half asleep. Damn she wanted to go back to bed and snuggle with him, do erotic things to him.

“Bye love, have fun.” He kissed her softly as she grabbed her bag and left for a few hours. She’d done most of her Christmas shopping online and had them wrapped and under the tree, but needed stuff for tonight, something for Bill and something for his parents even though Gustaf had said it wasn’t necessary. For him it wasn’t, for her however, she needed to, she couldn’t turn up empty handed.

Gustaf goofed around with the kids, he’d shower before they went out tonight, but it was nice to just have a pajama day. It was relaxed and carefree, and he’d noticed that the kids had settled since he’d been staying in the apartment with them the past month or so. That was a good sign he thought, moving next door may not be as emotional or stressful.

Sildie came home around 3:30, arms full of bags. Some of it was wrapped and the kids were more than happy to place it under the tree, shaking boxes as they went to try and determine what she’d purchased.

“You look like you had fun.” He chuckled, taking one of the bags from her hand and placing it on the table before kissing her.

“I did actually. But now I have to get ready, go get my Christmas glam on.” She kissed him chastely.

“Do you want to do that here or in our room?” He asked.

“Here. All my stuff is here.” She said quietly.

“Ok, Bill texted and he’ll be here at five or so.” He kissed her tenderly. “Once you’re out of the shower I’ll go home and take one and bring my monkey suit back here.”

“Sounds good. I’ll need help with my dress at some point.” She said wickedly.

“I think I can help you with that.” He winked at her as she took her bags to her room and disappeared.

In all honestly he loved the way Sildie looked with no makeup and in sweats but he couldn’t help but fantasize what she would look like all dolled up. He went home and showered, grabbed his tux and headed back to Sildie’s in clean sweats. He didn’t want to have to put it on until the last minute. Bill arrived just after five and he sat talking to him until Sildie called out.

“Gustaf? Can you come help me please.” She called from her room.

Nothing prepared him for the sight of her in black lace and deep Christmas red heels. He shut the door and leaned on it, pinning his hands against it with his ass.

“Fuck me.” He choked and her giggle was wicked. She walked to him slowly and he shook his head. “Nope. Kitten if you touch me we aren’t going anywhere except to our bed.” He growled.

“You’ll just have to control yourself.” She purred. “Remember on my birthday when you said you wanted to see me in black lace and heels and that blindfold, tied to our bed?”

“I remember.” His voice strained, he was close to blowing his load in his fucking sweats like a teenager.

“Looks like Santa got your message. I don’t want to stay overnight at the hotel, I want to come home to our bed.” She walked her blood red nails up his chest and stroked one over his jaw. “I want you to do things to me.” She purred and kissed him sinfully. “All night long.”

He was struck speechless. He’d never had someone that played this game so fucking well.

“Cat got your tongue?” She smirked, those ice blue eyes sparkling mischievously.

“My kitten has.” He growled and her seductive chuckle make his cock twitch. “Fuck I love playing this game with you.” He breathed as she leaned a palm on his chest and kissed him.

“You need to get dressed.” She purred and palmed his erection making him groan.

“So do you or I’m going to fuck you where you stand kitten.” He growled.

“Patients daddy.” She breathed, nipping his bottom lip before sashaying over to where her dress was hanging.

He stood there and breathed, willing his cock to calm down at the mention of her endearment for him. It was difficult considering the vision in front of him. Black lace corset, g string, suspenders, lace top thigh high stocking with a red seam running up the back of those incredible pins she called legs. The red heels were four inches so they would be the same height tonight, and screamed fuck me.

She stepped into the dusty gold column sheath dress and wiggled her hips to get it on. A simple cut, figure hugging, plunging neckline, thigh high split. Modest for a formal party, devilish enough to tease Gustaf all night. She felt him stand behind her and help zip her up and secure the clasp for the deep Christmas red sash that cinched her waist and draped to the floor with the rest of the skirt. He rested his hands on her hips and kissed her neck seductively.

“You do realize I’m going to need a defense lawyer after tonight.” He said softly as he started to dress.

“Why’s that?” She asked a little confused, walking back to the bathroom to touch up her makeup and apply the 24 hour deep siren red lipstick she’d bought as a why the hell not.

“Because I’m going to have to kill every man in the room that looks at you.” He smirked pulling his tux pants on and zipping them up.

“I hope we can get a two for one deal then.” She huffed.

“Why?” He chuckled as he buttoned up his shirt and tucked it in.

She stood in front of him and ran a nail down those buttons, half tempted to strip him naked and take him in her mouth.

“Because you’re fucking royalty for one.” She scoffed. He watched her as she tied his bow tie, that bottom lip sinfully red and beckoning to him. “And every woman there is going to want you, I’m going to have to beat them off with a stick.”

He chuckled at her words and her smirk tugged the corners of her mouth. “I love you Sildie.” He said softly. “You’re the only one I want.”

“I know. You’re the only one I want too.” She kissed him, his brain melted as her tongue teased his. “Seeing you in this makes me all tingly.” She moaned biting her bottom lip.

He gripped her by the chin gently and teased his thumb over her bottom lip before kissing it, slowly. “Mine.” He growled, his eyes met hers as her pussy tingled at the possessive tone. “Are you ready to go kitten?” The intimacy swamping them both.

“Yes.” She choked breathlessly.

“Let’s get the business end of it done. Then...” He kissed her longingly. “Then kitten, I’m going to do all kinds of delicious things to you.” His low tone caused and involuntary shiver to ripple across her body. “Mmm, you like the sound of that don’t you.” It was a statement more than a question. The man was able to bewitch her with his words, his tone.

“Mmm hmmm.” She was already drunk on him. “You smell so good.” She purred. He kissed her again before pulling away, a cocky smirk on his face.

“Let’s go lovely lady.” He chuckled, sitting to slip his shoes on. Standing he held out his hand for her, his gilded goddess, her halo of molten copper cascading down her spine. And that dress was something else entirely and he knew what was hidden under it. That was going to be fucking torture all night, he thought, the little minx.

Bill almost choked on his drink when Sildie came out, the boys all standing around gobsmacked.

“Piddy.” Lily squealed pointing at Sildie from the safety of Bill’s arms.

“Yes little lady, she is very pretty.” Gustaf said and kissed her until she giggled.

“You’re sure you’re ok with this lot?” Sildie asked, still a little nervous as Liam hugged her.

“More than ok, besides I have a rematch with Finn to take care of.” He grinned. “Have fun. I’ll text you if I run into any issues.”

“Thanks again Bill. You bailed me out.”

“Anytime, they’re great kids.” His grin told her he was having just as much fun as the kids were.

Gustaf helped her into her coat and the pair set out for the hotel. She was nervous, her hands wringing in her lap as he drove was a dead giveaway. He took a hold of her hand and brought it to his lips kissing her fingers. “Just breathe love. I’ll be right here, all night.”

“Sorry.” She chuckled. “I’m on edge.”

“As expected.” He pulled up to the hotel and looked at her. “Deep breath. Together love, you and me.” He kissed her fingers again and stepped out of the car to walk around and open the door for her. Holding his hand out, he helped her to her feet, the top of her stockings peeking out from the split. Fuck me he thought, she would be the death of him. Giving the keys to the valet he slipped a hand around her waist and held her to him. “Breathe.” He said, lips at her temple. “Let the lawyer surface and take care of business.” He kissed her cheek sweetly and looked at her, his courtroom lawyer looked back. “There’s my girl.” He growled as they walked into the hotel ballroom. “I’m proud of you. You’re so fucking strong.” He kissed her, not caring who could see them. She was moving in with him, he loved her, and he wanted to shout it from the rooftops.

Her firm had spared no expense, and there were tables for at minimum 300 people. The room had a massive dance floor and stage, blue and silver glittered everywhere to turn it into a winter wonderland. Snowflakes and fairy lights, fresh flower centerpieces and silk festoons.

Gustaf took her coat and he felt his arousal spike again at seeing her, his gilded goddess on the outside, his erotic sex kitten beneath. They were met by Oliver and swept up into the throng of introductions and small talk. For Gustaf working a room was second nature, it was just like a press junket, but for Sildie it was anxiety central and to compound matters her grief was hovering waiting to pounce. Thankfully Oliver had kept them moving quickly before he could be too overwhelmed with people figuring out there was a celebrity in the house. It was one of the downsides of his chosen profession. He didn’t want that overshadowing the party, he was just along for the ride, to support Sildie.

“I owe you one Oliver.” He said as Sildie stepped away from him to talk to Dana’s partner in family law.

“How’s that?”

“For shielding me.” He chuckled.

“Thank Sildie. She sent a memo to everyone before tonight and talked to me specifically. She wanted you to feel comfortable with her family.” He smiled.

The penny dropped, this was her family, the only one she had left now that Quinn was gone.

“Ah! I see she didn’t forewarn you.” He said quietly.

“No, she didn’t.” He said wistfully, looking at the gorgeous woman just out of reach, he found his fingers itched to touch her. “She’s had a lot on her mind.”

“It’s none of my business, but I’m glad she has you, glad the kids have you.” Oliver said carefully, not wanting to overstep.

“I’m so ridiculously in love with her.” Gustaf said shyly. “And she’d kill me for telling you that.”

“Your secret is safe with me. I know the feeling.” He said looking at his husband of six years.

Oliver hesitated. “Is she doing alright?” He asked gently. “I don’t like to pry it’s not my business, but I think of her as my own daughter and she’s been through hell.”

“She’s doing better.” Gustaf said quietly, keeping his gaze fixed on Sildie. “Her grief and guilt is substantial.” He didn’t want to divulge her painful moments, it was none of anyone’s business and he wouldn’t betray Sildie’s trust by spilling it to her boss, father figure or not.

“I can only imagine.”

“I’m sorry Oliver I can’t elaborate. Her grief is her own story to tell.” Gustaf said gently, trying to be as polite as possible.

“I completely understand and apologize if that put you in an awkward position. We all felt the loss, no one more keenly that Sildie.”

“She’s doing better, so are the kids. I love her Oliver, and I’ll move the world to see her and the kids happy.” He said, feeling a need to make his intentions known.

“You’re a good man Gustaf.” Oliver said as Sildie walked back to them with Elsa.

“I’m trying.” He huffed a chuckle.

“Your past is just that, the past. We all have one and we’re all far from perfect.” Oliver held out his hand for the man walking over with Elsa slipping it around his waist and kissing him as Sildie introduced Gustaf to Dana’s partner in law.

By the time they were asked to sit for dinner he’d been introduced to probably half the room. Pulling the chair out for Sildie he had to contain his groan of disappointment, Lucas and his date had made their way over to their table.

His entire system froze as his gaze landed on her, the quick polite smile on Lucas’s lips as his eyes focused on Gustaf. The familiar prickle and wave of heat as his fight flight response kicked in at seeing a threat. You vindictive asshole, Gustaf thought silently. Throwing his sobriety and addiction in Sildie’s face was one thing, but an ex girlfriend, that was just cruel.

Sildie sat and saw where his gaze had landed.

“Hey.” She said softly and his eyes snapped to hers, concerned ice blue looked back.

“Hey back.” He smiled, he would not let this asshole get to him and ruin her night. He’d promised to be on his best behavior around Lucas and although tempting as it was to stalk over there and press his fist to his face repeatedly in an abrupt manner, Gustaf knew how much it would embarrass Sildie, she’d never forgive him.

“You ok?” She asked gently. Something was up she could feel it.

“Yeah, I just wasn’t expecting Lucas to be at our table.” He shrugged, trying not to let the woman sitting next to Lucas get under his skin either. He wouldn’t think her name, he wouldn’t say her name, she was just a blip in his life.

“Gustaf I’m sorry, I should have told you.” She said apologetically. “There’s been so much going on I forgot.”

“It’s fine love. I just don’t want him upsetting you, especially.” He let himself get lost in her for a moment, calming the white hot rage at the man across the table by running his fingers through her hair, watching it shine.

“Let me handle him. He’s just bitter and jealous.” She said quietly trying to contain her own irritation. She’d tried to get him to sit at another table but in the act of goodwill toward all men she’d let it slide, now she wished she hadn’t.

“Of what?” He chuckled softly.

“Of you love.” She kissed him tenderly, she needed to set his mind at ease. “You have the one thing he wants, the one thing he’s never going to get.” Her kiss was sultry, that hot seduction burning him from the inside out.

“I love it when you kiss me like that.” He grinned.

“I know. I’ll handle him if it comes to that, ok?”

“I know you will, but if he upsets you like the last time.” He toyed with a wave of hair she’d meticulously curled just for him. “We will have words.” His tone was unmistakably equal parts, protective and possessive. “Tonight is difficult enough for you, I won’t see him, or anyone for that matter, make it worse.”

“Fair enough, no punching him, no making a scene.” She said seriously, she didn’t need them getting into a fist fight over her in the middle of the office Christmas party. “Remember, I still have to be able to show my face in court with everyone in this room.” She said flatly, the lawyer had surfaced and was in complete control.

“I’ll only need words love. I promise I won’t do anything to embarrass you or lay a finger on him.” He kissed her tenderly not giving a shit who saw, especially Lucas, especially his ex. Lucas was the one with a problem, not him and he wouldn’t jeopardize what he had with Sildie over a few snide remarks and bringing his ex to a party. He would just ignore them, in his mind they weren’t here, he had other things to worry about.

Dinner was exceptional and she found herself enjoying the time to catch up with Elsa. She couldn’t help but flick a glance to Lucas’s date, she looked oddly familiar. They hadn’t met but she’d seen the woman somewhere before and it was irritating not to be able to place her.

As dessert hit the table she felt Gustaf’s finger stroking her thigh where the split in her dress had revealed silk lace and bare skin. His touch both calmed and aroused her. She smirked at his soft tone as he talked with Vera. The poor girl was beyond it, her voice meek and shaky as she spoke to the Scandinavian god beside her.

“Stop breaking my admin.” She whispered and Gustaf chuckled as Oliver took the stage.

“Just making small talk. She’s a good kid and very shy.” He said kissing her temple. “Deep breath love.” He murmured, his lips lingering. “Together, you and me.” His words grounded her as Oliver started speaking.

It was the usual spiel, the recap of the year, the high and lows, achievements and gains. “Tonight we start a new tradition.” He said gently and his gaze fell on Sildie. She felt her gut plummet as he continued. This was it she thought, just sit and get through it, you just have to listen and smile. “Tonight we honor the tireless work of two of our greatest attorneys, their lives and careers cut short, their compassion and humanity greatly missed.”

Gustaf stayed where he was, his hand on her thigh, an arm casually around her shoulder, his lips at her temple. He’d felt her tense, her body preparing to take flight the moment she was pushed, the moment her anxiety threatened to overwhelm her. “Easy kitten.” He growled, the tone and endearment enough to snap her out of it, her breath shuddering out. “Breathe love, I’m right here.”

“Dana excelled at family law, courageously fighting for the rights of families, mother and father, and most importantly children. Quinn was the complete opposite.” The room chuckled, including Sildie. “Quinn O’Rourke was ruthless in the courtroom, an adversary many of us here tonight faced on a daily basis. Although ruthless and stubborn, a man that could skewer holes in defense counsels case like Swiss cheese while he was prosecuting, Quinn held the same beliefs, the same compassion as Dana when defending. A rare soul that believed there was always some goodness left in a person if you took the time to look.”

He heard Sildie choke back a breath at Oliver’s words and gently squeezed her thigh. “I’m here love, you’re ok.” He whispered and kissed her temple. “Deep breath.”

“The Swedish Bar Association, in recognition of Dana and Quinn’s commitment to justice have founded an achievement award for exemplary conduct by an attorney inside the courtroom in their honor. To be awarded to someone that shows the same tenacity and compassion, the same humanity and dignity toward others as they showed, in the pursuit of justice.”

That just described Sildie to perfection, Gustaf thought silently.

“It was therefore only fitting that the first recipient to harness these qualities of such a prestigious award be Quinn’s sister, Sildie O’Rourke.”

*************

@hausofobsession @ill-skillsgard @grandpa-sweaters @authentic90skidd @tuckersgirl @fairlyfallacy @flowers-in-your-hayr @raewritesfiction @stinkerbelle007 @kamie-b @mrsaugustwalker @skrsgardspam @loliwrites @trippedmetaldetector @lihikainanea

#gustaf skarsgard #gustaf skarsgard fanfiction #shattered lives

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tooanxiousforrivers · 4 years

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been struggling real hard since the start of the year (2021, not academic year or whatever (although let’s be real the academic year as a whole has also been pretty bad)) and this culminated in me deciding to take a leave of absence from my research as of this week. I am already struggling to honor the things I was feeling that led me to this point, so here goes a diary post

first of all, I am increasingly convinced that I was just never really trained properly for the project I ended up working on. last year, prior to COVID shutdown, I was being trained on separatory techniques for carbon nanotubes. I was starting to independently push forward on new nanotube separations when COVID hit, and I spent all of shutdown reading papers about carbon nanotubes... But then when I came back to lab I was suddenly working on organic synthesis, which utilizes precisely zero of the skills I had been developing beforehand. There were a few reasons behind the change, and I initially gave it an ok when another grad student double-checked with me that I even wanted to do this new project, but what I didn’t realize at that time was that my in-lab mentor would not be able to help me with the majority of the work (basically she knew how to make one half of the molecule I wanted to make, but not the other half). that other half of the molecule turns out to be NOTORIOUSLY difficult to work with, and the only way to make any progress on it is to just work at such large scales that even a 5% yield is “good enough.” But no one working with me had the wherewithal (or cared enough) to tell me that, so all my newcomer enthusiasm died with months of failure trying to make that molecule.

so I’m working really long days, not really making anything other than “an earnest effort,” and then in November the most senior member of the lab who is a week away from defending his dissertation fucking loses it at me and one other second-year about how we are wasting time, etc, etc. We have since moved on from that as people, but it still sort of traumatized me and left me very very uncomfortable existing in that space. ended up feeling like I was under a microscope, any second not actively spent with my hands on something was a criminal offense, not eating/taking breaks... this was obviously not very sustainable and I ended up working even fewer hours, which made showing up at all even more agonizing, as I anticipated eventual future blowout. rinse and repeat. losing sleep and not getting anything done outside of lab with the anxiety of it all.

by January, I’m seriously losing it, and finally make a meeting with my advisor to try to explain things to him. I also disclose having ADHD and pin a lot of my struggle on “working on a treatment plan.” He is sympathetic and wants to help however he can, but I can’t think of anything he can do for me, so we leave things unfinished. A week later, he sets up a meeting with me (and two other second-years, all separately) to tell us we’re not spending enough time in lab, we are going to delay our prelim exams, and we’re now going to work one-on-one with a post-doc in the lab. While it was not very cool of him to do it the way he did, I actually did feel genuine relief at the time. Like maybe I would finally be able to fill in the gaps in my technical abilities with this change

HOWEVER, working with this post-doc was... not it. The first thing he suggested to me was to stick with one synthetic target (as opposed to the three I had in total), and just keep pushing on that front until it was done. This resulted in me making intermediate, purifying it, trying the next step in the synthesis, having it fail, and having to go back and make more intermediate OVER AND OVER AGAIN for weeks. It was about this time that I started uncontrollably weeping in the lab on a daily basis. (side note: the corner of lab I work in is pretty thinly populated, so no one ever saw me cry despite weeks of this going on! hooray isolation!) oh, and let’s not forget that the second-years are all TAing this semester, which conveniently chops of my schedule beyond the point of usefulness.

last week, I suddenly felt like this just wasn’t worth it anymore. could not even recognize what “it” was that was supposed to be worth it all along. professorship is a) extremely rare, b) very arduous to attain, with possibly a decade or more of grueling research, and c) possibly not even the dream job I thought it to be, once attained. I was thinking about how my husband is a fucking lawyer and can provide for us if needed. I was thinking about how this is the only life I get to live and I can’t justify spending over a decade of it literally tormenting myself and inhaling/pouring carcinogens on myself with no real promise of substantial payoff. spent all day Friday talking things out with senior lab members (actually the same guy who screamed at me in November, he’s an odd one), as well as the director of graduate studies. I resolved to get back on nanotube work, and just try to better manage my stress by getting support from others... by Sunday when I met with my advisor again, I had convinced myself that “I have all the resources I need to succeed, I just need to utilize them.”

Monday, I met with my psychiatrist, who literally asked me why I wanted to be in grad school at all. I floundered and said something vacuous, and she kinda nodded then prescribed me Prozac. I also spent Monday and Tuesday trying to get back into nanotube work, but by midday Tuesday I was already feeling the dread creeping in... and my threshold for adversity was just nil at that point, I guess, because I literally went and found both my the senior people I was working with and just flat out told them I quit. My friend helped me pack up my desk that day, and I was out the door by 3:30. Emailed my advisor after I got home. by the end of the day, I rationalized that the “precipitating event” was realizing that I don’t want to be on antidepressants, since I’ve been down that road before, and that this is not worth that.

so, spending the last couple of days talking to others and thinking about what to do next, I still don’t have an answer. everyone’s first piece of advice was to find some masters-level industry job, but right now I still feel too close to it to even see myself doing chemistry at all, or a 9-5 at all. like, part-time tutoring is the most I can entertain in my mind right now. but I know it’s better to keep the door open, and my advisor is still SOMEHOW my #1 fan, so this is just a leave of absence for the time being. the details of that will be hammered out once I meet with the director of my program, but right now I know I’ll continue my TA work (since I hope I’ll get to still be paid) and I’ll finish the class I’m taking since my advisor told me the whole grade is just going to be some 30 minute presentation at the end of the semester, and I am pretty sure I can pull that off rather than end with a W on my transcript.

the main things for me to figure out are: (1) do I want to pull together a non-thesis master’s defense in the next month, to secure a master’s in case I decide not to return after my leave of absence? (2) do I feel that a leave of absence will make a difference at all? Will coming back to the lab after some time away resolve the problems I’ve been having, or will it all just build up all over again? and (3) do I still want a Ph.D-dependent career? What do I even want to do?

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idgaf-what-you-call-me · 4 years

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This is the first time, outside of therapy, that I am opening up fully my past, I ask that you remain respectful.

Trigger warnings: Suicide, torture, neglect, alcoholism, … a lot listen you’ve got to be well resourced before you read this.

I know Dean, because I was Dean. I was raised to be “perfect”, I am so much like my dad, I didn’t have a childhood, I was tortured, I have lost time (dissociation not possession by an arc angel), I am fairly closeted, and I’m finally starting to get better.

Ever since a very young child, I was raised to be perfect. To look at a 99 and learn what I got wrong before I brought the grade home, otherwise, I was sent to study. I was raised to not be heard and taught to stay in my room. I was raised to not show emotion because anything more than stoic meant that I was an inconvenience. I had “fend for yourself nights” where I had to sort out what I would eat for dinner, and at inexcusably young ages, 5-6 years old. I learned to shoot at 8, and was taken fishing anytime my dad went. I was brought to the construction sites, learned how to use power tools, and eventually had my own set at home. While I wasn’t trained to hunt demons or other things that go bump in the night, I was molded to be just like my dad. My mom wasn’t around much when I was a kid, so I idolized my father. He was like a god to me. As I got older (legal), I even would drink things that my dad approved of like scotch and I smoked cigars. Often praised, “that’s my girl! Look guys, my daughter drinking scotch and smoking a cigar! Where are your kids?” The validation was like a high to me. I was desperate for his approval. Just like Dean. Talked like his dad, walked like his dad, drank like his dad, I get it.

I was blatantly ignored including being told that I was invisible by siblings. They would hold up a remote to me and say, “you’re invisible” and ignore me. I could leave the house and they would not come look for me. With my mom and dad often gone (usually working or partying we were quite poor), I didn’t have anyone looking after me since I was 4 so when my dad was around, much like Dean, all I wanted to do was make him happy and proud of me.

I was a closeted bisexual, who made so many gay jokes towards my cishet brother that I feel quite a bit of shame as an adult. I repressed every facet of desire I had for the opposite gender because being bisexual really meant that I must be gay. At least that is what Will and Grace told me, and I did not want to be gay. Things were bad enough, I didn’t need to add to my shit pile. By the time I was 12, I had no idea how to feel emotions and I had no idea how to love myself. Most days, now at 29, I still don’t know how to love myself. I am not out to everyone in my family. I don’t feel safe with everyone. All the gay jokes between the brothers, all the Dean is bi subtext, I lived a lot of it.

Torture can take the shape of many different forms but they fall under two umbrellas: physical and psychological. I was subjected to sound torture and sleep deprivation forms of physical torture that have lasting psychological effects. When you live through something like that, you don’t “rebound” in the traditional sense, and I would dissociate. My consciousness would retreat back into itself until it was safe enough to come back.

I dreaded Thursday nights as that is when it would begin. My father would bring home several cases of Michelob Ultra, from the store, and then he would start drinking. My dad didn’t measure his consumption in beers, instead he measured by the case. A form of extreme binge drinking that to this day I still don’t completely understand. While he would drink, his music would get progressively louder and louder until the whole house vibrated with noise.

There are some songs and artists that I cannot listen to anymore. They’re not songs by Metallica or Black Sabbath, instead they’re by Credence Clearwater Revival, Bob Dylan, Van Morrison and the like. Songs that people dance to at their weddings, sing at funerals, and enjoy on a road trip with the entire family. They are generally described as lively yet not heavy, yet this music was the conduit of 5 years of actual torture for me. I used to say that these were my favorite songs, but it was a way to cope with hearing them at home, and then hearing them play in the car on the way to school the next morning. In my house, the music was played so loudly that walls and floors shook and overwhelmed my senses and ability to sleep, think, do anything but have a heartbeat and breathe. It would last all night. I never learned to “fall asleep” I would pass out. To this day, I can be desperately tired, and able to drive for several hours without being a dangerous driver. Like my body learned to ignore fatigue. “I just need like 4 hours every couple of days,” yeah Deano, I’ve been there.

I would freeze mentally. Almost like a zone out but on steroids. Then I’d look around and things wouldn’t feel real to me. I would look in the mirror and see a stranger. Now I understand that I had developed dpdr as a way to cope. I don’t wish it on anyone.

My mother? She would leave the house and go clubbing. My siblings were 8 years older than me and lived on their own a great distance from where I lived. Besides, I had school to go to on Fridays. So I cooked, I monitored myself, I had to become an adult. I didn’t get to be a kid. My catharsis was angsty and fluffy Harry Potter fan fiction. You can find it on FF.net, RandHrFan I no longer post with that handle. Dean’s were movies, movies that my dad, and I’d wager his dad watched. I also love westerns just like my dad and my grandfather, there is something about them.

When Dean cries and opens up to Sam about his hell experiences, I get it. I’m so proud of him for telling Sam. To some it seems like he’s closed off but he’s not. He’s opening up as much as he mentally can. And Sam listens. Just like my sister eventually did. When Dean gets mad and yells at John and Mary, I’m proud of him, because he is fighting for himself. He knew he deserved better and he didn’t let it go. Just like I have done in my not so distant past.

All the while my parent’s marriage was fracturing and I was mentally declining. My mom began sleeping in my room and in my bed, and I was basically left to sleep on the couch. On days when my dad would drink, and my mom would go out, I could get to be in my room again. I could be on the computer (laptops weren’t a thing yet) which lived in my room. I could connect with the two other friends on AIM, but the reality of my situation I couldn’t escape. I was isolated, didn’t trust my family and I didn’t know how to ask for help.

One day I attempted to take my life. I saw no value in it. What was I doing with my life. I was a broken human who didn’t deserve love, who didn’t deserve safety, who didn’t deserve well anything. So I downed a bottle of pills. I had an iron clad stomach, I wasn’t too worried about not being successful. Except, I sent a goodbye message to a friend, and that friend saved my life. He got a hold of my sister who got to me in enough time to make me throw up. (She was a champ at that, having suffered from bulimia and taught to throw up from no other than my dad.)

I didn’t receive help afterwards. I signed a paper saying that I wouldn’t attempt again and was taken home. (I hope this isn’t how hospitals roll anymore.) I left my house, I went to school out of state and found stability, created stability for myself. But my past still haunted me whenever I went home. So when Dean has a death wish, and gets discharged from hospitals before he’s stable, I get it.

My parents eventually divorced, and I came home to a place where I couldn’t live anymore for a solid couple of months, I couch surfed, and again my mental health took a nosedive, but nevertheless, I persisted. I got my head back in the game, and finished my degree. Chemistry. I couldn’t go back home, because if I did I’d be working for my dad. I couldn’t do that, it was too painful. So I went to grad school. I got my Ph.D. I began to chart my own path. But there was a rage in me that I couldn’t escape. I lashed out at anyone and everyone to hide the pain that I felt all the time. People were afraid of me. I was great at what I did but I couldn’t make lasting connections with others.

When I was 27 suicidal ideations became dangerous, and I got about as dark. I tried to harm myself, and wanted my world to burn. It didn’t matter that I was married, with pets, and owned a home. Nothing mattered. I finally had to decide between life and death, I couldn’t continue in that state. I can say confidently that I would be dead if I didn’t get help that day. I wish Dean had this chance. He gets close to this in moments with Cas when he is honest about his feelings and experiences, he cries, he gets angry, lashes out, but Cas is there for him. From someone like Dean, I’ll tell you Cas being present holds more weight than gold for Dean.

I have been in intense therapy for a year. By intense I do mean more than once a week, regular check ins with her, and the occasional group session. She sends me articles to read, homework, and we do EMDR work, emotional integration therapy, mindfulness, etc.

It was then that I began to learn that all the rage that I had built inside me was hiding intense fear, loss, and disappointment. The rage gave way to tears, and the tears gave way to a new anger that I could make peace with. That anger comes from the person I am today. The person who fights for herself. Who doesn’t take shit from anyone. The person who says, humans don’t break, vases break, and I am a human. I see a lot of that in late season Dean. He is a fighter.

But I am still the person who receives a compliment and shuts down, there is still a side of me that doesn’t believe that I deserve nice things, good things to happen to me, but that person is getting smaller. My therapist likes to hit me with compliments when I am vulnerable as I am more likely to believe them. I still react like a dead fish when she says them, and then after the session sob for hours over it. One day my head and my heart will believe the same things about myself. I would have reacted the same way as Dean to that confession.

When the cards fall, I still know that I can depend on myself before anyone else because I had to. My life as an impoverished, unstable, depressed, neglected, and abused kid says I should be dead or amounting to nothing, but hear I am. I’ve now closely mentored about 20 undergraduate students, a handful of graduate students, and have helped them find their paths in life. I have taught nearly 1000 students. I made a difference with the life that I tried to throw away.

I have come to a place where I can love my dad. He is sober again, and yes, my love for him does depend on his sobriety. When he is drinking he is not the same person. I wouldn’t call him an A+ dad by a long shot, and hell I am so much like him that at times it makes me sick, but I do love him. I have been able to forgive him. Forgive in the sense that I can make peace with what happened. It doesn’t change what happened or how much it affected me, and I certainly don’t forget, but that isn’t what forgiveness is. I don’t hold the rage anymore. The fact that Dean is able to is personal for Dean, as it is for me, and it isn’t some “family that is what you do” type reason.

I do experience flashbacks when there are fireworks, I can’t go to a movie theatre because of the volume, when people play really loud music in their cars I typically have to peel off into a parking lot and meditate for 20 minutes to be able to drive again. There are some stores that I don’t shop at because their music triggers me. So when Dean experiences those flashbacks, I get it.

There is a belief in the psychology that monster shows help us become comfortable with our dark sides. My dark side saved me over and over again. My dark side told me to be better than them. My dark side told me to fight for me, to adopt a survivor mindset. (If you can’t tell I am a green veined Slytherin and have never been sorted into any other house even by random house generators.) The things I delight in are a bit off color. I cultivate a poison garden, consume way too much true crime, to gore I say give me s’more and so on. Dean gets to experience his dark side, and he has to make peace with it. He makes inappropriate jokes, laughs at it, but he also does talk about it.

This is the hard part: Just like Dean, I am also light. I love people (vomit), seriously though, they are more precious to me than any earthly possession. Plants bring me serenity. Animals are a comfort and companion in the worst of times. There isn’t much I wouldn’t do to protect living things. My motivations come from a place of love and a need to protect others from what I have been through. I know I can survive, but I don’t know if that is true for everyone else.

I know Dean. I was Dean. I see that every episode. Moments when he yells and screams for himself, I cheer him on. Moments where he tries to waste his life away, I understand, and am crying right with him. The purgatory apology guts me, I’ve had to make that apology more than once. The dead fish reaction, hell that is me at the end of a therapy session. I am here to say: Dean is not broken. Dean is strong. Dean is resilient. Dean doesn’t just fight for himself, he fights for the whole of creation. Dean is not a vase. He is a human.

Oh and John’s taste in beer, much like my fathers, is crap. Don’t drink shitty beer. Also, I don’t drink scotch anymore. I'm a gin girl and I drink *okay* beer.

I’m the same blogger who does drunk blogging regarding Supernatural on Saturdays. It is a lovely bit of comfort and joy for me and I won’t be stopping any time soon. We will get back to the lovely and light “Dean is Bi he he” commentary this weekend.

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a-day-in-the-life-of-a-brotha · 3 years

Text

5-21-21 Manifestations

9:05a.m I’m at the plantation, my co-workers Friday=My Monday. It’s a peculiar day to start your work week...it always works out for my benefit, starting my work week on Friday. It’s lax when I get here...people are ready to end their workweek. It being lax...propels me to be lax. When Omar walked up today we greeted each other. “Sup Bro” I said, “Ain’t shit, sup with you” he said....”Shit...I’m aggressive today” I said. “Yeah, can tell by the way you patted my back, Booby Big Hand ass nigga!” I laughed...out loud and said “You right”...then I went back to concentrating on a video I was making for my straight up philosophy page...via inspiring drummed up. So I’ve know Omar (O is what most call him) for almost 30 years now. We met tumultuously, at The University of the District of Columbia...High School part 2, or the University of Dumb Children as we ironically called it. Long story longer...I didn’t like I when I met him, I moved to S.E. eventually where he lived, and that’s where we became friends. Since im aggressive today, I met O with some aggressiveness. “Yung, could you get the back of the bus please” he asked. Aggressively I responded “Why!” We then had a mild heat exchange as would two bull Bisons meeting on a field. That quickly was subsided, we remained quite for a bit then we slowly ease into talking to embrace other again. This is a normal occurrence. So today...I’m a tad bit anxious. I’m getting my twins and I can’t wait...I haven’t had them next to me in 3 weeks...but it’s back to the regular schedule...weekends with them until summertime. We are going to different spots to get food and we are reviewing the food...Chas is getting jerk chicken, Larry a burger from Red Robin, and I’m going to this vegan soul food spot. I’m truly looking forward to them and our adventure this evening. What’s got me truly up in arms is the job I manifested yesterday. Whilst on the phone with My Dani, I was speaking about needing to acquire more money...welp...about an hour later...my ancestors so it fit to help manifest that thought. Black and Reds called. Black presented an opportunity to become a bouncer again...a profession I let go over 10 years ago, give or take. $120 for 6 hours...I need the money. I dread going back into this business though...I swore off bouncing, and I’m not young anymore...staying up all night could potentially fuck with my mental health, shit I work weekends at 6a.m. and the bouncing gig is over at 3a.m.. The dilemma...

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melodious-madrigals · 4 years

Text

of communication and cats

Written as part of @wondertrevnet‘s Lock Out Bingo.

Fandom: Wonder Woman Pairing: Diana/Steve Prompt: texting Word Count: 2552 Rating: T Summary: Steve and Diana adopt a cat. Steve is exceptionally bad at texting. The two converge more often than you'd think. (Aka miscommunication, but like. Low stakes.) Mostly fluff. In-universe for lost love (sweeter when it’s finally found) which you can read here.

Find it below the cut or on AO3.

***

Notes: not really a texting fic, just a very loose definition of "fulfilling" the prompt because it includes some texts, lol.

***

Don't be mad, but says the preview on her push notification from Steve's latest message. Not exactly an auspicious start, given his propensity for doing reckless things.

Diana massages the spot between her eyebrows where tension headaches start, and decides she needs to just bite the bullet and look at the text. (It can't be too bad if he's still able to text about it, right?)

Swiping down, she taps on the message.

Don't be mad, it says, but I found this little one abandoned, and I was *going* to ask if we could keep it but then I fell in love. Sorry, no takebacksies, but I will let you help me name it.

Attached is a picture of a fluffy black kitten curled up against Steve's chest. The angle is funny—clearly an attempt at a one-handed selfie while also holding the kitten—but it's one of the most precious things Diana has ever seen. The kitten's tail is wrapped tight enough to be gently touching its own nose. It's so adorable that Diana thinks she might cry.

The message is a little over an hour old, and Diana goes to text back when more messages come through.

Vet says: It's a girl! 🎈

Then, She has a great big personality, with a photo attachment of the kitten—vet office clear in the background—looking extremely indignant at her current circumstances.

I look forward to meeting her, Diana types back.

When Diana gets home, she finds a veritable explosion of cat toys and products across their living room and kitchen. At the epicenter, on the couch, is Steve, asleep, with a tiny little ball of black fur tucked up under his chin. If Diana had previously had any reservations about their new kitten (she hadn't, really), they would have been erased upon seeing them like this.

She snaps a quick picture, and then goes into the kitchen, pulling out vegetables to start dicing for the evening meal.

Twenty minutes later, Steve wanders in, the kitten now cradled against his chest.

"She's about six weeks," says Steve. "Which is a little early, but the vet says that other than needing to be fed, she looks healthy. She didn't appreciate her first round of shots, but she did appreciate the salmon pâté slurry I gave her afterwards."

"Poor thing. She was abandoned?"

"I think so," says Steve. "I actually saw her yesterday, hiding in the same spot, but they say not to move kittens, you know? because sometimes the mother is just off hunting. But she was alone yesterday and crying, and she was doing the same when I passed by today, and I couldn't just leave her there."

"You did the right thing, Steve. So, about her name."

Steve looks away guiltily, and Diana just knows that he's already named the cat.

"The vet needed a name to start her file," Steve mumbles. "I thought Bast would be cute."

Diana purses her lips, trying not to smile. "She already has you worshipping her like a goddess; it fits." Then she breaks, and starts laughing. "I'm not mad, Steve! About the cat or the name."

Steve looks relieved, like he didn't really think this would be a fight, but wasn't sure. They've talked about getting a pet before, but have always decided against it because of how much they travel.

"I already talked to Aisha and Marguerite," he says, referring to the couple who lives across the hall. "They said that they would watch her when we go out of town, as long as they also get to play with her while she's still a kitten."

"That reminds me, we should have them over for dinner this weekend. Or next, if they aren't free."

Steve shakes his head. "Next weekend's bad. I've got a work thing Friday night, and we're going to the concert at the Madeleine on Saturday with the Giraudets."

Diana makes a little humming noise as she pulls several spice jars from the cabinet. "Am I coming to your work function?"

"Only if you want, but I'd love to have you. You can't hit Floyd, though."

Diana wrinkles her nose at the mention of his co-worker. "We can go out for late night kebab afterward," she decides. "As a reward for putting up with him."

"Génial," says Steve, at the same time that Bast wakes up and meows loudly. "Apparently we haven't been paying her enough attention."

"Hello, Bast," Diana says, and the kitten meows again.

"Here, take her; I'll finish supper," offers Steve.

The kitten squeaks as Steve transfers her, then settles into Diana's arms, looks up at her, and slowly closes her eyes and falls asleep again.

They're cat people now, apparently.

Bast, as it turns out, is a very affectionate cat. She wants to be held, constantly, and when she isn't being held, will toddle up to one of her people and scream until they finally do pick her up. She also likes sleeping tucked up under Steve's chin, which Diana finds absolutely hilarious because Steve is not—and has never been—a back sleeper, but now, more often than not, she finds him falling asleep on his back so as not to disturb Bast.

Bast is most definitely Steve's cat, but she likes Diana well enough. Often, she perches on Diana's left shoulder when she's working on her laptop, and peers at the screen like she's reading the artifact dossiers too.

Sometimes, if Diana is very lucky, Bast will curl up in her lap instead, nose still tucked into the curl of her tail, and purr. Most of the time, Bast perks up as soon as Steve gets home, and prances over to greet him with an affectionate headbutt.

"I see how it is," Diana says, one day, when Bast lifts her head at a sound outside the door that turns out not to be Steve, and Diana swears she looks disappointed. "You like him best."

Bast simply looks at Diana with her big round eyes and blinks once, which Diana suspects is cat for 'duh'.

"Oh, all right, I cannot blame you," Diana sighs, "I like him best too."

Bast presents her chin, and Diana obliges her with a scritch.

("That was a cat-kiss," Steve says later, of the blink, laughing. "Bast was basically telling you she loves and trusts you, and you thought it was sass.")

It's a perfectly ordinary day, and perfectly ordinary days are very easily ruined.

For the day in question, it's the We need to talk that shows up from Steve, causing Diana's nerves to go haywire. She really doesn't think they're fighting about anything, but 'we need to talk' is universally a bad thing, right? They're usually pretty good about handling their problems in constructive ways, and they're excellent at talking through things, but there's a certain permanent ominous quality to 'we need to talk' that fills her with dread.

But when Diana unlocks her phone, she finds: We need to talk about how adorable Bast is right now, along with a picture of the cat in question with her paws crossed over her eyes, and the tiniest tip of her tongue visible between her teeth, like she didn't quite pull it all the way in when she closed her mouth.

Diana laughs, shows the picture to her interns, and sends back She looks so angelic. Like she didn't start caterwauling at four a.m. this morning and wake me out of a dead sleep.

She's a cat, replies Steve. They're always perfect little angels, even when they're not.

"That cat has you wrapped around its paw," Diana says that afternoon, when she comes home to find Steve making a special meal for Bast. "That had better not be the hake I bought at the market this morning."

"Of course it isn't. I filleted that and have the rest cooking down in the stock." He tilts his head toward the lidded pot on the stove. "This is just a little treat for being three months old." He says the last bit to Bast in a slightly sing-song voice.

She loves this man, she really does.

Diana is having a very long day and thinking about Bruce Wayne in a rather uncharitable way. (He is, after all, the reason she had to extend her business trip to the States and is not currently home with her husband and their cat.) She's dirty and tired, and trying desperately not to be bitter about it, because she doesn't approve of feeling bitter about things, when her phone buzzes.

The setting it's on means that the text can only be from Steve, while everyone else is filtered out by 'do not disturb'. Checking her surroundings surreptitiously, she pulls out her phone.

Diana help I'm dying reads the preview and Diana's heart drops into her stomach, body immediately prepping for a supersonic flight and going into panic mode because she's too far away, an hour or two at least from whatever Steve has gotten himself into now—

Diana help I'm dying at how fricking cute Bast is and I need you to be too, Steve has written. I can't even. Underneath is a minute long video of Bast, and Diana nearly hurls her phone across the room before the relief takes over. She almost throws up as she comes down from the adrenaline spike, too.

After a couple of deep breaths, Diana hits the dial button, and Steve picks up on the first ring, right as rain.

"Did you watch it? Isn't she just the best?" he exclaims.

"You need to work on how you start your texts, Steve," she says instead of answering. "Do you know how it popped up on my phone? 'Diana help I'm dying.'"

Steve sucks in a breath sharply enough that it's audible even across the tinny connection. "Oh, Gods. I'm so sorry, Diana."

Between his contrition and the fact that he's clearly okay, Diana feels her anger evaporate. She can't count the number of times that Barry—just for example—has used 'I'm dying' or 'DEAD' or 'deceased' to indicate various emotions that are not death-based. It's only normal that Steve would pick it up.

"No, I also overreacted," she admits. "I have not slept properly in two days and was not really thinking."

"I'll still work on it," Steve promises. "Seriously, watch the video; she's such a weirdo. It'll make your day better."

"Okay, I will."

"Hey, are you okay? Do you want to talk?"

"I am just ready to be home," Diana says. "I really shouldn't talk now, but hopefully I will be home before morning."

"Okay, Angel. Love you."

"Love you too."

The call disconnects, and then Diana hits play on the video. It's shot in their kitchen, and it's dark enough out that Steve has the overhead light on. Bast is in the middle of the floor, spinning in circles chasing her tail, or maybe the shadow of her tail, Diana can't quite tell. She suppresses a laugh as Bast starts spinning the other way. Dammit, Steve's right. She really is cute.

Day brightened, Diana taps out. Give her a kiss for me, we both know how much she loves those.

Two minutes later, a photo pops through of a very disgruntled looking Bast with the caption 'post-kiss', and Diana squashes down another laugh.

She's home by one in the morning, their time, and only has to move Bast a little bit to climb into bed next to Steve.

One of the reasons Diana was originally hesitant to get a cat was how much they both travel for work, and this month has been absolutely non-stop for her. In the past three weeks, it feels like she's only been home about three days. Fortunately, this is her last trip for another month (or at least, her last scheduled trip; JL business has a nasty way of popping up at inconvenient times), and Steve's job has been largely quiet on the travel front, lately.

She's got one more day to get through, and then it's just her normal job. She might even take a personal day or two.

She's just about to go into another meeting when her phone buzzes. Urgent! Read me NOW says the preview of Steve's message, and Diana immediately thumbs open her lockscreen, pausing before she enters the room, just in case she needs to dart back out.

We love you! ♥️💕 reads the rest of the message, and underneath is an attached photo of Steve and Bast. He's holding her up so that their faces are pressed together, and Bast has decided to be a perfect angel for Steve, looking directly into the camera. Diana swears she's even smizing next to Steve's own grin.

I know we talked about this, says another message that pops up while she's looking at the picture, but we wanted to make sure you saw that right away.

And then, We miss you.

A smile inches its way across her lips, and she sends back a quick selfie with a cat ears filter and a miss you too scrawled along the bottom before ducking back into the meeting.

It's Bast who hears her first, because when she opens the apartment door, Bast is sitting squarely in front of it. She lets out an indignant yowl, and then puts her front paws up on Diana's legs, asking to be picked up.

Diana shoves her suitcase inside the door, closes it, and obliges, and Bast settles in against her chest.

"She's clearly forsaken me," says Steve, who's just come out of the bedroom. "Hey you," he adds, leaning in over Bast to give her a kiss.

"Give it five minutes," Diana replies, because even though the cat looks comfortable now, her moods are mercurial.

"Mmm," Steve hums, clearly in agreement. "Hey, before I forget: can I see your phone?"

She shifts Bast (who looks up at her reproachfully) so that she can free a hand and pull her phone out of her pocket to give to Steve.

"I've been fiddling with mine, and I figured out how to turn the preview off of the push notification," he says.

Diana lets out a startled laugh. "That's probably a more secure setting anyways," she says. "Go ahead. I look forward to the moment when every third text from you will no longer induce panic."

"The future is now," Steve deadpans, and Diana has to set an affronted Bast down so that she can give Steve a proper hug, because she's glad to be home.

The next morning, Diana sneaks out early to their favorite boulangerie for a couple of pain aux raisins. She's in line when her phone pings.

Swiping it open, she taps on the notification and sees (in full, this time, thankfully): Mayday, mayday, mayday, the cat has taken your spot. There's Bast—stretched out so long across the bed that it almost looks like someone put her on a medieval torture rack—looking very pleased with herself because she's taken up the entire half of the bed that is Diana's.

A small smile creeps over her face as she steps forward to order. She's got a spot to reclaim, a cat to snuggle, and a husband to kiss good morning; she hasn't got any time to waste.

***

#wondertrev #wondertrevbingo2020 #wondertrev fanfic #steve x diana #diana x steve #fluff #lenci writes

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princessselene126 · 5 years

Text

Hey yall, emotional abuse, physical pain (not self harm, just illness pain), brief mention of periods, and shitty parents tws coming up.

So i generally try to keep my personal life off here unless I won’t be posting for a while and want to let you know why (like i did with my ear infection.), but I’m having a really bad week and a half and desperately need to vent. Feel free to completely ignore this because I don’t expect anyone to respond, I just need to get everything off my chest--although any suggestions as to what the fuck I should do are more than welcome.

My dad and stepmom have been controlling any emotionally abusive for pretty much my entire life--because you know, abuse doesn’t just start randomly and it’s not something that you can easily fix.

Anyway. When I went home for my ear infection, my stepmom got kinda mad about it. Mad might be the wrong word, controlling is probably better. I didnt tell her or my dad that I was coming home to see the doctor for a few reasons:

I knew if I told them, they’d tell me i should tough it out and go to class

They’d say that i was being over dramatic and that it couldn’t possible hurt that bad

They’d ask why I couldn’t have seen a doctor in Milwaukee (where my college is and 1.5 hours from home), why I needed to come home for something like that.

So I didn’t tell them. While I was home my stepmom texted me asking how I was doing. At the time she didn’t know I had an ear infection or that I was home, so of course like the idiot I am, I was honest and told her I came home sunday night. Seriously I think honesty is my fatal flaw. She, of course, asked why and I told her that “I cant think right now, let alone take a bus somewhere I’ve never been before. I tried to get into the dr at school, but they dont have any openings until wednesday.” I was able to get into my doctor at home on monday, two full days before I would have been able too at school, so it seems logical that id go home right? I couldnt hear out of my right ear anyway, so it’s not like I would have been able to pay attention in class and actually learn anything.

She drops it or that day.

But my stepmom, being my stepmom, of course texts me back a few days later (fthursday or friday i think) because she thinks that I should have tried harder to find a doctor here. She said, and I fucking quote this entire goddamn text

Hey so I just want to clarify with you ... you could have gone to a dr there you know? You guys didn’t have to come all the way home and back. good lord. Just find a clinic thats an urgent care or er. you might have had to pay more out of pocket, but so what? And you have 2 insuraces, so that wouldve helped more too. Just saying. So I thought I’d let you know instead of doing all that craziness back and forth. Make it easier on yourself next time kiddo.

And this has me fucking livid because:

I literally explained to her why I didn’t find someone in Milwaukee days before.

She’s insinuating that it’s too inconvenient for my mom to come get me.

And my stepdad had off on tuesday, so he gladly took me back too school. No questions asked. No complaints. He even bought my antibiotics for me (which I was totally prepared to pay the $10 for myself) before we left.

She’s talking down to me as if I had no idea that I could do this.

I can’t afford to pay more out of pocket right now, even if I might (read: MIGHT) get reimbursed for it later.

Going home literally WAS making it easier on myself.

So I send a screenshot of this text to my mom of course, and she replies almost immediately just going off. My mom and I havent always had the best relationship (she has some emotionally abusive habits too, but she knows about most of them, acknowledges them, and tries her best to fix them), but I know that she will always be there for me. She’s that person who will drive an hour and a half just to come make sure someone is okay, and she has done so 2-3 times in my 2 years at college. She doesn’t care if I’m 45 and living on the other side of the country, she will drive or by a plane ticket to hep me if/when need it. So my mom is beyond pissed off that my stepmom would ever imply that coming to get me, take care of me, is an inconvenience.

I reply a simple “i know” to my stepmom, because I know better than to give her a long winded explanation. She’ll just come back at me with an even longer block of text basically telling me how wrong/stupid i was to not just see a dr in the area.

And of course, of fucking course, she replies with a long block of text anyway basically telling me the same fucking thing. She does this several times and I keep doing the “i know” “yeah” “okay” thing because I just didn’t have the fucking ENERGY you guys.

But then she says

my goodness you’re a peach sometimes. Just trying to help and maybe you guys didn’t think of that.

So by this point in time my patience was completely GONE. I have absolutely none left. I know when my stepmom calls me a peach it’s just her “nice” way of saying “you’re being a fucking bitch.” ((Keep in mind this entire time I was taking screenshots and sending them to my mom so she could be mad with me.)) And so I fucking went off in the nicest way possible. I tell her

no, you’re trying to be in control of the situation that had absolutely nothing to do with you

I was going to just try going to a dr the next morning, but then my mom called and I was crying and she asked if I wanted to come home, so I said yes. It wasn’t an inconvenience to her, though it feels like you’re trying to make it seem that way. And [stepdad] had off so he was easily able to take me back.

I’m not an idiot, im an adult fully capable of doing things myself. But i also recognized that I needed help and accepted it when my mom noticed I did as well

Because yes. I was in so much pain that I was actually crying from it. I usually have a decent pain tolerance (horrific period cramps will do that to a person), but for some reason whenever I say that I’m genuinely in pain my stepmom never seems to think it could be “that bad.” And... that’s exactly how that went. I was soooo prepared to just tough it out and wait until Wednesday if I absolutely had to. But then my mom called and I may be 20 years old but there are those times when you’re an adult and you just need your parent. You need your parent to tell you it’s going to be okay. You need your parent to hold and comfort you. You need your parent to take you to the dr. And for me this was one of those times. I so very rarely ask for help but this time i needed it, and there’s no reason for my stepmom (or anyone) to make me feel like I should be ashamed of that.

So she said something brief to that and I didn’t reply back. Ne next moring she sends me another text starting off with something along the lines of “I’m hurt by how you treated me last night...” and I didn’t read the rest because I knew it would make me mad. I did, however send a screenshot to my mom again.

The next day I call both my mom and my paternal grandma to talk about this entire conversation.

My mom thinks that I should cut off ties with them for at least a few months because this has been overwhelming me so much. I agree with her, but I’m concerned about my younger siblings (not that they’ll get hurt or anything, but that I won’t be able to see them) and also my aunt is getting married in may.

And my grandma was livid too. She’s never liked my stepmom because she’s always thought that she’s treated me like shit. (For a long time i mistakenly believed that my stepmom was a better person than my mom, but I was an impressionable child/teenager then). My grandma and I talked about times when stepmom made me feel bad about myself or treated me as lesser than my half siblings. And my grandma agrees that I should keep my distance, but she asked me to not cut ties, and to keep a decent amount of peace, until after my aunt’s wedding.

Which I understand. I get it. I love my aunt a lot and I truly dont want to cause any problems at her wedding, she deserves the world. But at the same time I don’t know how much longer I can take this you guys. I’m supposed to go to a water park for a night with my dad, stepmom, and siblings during my spring break (it was a christmas present from my dad to the family) and I’m absolutely dreading it. I don’t want to go. My mom says I should just lie and say I have to work, but again, fatal flaw here is honesty, so I don’t know if I’ll be able to do that. I want to see my siblings too, but I really need to start taking care of myself.

I’ve spent far too long worrying about my family even after not living at home for the last two years. I need to take care of myself. I do. But I honestly don’t know how to do that without causing a family feud in the process.

And the reason this was all triggered again today (after not having talked to anyone on my dad’s side since saturday) is because I got a call from a random number while I was in class today. It was a call from my home city and whoever it was left a voicemail. In the back of my mind I started worrying that it was my dad and that he wanted to talk me into not being upset with my stepmom (he’s a terrible person too but that’s a rant for a different day).

I have yet to listen to it because the idea of talking about this with him makes me nauseous. At the same time, not knowing who called is making me overwhelmingly anxious. I don’t know what would be best:

Ignoring the voicemail, or listening to it and potentially having to talk to my dad?

Toughing out being around my family until after the wedding, or risk causing a family feud by cutting ties?

I just... I’m so lost you guys.

#personal #tasha talks #i could go into so much more detail about how fucking broken i am because of all of the things ive dealt with in my family #but this is the bare minimum needed to understand just what the fuck is going on right now #im not feeling ok #mr stark i dont feel so good #even trying to joke like that is falling flat right now #im in panic mode and i don't know how to stop #this has been keeping me up at night #seriously #i cannot sleep #i feel sick #and so drained #all i want to do is sleep #delete later #probably

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debbie-tanthorey · 4 years

Text

65 DAYS IN MAY

CHAPTER ONE

Cosmic irony. A dentist saved me. You read that correctly – saved my LIFE, albeit inadvertently. An action as mundane as having one’s teeth cleaned, set fate in motion. Was the week of Thanksgiving 2019, bi-annual check-up. Dentist does his thing after the hygienist finishes. You know the drill (pun intended). Only this time he uncustomarily offers me a hand-mirror, tells me to look in my throat, asks me if I've had my tonsils out.

“No”

“You have a white spot back there, see that?” My eyes shift toward the mirror – I LIE – say I see it (don’t have my glasses on, PRIDE won’t let me admit I can’t see any white patch) He continues, “If you don't mind, am referring you to an oral surgeon for a biopsy.” The nefarious B-word; brain fires a warning shot. B-word leads to the C-word.

Alone now in my car, I fall apart. Hi, I'm a hypochondriac; I don't handle health challenges well despite the jovial persona folks see. A paralyzed-with-fear hypochondriac. Foremost in my thoughts is a long-time friend from high school, currently dealing with a devastating throat cancer diagnosis; I know not to minimize this. (R.I.P. Grady, August 8, 2020 😔) Get to my desk, dial my primary physician immediately, which is a big deal for introverted-me; set up an appointment for a second opinion. The Thanksgiving holiday means I can't be seen until the following week. What is normally a fun, family-gathering time of year, is effectively fogged in with dread, I go through the motions. All-consuming thoughts ruminate incessantly - I'm dying. Yeah, it's what hypochondriacs DO, we ‘dive off into the deep end,’ thrash, drown in ‘what if’s??’

The next week, my doctor smiles after he peers past my tongue into my throat, “Where?” Looks twice, insists I relax, “It's nothing.” He knows me well, adding, “if it would make you feel better, let's follow-up in three months.” His reassurance tempers my panic . . life resumes.

CHAPTER TWO

December 2019, January, February, 2020 the winter that wasn't. Work that was. Mid-February Housing fair at Ohio University's Walter Hall Rotunda. Event coordinator, Donna, introduces herself to Dave and me at our display table. Lively-soul, (I admire extroverts) she explains she recently transferred to this area from Columbus and, among other things, is a Stage 4 breast cancer survivor. Woman is spunky. Piques my interest. I share my sister's email address with her, explaining Cheryl is an 18-month soldier waging the same battle.

March approaches and the little nagging voice in my head reminds, “3-month follow-up, Deb, just do it.” Did. Friday, March 6. Confirmed, no dumb spot. Ha!! Your basic normal appointment. Crisis debunked. As visit concludes, Hillary, his nurse, scrolls through my medical record, turns to mention it's been more than a couple years since my last mammogram, they’ve all been clear, but I'm due, and would I want to set up one.

“Sure”

My youngest, Leah, works in this same medical facility, stop at her desk near the lab to say ‘hello.’ She’s my last to leave home, miss her in my house still. Always good to see and talk to her. She and Ian were married 18 months ago. Her desk-mate, Jordan, coincidentally one of Leah’s friends from her high school days, sets up my mammo appointment for Monday.

MONDAY, MARCH 9. Say ‘hello’ again to the girls at their desk. Check-in. Take a seat, wait my turn. Have had plenty of these 'grams in my lifetime, no big deal, no dread. Bare 'em, squash 'em, and get back to work. This time though, the tech knows my sister, and as I dress when we are done, from behind the screen she casually asks how old Cheryl was when she got her diagnosis and how’s she doing. (60. She is doing remarkably well, maintaining) 10 minutes later, I’m back at my work desk, phone rings, the mammo-tech is on the phone, needing me to return the next day for “a couple more, 'maybe clearer' pics, and an ultrasound.” That’s never happened before. A fleeting shot of panic surges, but since my most recent dread has been unfounded, I attempt to not over-react.

TUESDAY, MARCH 10. Keenly study the radiology-tech’s face for clues when she comes to fetch me from the lobby, I examine her demeanor as if I’m a police detective on a high-profile murder case and she’s my prime suspect. She's calm. So I'm cool. Rescan first, ultrasound second. Not especially pleasant the latter, (idiotic thing to say, was wholly unpleasant ) having your chest unceremoniously smashed in a circular motion against your ribs. The techs are studious, the room silent, I stare at the ceiling. Last time I had an ultrasound was 26 years ago and I was pregnant. Today, no fun at all. Understand now why my sister mentioned she is not a fan of these during her breast cancer struggles.

CHAPTER THREE

SATURDAY, MARCH 14, a knock on the front door, mailman is standing on my front porch and in the time it takes me to scribble my name on a card, I'm staring down at a certified letter in my palm, the return address of the clinic lunging off the paper at me. There's a low, barely-audible, foreign sound in my head. It's 'control', in human form, and is protesting/whining as she’s being forcibly dragged away from me. Remind myself I'm somewhat sane, an adult - just open the envelope. I do. And there it is, in black and white, the word -

ABNORMALITY

The rest of the weekend is a blur, debunking the need for concern with my daughters. Every excuse, every plausible explanation of why a letter like this would be mailed. A mistake, surely so. Just a glitch in the system. “Mom, if it was bad, they wouldn't notify you by letter,” Leah insists.

MONDAY, MARCH 16, my primary physician calls in regard to my somewhat-panicky email fired-off to him on Saturday, the day the letter arrives. He speaks in calm tones, explains he was on vacation the past week, is sorry he could not talk to me before the notice arrived, he's seen the offending spot on the film, offers it's so small, unlikely any cause for concern. “Indistinctive,” he assures. Forwarding to a surgeon for review.

CHAPTER FOUR

TUESDAY, MARCH 17, mama-daughter call . . normal stuff .. she’s working today at the clinic. She mentions the aforementioned surgeon has office hours today, maybe I could be squeezed in. I’m in luck, they can. So in a couple hours, I am shaking the hand of the head of surgery. Personable guy, he tells me he's reviewed my pics, if the radiologist had not circled the area, he would not have noticed it right away. Optimism duly noted. He thoroughly examines that body part, pokes and prods, asks me if I feel a lump. “I have not.” Today he doesn't either. Every woman knows about lumps. I absolutely know about lumps. I would never ignore one. Fact of the matter, there is NO lump!

We go over my less than stellar immediate family history of C. (HATE that word). Lung, breast, leukemia. He recommends biopsy to rule out any true problem. The B-word again. This day I say, ‘ok'.

Right here is where COVID-19 makes it's bizarro presence known, personally impacts ME. Doctor advises local surgery center is now closed due to the virus and procedures are limited to emergencies only but he is willing to go before the Board to plead my case. ???? While thankful he is willing to intercede for me; I am tamping down anxiety fighting to rise up, mentally jumping up and down, stomping on it, both feet.

Couple days later I get the call the Medical Board approves me for a needle biopsy. Control-of-my-life, she is sitting on the floor in a fetal position, rocking, whimpering in a locked padded-room somewhere.

CHAPTER FIVE

TUESDAY, MARCH 24, Jess drives me to Jackson. I don't need driven. Appreciate my oldest’s company though. COVID rules necessitate only a patient be permitted to enter any facility; Jess has to wait in the car. At the door, am screened for symptoms, this is the Twilight Zone. And it's too quiet in here. The place is dark and weird and I don't want to be here. I'm the ONLY person in the entire surgery center, I overhear the staff talking, they weren’t on the schedule today, I’m the only patient. hhmmmm, why am I so important?? Creepy.

Am ushered into the procedure room, nurses are professional, put me at ease. Entering, it’s impossible to miss my film aglow on the lighted-box on the wall; she asks if I want to see it. (NO!! I don’t want to see it!!) In reality, robotically, walk over to look. There it is, plain as day. The previously described small-likely-nothing indistinctive spot. Yikes, it's a glaring, ominous, bright white glob with literal tentacles reaching out, it’s in the middle of my precious flesh. No denying this now. Thing’s staring back at me. The only way I know how to describe the rest of the appointment, is that I am having an out-of-body experience, it’s not happening to me. No . . . is not.

You know the lifts in a garage of an auto repair shop? That's what this is. Clumsily climb aboard, assume a face-down position. There's no delicate way to explain the procedure. There's an enormous hole in the table, chest area, your beloved body part dangles and the table is raised, surgeon accesses it from below. Area is securely taped, prepped and numbed. Needles are fun, aren't they??! (eye roll) Am told the table will vibrate, surgeon cautions me to lay perfectly still or the laser will slice me. (no problem, I float away, not even present in the room) And it begins. Computer guides a gatling gun of needles as it commences to stab the tumor, withdraw specimens of cells. Sounds horrific, but it isn't, numbing tends to that. Divert my eyes from the red, fleshy goop siphoning into the container, my eyes clamped shut much of the time. Lasts just a few minutes, dress, then am on my way. Visit the same surgeon in a week for the results. Will not come back to this location, by then this center will also be closed by the pandemic mandate, next appointment is at a nearby hospital.

CHAPTER SIX

APRIL 1, 2020, APRIL FOOL'S DAY. First time I have ever visited this hospital, enter alone, virus protocol at the door. Surgeon’s office on the second floor, take the elevator. Few folks in the building, those that are, like me, are wearing masks. As I wait, pilfer on my ipad. Name is called, off I go. Today I find out this thing is benign, that I have been spazzing for weeks over nothing, naturally. Don't wait long for the Dr., I remain seated as he enters, greets me. He begins talking as he walks across the room, lays down my chart, then turns, making eye-contact, “you are so lucky to have had this test, mammogram did what it was supposed to do; we've caught it early.”

“...(I go effectively deaf) blah-blah-blah-blah-blah CARCINOMA.” A cataclysmic concoction of consonants and vowels strung together into syllables, words, in sentence form, delivered matter-of-factly. What happens here is nothing short of BIZARRE. Always imagined if I heard the words, “you have cancer,” I would react BADLY.

I would -

be angry

weep

go to pieces

vomit

all of the above

In reality -

I did not cry

I did not faint

I did not scream

Instead, sit calmly, silently. Stoic. Utterly, absolutely, wholly dumbfounded. ( this isn’t real - my head hurts - is this a stroke!?) REALITY Brain cells scramble to focus, I listen intently to every word, nod occasionally. Hearing all, absorbing little, during this a crash course on three types of breast cancer and treatment options available. (drifting off - I like him, he gestures with his hands as he speaks of surgery options.) Reconstruction; their plastic surgeon is top notch. The decision is mine. The doctor adds simply, “you know what will happen if you do nothing.”

I do

Unceremoniously and without a second’s hesitation, I react, “Get it off me,” hand on my chest. (subconscious protesting, “I feel FINE!!!! THIS. IS. STUPID!!”)

He nods in acknowledgement of my words, continuing, discusses recurrence rates on the opposite breast. Fuzzy math. Right here I interrupt him with the wave of a hand, “Get them both off me!” For good measure, I repeat it. Decision made, bilateral mastectomy it is, ASAP. Hands me a print-out with my diagnosis, I roll the paper up like a diploma and slip it in my bag. Stare down at the bag I take to work everyday . . (new-reality thoughts commence) or did … back when life was normal.

“Lousy April Fool’s Day, ya gotta admit.” I mutter out-loud to him as I rise to my feet, reach for the door. (how am I walking??!)

Ah, but COVID-19. Global pandemic, if it were a person, he’d be a cold-hearted, merciless jerk. I have to wait 14 days, be symptom-free in order to be permitted in their surgery unit or risk contaminating the whole place. Condemned to live with my killer for 15 more days, let it sleep with me, go to work with me, hang out with me while I visit my kids, grandkids. Melodramatic? You betcha, but the truth. All the while knowing the beast is growing.

I don’t exit the building until I am pre-registered for surgery, receive copious instructions, am assigned a day, APRIL 16. Next to the radiology waiting room, there I message my sister, she is the first to know. I have breast cancer. There’s lab work, x-ray, EKG. Am a zombie. A polite zombie with cancer making idle chitchat with techs who have no freaking clue my unremarkable and average life has evaporated in the last 45 minutes.

Poked, prodded, scanned and x-rayed - my walk across the parking lot is a 1,000 mile trek. Open the door, slide into the seat, fasten the seat belt, inhale deeply, fill my lungs with air just so I feel alive and less numb. Stare at my hands. Wish I could scream without attracting attention. Vomiting would be a blessing about now. I seem to be the same person that got out of the vehicle two hours before. No, am not the same at all. HOW do I do this????! Any of this??

HOW??????????!!!!!

In the days that follow, I will unroll my biopsy report, familiarize myself: invasive lobular carcinoma, 1.6cm, grade 1, ER+PR+HER2-. (translation = hormone fed) I will become versed about the enemy within, that if left untreated, would put me in the ground. Knowledge is power.

CHAPTER SEVEN

How do you tell the people you love, you have cancer? How do you toss a live emotional-grenade in a room? As terrifying as it is for me, I have to watch the realization sink in, the fear in their faces. Jess and Leah, my girls, having initiated a video chat with me as I wait for labs at the hospital. “Mom...well, how’d it go??” Not necessary to share details out loud, I crack, my eyes said all there was to say. Tough to hide that. Awful is the fact I’m in a public waiting room as they ask, am trying to hold it together, not disintegrate, explode into pieces. Watch them absorb what they now understand. I can’t help them.

Morning of April 1, the plan was to go back to work after the appointment. I don't. I aim the car toward home.

But first, I stop at my mom's house, to reveal the diagnosis to her and George. This is the first time I will say the words. Standing in the middle of her living room, my mouth opens and the emotion-less words fall out, “I have cancer too.” It is weird to hear it voiced and I feel bad for her. (her sister, my dad, my brother, my sister, now me) Explain to her what I plan to do and comfort that it'll be alright. She supports my decision: show no mercy to the beast.

Head home.

Turn onto my county road, Jameson calls, asks how the Dr. visit went. Avoiding answering, instead, ask if they are home, that I will be right there. Am thankful I am not them. He ‘knows’ from my tone, detects from the question. My son and wife, Patty, live 1/4 mile from my house, I arrive at their place in only a couple minutes, walk into their living room where they both were, learn the kids are upstairs, state the fact to the both of them, and I sit down for a bit. Just like that. Keep it light and matter of fact.

Life is insane.

CHAPTER EIGHT

What follows is 15 days trapped in a state of in-between. Desperate for normalcy yet knowing I can’t have it. What to do. What. To. Do. Staying right-minded is the aim. Crave it. C-word rarely leaving my thoughts. Every day ‘hospital Jessica’ calls me to ask a series of Covid-19 related questions and asks my body temperature that I am tasked with taking each morning upon waking.

What I CAN maintain right now, is routine.

COVID locks my office door in mid-March, am the only one staffing there. OU student move-in/move-out day is May 3. I’m the one in charge of this, making sure everything is ready. Can’t cancel it . . it goes on with or without me. Scheduling surgery mid-April, slashes two weeks off my prep time for this once-a-year event. Realize the timing could not be better, if there IS such a thing, I have little free time to ponder what’s coming, am too busy. Every day I plow through my work to-do list. Go home too tired to indulge doom and gloom.

Away from the office too, I quickly find another diversion, researching and shopping for items I might need after the surgery. Soft tops with inner pockets for drains management, ice packs, hot packs, special propping pillow. A miracle they all arrive on time because Amazon Prime has been waylay-ed by the corona virus. A sick and twisted ‘Merry Christmas to me’ as each package arrives. In some small way, gives me a semblance of control.

Sleeping is not an issue during these days. It’s my safe place. Sleep deep and well, courtesy of a little purple pill discovered years ago. (thank you, menopause) Each and every morning, have about 30 seconds of ‘normal’ before I remember what demon is living in me.

An entertaining activity during this time is staring in my lingerie drawer at the start of every day, choosing which style, what color bra for one last travel in the rotation. I waffle. At first, suffer pangs of melancholy while looking at the neat row of vibrant colors and lace. Then chuckle, cups are large enough to be made into hats for small children. No one wants to discuss my boobs, but this is an important part of the process of letting go. Acknowledgement. A girl spends what seems like her whole life waiting for these body parts to materialize; coveted, we dress them up, suspend them with steel reinforcement, make the best of them. They feed our children, we rock our babies/grandbabies against them. They’re part of who we are. Mine are set for execution. It’s them or me.

Time ticks by.

CHAPTER NINE

WEDNESDAY, APRIL 15. Mastectomy Eve, am something I have never been, radioactive. True. This day go into the hospital ALONE, pass through the covid-19 gauntlet; escorted to a quiet room with a massive machine, bet it was a CT scanner, I don’t ask, I lay down on a metal table and a needle is inserted in my chest region, right side (still find it weird to use the word ‘breast’) and a radioactive tracer is placed in my body at the sight of the tumor. I’d researched the procedure a little (LIE . . I researched a LOT) beforehand, and read it would be EXCRUCIATING. So expect the worst. Naturally. Tech is kind and reassuring; small talk. I notice what great hair he has. Stare at the ceiling as I lay there. Then the doctor comes in, says I’ll feel a stick (had read the area is numbed first) expect that. Did. Not horrendous - that’s an exaggeration, barely felt anything. Assume we wait for the numbing to take effect before he drills through to the core. What I DIDN’T expect, is him to say, “you’re done.” Meaning that tiny prick was it. Say what now? Before the morning’s surgery, I’ll come back to this table, and will find out if the cancer has leeched into any lymph nodes. I dress and exit the building.

ESCAPE! The rest of this day IS MINE. I take my dreary thoughts, my diseased chest, the ‘DD girls’ , and we hit the road, took the long way home. Gave ‘them’ the best darned last-day-alive you could ask for. Was the least I could do considering what I was consenting to do to them. Pitied them and wanted them DEAD at the same time. Them or me.

Flowers waiting for me when I got home, the first time I sobbed in earnest. A torrent of tears.

CHAPTER TEN

THURSDAY, APRIL 16, 2020. DtoDD DAY. Death to DD’s Day. (and my Mom’s 81st birthday) Eerily calm. I grab my packed bag, stare at my freshly-made bed as I turn to exit the bedroom. Oh here comes one of those bizarro thoughts I have at times like this. Glancing around, mutter, “when I return, nothing will be the same. Gee, I hope I come back.” Melodramatic to a fault I am. Patty drops me off at the hospital door at a ridiculously early hour. Did I mention this is during a pandemic so no one can come in and that the hospital is spooky-empty and hushed?? Well, it is. Apocolyptically-quiet. Surreal. Check-in is swift and efficient and a surgery-nurse retrieves me promptly, accompany her to the prep area. this is real?

This unit has a circle of several cubicles, all but three are empty though. Settled in, changing into hospital gown, then I have three hours to ponder the fact that the last time I had surgery was 26 years ago and I am not as young as I used to be, and nowhere near ready to die, and lordy, I am no fan of pain. I feel FINE . . how can something deadly be in me yet I feel this HEALTHY??

In the hours I wait, return to scan-room to see if this thing has reached my lymph nodes. Dark room, humming machine. Same tech lets me watch the screen, bright lights like tiny fireworks become visible. No clue what I am watching.

My appointed time arrives, was about 9:30 a.m. Accompanied by a surgical nurse, I walk down the hallway to the O.R., my IV pole in tow. this isn’t real Three surgical staff are busily prepping. Funny how apprehension makes one awkwardly talkative with strangers, more so than normal. I greet them and cannot shut up, blather, “you know how kids took home tonsils in a jar?? (clutching my chest) you have a gallon jug I can take these home with me?” (yes, I really did say it) Laughter from them, that’s good. Am offered a stool to climb onto the table. I do. My God, to the gallows, ‘girls’

Jettisoned into the Twilight Zone right here. In the time it takes me to scoot, get comfortably horizontal on the table, sterile people descend on me, all over me doing things. Arms, legs . . belt around my abdomen. Am picturing masked-ants. Busy, busy. Big light on the ceiling lowering, settles above my upper torso and head. I feel FINE Am here, but not here. Oh God. Gentle voice to my right, as a mask is fitted over my nose and mouth, “take a couple deep breaths.”

Blackness.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

I’m struggling in deep water, not diving down - but up, shooting to the surface of the water, I need air. Regaining consciousness, a jostling, repeating, “Debbie, wake up. Can you hear me?” Awake. Literal first conscious thought, drenched in relief -

“... NOT DEAD”

Body is being tugged, moved, but I’m not doing it. Realization hits me, where I am and what's happened. Conscious, I no longer feel fine, unrelenting waves of nausea wash over me. I give myself over to whichever medical professional wants to tend to me. They can have me, I don’t want me. Not this me.

End up in a hospital room, no recollection whatsoever how. Silence interrupted only by BP cuff on an ankle, inflating noisily at intervals reminding me I’m alive. Not moving. Lord, what have I done? Ice packs under both arms. Detest feeling this gross. I hang onto the sheets for hours, ride out the nausea.

As terrible as that was, and it was horrendous, it ends abruptly once I am fully awake later in the afternoon. In fact, feel remarkably good - considering. Any pain is well-managed. I can move, even lift my arms. I can walk to the restroom, tend to myself. Am hungry and eat a good dinner. Pleasantly surprised at this half of the day.

Curious. Here’s where I gingerly lift the blanket to get my first look. DD-girls are gone, replaced by a thick layer of bandage all across my chest, tubing, two drains, and . . . oh my lord . . . HOW long has my belly been that size??????! God bless boobs, they divert one’s attention from a myriad of flaws. Geez-louise.

Thank you, Covid-19, for the hospital stay’s solitude, I don’t mind, I welcome not having to share this day with visitors. Am only interrupted intermittently by nurses and the doctor. No big deal. Not much to tell. Post on facebook that I survived. Was released to go home the very next day with surgeon’s, “no restrictions. See you in a week, will have lab results for you then.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

FRIDAY, APRIL 17. HOME. Here’s where it gets funny. Seriously. Humorous. Reality. My youngest, Leah, volunteers to stay for the first few days. Plan on not needing much in the way of assistance. Stubborn. Not too uncomfortable, prop on pillows, watch tv, pain meds. First-night, decide my bed is where I will sleep, let her have the couch. Undeterred in the middle of the night, manage to get myself to the bathroom alone. Good for ME!! Ah, but then the sun comes up. Right here I discover Super Woman I am not. Attempt the same maneuver and the stabbing pain angrily asserts, “NOT THIS TIME, SISTER!” Ah, bladder is bossy and insistent. But Pain is in charge. “#*&@*#&$}” a little too loudly (translation) “Leah!! Help!!” She comes trotting and I’m laughing, trapped in my own bed. Arms frozen at my sides, literally cannot move under my own power without an instant excruciating reaction. With urgency (full bladder loudly protesting) instruct her to wring a bed sheet, get to the foot of the bed, hold the ends, let me grab the middle . . . PULL!! It works!! Whew, lesson learned, until I could get up and down on my own unaided, I didn’t sleep there again.

Drains. Grateful to only require two. Three times a day they need emptying. Unceremoniously, Leah’s job. When large portions of flesh are removed, one’s body compensates by attempting to fill the space with fluid, drains are typically inserted to draw off this fluid, speeding recovery. These ‘things’ (drain hoses) are just under my skin across the width of my chest, a stitch holding them in place at the hole (yikes) where they exit on either side. The bulbs at the end of the 12 inch lines are clear grenade-shaped receptacles collecting wound-juice. (you winched at the visual, didn’t you? haha) They get full. Necessary to milk the line first, with sterile gloved fingers of one hand, she grasps and steadies the line where it exits my body, with the other, she slides her pinched fingers down the tubing, pushes the ooze and any clots to the end. Pops the top of the bulb, empties 'ick' into a measuring cup, and logs the amount and color. Squeezes the bulb as she closes the lid so siphon will commence. My only job is to 'enjoy' the vigorous suction. eek

I sit dutifully still on a stool while she goes about her ‘work’, chit-chatting about this and that, am intentionally not watching the gore slipping, dripping into the bulb. She's not hurting me but every now and then will feel a subtle tug, a movement of the tubing. (shudder) Sunday evening she taps the bulb’s bottom on the table, remarking, “darned clot won’t fall through.” (rap, rap, smack) “Eww, that’s gross,” she says, “clot (tap) won’t (tap) let go ( jiggling it, the dangling, stringing bloody blob just hanging there, swaying back and forth).” My skin is warming . . . interesting sensation . . getting hot. Really HOT. She is sitting right next to me, is talking but her voice is fading. Am looking her direction, but she is drifting away in a misty vapor . . . waaaaaaaaaaaay over there now, voice, can’t hear her. Vision going and the room is moving ever so slightly.

I see my girl in slo-mo, she realizes what is happening, "Mom, Mom ... MOM!" (my mouth no longer works, cannot respond) hear her excited, “DAD!!!! Come quick!! Help! Mom’s passing out!!!”

Didn't. (did get to the couch . . sat still for an hour, feet up . . w/ice pack alternating on my neck, forehead) Didn’t vomit, so that's a 'WIN" for the day.

I learn to do it myself once she goes home. No big deal.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

THURSDAY, APRIL 23. A week passes, mostly uneventful. Sick leave, lounging, medicating, tracking excretion of Deb-juice, healing. Tough to remember the days in March and early April when I felt GOOD. I feel terrible. Blah - which to me, IS terrible. No fever, no signs of infection, just a general feeling of malaise. (such a descriptive word, ‘malaise’) Post-op visit, a follow-up with the surgeon. Oldest daughter Jess, chauffeur for the day. The entire drive down to Gallipolis, I imagine they’ll take one look at my sorry self, react in horror, re-admit me immediately. I have to be dying, something has to be terribly wrong. No one can feel this bleak and survive.

Mull my life over for that hour drive, did I live it adequately, what is left that I have not done, am I going to throw up IN or OUT of her car . . oh woe is me . . my thoughts are rambling, disjointed, grim. (BEYOND melodramatic) LOL Get to the hospital, I have to admit I cannot even walk in under my own power. I have no power, drained dry. Jess requests a wheelchair and I feel how I imagine being 150 years old and feeble feels, reliant on a stranger for transport up to the waiting area. Pitiful. I hate this. Too puny to care.

And remember COVID . . Jessica can’t come in with me. My mummified remains parked in a desolate waiting room. sigh I need a transfusion. I need a transplant, I need SOMETHING . . want my life back. Where’d Debbie go??!!

Eventually wheeled into the exam room (decrepit thing that I am) to wait. Surgeon enters, his normal perky self, smiles my direction. I lament the state of (absence of) well-being and inability to go to the bathroom for DAYS. (how embarrassing) “Sweetheart (NO, he did not say 'Sweetheart’) it’s your pain meds doing this to you. STOP THEM.”

huh?????!

Examines the 12-inch incisions on either side of my torso. Both doing well. No stitches to remove, interior stitches will dissolve on their own. Exterior sterie strips will fall off in the next week. He studies my drain-log, then simply remarks, “looks great, amounts are decreasing steadily. You want them (drains) out today?” (glimmer of hope) Instantly agree, so without ceremony and with a quick snip of a stitch and a wiggle of the tube and a firm TUG, one Jackson Pratt drain is out. Nasty thing now coiled on the exam table. OUT!!! The other follows swiftly. Oh dear lord . . feels soooooooo good to be rid of those things. Best part . . expected to have them at least another week, that the extrication of same, would be horrendous. Wasn’t. Didn’t hurt actually. Bandaids applied to my newest holes. No stitch, no nothing. “See ya in a month. No restrictions.” Surprised he didn’t pat me on my sorry head.

Trip home is infinitely better, envision the tunnel and light shining in the distance. aaaahhhhh

Not another pain pill crosses these lips . . the man is a genius. (epilogue: my decline was indeed induced by the pain meds . . out of my system - recovering was a breeze. TIP: get off them as soon as you can)

P.S. Almost forgot the most important part!!!!! Lab results!!! Geez . .the tunnel, the light . . THIS IS WHY!!! TODAY I learn I am CANCER-FREE‼️‼️‼️ Well, I would hope so!! Nearly six pounds of flesh sacrificed / removed . . CLEAN MARGINS around the tumor. Lymph nodes are CLEAR!!! Sentinel node removal a bit messy, seven others unable to be separated from it, come out as well. Sobering fact is that I, nor the surgeon, felt a telltale lump - but it was there. In black and white, sobering words, “STAGE TWO”. Appointment with oncologist in May to discuss options. Why??? Here's the thing about breast cancer, sometimes IT COMES BACK.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Want to tell you the euphoria was warmly welcome and long-lasting. Yes and no, in that order. Sharing with friends that surgeon ‘got it all’ was met with copious genuine exclamations of ‘thank God!’ and ‘hallelujah’. For good reason. Pathology report of clean margins and clear nodes is a positive outcome. IT’S GONE!! And like me at this juncture, believe that’s the end of it. Too few days of relief pass swiftly - the reality that it may not be over, steadily seeps back in as I educate myself. But with a stubborn childlike optimism, trust the oncologist will study my diagnosis, pronounce my journey with this evil thing over. “Deborah, congrats, you’re finished with it and it with you. Have a nice life.” Let’s go with that. I want it.

Just a couple more weeks to find out.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

In the meantime, at home I’m getting bored. ‘Bored’ is WONDERFUL. It’s normalcy. And a strong signal that it’s time for life to go on.

I am well enough to attend to work emails, becoming more frequent as students prepare to leave Athens officially, the stalwart diehards who came back after Spring Break despite the lockdown that commenced mid-March. Boredom, the impetus, that gets me out of the house.

TUESDAY, APRIL 28, 12 days post-op, several days free from pain-killers and feeling almost back to my old self, I slide behind the wheel of my car, new precious pillow between sensitive chest and the seatbelt and drive to work. Man oh man, how I missed 70′s radio . . sing all the way. I last at my desk for 4 hours this first day, mindful to recognize limitations, cut the day short, but go home triumphant.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

THURSDAY, APRIL 30. Meet-my-oncologist day. (mentally mark off THAT on my ‘Life’s List-of-Dreads’) First things first, why am I here??! Surgeon recommends I have a chat with the man . . rule out the need for anything further. Youbetcha. Today is THE. DAY!! Fully expect to be ‘blessed’ and sent on my way . . “Debbie, you were lucky, it’s all gone. Your cancer journey was intense and brief and now it’s over. Go live your life, girl.”

Check in. Hunker down at the back of the vast lobby, comfy chair. I absorb the room. Oh you know I don’t want to, but I do. A few patients are here. One unhealthy looking older lady on a hospital stretcher over there. Another slightly-weathered woman near the wall, wearing a turban. And there’s me. Odd-man out, pain-killers now out of my system: (yes yes, am minus the ‘girls’) full head of thick hair, kinda sorta minimally wrinkly, feeling strong and healthy . . . like me again.

Name called. BP and weight. Perks of the day . . bp is good, especially good for me. Literally-asked-the-nurse-to-repeat-the-numbers good. And am down 10 lbs. I’ll take it!! Gee, this visit is headed in the right direction!

Lead to an exam room, given a questionnaire. Ugh. Bottom of the page. Please list details of immediate family members . . . health issues, explanation. Here we go . . Melvin / dad / died in 2000 @64 / lung cancer (scribble to the side ‘life time smoker’ . . like it somehow negates the dying) Tim / brother / died in 2000 @39 / leukemia (again, the scribbling, master mechanic, hands in chemicals) Stephen / brother / died in 1957 @6 weeks / S.I.D.S. Bottom of this page is an OCD nightmare, ink scribbles in every direction, sad that I ran of space. Add, “Cheryl / sister / is 61 / @60 stage IV breast cancer (’maintaining’ . . didn’t add, but wanted to, “THANK YOU VERY MUCH!!”) Janice / mom / is 81. Terry / brother / is 55.” Finishing up, as MY oncologist enters the room.

Brief introductions . . Cursory physical exam of surgical site.

Oncologist reviews the information I provide, studies my chart. Two verbal inquires of me -

do you or have you ever smoked? “no”

do you drink alcohol and how much? “rarely”

He pauses. He can ascertain I’m not fudging the details. “Never?” he queries again. Shake my head in the negative. Sincerely he adds, “this makes NO sense. Risk factors are not there for breast cancer. No sense at all.”

Dr. Hamid relates there is a genetic test that can be performed using my tumor tissue, (eewwww, they still have it!!) the results determining whether or not chemo therapy would be of any benefit to me. Again - I am confused why a person who is now disease-free, minus seven pounds of her best flesh, needs ANYTHING additionally. I consent. He jots down for me the chemo recipe that I would receive if it’s indicated. Metaphysically burns my fingertips as I take the slip from him. (chemo??! stifling a scream) If not, I would be prescribed a pill to stop my body's remaining production of estrogen. Anastrazole is the drug of choice, there are a few common side effects: bone/joint pain, fatigue, etc. Majority of women experience no side effects of any kind, he assures. (mental note of an over-achiever: I will be one of THOSE) Dr. adds, “Lab work takes about two weeks to get back. Come see me in two weeks please. Oh wait . . you drive quite a distance to get here, right? Just call my office on May 13, we can handle this over the phone.”

uh huh . . . so much for being blessed and sent on my merry way. CHEMO, sub-set item under 1. CANCER on ‘Life’s List-of-Dreads’. TRULY . . . there is nothing I enjoy MORE, than waiting on test results. (epic eye-roll right here, stomach twists in knot)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

This is the last chapter of ‘65 DAYS IN MAY’ (today it’s February 25, 2021) I am a procrastinator. Am still me, after all. My instructions were to call oncologist’s office on Wednesday, May 13, 2020, to learn whether or not chemo therapy was the next step in my cancer treatment. By now I have little recollection of the blur of days between April 30 and when Dr. Hamid called me with my genetic testing results, my Oncotype score. Every day seemed endless, recovering well, feeling progressively more like myself. I let work duties bulldoze me through those days, thoroughly occupied. I was thankful to have nearly 300 college students moving-out and moving-in on May 3rd. Grateful to be bone weary at the end of each day, having little time to thrash about the prospect of chemo - that, and staying safe as COVID rampaged.

TUESDAY, MAY 12, at my desk, alone in a pandemic-locked-down office. One last day not having to call, know anything. Ignorant bliss. Phone rings, spy caller I.D., uh-oh, cancer center. I stop breathing. Lift receiver, ‘Hello, this is Debbie.’ Not breathing. HERE WE GO (9+ months later now, still recall the catch of my breath and pounding heart. Am not exaggerating when I tell you time froze.) Dr. Hamid’s voice was soft, he wasted no time relating my Oncotype score plus chance of recurrence is low and chemo is not necessary in my situation. He’ll call in an Anastrazole script for me, it cuts my chance of recurrence to less-than 5%. Only question I had, “what exactly was my number?” 17 “See you again in 6 months,” as he ends the call. Stare at the phone receiver clenched in my hand.

NO CHEMO . . with exorbitant gusto, I EXHALE

Celebration fireworks in my head, both hands in the air, stifle an audible, triumphant HALLELUJAH! For the moment, issued a reprieve. I soak it up. Once composed, swivel chair to my right, run my palms slowly, purposefully over the desk calendar, lift the pages, studying, absorbing. Begin to count . . . .

STINT IN PURGATORY - 65 DAYS IN MAY

EPILOGUE

(stay tuned)

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megamanxfanfics · 5 years

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The Hiatus

I’ve been dreading the idea of writing this, but the fact that I am at all means that I’m coming out of my funk and am looking onward towards moving ahead, and hopefully forward, once again with this project in the future. I’m afraid I’ve got a lot of explaining to do. Wouldn’t you know it? Life got in the way again.

It seems that every new Writing Season, something always happens to me to shift things around and make it near-impossible towards writing Mega Man X. I’ve been mulling over how to talk about all of this without getting too personal on an MMX blog. But the fact is that what happened to me is very personal. And very complicated. So I’m gonna just go for it, while keeping it in simplest terms.

I broke up with my girlfriend last month. Which means I had to move out...

I can say that with dry eyes now, and without a heavy heart. It was a smooth break. Very mutual. We both knew it needed to happen, because we weren’t happy at all. (Always doing our own thing, making separate plans... etc. etc. etc.)

But back to this.

I recall back in November I had posted a Writing Exercise - What X Remembers, in an attempt to kick-start my motivation for this project. Needless to say, it didn’t work. I can tell you right now that I wasn’t exactly busy. I was burnt out.

Yes, I’ve been wanting and wanting to start this thing, but in the planning phases, I’ve also been afraid of it. Because I don’t want to mess this up. Or it’s too confusing, or disjointed. And I know how I get. I harp and harp on things until it’s perfect, or feels good enough to present. And... frankly, I was in a position where things were so bad at home, that I just wanted to spend time with her to keep everyone happy.

I would also take advantage of ‘Me-Time Monday’ as I used to call it when she’d be out doing her own thing. Except my creative outlet for those days would be working on music, which is my first passion. I’ve taken on a massive project of adding vocals to a lot of old music I had written, and even now I’m maybe half-way through that. And there were definitely certain Mondays that I wasn’t even in the mood for music... I certainly wasn’t in the mood for X.

I was depressed... She was depressed... But why?

Well... this blog, isn’t exactly about that. But what I can tell you is that we were just going through this mundane routine every day. Even our weekends became routine. And neither of us were fun to be around any more. Even upon realizing it and trying to do different things. ‘Go out on a date, Dummy!’ That’s what I would tell myself. But even nice events didn’t work. She’d complain about being tired, or full or we wouldn’t talk at all. That... was the extent of our interactions. Outside of that, we’d just watch our shows, which would entertain us, and make us laugh. We’d hold hands and stuff, sometimes. But even then... it didn’t really feel romantic. As one friend put it best, “It sounds like a friendship...”

And we both realized that last month.

So you could say that from November-February, I had slowly been working at getting my motivation toward this project back up. Despite my daily toils, I was driven to bring myself to do the things that make me happy. I had even reread most of the Writing Diaries, all the way up to Season V again, which took me down a nice bit of Nostalgia Road. Reading about the Process of this Project is just as fun as reading the actual episodes for me. It’s the Journey, not the Destination, after all.

But like I said, then February happened and we just imploded. Everything immediately broke down. My living space, my comfort zone.. where I was going to be!! I didn’t know what to do.

In week 1 I took out the time to hang out with all of my closest friends. I told everyone who needed to know first.

In week 2, I started seriously looking for places. And that was equally exciting as it was exhausting. However, I did find one thing that wouldn’t be ready for the next 2 months! And that also freaked me out. Now I had a pseudo-time table on my hands, but it was a little too long.

In week 3, I cracked. We absolutely got into a fight in our shared space. Things were so smooth as friends and roommates. We had still shared our King Size Bed, and kept it completely civil, since nothing romantic was happening in the bedroom anyway... But, at some point, some Social Media Drama occurred and I actually started acting like an Ex. It was becoming very clear to me that living together any longer was going to destroy my Mental Health. So I made the choice to get out of there, sooner than anticipated. That Friday, I put a bag together and stayed at my parent’s house.

The original plan was to ride this out as long as possible and move into the 2nd Bedroom while I start to leisurely pack, as I keep looking for places. But instead, all this drama accelerated my schedule and forced me out of that house. That weekend, I came back to grab the rest of my clothes and relocate my TV back to my Parent’s house... Which takes me to week 4.

In week 4, I focused on helping my brother with an After-school play. I changed my work hours for him and everything, but on top of that, I had an unexpected interview which could’ve changed everything!!! You see, I’ve been looking for better jobs at the same time as looking for new places. And that’s what made this so stressful. That’s even partially what caused all this drama, because one night I tried complaining about it to her, and she didn’t really seem to care much. We were acting like exes to each other, and I really couldn’t handle it. So once we got into a fight, that was the wake up call. We’re not together anymore. We can’t do this any more! Literally. It was time to get out of there and move on. Well, the job interview wasn’t in the cards... but it’s for the best, because it would’ve made this new place that I’ve been hoping for, not make sense any more. That weekend, I got together all of my books/movies/games/comics, electronics, pictures, etc. etc. while she had put together boxes of the kitchenware I get to take. By Sunday Night, basically all of my stuff was out of there. I couldn’t believe it. It was very therapeutic and bittersweet.

This takes us to Week 5 - last week. The commotion has slowed down to an abrupt halt. I’ve been very tired. Technically I have all the time in the world for MMX now, but I’m just not there yet. And I probably won’t be for another month. And I say that now, because I’m literally in between places. All of my stuff is in boxes at my Parent’s house, but this other place that I saw is in the process of coming through. Their time table accelerated a little bit. I got news yesterday that the place has been painted, and that new carpets will be installed on 3/23. As I am basically move-in ready, but also really want this to be the place, I worked with my new Landlord and asked him if I can start to leave boxes this weekend.

And that’s what I did today. Today I left the first installation of boxes into that house’s basement. It will be the new location I call my home, and the best part about it is that it’s only 5 minutes from Work. That’s HUGE. [But that too is temporary, as I still need a better job.]. One day at a time though, right?

This is primarily the reason why I’m writing today. I feel that the brunt of this Transition Period has reached it’s Apex, and from here, it’s gonna be pretty smooth sailing into the next place, as I become acquainted with my New Normal of 2020.

I’m also writing, because admittedly, I have been thinking about MMX6 again, and rather than catch up with the rest of the diaries, I just read the last one. Where I actually regressed into plot points again and still couldn’t answer certain questions, like what those stupid teleport portals are. I mean, how much of an explanation do I really need? It’s Mega Science!

I’ll be honest. I could start tomorrow, and I’d probably feel pretty good about it, until I hit my first slump. Which will most likely be the Central Museum stage. And then I won’t want to do anything.

No, my heart’s just not in it yet. I don’t want to start MMX6 on my laptop. I want to be fully set up and Comfortable in my New Place when I start Season VI properly. The silver lining is that I have all the time in the world for this and my music, now. And I’ll have to feel out that situation too, because I desperately want to do both. And that’s part of the conflict too. Both projects literally interfere with each other, because I only have enough time and energy for one or the other on any given night.

Keep in mind, once I have my own place, everything’s on me. That’s cooking, dishes, laundry and of course self-care, right? So that involves the necessary shower, and of course entertaining yourself. And that means yes, actually pulling myself away from my hobbies that I tend to wrap myself in so much.

I’m not blaming this project for losing my girl, or my music. Hell, I’m not even blaming myself. We just weren’t a good fit for each other, but we sure tried to be. For 5 Years! There was a lot of good in those 5 years too. But she changed a lot. Me too. But her, more... In a less fun way. Very easy for me to say, of course.

These things happen. People change. And we truly made the healthiest choice to end it when we did. It was really just a logical conversation about what isn’t working, and both of us literally agreeing that this doesn’t make sense any more. My friend last night put it best. “I think your relationship just ran its course. You both saw it through to a complete end, and it was really good that you chose to end it when you did, because neither of you were happy any more...”

And there it is. I suppose I’m ending this on that note. One day I’ll be ready for MMX6 again. But today is not that day. And instead, I’ll be playing the MMZ/ZX Legacy Collection in the meantime. =P. And no. Don’t get any ideas. I have NO intention of writing an MMZ Anime.

#The Hiatus #Season VI Diaries #writing woes #inspiration failure #burn out #life

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queenofthebench · 5 years

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Staying cool and learning to be mindful

It is freakin’ HAWT over here this week. And apparently there are some fires in the city this morning causing power outages (yippee). I’m in lab right now, holed up in the microscope room and praying the power stays on so I can do my experiment today. At the same time, if I had to leave early on a Friday it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world ;)

Someone from my grad student support group wants to meet up and chat today after work. I decided to take the summer off from going to group, and I think it’s been going pretty well so far. I’ve been self regulating really well, and my stress levels have been pretty low overall. I think I discovered one of the major triggers for my anxiety, and once I started actively working on minimizing it, I’ve been so much more relaxed and happy.

Basically, when my husband went away for a few weeks, I was alone in the apartment and I realized that because I didn’t have as much going on, I was more present and not worrying so much about maximizing my free time. I realized that we had been living our lives in a mindset of “what do we have to do next” and trying to be efficient and get through all of the things like groceries, laundry and even cooking so that we could “relax” and be done with everything, instead of learning to relax while doing those things.

It always felt like our day was being wasted on chores and we had very little free time. Doing the chores was not enjoyable, and especially on weekends it was almost sad/stressful at times thinking about how the weekend was flying by and almost over (hello sunday scaries). When I was alone, I was honestly a bit lonely and bored at times, so anything I did was a nice distraction from sitting around. I came to realize that I actually enjoyed doing the little things like folding laundry, washing my vegetables and prepping dinner because when I did them, I was present and not focused so much on doing those things to “get to the good stuff” on the other side (aka watching tv or hanging out). I took pleasure in the act of just doing whatever it was I had to do, and I didn’t schedule out my whole day ahead of time. On the weekends, I picked a couple of things to schedule in, and then just let the rest of it flow in whenever I was feeling it. My “big” item of the day was maybe going to the store, or getting a haircut, and then I just had tons of free time to relax and do whatever. I still did the same amount of work, but I didn’t think so far ahead about what was next in the queue, and I just did things when I felt like it. When I was doing the things, my mind was quiet, and I just relaxed while I washed my lettuce or tidied up the apartment. Sometimes I talked to my mom or sister on the phone while I cooked, which was fun. Honestly it was such a huge change and I instantly felt like a weight had been lifted, just from that little shift of thinking, and lessening my “maximization” mindset. I think we just got so wrapped up in being an efficient dynamic duo that we sometimes missed the joy in slowing down. When I was alone, time automatically slowed down for me, so I think it finally clicked.

When my husband came back, it was like a shock to the system. Not to make it sound like he was the problem or that I didn’t want him to come back! I did :) I just hadn’t shared my feelings with him, and honestly I didn’t even really know what I was feeling quite yet. All I knew was that as soon as he came back, we hopped back into our usual “go go go” mindset, and I started feeling stressed again. After doing some thinking (and having a tiny meltdown one evening), I finally put my finger on what needed to change and what I had been doing differently when I was alone. We had a conversation about it and he totally understood my point of view and agreed. Since then we’ve been working on adopting a more present mindset and trying to enjoy the little parts of our every day lives instead of trying to blow through them to get to totally free quality time. We could have quality time while we were doing the little chores too, and then they wouldn’t seem so bad. And as for weekends, we both realized we needed to chill the fuck out and stop trying to maximize our free time so much. We should just do what we feel, and if that meant waking up slow and lounging around for a few hours, we should do it, not feel guilty about “wasting” the day!

I’m telling you, as soon as we got back into it, the stress went away again. Don’t get me wrong, I still have my moments, and I’m still a work in progress, but overall I’d say making this little switch has made both of us much happier and less anxious. I always knew from therapy that I needed to be more “present” and “mindful” but I never really knew how to do it. I tried meditation apps, and that helped a bit, but at the same time I think the core of my problem was how I viewed my responsibilities in life. I think I just defined what was “fun” and “relaxing” the wrong way, and once I realized how to relax while still being productive, and how to let things flow a bit more naturally, it helped me to become present and mindful as a result. It just took some alone time to get there!

Anyways, that’s my saga of an update. If you read this until the end, thank you for being so kind :) I hope I gave you some food for thought!

My questions for you:

1. How do you stay mindful and present? What strategies do you use to minimize stress and enjoy your life?

2. What are you doing this evening to celebrate the end of the week? Do you have any Friday rituals? :)

Feel free to drop me a line! Inbox is always open.

-Q

photo credit: here

#gradblr #fromthequeen #phd #grad school #grad student #phdblr #mental health #mindfulness #stress #anxiety #TGIF #science #biology

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detroitbecomevenom · 6 years

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Investigated (3)

It was Friday morning and Miles dreaded every waking moment of this entire week, knowing that he was forced to go to school while Y/n wasn’t alongside him. It wasn’t even like he could be in an atmosphere where he didn’t have to hear about her, considering the fact that she was the talk of the school. He trudged into his history class that happened to be his second period. Fridays in that class were just an excuse for the teacher to do nothing and put on the news, calling it “current event day”.

They were talking about how social media can lead to an increased risk of depression in teenagers when the broadcast suddenly stopped. The class looked around in confusion as the tv screen stayed showing the static until it suddenly produced a clear video again. This video wasn’t what they had been watching before, but an empty room with the one and only Kingpin standing in the frame.

The class was silent, eyes glued to the screen in the front of the room, Miles was finally wide awake and focusing. “Good morning Brooklyn. Hold your applause, as I can’t really hear you.” He started speaking, forcing Miles into an intense state of concentration of all of the things that he could actually see in the frame. “This message is most likely not for you, but you can help spread it. With that being said, Spider-Man needs to show up at the address shown on the screen by tonight or there will be consequences.” Miles felt his heart drop into his ass. He was being directly spoken to, yet he couldn’t actually make any incriminating reaction to it. His secret was still something he needed to keep, even if he was being called out in front of everyone.

When Kingpin stepped to the side, Miles’ heart was out of his body completely. He saw his girl, in the spotlight. She looked like she was in pain, who knows what had happened to her in that week. His classmates gasped and whispers of “That’s Y/n” spread around the room, along with some of them recording it for Snapchat. He watched as the crime lord place his hand on Y/n’s head. How dare he even touch her?

“Your little friend is waiting, so why not stroll on by alone. No cops or all they’ll see is a dead body,” Anger built up in Miles as he watched a gun being put to her head. He scribbled down the address on his notebook and looked back up at the horrific sight. The screen switched back to that static while the class murmured about what they had seen. Miles was conflicted, he needed to save Y/n, but how the hell was he supposed to do it?

The news station returned to normal, with the reporters now talking about the hacked broadcast that was apparently shown on every channel in New York City. This was about to make national headlines and he was the only one that could actually save her. The bell rang and instead of going to his next scheduled class, Miles ran to his dorm to try and find some answers.

It took almost an hour of sitting in different parts of his room and thinking to come up with his plan, but first, he needed a little help. Within minutes, Miles was explaining the entire situation to Peter, Gwen, Peni, Noir, and Ham. It was always a comfort knowing that your interdimensional friends would be there to help you.

The night got closer and the Spider-plan had been all set, with each of them suited up and ready. They stood on the rooftop of the warehouse building directly over the address, wondering when was a decent time to start. Noir seemed to be brooding in the darkness, wind somehow appearing for him although there was no wind present and Ham played an odd game on what looked like a Nintendo DS. Peni sat on top of her newly repaired SP//DR, listening quietly to Peter rambling on about the last date he and MJ had gone on, making Gwen smile as well. The little reunion of the Spider-gang seemed unrealistic in Miles’ mind, but he was too worried about the plan to enjoy the moment.

A truck drove by the entrance of the warehouse that they stood upon and the silhouettes of Fisk and a few other figures were clear in the dim street light nearby. Peter stopped his story, which was a good thing for the sanity of Gwen. It wasn’t that she didn’t like the relationship, but that he was on the second minute of describing all of the different types of bread that he was able to get his rekindled love.

“Alright gang, masks on.” Miles ordered, slightly surprised that they actually listened to him, “You all know what to do?” He made sure that each spider-person nodded before taking a deep breath. “We got this.”

~~~

Anxiety built up inside of Y/n as she started the wait for Spider-Man, a gun pressed to the side of her head. She knew that there was a very small chance of her actually living or the hero coming to help her. Her whole life was flashing before her eyes, each big moment playing out as if it were a movie, only they felt like it was about a person that wasn’t her.

A figure dropped down in front of the open door at the other side of where she stood and slowly started to walk forward. As they made their way into the light, she saw the pattern on the outfit and realized that it was Spider-Man. He actually came for her.

“Well, well, well. Look who decided to show up.” Fisk’s voice had a different type of venom in it, something that Y/n hadn’t heard before.

“I’m here, now let Y/n go.” She wasn’t exactly sure whether it was just auditory hallucinations, but the voice sounded odd. Sure, she only talked with the hero a few times, but this was different.

“You know, I’ve never seen such a devoted couple ever since I knew my own wife.” Y/n raised a brow, did he really think that she was dating him? Maybe in her dreams. “I made her life a living hell and she still didn’t tell me the one thing I needed. That’s why if you want her to live, you’ll take that mask off and we can settle this like men.” The barrel of the gun had been pushed further into the side of her head, almost enough to make a mark.

Spider-Man stood still, his movement slow and steady. He reached up to his neck and found the edge of his mask and the rest of the suit, grasping it in his gloved hands. He almost wanted the dramatic reveal, as the neck was finally bare and the pale skin peeked out. It took a few seconds, what seemed to be the longest in Y/n’s life, and then the mask was off completely. Y/n squinted, realizing who the person behind the mask really was. “Gwanda?” her voice was raspy as she studied the familiar blonde that she had only known for a few days six months ago.

Even Fisk was taken aback. Spider-Man wasn’t even a man! He kept the gun on Y/n and regained his posture. “You know me, now let her go,” she held the mask firmly in her hands, the black material making her light hair stand out even more. Nobody moved. “Bagel Time,” she shrugged, the phrase confusing everyone else in the room. There was another moment of silence and no movement.

A spider web was shot at the barrel of the gun Fisk was holding and was yanked in the opposite direction of where “Gwanda” stood, who was supposedly Spider-Man. Another figure swung in and kicked Fisk over, leaving Y/n with no guard. The girl tried running away but collapsed on the concrete. She scanned the scene in front of her: A Spider-Man in the Peter Parker suit and another Spider-Man in what looked to be black and white kicking the shit out of Fisk. A mechanical spider fighting the goons with a pig-spider? Gwanda/Spider-Man ready to fight if she needed to, keeping an eye on everything around her.

There was a sixth Spider-person that looked to be hiding in the shadows, which proved to be rather difficult considering the suit was all white and pink. When she locked eyes with them, they just vanished into thin air. She managed to back up using the little strength she had. The white and pink Spider-man suddenly appeared in front of her, making her almost scream.

“It’s okay, Y/n. Hold on,” this spider-man picked her up and they swung away from the fight all the way to the rooftop of a nearby building. He placed her on the ground gently, his hand stopping at the end of her hair as if he knew the length it used to be. He quickly searched for the edge of the mask and pulled it over his head.

“Miles? What are you doing here?” tears now fell from Y/n’s eyes as she pulled him into a tight hug. She was shaking in his arms, her eyes spinning and trying to focus on the boy in front of her.

“I’m actually Spider-man,” he felt a small smile grow on his face when he finally saw her face up close again. The black under her eyes was prominent and she smelled of straight trash, who knows when the last time she had gotten a proper shower. Her (e/c) eyes finally met his own and the only feeling was peace.

“Can you take me home, please?” she asked with the raspy voice that was almost the opposite of her normal. Miles let the spider-gang know to meet him at his apartment, where his parents were luckily out for the night. Both of them had night shifts and Miles would have the time to recuperate with everyone.

Miles sat on his couch with the rest of spider-gang in his own living room. Y/n had showered and was currently laying on his lap in his sweatpants and sweatshirt, hands intertwined. They were watching the news channel report on the arrest of Wilson Fisk, who was now being sent to the Raft instead of a normal prison. Everything felt right for one moment.

Y/n leaned up to kiss Miles, knowing that it would be okay. She knew that going back into the real world and school would be tough, but she had Miles and that’s all that she really needed. She was finally in control and no crime lord could do anything to harm that.

It was okay.

#miles morales x reader #miles morales #spider-man x reader #spiderman: into the spiderverse

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