#Relapse tw

[uncanny-tranny]

We need to stop stigmatized relapses in recovery. We need to stop shaming those who have or are currently relapsed. It is a normal part of recovery to go back to the behaviour at times, and I'm sick of the idea that "relapse means you aren't recovering."

Relapsing can reinforce somebody's will to recovery. Relapsing can teach a person what they want from recovery. It can be a vital tool, and honestly, shaming somebody who is already down is fucking cruel and disgusting. The last thing they need is other people shaming them and being cruel - they might already be beating themself up over a relapse. Be kind to them. They are a person, they are worthy of kindness.

[hel7l7]

relapsing always seems easier

[cyan-6-ide]

simon saying he wants to be become ice king again is so in character it’s agonising. he wore the crown again and again to begin with so he could save a girl, even if it meant the horror of losing himself and driving away every last person he cared about. he spent over a thousand years in that state, practically lost and replaced. almost nobody knew who he used to be, not even him. the new world wasn’t jarring, because this was how it had always been for ice king, for a thousand years, for the forever that he could process. he had his place in the system and he wasn’t *happy*, but he slid into the chaos of ooo as his state of mind deteriorated.

then he’s cognisant again. but the love of his life is dead. and it truly sinks in that even though he is back, the ice king would never give back the time he took from him. the world he knew slipped away while he forgot it, and he’s left as an outsider who can’t even find solace in his own species, one that moved on without him. he has to sit with everything ice king did. everything that took from him. every way that hurt others. every moment of sickening confusion and loss and pain. and those who could never feel the gravity tell him again and again that he was so much cooler and fun back then! that he’s just some lame old guy now, such a downer! always on about some girl, or staring off sadly! who would want to mope with him at a bar rather than party with the ice king, right?

marcaline doesn’t even rely on him anymore. grown and independent now. grown when he wasn’t there to see it. it’s not like anybody else needs him either, and what does he have to give now, anyway? he tries and tries to bring his girlfriend back and every time he’s smacked in the face. he’s so tired. he’s so, so tired. he wouldn’t half mind being the ice king again, because even with the pain of that, at least he wouldn’t be capable of thinking about these things anymore. he would have powers that could help people again. he would be fun and charismatic and free from being cognisant. even better than dying, he could make people happy this way too. two birds with one stone, in his eyes. at least the ice king has a reason to be alive.

it becomes a third bird when fionna *needs* this. it’s not the only plausible solution, but it’s a damn clean one. her problems will be fixed, fixed with the crown the way that simon used to fix every problem all those years ago. the most reliable shortcut. he’ll be free from life, and the world will get their *beloved* ice king back. the events of 1000 years ago can repeat, but this time he’ll never seek a cure.

of course this is a flawed view, and i can’t remotely see this being the endgame for his arc, and it could *never* be portrayed as the right course of action. falling into that old pattern and life would be a monumental act of self harm in an attempt to escape himself, and it would leave marcaline in pieces to see him relapse and lose himself all over again in that last ditch effort. it’s genuinely a simultaneous act of relapse and suicide, and though it’s so clear why he’s reached this point, i do NOT believe this series will end with him re-becoming the ice king. and if it does, it will be a horrifying event, not a happy culmination of his character arc.

[damianesco]

[ PATTERNS. SELF PARA 001 ]

SUMMARY: Damian experiences his first serious same-sex relationship. TIME FRAME: August 2024 - October 2024 TW: Emotional abuse, abuse, alcoholism, language, dissociation, relapse

AUGUST 26, 2024. [ URIEL: No show ? ]

It’s six in the morning, and Damian hasn’t slept.

He’s getting ready in the bathroom, staring at the bags underneath his eyes with a small frown. No doubt some of his students will make some smart comments about the sight — he wishes, fleetingly, that he were as good as some of the other volunteers at Bright Sparks with makeup. Might’ve made it easier to get through this.

“Hey.”

Jason steps inside the bathroom, in a soft gray t-shirt and similarly-shaded sweats. He’s got the day off today. Says he’s gonna spend it catching up on the sleep they missed last night.

He steps toward the toilet and takes a piss. Damian’s still staring at the bags underneath his eyes.

“What are you doing?” Jason asks, flushing the toilet.

Damian glances at him. “I look like shit.”

“Aw,” Jason steps toward the counter, pressing a gentle kiss to Damian’s temple. “You could never.” He runs a hand through Damian’s already-unkempt hair, and it feels warm on his scalp. “But I get it. Heavy bags,” he nods. “Guess you’ve learned your lesson, huh?”

Damian frowns.

“Don’t start a fight at night,” Jason raises an eyebrow. “Could’ve avoided the whole thing if you’d just relaxed.”

Right. Damian had mentioned — something about Jason’s tone, when speaking to the waiter at dinner last night. He hadn’t liked it — it’d been condescending, and rude. Jason had felt triggered, he’d said, as he’d been labeled condescending and rude his whole life growing up just because he was born into privilege. I didn’t choose it, Damian. I feel like you’re getting on my case about things out of my fucking control.

“Yeah,” Damian mutters, glancing back at the mirror. All he sees looking back is a stupid man who doesn’t know how to leave well enough alone.

–

SEPTEMBER 2, 2024. [ URIEL: You going 2 meetings in BH ? ]

—

He hasn’t spoken to Oliver in a week.

He keeps glancing down at his phone, hoping maybe the next notification that shows up is from him, to no avail. He’s scrolling through Instagram mindlessly when Jason walks into the kitchen.

“You’ve been staring at that thing for hours,” he says casually as he makes his way toward the fridge. “Waiting for a call?”

Damian shakes his head once. “Not — technically,” he admits, glancing up at his boyfriend. “Ollie and I — we haven’t spoken since—” he stops himself. “I just miss him.”

Jason says nothing as he reaches inside the fridge for the water pitcher. He says nothing when he sets it on the counter. He says nothing when he grabs a glass from the cabinet, when he fills that glass nearly to the brim. He says nothing after he chugs half of it and sets it back down.

Then he says, “I always thought he was a shitty friend.”

The instinct to defend Oliver is quick to rise in Damian. Years of practice. “He’s not,” he insists. “We just — we had a disagreement,” he says. “It’ll pass.”

“Will it?” Jason raises a challenging eyebrow at Damian. “He strings you along for years and then, what? One little spat and he drops off the face of the earth?” He gives Damian a sympathetic look. “You deserve better, baby.”

That’s not what this is, he wants to say. Oliver wouldn’t do that. He knows Oliver, longer than he’s known Jason, even — Oliver wouldn’t—

Jason grabs Damian’s phone from his hands and pockets it. “That’s enough of this for tonight.”

Damian gives him a puzzled look. “What?”

“It’s just messing with your head,” Jason presses a kiss to Damian’s forehead. “Let’s just relax. You and me. No phones.”

It’s a sweet gesture. Still—“I need to call Sofia, tell her I’m spending the night.”

Jason’s lips twitch almost imperceptibly downward. “You’re a grown man,” he points out to Damian, voice sweet. “You can stay out for a couple of days without keeping your little sister updated every single time.”

“She’ll worry.”

“She has her own life,” Jason reminds him. “You’re not the center of the fucking universe, Damian. She’ll be fine.”

And Damian doesn’t really have an argument to make against that — even if he did, he doesn’t think it’d be a good idea to make one at all. He hasn’t slept the past two nights, not well, because he’s slipped up a couple of times, made Jason feel insecure or belittled. He’s working on choosing his words more carefully. He’s working on doing better.

“Maybe we go to a meeting tomorrow?” Damian puts the offer out into the room gently. It’s been a minute since either of them have been to one. He doesn’t know about Jason, but Damian’s starting to feel the absence of the meetings like bullet holes in his willpower. Sometimes he’ll wake up from a dream — a nightmare, really — and still feel the alcohol burning down his throat. 

Jason shakes his head. “Why the fuck would we go to a meeting?” he crosses his arms over his chest. “What, I’m not enough for you to talk to?”

“No,” Damian amends quickly. “Of course not. But — you know—”

“Right,” Jason laughs, the sound piercing and bitter. It cuts through Damian’s resolve quickly, sagging his shoulders. “I’m never enough for you. Always running to a meeting, always needing your friends to text you back. Why are we even fucking doing this, Damian?” He demands. “If I’m just always going to be an afterthought?”

Damian shakes his head profusely. “You’re not, that’s not what I—”

“Save it,” he snaps, making his way upstairs. “You can sleep in the guest room tonight.”

The bedroom door slams shut, the sound reverberating through every inch of the house. Damian feels it like ice in his veins.

It takes him about an hour of sitting in silence, gaze fixed on a day-old stain on the floor, to realize Jason’s kept his phone.

–

SEPTEMBER 10, 2024. [ URIEL: Worried about U, kid ! U will give me ulcers. Talk soon ? ]

—

“Mr. Escobedo.”

Damian glances up from his desk, meeting Elsa’s gaze. Elsa’s worked at the front office for years and years and years — longer than Damian’s been alive, he’s sure. The students are taking a test; some of them glance up curiously at the interruption. Damian stands from his desk chair, and glares playfully at his gaggle of teens.

“Eyes on your own tests,” he warns. “I’m right outside.”

He follows Elsa out into the hallway, frowning. “What’s up, Elsa?”

She gives him something of a wry smile. “Damian,” she reaches out and squeezes his wrists affectionately — or perhaps reassuringly? “We’ve gotten several calls from a certain Jason Plymouth asking about your classroom’s extension.”

Damian’s stomach sinks. “Is he — is everything—”

Elsa holds up a placating hand. “As far as I know, everything is fine, dear,” she promises. “But he is — persistent.”

Damian wipes at his face. “I’m sorry. He’s probably — I turn off my phone on test days, he—”

Elsa shakes her head once. “We cannot give him your extension,” she tells him. “You may. But we cannot.” She pauses. “I recommend you call him back,” she says slowly. “Ask him to maybe stop calling…?”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Damian assures her. “Of course. I’m so sorry, Elsa.” 

Elsa eyes him for a second, almost searchingly. Eventually, she asks, “Is everything okay, Damian?”

The question catches Damian by surprise. “Yes,” he replies almost instantly, the word rushing out of his mouth like an instinct. “Yes, it is. I’m — of course it is,” he laughs, though it sounds a little rattled to his own ears. “I’m so sorry. He’s probably just worried. Won’t happen again, I promise.”

Elsa hesitates for a second, before finally nodding her assent. “Alright,” she takes her hands back from Damian’s wrists and makes her way back to the front office, nothing else to say to him.

He doesn’t know what he tells himself to convince his heart it’s racing out of anything other than fear.

But it works.

–

SEPTEMBER 14, 2024. [ URIEL: Did U change UR number ? Is this still Damian ? Please respond if not. ] 

–

“You fucking embarrassed me!” 

Damian doesn’t know what to do when Jason starts shouting. A part of him wants to shout back — another part of him wants to flee — but whatever part of him wins out is always a part that shrinks into itself, doing his best to look as small as possible, as unassuming as possible. 

“I didn’t mean—”

“Oh, please,” Jason walks up to him, face so close to Damian he can smell his boyfriend’s sushi-laced breath. “Batting your eyes at the waiter like a fucking slut. Thought you were gonna get on your knees for him right then and there.” He spits the words into Damian’s face, and he feels his body start to go taut in response to the proximity. “Meanwhile, your boyfriend has to watch it all happen and smile through it like the dumb little cunt you think I am—”

“I don’t,” Damian insists. “Jesus, Jason, I don’t think you’re — I never even—”

The lamp’s knocked over before Damian has a chance to take his next breath. The glass of the lightbulb shatters across the floor into shrill, fine pieces, decorating the otherwise pristine marble tiles of Jason’s living room.

“Fuck,” he shouts, taking a step away from Damian. Damian’s eyes remain fixed on the mess. “You see what you made me do? You drive me fucking crazy, Damian,” his voice is tense, but it sounds sadder this time. At least Damian thinks it sounds sadder. He’s hurt Jason — he gets that. Even if he hadn’t meant to — maybe he’d inadvertently sent some mixed signals to their waiter — maybe if he were just a tad bit more self-aware—

“Did you hear me?” Damian blinks out of his stupor and meets Jason’s heated gaze. “I said clean it up. I’m going to bed.”

Damian nods once. “Okay,” he replies quietly. 

Jason holds out his hand, then, wordlessly. Damian instinctively reaches for his phone and presses it as gingerly as possible into his boyfriend’s palm.

Then Jason turns on his heel and stomps up the stairs.

And Damian cleans up the mess. 

–

SEPTEMBER 16, 2024. [ PILAR: missed u for el grito 🥺 stop ignoring meeeee ]

–

Jason hasn’t spoken to him since Saturday. 

Damian’s tried to say something to him. Anything. But he gets the silent treatment. He doesn’t get his phone back until Sunday evening, and that’s mostly because it’s being blown up by work emails, and Jason seems tired of listening to the notifications.

He reads Pilar’s message and feels tears sting at his eyes. 

He doesn’t reply.

–

SEPTEMBER 17, 2024. [ PILAR: hellooooooo motherfucker i’m telling sofia on you!!!! ]

–

Jason comes home with a large bouquet of flowers and a million apologies. He gets on his knees and cries into Damian’s lap, begging for forgiveness, swearing he’ll do better. He’s trying, he’s trying, he says, he’s so fucked up, this is what they made him, he’s so fucked up, but he’ll do anything to make it better. He’ll do anything to make it better. 

Damian runs a soothing hand through his hair and shushes him, comforts him. It’s okay, he tells him in between sobs. I forgive you. It’s okay.

It is okay. They can work through this together, Damian thinks, hope swelling in his chest. It’s okay. They’ve both been through so much — it’s only natural that this would be work. It’s okay. 

It’s okay.

–

SEPTEMBER 24, 2024. [ NO NEW MESSAGES ]

–

Damian sits outside the community center in Chicago. He doesn’t go inside.

The fact that he’s managed to get here at all — Jason’s on a work trip this week, and Damian’s managed to go home. Say hi to Sofia. Shower in his own bathroom. Sleep in his own bed. For a second, he’d remembered what normal used to feel like, and almost as if on autopilot, he’d found himself taking the train to Chicago and finding his way to the AA meeting he hasn’t attended for a month.

He can’t work up the courage to go inside, though. He thinks he feels embarrassed, but about what — he can’t really say. Maybe it’s the fact that he never got back to Uriel. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s been craving a drink so fucking badly this past month he feels like he’s going crazy with it. Maybe it’s the bottle of tequila he’d purchased last night before the liquor stores forced themselves closed, now hidden under piles of blankets in his closet. 

He should go, he thinks. He has no business being here. 

Damian pushes himself off the rickety bench when he hears his name in the familiar low, dulcet tone he’s come to expect from his sponsor.

He meets Uriel’s gaze, surprised. “Uriel?”

Uriel makes his way over to him, arms crossed — despite his usual stoicness, there’s something like worry in his expression. Damian wonders if he’s going through something, too. 

“You made me think you was dead, kid,” he tells Damian, frowning. “Had to reach out to some folk in Blue Harbor, make sure you wasn’t.”

Damian looks down at his feet, ashamed. “Sorry,” he mutters. “I’ve just — had a busy month.”

There’s a beat of silence wherein the words hang between them. They’re not quite a lie — they don’t quite ring true, either.

“You goin’ in?” Uriel finally asks, and Damian shakes his head instantly. 

“N-no, I just—” he clears his throat. “I just—” He doesn’t have an excuse, he realizes. None that sounds good enough to his own ears. “I’m not.”

Another beat of silence. 

“You relapse?”

Damian shakes his head. “No,” he promises. “I’m fine. Just busy.” I’m fine, just busy. I’m fine, just busy.

“Maybe we go get some coffee, hm?” Uriel offers. “I’ll buy. Some o’ the good stuff, too, none o’ that new-wave hippie dippie shit.”

Damian laughs slightly, and it almost hurts his throat. “Thank you,” he finally meets Uriel’s dark gaze again. “But I really do have to go.”

Uriel searches his gaze for a second. “Whatever it is,” he tells Damian. “I can tell you it ain’t worth it, kid.”

Damian feels his eyes start to sting. That’s where Uriel’s wrong. It is. He’s always thought himself off, thought something was so inherently wrong with him no one could love him — and now here’s Jason, offering him his love, promising him the world, something Damian never thought he could have. It’s worth it. He needs this. If not Jason, who? Who else will put up with him? Him, damaged goods, no filter, no worth? 

“Goodbye, Uriel,” he mutters. 

He leaves his sponsor behind.

–

SEPTEMBER 25, 2024. [ NO NEW MESSAGES ]

–

He opens the bottle of tequila and pours himself a glass.

Damian stares at it for an hour before he pours it down the drain. He’s about to do the same to the rest of the bottle, but something stops him.

Instead, he hides the bottle back inside his closet. Forces himself to forget about it.

–

SEPTEMBER 27, 2024. [ URIEL: Here if U need anything ]

–

“Fuck, I missed you,” Jason groans, kisses him deeply one last time before rolling off Damian. Damian, for his part, traces the usual patterns on the ceiling with his eyes. Doesn’t point out Jason texted him every half hour, asking him where he was, what he was doing. Doesn’t point out he hadn’t given Damian a chance to miss him. Doesn’t even think it matters, because this is how it should be. Jason should miss him this way. Obsessed with you, he’d once said. And that can only be good, right? 

It means Damian’s been good. It means Damian hasn’t scared him off yet.

“Did you hear what I said?” Jason cuts through his train of thought. “I said I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” Damian replies automatically. The pattern on the ceiling turns into a horse. Then a dog. Then a cat. It starts to look like a cow, maybe.

He feels Jason roll off the bed. Hears his footsteps retreat into the bathroom. Damian rolls onto his side and looks at the wall, listens to the tick, tick, tick of the clock above the headboard. 

His mind drifts to his closet. 

–

OCTOBER 2, 2024. [ NO NEW MESSAGES ]

–

It doesn’t matter.

In the long run — in the grand scheme of things — what’s one glass?

What’s two? What’s three?

What’s Jason’s breath smelling of weed and his tasting of alcohol if they’re mingled together, anyway?

What does it matter, if this is what love is? If this is where he’s found it? 

In the long run — in the grand scheme of things — what’s one bottle?

It doesn’t matter.

–

END.

[watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees]

Smoke and Mirrors

me? updating this story? what?

Finn goes by he/they

masterlist

CW: angst, pet whump, parental death mention, smoking, relapse, memory loss, somewhat conditioned whumpee, body image issues, dehumanisation

It was a strange night. Xavier seemed to be entirely lost in thought. The camera and the various lighting setups had stayed back in the trunk, and they both sat atop the hood of the car.

Finn with their legs pulled close to their chest, an attempt to stabilise themself, though the hood was almost perfectly horizontal and rather flat, the metal under him still felt slippery. He didn't want to fall off it.

It was exhilarating to watch the night sky from there. The engine was still slightly warm under them, and it was a blessing in the cold evening breeze. They wore a pair of comfortable black trousers and one of Xavier's shirts. They weren't filming, he wasn't trying to train them to do anything, they just sat there in silence.

Xavier leaned back, resting his back and head on the windshield. He pat the safety glass next to himself for Finn to join, but they shook their head. They were painfully aware of just how much space they took up, even though it wasn't much more than the other.

Finn had chubby thighs and pudgy hips and stomach. They stood slightly shorter than Xavier did, only by an inch or so, they still perceived him as taller. He was stronger than them by a considerable amount, even though he didn't have much obvious musculature to show for it. His arms and legs were evenly toned, he worked for it, but mostly as a hobby made possible by his generous income.

They might just have been weak by comparison. Finn had always hated it, he thought. The gym just wasn't for them, even though Xavier dragged him along a couple of times, and the threat of filming a video there loomed over them every time he headed out there.

They didn't remember a single moment before they woke up on his couch, but they couldn't conjure up a reality where they ever enjoyed working out.

They wondered if there ever was a time before Xavier. Looking up at the sky, it was sort of familiar, they knew there would be stars and that they'd be far away, shining like someone threw glitter all over the place, but this felt like the first time they really saw it. He had no recollection of ever being outside in the night, far away from the city lights, that made it impossible to make out the bright little dots on the sky.

Xavier played with the end of his leash absentmindedly. He twirled it around his fingers, rolling it around and then letting it unfold, just to do it again and again.

Finn had to tear his gaze away from the mesmerising vastness of space after a particularly strong tug around his neck. He didn't seem to notice them watching, he was lost in his own head.

His eyes didn't look so unnaturally bright and icy in the dark, they looked quite normal. They were sure if they leaned closer they would see the reflection of the sky in them. He looked something akin to an average guy.

Finn didn't feel that visceral cold that would never leave their chest in his presence, now it was only the warmth of the engine surrounding them and the ever present, but small movements of the leather around their neck. Xavier's body just happened to be next to them.

They trained their gaze back to the sky. There had to be constellations somewhere in the chaotic sprinkle of lights, he knew that for sure. He didn't know any, but was sure they were there. They contemplated asking Xavier, if he would show them. Finn found that being able to recognise some would bring them a step closer to placing that distant familiarity somewhere in his brain where it was safe. Replace it with this memory.

Before they could take a breath to ask, Xavier cleared his throat and spoke first.

"My dad used to bring me out here when I was a kid" He stopped fidgeting with the leash. His voice was sort of raspy, with an emotion Finn couldn't place. He never talked about his family, and they were glad. They could pretend they were similar in that fashion, and that they both shared that ache of missing a part of themselves, not even able to bring it up. Of course he had a family, and of course he remembered them. Finn was the one, whose entire world was Xavier, their earliest memory, their owner, the substance that was supposed to fill the aching holes in their being, where their past had been ripped out of them. "He died two years ago today" he continued.

"I'm sorry, sir" Finn muttered. They didn't know if they should add anything at all. It was strange and uncomfortable to hear whatever he had to say.

"I used to think, I'd never be able to come back here" he said and finally looked at Finn.

"Why are we here then?" He thought he was brave for asking that so openly, but didn't dare look back at the other. They held their gaze on a particularly bright star above the treeline ahead of them. They heard fabric rustle and something heavy squeaking across the glass, as Xavier shrugged and sat up.

"Because now I have you, pup" he reached up and ruffled their hair in a way that he surely meant to be affectionate. His voice was warm and deep, and while he didn't look back at him, he was sure for once that his entire being wouldn't be in screaming contrast with it.

Xavier's fingers twisted in their curls slightly pulling on them and his fingertips rubbed on their scalp wrong, they wished he had taught them how to enjoy the touch. Finn realised the cold was back, but a milder version of it, sure, but it was back. "I don't think I'd be able to be here all alone" They hummed, uncertain if they should agree or disagree, it was a sound of acknowledgement.

This time they noticed Xavier move, they turned and looked. He patted down his pockets on his jeans. His hands shook slightly, as if he was unsure of what to do next. He found what he was looking for and pulled a palm sized rectangular object out. Finn couldn't see what was written on it in the dark, but he popped the lid open with practiced ease, the shake of his hands easing a bit and he pulled out a lighter and two cigarettes. There were only a few more left in the box.

"Here" he held one out for Finn, and a reflex they didn't know about bubbled up, hidden deep in their brain.

"No, thank you, I quit" they wanted to say, lifting their hands defensively, holding it between their body and the cigarettes.

That wasn't them anymore, they didn't think so at least. They had one purpose and one purpose only, and it was to obey Xavier. So they accepted it without a word and lifted it to their mouth.

They knew just where to place it between their lips and how to hold it between their fingers. They have never done this before, not that they could remember at least and it came as naturally as breathing.

"Ever smoke before, puppy?" Xavier asked, as he leaned in close, holding the small flame of the lighter for them. They just shrugged. They probably have, as all signs pointed to that. His voice should have sounded shrill, like icebergs colliding into each other, with the intent behind the question. He knew they couldn't remember and it was entertaining to poke at them for it.

Finn took a lungful of the smoke and blew it out slowly. For a moment or two he looked at the grey cloud, he just created astounded, even in such darkness he saw it wave and twirl around itself before it completely disappeared.

The bitter taste that coated their mouth processed just a second late. It seeped into every cell of their tongue, it pressed down on it like the muzzle Xavier had them wear sometimes.

They looked up at the sky again, and gasped. It looked a million times more vast and unfathomable. There were sparks of colour mostly yellows in some of the stars they didn't notice before, but were all they could think of now. The clearing they parked in looked less dark, the trees in the forest more pronounced. Things he had seen just a moment ago came into focus one after another.

The cold in his chest dissipated. The engine has cooled down almost completely, it was only their bodies' heat that still kept the metal a comfortable temperature, but it was perfect.

"Thank you, sir" The words fell quicker from their mouth than they could put a stop to them.

"What for?" Xavier laughed and took a deep drag of his own cigarette and laid back down on the windshield. With his other hand he still held onto the leash.

Finn didn't want to say the cigarette, but that was just it, right? They just lifted it, as a halfhearted answer to his question and took another deep breath through it that was followed by another wave of perfect tranquility.

"Don't mention it" Xavier was a living human being with the same aching hole in his heart where a family should be. They had never felt closer to him than in that moment.

He tentatively scooted up and leaned back on the windshield. It could break under both their weight for all he cared. Xavier beckoned him to lie down there a couple minutes earlier, so if he's okay with the possibility, Finn was too. Still, he was careful to shift his body in a way that it was mostly supported by the hood of the car.

Xavier watched as they found a comfortable position and he smiled. A normal smile that reached his eyes, not one of cruelty or for others, he looked content, loving even, too bad those small details were tucked away from sight in the darkness.

[coachbeards]

do you ever think about the possibility of beard relapsing while in ted's care, and beard's immediate response is wanting to leave, wanting to save ted from himself. waking up in the hospital, a terrifying place to him, and he expects to be alone and...god. ted is right there. asleep in the hard, plastic chair but...he's there. and when he wakes up, he doesn't give beard the "i want you to find someplace else to stay" speech that beard's been dreading, but instead tells him that the doctor recommended a good rehab program close by, he and michelle have been talking about it, it's a good place, they'd come visit- holding his hand as he makes it clear to beard that he's not gonna give up on him..........................hm

[just-being-a-bit-overdramatic]

If I am going to relapse, at least I can make it epic. Lines that won't fade until a few days later. Bonus points if there is blood. What is this pathetic scratching myself through my pijamas because I cringed while reading a book? A dissapointment. Makes me want to do it again and make it count this time.

[cecilnightvalepalmer]

Anyways my whole recoining radqueer post was made in the middle of a relapse that wad directly caused by radqueer drama and I wanted everyone to shut the fuck up so I made the post without really realizing thst recoining radqueer wouldn't do anything, but once I did I took a break and forgot to delete the post when mentally healthy! (<- Just deleted the post bc I remembered to)

Recoining radqueer wont do anything I just have mental illnesses guys keep that in mind when I start spouting off shit again <3

Love yall

[strawberista]

⚅ — @rubiesintherough asked: — ⚅

⚅ — "are you cold? why are you shaking?" ( mahia ) — ⚅

Check Ins Prompts

— ★ ⚄ ★ —

Hanekoma's body trembled in waves as he came to the couch where Mahia sat and curled up on the end of it. Sweat beaded over his skin, and instead of looking at Mahia he stared out over the width of the sitting room with eyes covered in a film of unshed tears.

"N-no, sorry..." He breathed the words between labored panting, "I jus'-- uuuhh... I-I-I-I-- fuck... Mm... Jus' did something I shouldn'a done. 'M okay just-- I just need a second."

He wasn't sure how it had happened, really. Pachinko parlors was the closest he ever got to gambling these days, or playing the arcade games around town, but today something had gone very wrong. A group of thugs (and he knew they were thugs, he knew it!) had approached him inside the pachinko parlor and offered to make more private, and more lucrative, bets. Despite knowing what a scam this was, he'd allowed his darker urges to get the better of him and followed them out into the street.

For the first time in years he had gotten a chance to play proper street craps, had allowed his soul soar with the excitement of each roll of the dice. He'd felt himself falling into a frenzy, slowly losing every ounce of hard cash he had on him. When he'd run out and was being threatened by those thugs, it wasn't a problem. He had no issue running them off and really hadn't been hurt at all, but standing in the aftermath of all that had hit him in a way he just couldn't handle.

Feverishly he'd sprinted back to his home, and though he was panting hard it wasn't from running. He was deeply shaken by his own actions, and his own lack of control when given the chance to break his own creeds. Now having reached his home, he was shaking and frightened of himself, and he was so severely disappointed in himself.

"I'm sorry..."

[i-am-confused-always]

why do I feel like people are sooo nice when they first find out about your mental problems or sh but like a month later the novelty and their ability to care dwindles away and they stop caring at all? They stop checking if your ok. They stop asking about bl00d or new cuts. They stop responding to cry’s for help. They stop caring. And then once again your left to deal with everything alone. Why does it keep happening? Why does it hurt so bad every time? I’m sad again and tired. Might relapse. Idk.

edit: I did lol.

[uncanny-tranny]

The greatest thing about recovery from relapse is your brain doing this after every day you've gone without doing The Thing:

[Video Description: The announcer in Smash Bros. Ultimate saying, "New record!" /End of video description]

[hel7l7]

Your art is awesome this is the second time I'm relapsing to it

Hi anon,

Things must be hard for you right now and I'm sorry to hear that it ended in a relapse. I'm honestly a little confused about this message, it brought up many questions that I won't bother you with, since you have a lot going on rn - or at least that's what it sounds like. I do wonder why you felt the need to tell me this. Because you know there's nothing I can do about it. I never meant to do you any harm...

I know how much it sucks to be hurt, by life or by other people. And I know that this pain can come with a lot of anger and that sometimes it helps a little to blow off steam somewhere. I hope that you got some relief by sending me this message. If not, I hope you were able to find another healthy way to cope.

My art can be triggering to some, I'm aware of that. I actually answered another ask about this a while back and I wanted to give you the chance to read my answer to that in case you're interested.

Here is the other ask.

I hope you're well anon. Don't be afraid to reach out for help. Take care You matter!

[wcshedup]

@fizziifrxg ;;

{ don't be an IDIOT. } negative self-talk wasn't the most positive of tools -- definitely not the sort of coping strategy that near-sighted therapists pitch in the home stretch of rehab. but if she was being honest with herself, it was the only way she knew how to keep the YEARNING at bay. { don't be a FUCK UP, it's been 6 MONTHS. }

FUCKING BLITZ.

if he hasn't come along on some VALIENT mission to -- what ?? rekindle their relationship from the long-tepid mount of proverbial ashes ?? AS IF. now she was hard-up for work, and without some semblance of routine there was no WAY barbie could hope to keep her place in the halfway accommodations -- and then where would she be ?? { it was one thing to be sober inside, but out on the streets ? an ENTIRELY different moral struggle. }

the uncertainty is threatening to drive the imp right back to the BEST source of stress management she knows -- it would be so easy to wander out into the alleys, the next fix was always closer than the average denizen might realize.

in a last-ditch attempt to corral herself, barbie ACTUALLY takes some of that advice from her counselor. { CALL SOMEONE YOU TRUST. } and there's only one option in that department, only one who wouldn't encourage that destructive method of self-soothing.

the number is already on speed dial. { it rings longer than she expects, actually. }

" HEY fizz -- what're ya up to ? "

[princeofyorkshire]

i hate that healing is not linear cause i’d be feeling all positive and shit for a while then boom sad sad sad again and why does it feel good to be here why is it so comforting why does it feel like this is who i am and who i was always meant to be just a dumb girl who does not know how to deal w sadness in a healthy way and always end up relapsing and doesn’t even feel guilty about it. is it the familiarity of it all. is it the fact that i’m so used to this sadness that the second i get a taste of it i want more and more and stay here forever because it’s so familiar and painfully welcoming. why why why

[traumaticenby]

Reminder for myself when I will do something very silly and stupid (like cutting myself, drinking alcohol etc.):

(''you have a bouquet of forget-me-nots, so you don't forget that you're a fucking moron'')

[coachbeards]

i forgot i made this