#and i have therapy this week but also this deep sense that while my therapist will be a fine person to talk to it will feel unuseful

[chainofclovers]

Being a human is literally like this weird combo of being okay and not okay that goes on forever except there is also death

[sxddekarios]

Invisible String: Ch 1

Jump forward two months to a therapy session between Aspen and Dr. Silverbough, aka Halsin.

AO3

“Why in the Hells did you bring me back?” Aspen asked her therapist for the third time that week. It had been two months of this – two months of laying in the medical ward, multiple sessions with Dr. Silverbough each day, and not a clue of why she was alive. One day, she thought, he had to answer. Not only why, but how.

Dr. Silverbough, or Halsin as he told her to call him, let out one of the deep sighs Aspen had become familiar with over two months of spending most waking hours with the man. It was odd how he always sighed, but never yelled. He was remarkably kind, though she knew it couldn’t last.

“I suppose it’s time I tell you more,” he said. Not that he had told her anything. She appreciated that they had solely focused on her and the two years of torture she went through before it was so, so close to being over. But she was still annoyed that he couldn’t let it be over. She knew it had to be in the realm of magic, but she had no idea what happened.

She should’ve died. She might’ve died. Did he make a deal with a devil? Did the universe have more sick torture in store for her, even after nearly every bone in her body had been shattered while she hung bound and conscious?

“I know you’ve went through an indescribable amount of pain in your life, much of that being in the past few months.” Dr. Silverbough held Aspen’s gaze with an unnerving amount of what appeared to be empathy. “I know you will continue to live through this pain and its effects, and I’m truly sorry for that. It’s why I’m here for you every step of the way, but I know nothing will ever erase your experiences.”

The therapist continued. “That being said, I also have a few hundred years of experience with the threads of life. I know you weren’t going to die despite the blood loss and organ failure you experienced. I don’t know what was keeping you in an eternal limbo – but I knew I had to bring you back to stop the incessant pain that plagued you as you waited for a death that would never come.”

“So, that’s why I brought you here.” He meant Blackstaff Academy, where Aspen had resided for the past 2 months. Not that she had seen anything outside of the medical ward. She knew it made sense with him being a professor (and now her personal therapist) at the academy. But she didn’t know how he got her body to mend.

Dr. Silverbough clasped his hands in his lap. “I have a friend – a vampire – that turned you. He fed from the small amount of blood still coming from your neck, and we spent a week transferring his blood along with a plethora of alchemical remedies to you via IV.” He paused for a moment to let her take it in. Shock flickered across her face as she wondered if she was now a vampire.

Would she have to live forever? Please, please, please don’t let that be my fate, she thought.

“Normally we wouldn’t turn someone like this, but it was the only way to save you. I know we forced this choice on you, and you have every right to be upset with us. We didn’t see another choice though, besides condemning you to suffer.” His deep yet gentle voice carried on while Aspen’s head swarmed with questions.

She had a hell of a lot of questions, but one took precedence. “Now what?” She asked. “What am I supposed to do now?” With her entire life?

“Whatever you like,” he answered seriously. Seriously unhelpful, too. “I’d like if you stay at the academy. All you need to focus on is healing as much as you can. The rest is up to you. You can live here, you can study here, you can find joy here. You don’t need to worry about finances or what you’re ‘doing’ with your life.”

“I promise you,” Dr. Silverbough emphasized, “the academy will always support you and provide for you. This is a home for students, and having brought you here myself, I can assure you that your life is taken care of in bureaucratic terms. Even with our –” he stopped himself for a moment as his eyes flickered red.

He took a deep breath before continuing. “Headmaster, my friends and I at the academy will make sure you always have a safe space. No matter what happens here, or what you choose to do with your life.”        

What the fuck was up with the headmaster? Aspen figured she’d find out soon enough if she decided to study there. Which she really, really wanted. She had only ever known herself in two ways – being owned by another person, and excelling in academia. She had nothing outside of that.

She was sure that her therapist would help her try to find other things to fill her life with, but it couldn’t hurt to start with the most stable thing she’d ever had. She tried to calm her anxieties about the future. Hope had never been on her side, but neither had a shapeshifting professor/therapist.

Hopefully, he meant what he said.

[jadetheblueartist]

hey :) how did you know and/or find out you were autistic?

Thanks for the question, anon!

Now, some of this stuff may not be relevant, but I’ll just take you through it anyway (in case we are the exact same person or something hahaha).

The very first time I ever really heard of autism was several years ago when I was talking to my mom about something that happened in my brain. I was like, “Yeah, so when I think of the number seven, I see green.” And she was like “Oh, really?” and then went on little thing about how she was pretty sure this was a symptom of something that geniuses had (I now know she was literally referencing synesthesia [“when your brain routes sensory information through multiple unrelated senses, causing you to experience more than one sense simultaneously” -Cleveland Clinic] and Sheldon Cooper hahaha). While I believe there is a correlation with synesthesia and autism, synesthesia is not part of the diagnostic material and would not be used as “evidence.”

The next thing was about a year ago. I was on Pinterest taking random quizzes, as you do, and I stumbled upon an autism quiz. So I, not really knowing what autism was, was like ooh yay another quiz. So I took it and it said I had moderate autistic traits. So I was like oh interesting and told my therapist this. Therapist was like, “ummmm okay maybe… but that is a single random quiz from Pinterest. It’s probably just social anxiety.” So I was like oh yeah okay and then moved on.

A few months after that, I was on Pinterest again and scrolling through some My Hero Academia stuff when I saw this list of reasons why they headcanonned Midoriya as autistic. So I was like, “Um. That’s what autism is? That just kinda sounds like me…” so I saved it because it was cool and scrolled down to related pins. Then I found a list as to why that person headcannoned Aoyama as autistic. So again, I read through and was like “… guys this is just me.” That is what sprung the deep dive. For the next several days I did literally nothing but watch all of the videos I could find of autistic people explaining their experiences, traits of autism, autistic masking, video essays of why rottmnt donnie is great autism representation, etc. I simultaneously wrote down every single thing I related to on a massive list. Then I got to my next therapy session. I spent the whole hour presenting as much of the information I could, and by the end, Therapist was like “hmmm, well I don’t really do diagnoses so I’m not super familiar with this. But we can go over the DSM-5 breakdown next week if you want.” So I was like, yes of course, and began prepping more.

In that week, I did some reflecting on my childhood and asking my family about my childhood (since I don’t have too many memories). Then I made a list of all of the childhood things that could be autistic traits (example: I spent all of my weekends researching ancient Egyptian Pharaoh Tutankhamen, lining up all of my brothers action figures for hours, I couldn’t stand the feeling of a super soft blanket on my hands or feet, etc). (Also at this time, I told my best friend about it and she was like “hahaha what do you mean? You’re too smart for that” so you can be autistic and have good grades? You can also be autistic and have bad grades bc they are not mutually exclusive :D anyway back to the main chunk) Icame back to therapy prepared and ready to go and we went through the criteria. At the end, therapist was like, “I can’t diagnose you, however, you do fit all of the diagnostic criteria” and I was like “ahhhh sick I knew it.”

So then I was like “Hey, Mom and Dad, I’m almost 100% percent sure I am autistic but I would like to get an official diagnosis. What do you think about that?” I wanted a diagnosis mainly to combat the gosh darn imposter syndrome (it kind of helps but the imposter syndrome is still there!! Ahhhhhh /lh) And since neither of them had any actual clue about autism, they were confused and not sure about it. I got them to agree by appealing to their practical side and said an official diagnosis could help me get job accommodations if I needed it. Plus it’s a lot easier to do it before you become an adult, so I should figure it out soon. Eventually they agreed and we got the ball rolling.

I was super excited bc everything said that the whole diagnosis process generally takes up to two years, but our doctor got us an appointment in a few weeks. Come to find out, he was just making sure we had any sort of valid reason so he could refer us somewhere to get the diagnosis. That was a bit of a bummer but it was still chill. We eventually got an appointment with this one place that actually diagnosed and again I was excited.

We went in for the initial appointment to figure out scheduling bc I had to do a few different appointments in total. The lady that would be administering the testing was about to leave that practice in a few months though (this was in November and she was leaving at the end of December). But she said she wanted to get it done herself so she just got us in quickly. We also somehow managed to finish what should’ve been a few hours long testing in an hour so I guess I’m just really good at autism hahaha (it’s probably bc we did the paperwork tests outside of the appointment).

Then in early January (she had already left by then but gave the report to someone else) we got the results, and I got my official autism diagnosis. It was a good day ^^

So yeah that’s basically my whole story. If you wanted me to go more into detail with anything like a DSM-5 criteria breakdown or something I would be more than happy to :))))) autism is a special interest of mine, after all.

This was really fun, Anon! Thanks so much for the ask and feel free to ask anything else you are curious about ^^

[zoeysdamn]

Bark, Bite & Break Bones - Tyler Galpin x Van Helsing!reader | Part.7

Summary: The aftermath of the Rave’n takes your relationship with Tyler to another level – although in a rather unexpected and rocky way. Maybe a coffee date could help? You heard that coffee can irritate spirits, hopefully nothing wrong will happen. 

Warnings: angst, swearing, mention of blood and depiction of violence ; badly written action scenes lmao 

A/N: This chapter is rather short (but the previous is like 10 000 words so it’s even lol), there is an important scene but those last weeks had been hectic and really difficult for me on a personal and emotional level; I had to negotiate to start my new (first serious) job later to find an apartment, which is really complicated in the area I’m looking for blblblbl. Might not be my best chapter, I’m not overly proud of it, but I’m more optimistic about the next one!! 

Also I used some prompts of @dumplingsjinson​ from her list of “we just happen to love hate fucking each others” prompts because they’re aMAZING (can’t say which one, no spoilers eheh)

[Masterlist] [Prologue] [Part.1] [Part.2] [Part.3] [Part.4] [Part.5] [Part.6]

“So Tyler, how are you feeling these days?” 

Sitting across in his usual seat, Tyler smiled, “I’m doing great. Feeling more at ease in Nevermore every day recently.”

Caitriona Fern hummed with a smile of her own, glad to hear that. From your spot at the window, you couldn’t help a slight twitch of the corner of your mouth. Not that you would admit it openly in front of the therapist, but you were relieved too that Tyler felt good in the school. He had almost made it through half of the year after all, this was an accomplishment. 

The therapist's eyes flickered to you for a moment before refocusing on Tyler with an intrigued spark, “Does it have anything to do with…certain people you’re gotten close to?”  

The clear insinuation brought a blush on Tyler’s cheeks and made you scoff lightly. You wondered for how long the therapist had suspected something. Maybe she and Weems had a bet about it, you were pretty sure the principal knew or at least suspected something was going on. 

But before you could snicker anything sarcastic to deflect the topic, Tyler blurted, “Y/N and I are sleeping together.” 

“Tyler!” you hissed in mortification. 

It wasn’t that you were particularly shy about your sex life, but still, you’d rather talk about it yourself to strangers instead of being exposed that way. 

Dr.Fern raised her eyebrow in contained perplexity, not really fazed by the information that had just been revealed –her empathic abilities must’ve sensed the sexual tension and from miles away –, but more interested in both of your reactions. You, looking betrayed and angry at the unexpected outing, and Tyler looking…both relieved and hurt? 

“I see,” she hummed pensively, like she was completely impermeable to the heavy tension that had suddenly taken place in the room, “maybe that could be a new topic to explore through our sessions. Y/N, would you care to join us?”

“I will not,” you spat venomously, no matter how kind her offer was. 

“Y/N…,” said Tyler softly but you interrupted him with a harsh glare. 

“Those sessions are for you, just because you’re sticking your dick in me for stress relief every once in a while does not mean I have to participate in this fuckery.” 

The way you had spat the words to him seemed to hurt Tyler more than a slap on the face. It hurt him, deep and hard. 

“Couple therapy isn’t a bad thing Y/N,” pressed the therapist gently, “it could actually be beneficial for you bo–” 

“Oh my fucking god, we’re not together!” you snapped ragefully, throwing your hands in the air in frustration. “We just happen to fuck every now and then, it doesn’t mean anything!” 

Silence fell heavy in the room. Despite the rage that had risen up immediately at Dr.Fern’s poking at your feelings, you couldn’t help but feel the crushing weight of Tyler’s pained gaze on you. Slowly turning to face him, you felt your heart tighten at the sight of the betrayal painted all over his face, mouth hanging open in disbelief and eyes glossy with tears – of sadness or of rage? 

“Tyler…”

“Do you mean it?” he interrupted with a quiet voice, yet heavy with emotion. That broke your heart even more, and you licked your lips nervously, trying to find the words. 

“It didn’t…this isn’t what I meant,” you tried, but he cut you off again by getting up from his seat angrily. 

“And what did you mean, uh? Was it all a game for you all along? Getting a fucktoy for the year because you’re unable to feel anything?”

His words hurt you two, but you refused to let it show and the angry defense mode switched on instead. “Don’t you dare making everything about me,” you growled, pointing and accusatory finger at him, “nobody ever said something about commitment so calm the fuck down.” 

He scoffed, way more snarky than his usual self, “Yeah, ‘cause it’s me who is emotionally unavailable here, keep telling yourself that.”

“Fuck you Tyler,” you hissed. 

“Did that last night, doll,” he sassed back venomously, “or is this also too personal? Are you really that much of a cold-hearted bitch?”

The last comment stung you, and immediately after saying that Tyler realized he had gone too far and his expression turned into a sorry one. He tried to reach for you automatically, but the look of betrayal, deeper than before, stopped him in his tracks. 

A few seconds of silence passed with nobody moving; then an exhaled breath released somewhere else in the room painfully reminded you of the presence of Dr.Fern.

Before the fae therapist could say anything, Tyler grabbed your hand and tugged you behind me. 

“You. Me. Bathroom. Now.” 

There was no way you could protest and before you knew it you both ended up in the bathroom attached to the therapist’s office. Tyler locked the door behind and leaned against it; you on the other hand, sat awkwardly on the closed toilets, knees brushing against his legs just barely. 

“What do you want,” you muttered quietly, keeping your eyes on the ground. You just couldn’t look at him right now. 

Tyler exhaled loudly, trying to fight the urge to bring you into a hug – or screaming at you he really didn’t know at this point. “I want some fucking honesty here Y/N,” he finally let out, voice calmer than before but still wavering with hurt anger. “What am I to you?”

A feeble scoff escaped you and you lifted your face up to look at him, “Do you want the polite answer to this?”

“I want the real answer,” he gritted before his eyes became softer, “please. Please I just need to know where all of this is going because I can’t pretend it’s just a game of who’s gonna literally fuck up the other first.”

“I don’t know, okay dude?” you snapped, trying to keep yourself composed, but Tyler only let out a bitter laugh. 

“Hold up, hold up, you were sitting on my face last night you don’t get to call me ‘dude’ now, sweetheart.” 

Running a hand through your hair, you sighed deeply, “It was never meant to go this way, okay? It would’ve been easier if we kept hating each other, it’s not my fault if you can’t stick to it.”

Tyler scoffed, “You definitely don’t hold someone’s hand while you’re fucking if you hate them.”

Rolling your eyes at him, you still couldn’t pretend he wasn’t right. The two of you had fucked before; what you did the previous night…it had felt more. More than just fucking. Tyler was just being more realistic than you were. Sighing again in defeat, you buried your face in your hand. 

“I’m not very good at this, am I? Opening up and all that shit.” 

This immediately softened Tyler’s mood and he crouched slowly in front of you. 

“You’re the worst,” he said with a half grin and you chuckled a bit at that, looking up at him. His brown eyes were so warm and so kind, you felt guilty for snapping at him earlier. 

Observing him for a long second, you finally managed to articulate some words, “Where do you want this to go?” you asked in a small voice. “Because I have legit no idea of what you want, Tyler. You’re right, I’m a bit emotionally unavailable,” you sniffled and slowly, very slowly, reached for his fingers with your own. “You’ve got to help me with this if you want answers,” you whispered, looking at him tentatively.

He stared at you, then intertwined his fingers with yours; a weight felt like lifting from your heart at this simple gesture. “I like you,” he admitted softly, “probably more than like you, actually. I– maybe I got ideas too fast, I don’t know, but I’d really love to see where this can go.” 

Your eyes widened at his confession; but just as soon as they sinked in, you tried to tug your hand out of his, “You don’t love me,” you shook your head, “you’re in love with the version of me you get to fuck. It’s not love Tyler, it’s lust.” 

He grasped your hand firmly but gently, preventing you from slipping it out of his, “That’s not true,” he whispered, offended that you brushed away his feelings so quickly, “I know what I feel, and it’s not just lust. It hasn’t been just lust for a while now.”

Lips parted in surprise, you looked intently at him, trying to catch the slightest sign of lie; there was none. But no matter how sincere he was, the gut-wrenching fear was still here. 

“I don’t know how to do this,” you repeated in above a whisper, “I’m not someone who gets to be loved, not like you do.”

“Yes you do,” reassured Tyler, brushing his other hand on your cheek, “you’ve opened yourself so much already, you can do this. You deserve to be held, to be heard, to be loved, I know it.”  

Lower lips trembling, you feel that you were close to crying. He was right; no one but him had gotten you in such a fragile, vulnerable state for a long time. And for once, it didn’t feel as scary as it had before. Maybe there was really a chance? Maybe you could let him in, and let him heal you. 

“I won’t pressure you to do anything Y/N, never,” he whispered feverishly, boring his eyes deep into yours, “but if you’re not feeling something, anything for me, please tell me sweetheart. Tell me now, and I’ll walk away from us.”

The only thought of losing him made your heart squeeze. And that’s when you knew you were lost. You were already too deep into this, there was probably no way back. But would it be so bad? 

Leaning your cheek against his palm, you closed your eyes for a moment, relishing in his comforting touch. 

“I’m not sure of what I feel,” you admitted softly, “but there is something Tyler. I…I’m ready to try and figure it out, to try…more with us. But,” you exhaled shakily, opening your eyes to look at him again, “I can’t do that alone,” you finished, “and that scares me.”

The smile that took place on his face was the softest. “I’ll be there, doll. I’ll be there every step of the way you want me to.” 

“I don’t know how long it could take,” you said with a shiver of sadness; not for you, but for him. But Tyler only pressed a kiss on your forehead. 

“It’ll take all the time you’ll need. Don’t worry.” 

A fond smile stretched your lips. Lowering your defenses for Tyler Galpin had been a good idea. A risky one, but maybe it was what it takes to free yourself from everything from your past. 

It took the both of you a few more minutes before exiting the bathroom. Dr.Fern didn’t say a word, only observing the two of you gathering your jackets on your way out, a knowing smile on her lips. Just as you were about to get out, you turned to the fae. 

“Don’t ever make assumptions about me again,” you warned – in a surprisingly soft voice?, “you’ll never get me to talk to you, so drop it already.”

She nodded, a satisfied expression on her face, “Looks like someone’s already at it, it seems. Will you let him help you?” 

Glancing at Tyler walking down the stairs behind your shoulder, you nodded reluctantly, “Yeah, I might,” you muttered. 

She grinned, “Then I promise I won’t bother you again.”

With a last nod you left, joining Tyler on the sidewalk in front of the therapist’s office. 

“Coffee?” you suggested, a bit unsure of how to act after your talk in the bathroom. 

Tyler smirked, and just like that it seemed to brush all your worries away, “Coffee date? Classic move to hit on me, sweetheart.”

The return of his flirty behavior reassured you just like it made your heart soar just because you were willing to open this weird relationship to something more didn’t mean either of you had to change who liked to be around each other. So you grinned.

“Can coffee get you in my bed?” 

“Depends on how many you’re buying, doll,” he answered playfully as you climbed in a car and snorted lightly. 

“Come on then, my caramel macchiato bimbo.” 

After a short car trip you arrived at the Weathervane, and you were in a casual and comfortable chat as you pushed the coffee shop’s doors. Tyler had been hesitant to actually go inside during the first weeks. But after your encounter with the barista – when you had chewed her out with no mercy – it had lifted his spirits a little, and now he felt comfortable enough to go to the Weathervane again. As long as you went with him, he could ignore the glances and venomous whispers in his trail. 

Deep into a conversation about the last episode of a show you both watched, Tyler and you arrived close to the counter, just behind another customer. You were defending one of the character’s in the new episode and Tyler scoffed playfully at your argumentation, the heaviness of your intimate talk only a few minutes earlier long forgotten. The customer ahead took their drink and it finally was your turn, and you rolled your eyes at one of Tyler’s comments, before looking up at the list of drinks on the board. Just when you flicked your eyes up, you caught sight in the mirror of four black silhouettes entering the coffee shop, hooded; and armed. Blood froze in your veins; when the first man raised his weapon your body reacted on its own. Before anyone registered the first shot, you had tackled Tyler brutally, sending the two of you over the counter as bullets flew in the air. 

Screams erupted everywhere in the coffee shop, gunshot piercing your ears and your head bumped against the mirror before you landed on the floor tiles with a thud. Crashing next to you, Tyler grunted under the sudden shock, your arms that had tugged him still gripped on his shoulders. A groan escaped you despite the dizzy mind; the shock against the mirror must’ve been more violent than you thought. 

Immediately rolling on his side to face you, Tyler’s eyes immediately checked for any injuries. 

“You’re okay?” he asked breathlessly; you nodded with a wince. 

Next to you, a terrified barista was curled up on the ground, covering her ears and crying hysterically. The first couple of seconds had you confused; then your mind sped up and turned into full action mode, adrenaline spiking up in your veins. Shooting up your eyes to the broken mirror, you took a quick look of the room. Four armed men were shooting everywhere, screaming inaudible orders through the chaos. They didn’t look like they were after something, only terrorizing customers and barking nonsense. Automatically all the training from all those years resurfaced and your brain immediately switched on survival mode. The analysis drilled in your head at a crazy speed and you whipped your head to Tyler. 

“Is there a backdoor in there?” you asked in a hushed tone. 

He blinked before nodding, “Yeah, yeah next to the storage room.”

“When you get the shot, you take as many people as you can and you run. Get outside, and call your dad.” 

“What about you?” he frowned, and you checked for your gun. Realizing you hadn’t brought it with you, you swore. Of all days, it had to be the one to forget it in your room; your grandmother would have your head for that. 

At least your silver blade was still strapped on your ankle and you wasted no time unsheathing it. “I’m going to buy time,” you said quietly, checking in the mirror the mercenary slowly coming to the counter, “stay put.” 

Tyler protested immediately, “No I can help you, I–” 

Pointing a finger at him you send him a harsh glare. “Stay. put.” you said through gritted teeth. 

The last thing you needed was for Tyler to unleash the Hyde. If anything went wrong, you weren’t sure you could handle both him and the mercenaries. 

One of the mercenaries stepped around the corner; and everything went very quick. He started to shout something and you whipped around, your body acting on its own and you threw your knife. The blade landed right between his eyes and his body slumped on the ground like a ragdoll with a thud. Jumping on your feet you wasted no time grabbing his gun, and rolled on the ground from behind the counter. All hell broke loose again. 

One of the mercenaries turned to you, gun brandished and you opened fire immediately shooting him in the belly and chest. The critical thing was to not harm any of the customers curled on the floor, head hidden in their hands to cover themselves. One of the thugs groaned and fell on the floor and you rose up to speed up to the remaining two. But too entrapped into the adrenaline rush you failed to notice the one you shot raised his weapon again. Another detonation echoed, the sting on your shoulder burned a second later. 

A yelp escaped you and you fell on your knees with a groan. Crawling between a flipped table you tried to cover yourself from the bullet gusts as you gripped your bleeding shoulder. You lifted your bloody hand with a hiss, trying to get a look of how bad it was. You were slightly relieved to see that it was most likely a scratch, the bullet had only grazed you. It somehow angered you even more, a new rush of adrenaline flooding in your veins and you sprung from behind your hiding spot the very second you heard the click of their guns signaling empty chargers. Without thinking you started to shoot at them, trying to be as accurate as possible but the wound on your arm made you sloppy. Ducking to avoid a new wave of bullets, you tried to analyze the situation once again; but a roar interrupted everything, making the thugs and you turn to the sound. A bony, rabid, creature jumped over the counter claws out and mouth salivating with rage. The globulous, feral eyes burned his furious madness and if you hadn’t seen pictures of the Hyde before, you couldn’t have recognized Tyler. Because there was nothing much left of him now. Only the mindless, blood-thirsty creature remained, with his backbone popping under the gray skin.  

A whisper of his name left your lips but the way he jumped on the man laying on the floor and slashed him open with a single swing of his claws threw the reality in your face like a slap. A guttural roar tore itself from the creature’s throat as he lashed out on the mercenary. The horror made his partners freeze on their spot, long enough for you to regain your spirits and shoot again. Several bullets landed on their chests, hitting them full force and sending them flowing backwards, crashing on the tables. 

A sigh of relief left your lips and for a slip of second you foolishly thought it was over. A low, menacing growl erupted from behind and you whipped around, gun cocked. The face of the Hyde flashed in front of you, mouth foaming and teeth bared. You could even feel the warm, blood-filled breath against your face. The barrel of your gun was almost pressed against his forehead, the shot was easy, clear, just there. Everything in you screamed to press the trigger; your training, your family, survival instinct. But a handful seconds of hesitation, muscles still tensed yet unable to move; it was already a mistake, yet you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. 

A whistle pierced the air and a red spot landed on the creature’s shoulder. He roared in pain, a menacing claw clutching the area before he started to sway groggily, round eyes fluttering under the weight of grounding sleep. He vacillated once, twice, and crashed on the floor loudly. A few seconds after, his body slowly morphed back into his human form, naked and bruised on the tiles. All of that under your helpless gaze, lowering your guns in slow motion. 

-POLICE, PUT DOWN YOUR WEAPON! 

The booming voice in the microphone snapped you out of your thoughts and you turned your head to the broken window. Six police cars surrounded the coffee shop, their teams all pointing their guns at you. Among them, you noticed one of the policemen holding a long-shot rifle. Glancing back to Tyler you understood that he had just been sedated. This should have been a relief; but as the terrified customers gradually looked up, whispering among themselves about what happened, and the police forces started to fill in, you realized something. Everyone had their eyes set on you. They all saw that; your hesitation had only lasted a second, maybe two, but they had seen you. They had witnessed you being unable to pull the trigger at a dangerous monster, unable to do your mission.

They had all seen you fail. 

The weight of the tension in the office was almost unbearable. On any other occasion you would have found it mildly uncomfortable and would have worn your sarcasm like a deflective armor, but now you were far too ashamed to play cocky. Instead you fiddled with the hem of your sleeve; shame you hadn’t worn your uniform, it would have been torn into shred and coated with blood instead of that shirt.

Just after the police showed up, they wasted no time cuffing you and putting you into a car; before Principal Weems stormed on the crime scene and hissed at the sheriff that it was some of her students and that your place was in Nevermore. Luckily for you, none of the police officers protested and as an ambulance carried an unconscious Tyler, you had gone back to the school with the furious headmistress. Strangely enough, some of the customers had grasped your hand and bid their thanks between nervous cries, even the rude barista you had roasted a few months ago. Guess saving them from an attack made you a better person in their eyes, or else you would already be in jail instead of Weems’ office. 

Principal Weems slammed the desk phone on its socle, furiously exhaling through her nostrils. 

“The Police have retrieved the bodies of the attackers but no identification so far,” she said bitterly. “Still no names of your victims Miss Van Helsing.”

“I defended myself,” you countered sharply, “and all the customers in the coffee shop. What did you expect me to do? Sit around and wait to be shot?” 

She pursed her lips, unamused by your response, “It wasn’t your place to take action, the police and the judge won’t be pleased.” 

“Yes it was,” you snapped, “what do you think would have happened if I hadn’t been here? You’d have a Hyde running free and more than four corpses out there. I killed those guys in self-defense because it was them or everyone else in that shop.” 

“Except you failed,” retorted Weems coldly, and her harsh tone made you flinch. “Didn’t you? Mr Galpin still turned into the Hyde, while your mission was precisely to prevent that and the corpse he slashed open.” 

Eyes darkening you looked away in shame. You knew that you had failed in your mission; you shouldn’t have hesitated a second and pulled the trigger on the spot at the Hyde appearance. Those hadn’t been silver bullets, it wouldn’t have harmed him, just make him dizzy enough to neutralize him with your blade. But in the face of danger, when all logic screamed at you to pull the trigger you didn’t do it. And you couldn’t explain why your mind had decided to freeze instead of doing your duty. Or better, yes you knew, a part of you suspected you did; but there was no way you’d admit it out loud, you didn’t owe Weems anything.  

The Principal narrowed her eyes at your ashamed unexpected reaction. “You didn’t honor your mission.” 

At her insistence you clicked your tongue in annoyance, “These weren’t silver bullets, it would have only angered the Hyde even more. It would have been risky and stupid.”

“It was your job,” she repeated, “and why didn’t you have your gun?” 

“Now you want me to have it?” you snickered bitterly, and Weems was quick to send you another glare. 

“Don’t play smart with me, Miss Van Helsing. You’re in serious trouble.”

That made you snap in anger, “Oh so I am in trouble for neutralizing four armed people who had taken hostages and shooted at civilians? Big fucking time! What were they even doing in Jericho in the first place?”

“This is not the matter!” screamed back the Principal, her final string of patience finally snapping. The way she had shouted at you surprised you so much you felt your anger immediately vanish. Seeing you backing off, Weems exhaled loudly, trying to keep a semblance of composure before carrying on, “An investigation will be led by the police,” she said more calmly but still on edge, “but you will return in juvie regardless of the outcomes. I’ll make sure of that.” 

You felt your jaw fall off, “What! Why?” 

A part of her could understand your reaction, but Principal Weems’ nerves had been on too much edge for the past hours she only pinched the bridge of her nose in annoyance, “Because you were a student under my responsibility and a dozen of normies saw you shooting at one of them, that’s why. No need to argue,” she cut you off before you could even open your mouth, “I’ve made my decision, I’ll call the school board tonight. You can start to pack your things right away.”

"This…this is unfair!" you protested despite the fatigue screaming in your limbs; you hadn't had time to properly dress your minor injuries or god forbid, take a rest. "Who are you protecting by doing this, uh?" 

"I'm protecting this school," she spat venomously, "and all the students in it. Normies will not let that slide, and I won't let them shut down Nevermore because I didn't take action." 

"And what will happen to Tyler?" you retorted, an underlying worry in your voice, "What will the normies think if you pushed away someone capable of keeping him in check?" 

To your surprise, Larissa Weems snorted, "Like you did today?" 

A fed up roll of eyes was your answer, "We were attacked. I asked him to stay put to avoid more damage and trust me those mercenaries wouldn't have been the only corpses if I hadn't been there to keep Tyler at a distance." 

The principal kept glaring at you but it was clear that your words had touched something. You could almost see the clogs in her head turning. Sighing heavily under the weight of exhaustion, you approached her desk slowly, hoping to show a more friendly behavior. All you wanted was to go to sleep, honestly. 

"Look, if normies or police thought I did something wrong, they would have asked for my head already ; and I have no doubt the school board would have gladly offered them on a silver platter. But," you sighed heavily, knowing you had Weems' full attention, "you can't put me back in juvie. Not when I did a good job so far at keeping your most sensitive student at bay. It wouldn't be a smart move." 

Weems seemed almost convinced, but something still bothered her, "I still can't let you walk away from this. None of you." 

"You can," you assured, looking at her dead in the eye, "and you will. If you've ever wished to protect the students of this school, you'll give me another chance." 

"And why would I do that?" 

"Because Tyler and I are still outcasts," you deadpanned firmly. "You had sworn to protect the people in that school; we're still your students, Principal Weems. Please. You have to trust me on this one." 

A long second passed. Then Weems sighed. 

“Can you really contain him? With therapy sessions and everything?”

You nodded slowly, “I promise today had been an accident, strictly triggered by the attack of those men. Ask other students, Ajax, Enid, hell even Xavier or Wednesday; Tyler’s not a menace on his own to the students, not when he’s with me. Please, let us stay in Nevermore.”

A slight amused smirk grew on Weems’ face, “I can’t say I’m not surprised by this sudden affection for this school…nor for Mister Galpin.” 

Turning away, you tried to hide the blush creeping on your cheeks, “We’re friends,” you mumbled. Weems arched an unimpressed eyebrow.

“Friends, uh?”.  The glare you sent was enough to move to drop the subject, but didn’t lose her amused smirk. “I must admit that you’re right, Miss Van Helsing. You are a student of Nevermore. And as the headmistress, it is indeed my job to protect outcasts. Fine,” she said after a few seconds of silence, “I won’t expel you. And I’ll defend you and Mister Galpin, should the police come after him.”

“Will they?” you asked with underlying concern. 

“Unlikely,” she assured, “I doubt Sheriff Galpin will arrest his son again. If the witnesses confirm what you did, with my word you two won’t be bothered by this accident.”

“What about the board?” 

Weems waved it off, “They need my voice to expel a student. It won’t happen.” 

“Thank you,” you muttered a bit perplexed, but more relieved than anything. 

“You reminded me of why I’m doing this job,” simply said the Principal, “we’re even Miss Van Helsing. Now if you’ll excuse me, this has been a long day for everyone and I’d like to sleep at least ten minutes before having another call from the police or the board.” 

Needless to say you didn’t protest and wasted no time rushing out of the office. As soon as you turned on the first corner, you let your back hit the wall and slumped against it. A deep breath escaped your lungs. All the adrenaline and tension the day had thrown at you finally sinked in, ragged breaths coming out from your lips. What a bloody mess this day had been. From the open hearted therapy session to the attack at the Weathervane and the tense meeting with Weems. This morning you were still a random student still tired from the party the night before, then without a warning you had shot down four men, and almost got yourself sent back to prison again. A goddamn drink, three whole days of sleep and the medal of patience, that’s what you needed. 

A sting on your arm reminded you of the injury from before. You glanced down to where the bullet had grazed you; it had felt numb ever since you had left Jericho and you had almost forgotten about it. There would probably be another wound where your head had bumped against the mirror and various cuts, maybe you should dress all of that no matter how minor it was. At this already late hour of the night, no one would be at the infirmary but you could handle this on your own. Going back on your tracks, you quickly took the way to the infirmary, only meeting silence in the hallways. 

As expected, the office was empty; maybe it was for the best. Just when you grabbed some disinfectant and fresh bandages you noticed a laying form on a bed and you stopped dead in your tracks. Those brown curls and scars-tainted freckles were unmistakable. Your legs carried you on their own, like pulled by an unknown force to the laying body of Tyler on the infirmary bed. On the pale sheets, he looked almost harmless; but the glint of silver cuffs around his wrists tying him on the bed told otherwise. It saddened you as much as it angered you. Not only they had shot him with some hell of a sedative – probably enough to put a whole pack of grown berserkers to sleep – but they handcuffed him to the bed like a rabid animal. Like he could do anything in his current state. After a quick look over him you sighed in relief when no apparent injuries were to be seen. Weems must have made him be repatriated in Nevermore at the same time as you. Sitting on the bed next to Tyler, you sighed heavily. 

“What a day uh, pretty boy?” you whispered, looking at him with a weak smile. Tyler couldn’t hear you, but it felt nice to talk to him anyway. “Guess we saved the day you and I, even if no one will ever admit it.” 

Getting another sight of the cuffs, you rolled your eyes and looked around for a key. Luckily, whoever had been here last had dropped it on a nearby bed table. 

“What were they thinking by cuffing you,” you sighed, unlocking the restrains one after the other, “what a dumb fucking idea.” 

A sudden groan rose from the bed and you whipped your head to Tyler’s face. Eyebrows knitting together, he winced slightly. “I s’cond tha’,” he rasped in a weak voice, a lazy grin awkwardly stretching his lips, “ ‘tis is a bad idea.” 

You choked on a sob through a bewildered smile, “Yeah, definitely.” 

Struggling to open his eyes, Tyler looked down groggily at his wrist and chuckled, “Bondage? Y’re gettin’ kinky, doll.”

You broke into a light laugh, tears pricking the corners of your eyes; you hadn’t realized it before, but you were so glad Tyler had woken up unharmed. He didn’t lose his sloppy grin, and you could see that his mind was still highly fogged by the anesthetic. 

“Wh’t happ’nd?” he slurred weakly. 

“Some jerks started to shoot,” you said softly, trying to be as soothing as you could. “ Someone shot you. They’re dead now.”

He nodded groggily, trying hard to pick pieces of what happened. “I transf’med didn’ I?” 

At first, you wondered if you should lie to him. Then you decided against it; it wouldn’t do him anything good. “Yeah,” you nodded, “but you didn’t hurt any civilians. You’re good, tiger.” 

His eyes trailed on your body and he frowned at your bandaged arm. When he slowly brought up numb fingers to reach it, you followed his gesture and gently grasped his hand. “It’s nothing,” you reassured him, “just a bullet graze.” 

He didn’t look less worried; but again, the anesthetic was still quite strong in his blood. “ ‘n then?” 

You swallowed hard, “It wasn’t pretty. Weems wanted to expel me on the spot for being unable to stop you from transforming. Turns out she has a soft heart, she won’t do anything.”

Again, Tyler frowned, “W’dyou mean?” 

His eyelids started to feel more heavy, and he could feel himself slip back into the depth of unconsciousness again. You felt your heart soar at the mere sight of him, alive and well in this bed. Nothing could compare to this; being with him, knowing he was unharmed, and that thanks to each other you had unknowingly saved yourselves. All the things you had said earlier came back into mind, and so did the dozens of questions that had run in your mind after the attack at the coffee. You had spent so much time, either with that gun in hand or after, ressassing every single moment to try to understand why you hadn’t pulled the trigger despite your own reason for existing. The reason you hadn’t killed that monster. Because you hadn’t seen a monster then; because you couldn’t see a monster then. Because even if you had said you didn’t know how to love Tyler, your heart already knew. And your heart had already made its choice. 

Cradling his cheek fondly, you gave him a weak smile. 

“Don’t worry pretty boy,” you whispered as he drifted back to sleep, “we’re okay. We’re both okay now.” 

[Part.8] 

A/N: I take a lot of inspiration for monster hunting and bestiary from my favorite universe ever aka the Witcher (which is already inspired by many actual myths). There I mentioned briefly berserkers, bestial warriors from norse mythology who can turn into beasts (usually bears of wolves). 

Thanks everyone for reading, I hope you enjoyed this part ♥

Hope you’re all doing okay, take care of you ♥

Taglist: 

@igotanidea​ @officerrrfriendly​ @beggingforxavierthorpe​ @aliciahlewis​ @stresseyzesty​ @katiemrty​ @leightonsteele @black-swan-blog27​ @mooniesthings​ @nightfurya​ @steadypoetrydinosaur​  @hellok1ttycupcake 

Usernames unfound by Tumblr: 

@spiceyhotsherbet  @hellokittysblog0

Plz tell me if I’ve forgotten you in the taglist (or if you wanna join!)

[husnaot]

Last thoughts: will enough ever be achieved?

It feels like just yesterday that I was reunited with my practical partners from my physical and paediatric blocks, with an additional member, to start our last block of our final year. Now, four weeks in, I can safely say that this last block was filled with fun, laughter, surprise and both hopes and worries for the future. The question I always ask myself when going into the community everyday is: am I doing enough?

At its core, community occupational therapy is rooted in a philosophical framework that emphasises the internal value of human connection and the ethical duty to enhance the well-being of others. In the current community that we are working in, MR, one which is vibrant and unique in its cultural norms, the interactions I have had with diverse groups highlighted principles of social justice and equity. Each interaction reminded me that the well-being of individuals cannot be separated from the socio-economic and cultural contexts in which they live. It spoke to what we have been taught since our first year in this degree: Occupational Therapy treats the Holistic Self. I am glad that I had the opportunity to witness and implement this in person. (“Position Statement: Community-Based Rehabilitation (CBR),” 2009)

As I collaborated with the local creches and the primary school, I encountered children whose lives were shaped by various challenges, from socio-economic constraints to limited access to healthcare and educational resources. Some of the children were coming to school and having their only meal for the day which is a service organized by the community centre in the community. It was heartsore to witness, and these experiences prompted a deep reflection on the ethical responsibilities of healthcare practitioners such as ourselves. We need to advocate not only for individual clients but also for the systemic changes that foster healthier communities. This holistic understanding became a guiding principle in my practice and an essential lesson in my journey toward becoming a competent occupational therapist.

The projects we undertook were instrumental in improving my professional skills. Working with children in early childhood development provided me with a unique opportunity to apply theoretical knowledge in real-world settings, building a bridge between theoretical learning and practical implementation. Designing and implementing therapeutic interventions for young learners required creativity and adaptability, as I navigated cultural sensitivities and diverse learning needs. While some children liked table-top activities, others needed a gross motor component to rid themselves of their excess energy and be able to focus. Navigating these different types was a challenge that I loved. These experiences cultivated a sense of empathy and reinforced the importance of client-centered care—a pillar of occupational therapy. (Kugel et al., 2017)

The development of a relapse prevention package for substance use disorder was another significant project that enhanced my understanding of the complexities surrounding the condition. Collaborating with community members, we aimed to create a culturally relevant program that addressed the specific needs of individuals affected by substance abuse. The idea for this project was thought of once we spoke to the community leader and heard of the people who have given up substances and are worried about relapsing. She reported that they needed assistance since the community shunned them for any acts they had committed while using substances and they feared that they would relapse if not occupied. This initiative taught me the value of participatory approaches in health promotion, where community input is essential for effective intervention design. Without the input from the community leader in terms of common conditions and contextual factors, we would not have thought of this project that is both client-centred and relevant to the community. (Lauckner et al., 2011)

While my professional development was indescribable, the personal lessons I gained throughout this experience were equally transformative. Engaging with the community on a personal level challenged me to confront my assumptions and biases. It illuminated the stark disparities in access to resources and highlighted the resilience of individuals facing adversity. Witnessing the strength and determination of the people I served ignited a sense of humility within me. It became clear that while I entered MR with the intention to help and assist as best as I can, I was equally enriched by the stories and experiences shared with me. (Foronda et al., 2016)

My interactions during home visits were particularly impactful. Meeting clients in their own environments revealed the intricacies of their lives and the challenges they faced daily. I learned to listen deeply and to recognize that the solutions I proposed needed to resonate with their lived experiences or else they would not see the value in my intervention. This realization reinforced the importance of building trust and rapport, which are essential for effective therapeutic relationships. Each visit was a reminder of the profound impact that understanding, and compassion can have on an individual’s journey toward health and well-being. (Hammell, 2017)

One of the home visits that impacted me greatly was a stroke client. Inside the home, the walls were covered with mold and the bathtub was full of tiny pieces of cracked cement from the ceiling in their bathroom. They were using a bowl as a washbasin as this was the only way to bath. They were hesitant to, however, they reported that they do struggle to make ends meet with basic groceries and maintaining the utilities bill. Despite these socioeconomic challenges that they were facing, every time I visited I was greeted with a warm smile and a wiped chair. They offered me their food if I came as the mother was cooking and thanked me excessively each time I left the session. It made me realise that there is a beauty in humanity and that the core of every person is to share with compassion and to share in culture.

This links to a lesson I find valuable which is that the importance of cultural competence cannot be overstated. As occupational therapists, we must be attuned to the cultural narratives that shape our clients’ identities and experiences. Embracing cultural humility—acknowledging the limitations of our knowledge and remaining open to learning from those we serve—will be pivotal in my ongoing professional and personal development. (Crawley, 2022)

Moreover, the experience highlighted the significance of collaboration and partnership in practice. No single individual or organization can affect meaningful change in isolation. The successful implementation of our projects relied heavily on the involvement of local stakeholders, healthcare providers, educators, and community members. This collaborative approach will inform my future endeavors, reminding me that collective efforts can amplify impact and foster sustainable change. (McKinnon et al., 2024)

As I transition from an academic setting into the professional world, my commitment to community service remains unwavering. The lessons learned in MR will continue to shape my practice and influence my engagement with diverse populations. I aspire to integrate a community-oriented perspective into my occupational therapy practice, advocating for equitable access to care and resources while providing holistic, culturally relevant intervention for my clients.

In a broader context, I recognise the responsibility to engage in ongoing advocacy efforts that address social determinants of health. This involves not only providing direct services but also participating in initiatives aimed at policy change, community development, and education.

In reflecting on my experiences as an occupational therapy student in MR, I recognise the profound impact of community service on both my professional and personal growth. The lessons learned—from the importance of cultural competence to the value of collaboration—will serve as guiding principles as I navigate my community service next year, as well as my career in the future. With two weeks remaining of the block, I know I will continue to learn from the people around me and to have an impact on others but also recognise their impact on me.

My university’s OT department has been in MR for 12 years now. Year after year, students enter the community hoping to make a change, whether it is for marks or for the good of the world, who knows? But what I can say is that the answer to my question will forever be unknown until we have an ideal society. Until then, we have a lot of work to do.

References:

Crawley, R. (2022). Cultural competence in occupational therapy to reduce health disparities: a systematic literature review. International Journal of Therapy and Rehabilitation, 29(10), 1–14. https://doi.org/10.12968/ijtr.2021.0011

Foronda, C., Baptiste, D.-L., Reinholdt, M. M., & Ousman, K. (2016). Cultural humility: A concept analysis. Journal of Transcultural Nursing, 27(3), 210–217. https://doi.org/10.1177/1043659615592677

Hammell, K. W. (2017). Opportunities for well-being: The right to occupational engagement. Canadian Journal of Occupational Therapy, 84(4-5), 209–222. https://doi.org/10.1177/0008417417734831

Kugel, J. D., Javherian-Dysinger, H., & Hewitt, L. (2017). The Role of Occupational Therapy in Community-Based Programming: Addressing Childhood Health Promotion. The Open Journal of Occupational Therapy, 5(1). https://doi.org/10.15453/2168-6408.1259

Lauckner, H. M., Krupa, T. M., & Paterson, M. L. (2011). Conceptualizing Community Development: Occupational Therapy Practice at the Intersection of Health Services and Community. Canadian Journal of Occupational Therapy, 78(4), 260–268. https://doi.org/10.2182/cjot.2011.78.4.8

McKinnon, S., Petrone, N., & Tarbet, A. (2024). The Role of an Occupational Therapy Practitioner in Professional Advocacy: a Scoping Review. Translational Science in Occupation, 1(2). https://doi.org/10.32873/unmc.dc.tso.1.2.02

Position Statement: Community-based rehabilitation (CBR). (2009). World Federation of Occupational Therapists Bulletin, 59(1), 6–7. https://doi.org/10.1179/otb.2009.59.1.003

Picture References:

370+ Muslim Nurse Illustrations, Royalty-Free Vector Graphics & Clip Art - iStock. (n.d.). Www.istockphoto.com. https://www.istockphoto.com/illustrations/muslim-nurse

Artgro. (2020, February 17). Different Types of Mold Found in Homes: How it Grows, Thrives and Spreads - Mold Inspection Houston. Mold Inspection Houston. https://moldinspectionhouston.com/2020/02/17/different-types-of-mold-found-in-homes-how-it-grows-thrives-and-spreads/

Hibrida13. (2017, February 22). Community concept with people silhouettes. Dreamstime. https://www.dreamstime.com/stock-illustration-community-concept-people-silhouettes-holding-letters-word-image86572397

Premium Vector | Kid opposites loud and quiet. (n.d.). Freepik. https://www.freepik.com/premium-vector/kid-opposites-loud-quiet_4808217.htm

[1d1195]

Not him inviting his friend over😭 A deep clean is always so satisfying! I hope you'll be able to still recharge a bit plus I support hiding for a bit!Oh that sounds pretty good!! And it just makes sense you would be most excited for the veggies and honestly i'm excited for you lol

I think that it’s very easy for most shows to lose their way so I totally get it! Anyways I also LOVED cake boss as a kid!! Buddy was like a GOD in my eyes HAHA

I would CRY if someone said that to me omg that's so sweet😭But yeah i get how seeing your students struggle can be difficult but I guess it is a good thing that she likes you at least! Like that has to mean something lol Though I can only imagine what goes on in her head so hopefully she can out grow constantly being in drama lol 

NOT BANK OF AMERICA HAHA I honestly don't blame her! I have heard many horror stories from that place so in this case I say that’s so valid lol 

Us together in person would just be TOO powerful(i LOVE that for us) !!! which is why the universe put us on opposite sides of the country lol. I seriously try to edit out “unnecessary” details through my responses but I fear in person my train of thought is not linear when I'm comfortable 😭 People have also lost the meaning of a good filler episode and long seasons! I can argue so much how streaming has changed the way people appreciate shows/movies which is crazy!

Sadly I only get one class with a break :( which is CRAZY considering I'm sure the professors don’t enjoy these long ass classes either?! But I don’t think it’s weird at all! I felt good about this decision ultimately because I receive aid from the state and that only lasts for 4 years so it’s a MUST that I need to be done on time! Plus even though it may not seem like it, compared to how i was even a year ago, i am in a better place so I did take some time to think about it lol And I totally get you!! You’re a perfectionist and if you feel like this is how you’ll be in therapy then it would probably feel more like a burden for you. I used to have a similar fear too when I first started therapy when I was younger so you’re not weird for thinking that at all! But the right therapist for you will never make you feel like that trust me! It’s definitely a process and please NEVER FEEL LIKE YOU HAVE TO STAY WITH ONE OUT OF OBLIGATION! If you have any doubts even after the first session, trust your gut! It’s annoying of course with insurance and all that but it never hurts to try! Oh bestie do I have a surprise for you my therapist is a MAN 😭he’s the first guy therapist i’ve had and I was honestly never wanting one tbh but at the time I was just SO desperate to start therapy again that I caved lol I too hate men most of the time and I lowkey feel uncomfortable sometimes around them but obviously he doesn’t make me feel like that lol I think that he’s definitely helped me a lot and idk it’s been very helpful in this stage of my life lol Hope that if/when you start therapy that you’ll be able to find someone who understands you and sees you for all that you are, which is a lovely person!

YAY TO ONE MORE WEEK!! YOU GOT THIS!! I do understand your frustration though with kids still managing to fail. Even though I'm sure the majority of teachers try to make it as easy as possible while still trying to teach them as much as they can. It also sucks if they don’t communicate if they might be struggling with the content and/or stuff in their personal life so that just doesn’t help. I know that you try your best and really there can be only so much done with the circumstances! I totally get it!  

AWW OMG OUR ANNIVERSARY TOO?! SAM THAT’S SO SWEET OMG 😭😭😭literally that story gave me the courage to ask for my emoji and I will always be so grateful that you let us read your stories!!

Btw i'm gonna have to talk about most part 3 in a different ask bc this is already too long lol-💜 

Haven't had the veggies yet, but the friend is gone THANK GOD. I didn't like him very much (he wasn't creepy or anything, but just not my cup of tea) I like most of my bf's friends. This one has a habit of rubbing people the wrong way.

I jus thought the crazy cakes were so fun! Buddy was hilarious and I loved the family dynamics 😂 reminded me of home 💀

When she's being annoying I think about how she said that to me. She also will come in and yell at younger students when they're acting stupid in class and put them in their place because she's high key terrifying 😭😭 But naturally I bought her a book this weekend so she would do her summer reading. Trying to get her to connect with her studies and shit. I need her to graduate but I'm worried she's going to be on the 6-year track if she doesn't get her shit together 😂😂

I LOVE THAT FOR US TOO!

Bro, there's no WAY your professors enjoy glazed-over faces for three hours. I give my kids breaks after like TWENTY MINUTES hahahaha My attention span is shot after an hour. Ah, nothing like financial aid to push you into an absolute FRENZY of a timeline ugh. It will totally be worth it--I think, I feel that way about my degrees anyway. I tell people all the time I'm glad I grew up poor I wouldn't have been able to afford college. "The hassle was worth the tassel" and all that.

A MAN?! I'm actually really pleased with this fact. I'm sure he's very capable--especially if you've chosen to stick with him. I knew they were capable of empathy 😂

I appreciate all the tips and thoughts! I've heard that before and I actually saw a character on my show trying out different therapists and my cousin also mentioned it to me. So I'm willing to shop around. But YES, I think you described it perfectly! I would def feel like a burden to please someone else in my life but I know you're right--with the right therapist I won't feel that way.

It just feels like my fault. Like I'm not doing enough. But also I don't know how to make them care. That's my issue during the regular school year too. I feel like the students I have a terrifying, growing apathetic nature toward things. Maybe it's just my age but they don't seem to like sports, movies/TV, or ANYTHING. I know I joke, but I'm not exactly old and I have SUCH a hard time relating to them sometimes. I also feel bad for all my coworkers because I'm CONSTANTLY asking for reassurance because I feel so defeated and whatnot. But anyway. I'm excited for the week to be done and then I'll have a chunk of weeks to myself reading and preparing new lessons and shit before the school year starts. It's far to think in advance and I will def miss the $ but I'm strongly considering taking next summer off. 

You are the sweetest! 💕 I'm so glad to share them. I find it so therapeutic to hide behind my screen and let you all read my inner thoughts 😭

hope you have a good week! I imagine you're rapidly approaching finals for your first two classes 😭 best of luck (not that you'll need it!) 💕

xoxo

[bestmassagetables]

The Ultimate Guide to Swedish Table Massage

What is a Swedish Table Massage?

As someone deeply invested in massage therapy and the best massage tables, I can tell you that a Swedish table massage is one of the most popular and well-known types of massage around. It involves a series of techniques designed to relax the entire body by rubbing the muscles with long, gliding strokes in the direction of blood returning to the heart. This type of massage is perfect for anyone new to massage or looking to relieve tension and stress.

Brief History of Swedish Massage

Swedish massage has its roots in the early 19th century, developed by a Swedish physiologist named Per Henrik Ling. Ling combined his knowledge of gymnastics and physiology to create a system of movements and strokes that promote overall health. The techniques he pioneered have since evolved and spread worldwide, becoming a staple in spas and wellness centers.

Benefits of Swedish Table Massage

Physical Benefits

From my experience, the physical benefits of a Swedish table massage are numerous. The techniques used can help improve circulation, ease muscle tension, and increase flexibility. Regular sessions can also reduce muscle toxins, increase oxygen levels in the blood, and improve overall body function.

Mental and Emotional Benefits

In addition to the physical benefits, a Swedish table massage can significantly enhance mental and emotional well-being. The calming environment and soothing strokes help reduce stress and anxiety, promoting a sense of peace and relaxation. It’s a fantastic way to unwind after a long day and restore mental balance.

Techniques Used in Swedish Table Massage

Effleurage

Effleurage involves long, sweeping strokes that warm up the muscles and prepare them for deeper work. It’s a gentle technique that feels incredibly soothing and is often used at the beginning and end of a massage session.

Petrissage

Petrissage includes kneading, rolling, and lifting the muscles. This technique helps to release knots and tension in the deeper layers of muscle tissue, providing relief from chronic muscle tightness.

Tapotement

Tapotement involves rhythmic tapping or percussive movements. It’s invigorating and helps to stimulate the nerves, improve circulation, and promote muscle relaxation.

Friction

Friction techniques involve deep, circular movements that target deeper muscle layers and connective tissues. This method is excellent for breaking down adhesions and increasing mobility.

Vibration

Vibration involves rapid, shaking movements that help to relax the muscles and stimulate blood flow. It’s typically used on larger muscle groups to provide a soothing yet stimulating effect.

What to Expect During a Swedish Table Massage

Setting the Scene: The Massage Environment

When you step into the massage room, you’ll find a serene and calming environment, often with dim lighting, soft music, and a comfortable massage table. The atmosphere is designed to help you relax and feel at ease.

Step-by-Step Process

During the session, the massage therapist will use various techniques, starting with effleurage to warm up your muscles. They will then proceed with petrissage, tapotement, friction, and vibration to address different areas and needs. Communication with your therapist is key to ensuring your comfort and addressing any specific concerns.

Duration and Frequency

A typical Swedish table massage lasts between 60 to 90 minutes. For optimal benefits, consider scheduling a session every 4 to 6 weeks, although more frequent visits may be beneficial for specific conditions or stress levels.

Comparing Swedish Table Massage to Other Types of Massages

Swedish vs. Deep Tissue Massage

While both types aim to relax and relieve muscle tension, a Swedish massage is generally gentler and focuses on superficial muscle layers. In contrast, deep tissue massage targets deeper muscle layers and connective tissues, often using more intense pressure to address chronic pain and tension.

Swedish vs. Hot Stone Massage

Swedish massage and hot stone massage both offer relaxation benefits, but the latter incorporates heated stones to enhance the experience. The warmth of the stones helps to relax muscles further and improve blood flow, providing a different kind of soothing experience.

Choosing the Right Massage Oils

Benefits of Different Oils

The choice of massage oil can significantly enhance your Swedish massage experience. Oils like lavender, chamomile, and eucalyptus offer additional benefits, such as relaxation, anti-inflammatory properties, and improved circulation.

How to Choose the Best Oil for Your Massage

When selecting a massage oil, consider any allergies or skin sensitivities you might have. Your therapist can help you choose an oil that suits your preferences and enhances the therapeutic benefits of the massage.

How to Prepare for Your Swedish Table Massage

What to Wear

Wear comfortable, loose-fitting clothing to your appointment. You will typically undress to your comfort level and be draped with a sheet or towel during the massage to ensure your privacy and comfort.

How to Relax Before the Session

Take a few moments before your session to relax. Deep breathing exercises or a short meditation can help calm your mind and prepare your body for the massage.

Conclusion

Swedish table massage is a highly effective and popular form of massage therapy, known for its relaxing and therapeutic benefits. The techniques used, such as effleurage, petrissage, and tapotement, work together to relieve muscle tension, improve circulation, and promote overall well-being. I encourage you to try a Swedish table massage and experience its many benefits firsthand. Whether you’re new to massage therapy or a seasoned spa-goer, this type of massage can help you achieve a state of relaxation and rejuvenation.

Finding a quality massage table can be daunting, but the reviews on BestMassageTable.net can help simplify the process.

FAQs

What are the benefits of a Swedish table massage?

A Swedish table massage offers numerous benefits, including improved circulation, reduced muscle tension, enhanced flexibility, and stress relief.

How often should I get a Swedish table massage?

For general wellness, a session every 4 to 6 weeks is ideal. If you have specific issues or high stress levels, more frequent visits may be beneficial.

What should I expect during a Swedish table massage?

Expect a relaxing and soothing experience, with various techniques used to address muscle tension and promote relaxation. Communication with your therapist is essential to ensure a comfortable experience.

How does a Swedish table massage differ from other types of massages?

Swedish massage focuses on gentle, flowing techniques to relax the muscles and improve circulation, while other types, like deep tissue or hot stone massage, may involve more intense pressure or additional elements like heated stones.

[favefandomimagines]

Couples Therapy (b.b.)

Summary: Dr. Raynor decides to bring you in to Bucky’s therapy session to resolve some of the deep rooted issues the two of you had

AN: i love bucky with my whole heart but sad/angry bucky is such good fic fuel and i lowkey was inspired by a tiktok i saw but i can’t remember the creator

You and Bucky had a complicated history. And that was putting it rather lightly. Steve had recruited you and Natasha to track down the Winter Solider before realizing it was Bucky. 

And not only was HYDRA wanting to wipe out Steve, they needed you gone too. You were the only obvious threat to not only HYDRA, but to their asset as well. Your powers were something from a different universe to them and if they couldn’t have you as a weapon, you needed to be stopped. 

Bucky had tried to kill you on multiple occasions while he was still under HYDRA’s mind control. It wasn’t until you and Steve found him in Bucharest did you get to see just how broken the man really was. 

You helped him get to Wakanda rather than being thrown in an American prison. T’Challa asked you to stay, to give Bucky a sense of familiarity while in Wakanda. You were there when he came out of cryo and you helped him navigate a seemingly normal life.

After everything that had happened to the two of you, you wanted to break down the walls he had built up over so long and he actually let you. An actual relationship had developed between the two of you when everything was simple. He told you how grateful he was for you, how he didn’t know if he could fully recover if you weren’t there to help him. 

But it all went to hell very quickly. It seemed he wanted nothing to do with you after a few months of sharing an apartment together, trying to start over. You tried and made an effort to see if he wanted or needed help, but you received nothing but low grumbles and head shakes.

It was hard to accept the fact that the man you were in love with, wanted to basically cut you out of his life. It hurt you more than you thought it would, so you stopped trying. 

Bucky expected to get another text from you one morning after you got to work, and that text never came. Later in the evening, just before 9:00, you would usually make him a cup of tea to calm his nerves. That cup of tea was also absent from Bucky’s evening routine. 

You even stopped leaving food on the counter when you knew he was very prone to skipping breakfast in the morning. 

Dr. Raynor, Bucky’s therapist, noticed a change in his behavior. He was more irritable than before and the sound of your name made him tense up. 

“James, what’s going on with Y/N?” She asked. “What do you mean?” He asked before clenching his jaw. “I mean, how come every time we talk about her you get upset?” She questioned. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Bucky said. 

“Alright, we’re going to try something.” Dr. Raynor said, standing up from her chair. She opened the door to her office and gestured to someone in the waiting room.

When she came back, you followed behind her, which caused Bucky to sit up straight. “Y-Y/N? What are you doing here?” He asked. “Dr. Raynor asked me to come.” You answered, avoiding looking at him directly. 

You sat down at the very end of the couch, but even then it felt like you were too close. 

“What seems to be going on with the two of you?” Dr. Raynor questioned. “Nothing, we’re fine.” Bucky answered. You scoffed and rolled your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest. “Y/N?” She asked. 

You were quiet for a moment, feeling Bucky’s eyes practically burning a hole in the side of your head. But he wasn’t communicating with you anymore. When you tried to talk to him, he brushed you off. Now, he was forced to listen to you. 

“We are far from fine.” You said. “Elaborate, please, Y/N.” Dr. Raynor said. “Ever since we came back from the blip we haven’t been the same. He doesn’t talk to me, we barely have a meal together and if we do it’s in complete silence.” You explained. “Y/N, that’s not true.” Bucky replied. 

“James, let her talk.” Dr. Raynor told him. “I understand what he’s going through. Spending years of your life as another person is obviously going to change you but we don’t speak. We live together, in the same apartment, and yet this is the most we’ve talked in weeks.” You said. 

“You never start the conversation, that’s why.” Bucky commented. You turned to look at him, giving him the most incredulous look. “I have, James. You push me away. I can’t keep doing this, how the hell do you expect me to keep loving you if you won’t love me back?” You snapped, eyes welling up with tears. 

The room fell into a tension filled silence before you stood up. “I think I should go. Thank you, Dr. Raynor.” You said, head down trying to keep your composure.

You walked out of the room and kept in your feelings until you get to your car. Letting out all of the frustration, anger and sadness as you hit your steering wheel a few times. That was no doubt going to cause your hand to bruise but in that moment you didn’t care.

Bucky returned home shortly after Dr. Raynor had ended the session for the day and you had not arrived. All of your belongings were still there, which was a good sign. You hadn’t left him just yet and maybe there was time for him to fix things.

It was around 9:00 that evening and you still hadn’t returned home. Bucky’s mind went to the worst case scenario as to where you would be. Did you get hurt? Did you actually leave without getting your stuff? Were you with someone else? 

He continued pacing the floor when he heard the front door unlock. Bucky watched you walk in the door and stopped in the middle of the living room. 

“Where have you been? It’s been hours, I thought something bad happened to you.” He scolded you. “Oh so now you care?” You commented. “Can we talk? About what happened today?” He asked. 

You placed your keys on the counter as you sighed and ran your hand through your hair. It was then Bucky saw the red and slightly blue marks on your hand. “What happened?” He asked urgently.

“I hit my steering wheel because I’m so frustrated with you and whatever we are.” You snapped. Bucky sighed lightly and you expected him to brush you off again. “No, Bucky, you are going to listen to me and you are going to talk to me. This relationship is as one sided as it gets and I’m sick of it. I’m tired of having to make you love me, it shouldn’t be like that. We should be each other’s constants, not wanting to get away from each other. If you don’t want to be with me anymore, just say it.” You ranted. 

“I do want to be with you, Y/N. You’re the only thing that makes sense to me anymore. I don’t have an excuse for pushing you away. I’m struggling trying to get back to normal and make amends. I’m so sorry, doll. I never meant to hurt you.” Bucky said. 

You looked at him in a stunned silence, deciding what would be best for the two of you. You wanted to be with Bucky, you loved him but you couldn’t be in a relationship where there was no communication.

“Then you need to talk to me, Buck. We can’t keep going on like this. It’s not okay.” You said. “I will. Whenever there is something bothering me, I will tell you. I will listen to you, I won’t brush you off because I don’t feel like having the conversation. I promise I can fix this.” He said.

You looked at him for a moment, trying to find any sign of an empty promise but you couldn’t see any sign of one. 

“Okay, if we can do that, we will be okay.” You said. “Good because I can’t do this without you.” Bucky. said quietly. You gave him a warm smile before he walked closer to you and pulled you tightly into him. “I’m sorry, doll.” He whispered. “It’s okay.” You whispered back. 

Bucky pressed a light kiss on the top of your head as he just held on to you. 

[beyondspaceandstars]

While You Sleep

Chapter 15

Relationship: Bucky Barnes x Reader Warnings: mentions of panic attack, mentions of violence Summary: Soulmate!AU - Throughout life, you’re given glimpses of your soulmate through dreams. As you sleep, memories flash in your mind showing you the life your soulmate has lived. Everyone around you raves about how their soulmate reads great books or volunteers in their spare time. But you can’t relate as your dreams end up being more like nightmares. Through initial images of death and violence, you come to learn your soulmate is the Winter Soldier.

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

“Would you like to explain to me why you’re here?”

“I think you already know why I’m here.”

Your therapist eyed you annoyingly at the bitter response. After your little episode during sex, Bucky had finally put his foot down. He realized you clearly weren’t getting anywhere on your own and he wasn’t the most equipped to give you the care you needed, so he set up a therapy appointment for you. 

The therapist was under the same practice as Bucky’s own but he made it very clear you two couldn’t see the same doctor. You’d never admit it, but you were thankful for that. You couldn’t imagine sitting across from the woman who Bucky also dumped his trauma onto. 

So, that was how, after some intense back and forth with Bucky, you ended up in front of a therapist you couldn’t remember the name of. It was pathetic, really, but in your defiance, you hadn’t learned her name. As if that somehow kept you disconnected from the whole process. At best, you knew her name started with a G and that’s all you were going to go off of.

“Sure,” Dr. G shrugged and glanced at your file. “I know what happened to you but why are you here? What made you want to see someone?”

You sighed. “It was just time.”

“Why?”

You slammed your hand on the side of the couch in frustration. It had been this weird back and forth for the last ten minutes. Honestly, you were hoping you could just drain the time but this doctor wasn’t giving either of you the luxury.

“What would you like me to say, huh?” You spat out, a new kind of anger springing within you. The dam wall had broken. “Do you want to hear about how for almost my entire life I haven’t been able to escape the nightmares of my soulmate? Or about how I get one little moment of peace with him and then it all goes to absolute shit? Because that’s just how the cookie fucking crumbles, isn’t it?” You bit your lip, holding back from the sob rising in your burning throat. But you certainly weren’t done. You forced on, “Maybe you’d like to listen to me ramble on about how my own goddamn apartment feels like a prison. Or how I can’t even have sex with my soulmate because everything, every little fucking thing, reminds me of that night. And it’s not just enough to remember it, I guess. Huge shoutout to whatever kind of soulmate bond this is.” You paused. “I was barely gone for two days and somehow it hurt me, it damaged me. But, really, it shouldn’t have, right? It was nothing compared to-,” Him. His experiences. Your words got stuck as you gasped, letting the sadness roll over you. The tears were flowing freely now. 

You just didn’t understand. You didn’t understand your reaction to any of this. You were barely touched, never even experimented on yet you couldn’t seem to actually escape it. You were flinching at touches. Backing out of sex. Not to mention the images of Bucky. Real images, no longer just dreams, but almost like your memories came into play. You were forced to be stuck in a tragic playback of that time. Over and over, every night, and you were to move on? Yet how does all of this come about from being gone for a few hours? You felt there was maybe more to this all and anxiety gnawed at you about it.

Your therapist sighed and placed your file on her side table. She leaned forward, hands clasped together. “Trauma is trauma, no matter how small or insignificant your brain thinks it is.” She passed you a tissue which you accepted.

You dabbed your eyes. “It’s just not fair,” you mumbled. “I finally found him and now I fear I’m ruining it.”

“You aren’t ruining it,” the therapist insisted. “You went through something catastrophic and your mind is reacting. It’s beyond justified. Don’t you think he, out of everyone else in this world, understands that?”

You gave a pathetic shrug knowing she’s completely correct. But that wasn’t how this was supposed to work. You should’ve been his rock, right? 

“Well,” Dr. G sighed as she leaned back in her seat, “I think he understands and you have no reason to beat yourself up over it. You aren’t responsible for any of it. You’re just responsible for recovering and, sorry to say, that isn’t exactly done overnight.”

You scoffed. “Well, where does it begin?”

“Talking,” she said. “Brainstorming. Shooting the shit. Whatever you want to call it, just find a way to let it out of here.” Dr. G motioned towards her heart. You felt your own pounding.

***

Bucky was right where you had left him sitting in one of the chairs in the corner of the waiting room. He didn’t notice you at first as he was engrossed in some technology magazine. You couldn’t help but notice how interested yet relaxed he was. He really did have a bit of a nerdy side to him. 

“What’s so fascinating?” You asked, taking a seat next to him. He jumped a little at your sudden appearance. You held back a chuckle, finding it quite amusing you could surprise the ex-assassin.

Bucky looked back at the magazine and shrugged. “Some new tiny cameras this company in Europe developed. Smaller than your pinky yet has the quality of a full-fledged camera, or so they claim.”

You smiled at his light skepticism. For a man that was easily wowed by the world he sure was hesitant to indulge in it - hence the flip phone he still kept insisted on. 

With a sigh, Bucky closed the magazine and placed it back on the table. He looked towards you again and asked, “How did it go?”

Truthfully, you didn’t want to talk about it, but that also sort of beat the purpose of getting guidance from a therapist. She emphasized that communication was a major key - for both of you. You didn’t want to dismiss that advice right away but you also didn’t exactly want to make your soulmate more concerned than he already was. He had insisted on coming with you to this appointment despite being confined to the waiting room. Bucky didn’t mind, clearly overshadowed by the worry showcased on his face.

“I have to tell you a few things if you’d like to accompany me back home.”

“Home?” He frowned. “Home as in-,”

You shook your head. “My apartment.”

Wordlessly, Bucky stood and outstretched his hand towards you. You mustered up a smile the best you could, letting him guide you out of the building and onto the city sidewalk. 

For as many concerns as you had running through you, you were finding some new sense of pride walking down the street with Bucky. Your soulmate. You had felt something there beyond it all. 

How many times had you walked these streets simply letting your gaze wander about hoping to just spot him? And then you didn’t even find him in the most conventional way. 

But you had to remind yourself of that hopeful gazing you partook in for many weeks. All you had to go off of was his actions. His violent, albeit unwilling, actions. And yet, in all that, you still wanted to meet him. Wanted to hear his voice and maybe get a peek into what he may be like. You certainly got way more than you had bargained for. And you wanted to keep it. Maybe you had been forgetting that in your worries of ruining it. These worries stemmed from wanting. You just had to remind yourself. 

You two had been lost in your own worlds. You were quite surprised by how quickly you had arrived at your apartment building. Everything outside of it was the same like the world had just stood still. You dropped Bucky’s hand and began fumbling for your keys. He kept a protective arm around your waist, trying to offer some comfort for the daunting task. 

After a shaky moment, you led him inside and up the stairs where your apartment door sat, seemingly untouched. You knew that wasn’t exactly the case. Agents had been in and out of your apartment upon your disappearance, Bucky had explained, but they must’ve been stealthy ones. It looked like every other door. 

And, really, that’s all it was, you told yourself. It’s just a door. It’s a first step, your therapist had claimed, but it was also just a door. You had wrestled with yourself over this concept for a while now and here it was in front of you. 

“You don’t have to do this.” Bucky’s voice broke your concentration. “You’re more than welcome at the compound. No one would blame you if you - you wanted to stay.”

“I know,” you sighed. “Thank you but I don’t want to wallow in it.”

Bucky didn’t say anything more and just nodded his head once in understanding. Taking a deep breath, you unlocked the door and flung it open.

You didn’t know what you were expecting. Part of you was ready to be ambushed by Hydra men. Another part of you thought the place would be a wasteland. But neither of those was the case. It was just...normal. It looked exactly how you remember leaving it in all its worn-down glory. Relief washed over you. 

You walked in as you had a million times before and threw your bag on the couch. You headed straight for the kitchen, pulling a bottle of water out of the fridge. Bucky didn’t comment on anything and just took a seat on your couch, waiting.

Making your back to the couch, you offered Bucky water but he declined. Amazingly, you floated around the apartment with no worries. It felt like you never left while also felt like you were reclaiming. 

You took a seat next to Bucky, keeping some space between your bodies.

“What’s on your mind, doll?” Bucky suddenly asked. You glanced back at him nervously. If he was at all anxious, he sure wasn’t showing it. Damn that assassin mentality.

“That nightmares have come back,” you admitted. The words landed like a million little bombs around the apartment. Bucky leaned back on the couch, his eyes wide with concern. 

“What?” It was all he seemed able to manage to say. 

You shifted on the couch uncomfortably, mentally working up the courage to continue on. “It all started back up after that… that night,” you explained. “I-I was suddenly seeing you fighting those men. I was seeing pretty much into your brain, feeling all that anger and relentless rage.” You paused. “I couldn’t believe it, really. I hadn’t had a single nightmare ever since we got together and now...it’s like a million steps back and I don’t know how to fix it. The doctor suggested talking and that’s what I want, Buck. You can’t turn away. Not right now.”

Bucky wasn’t looking at you anymore, instead taking strong interest in picking at your couch cushion. He seemed quite uncomfortable, which was beyond understandable, but he also had to have heard your pleas. 

“Y-You see all that?” He finally asked, his voice just barely above a whisper. “Just on a playback loop? Despite us being connected, really connected.”

You didn’t know what to do besides nod in confirmation. Bucky let out a deep sigh.

“And this, on top of everything else, hasn’t been helping you to recover, has it?”

You shook your head. Bucky now looked like he wanted to put his fist through your door. Tears welled in his eyes. 

“Of course not,” Bucky mumbled. “I-I thought it was supposed to get better.”

“Me too,” you admitted. “I didn’t tell the therapist this but I… Well, I fear there’s something faulty with this bond.”

The thought had initially popped in your head out of nowhere. One night you were half-awake, already witnessing the shine of Bucky’s arm as his hand contracted around the goon’s throat, when you began trying to think about the good memories. The reader Bucky you got to see. How lovely that was to bring up. How the conversation that followed was refreshing, fun. You wouldn’t be able to bring anything like that up again because you lost them. It took a bit for your theory to prove certain but once it was, you realized, you were stuck. 

But you also hadn’t exactly wanted to act on this theory, figuring this could be handled on your own. Date night proved wrong. 

Bucky eyed you, curiously. “What do you mean?”

“It’s very challenging to recover from something when it’s the only thing you’re reminded of, right? Well, that’s the case, nightly. Despite how serious we are in this relationship, it’s cutting through, even though it seemed like in the beginning…” Your words trailed, a bit unsure. You changed the focus. “The memories and thoughts are still transmitted disturbing reminders. I can talk about it until I’m blue in the face, but I just don’t think that’s all there is to it. The bond isn’t letting me move on regardless of our circumstances. Everything you saw...”

Your soulmate nodded in his attempt to understand where this was going. You even had to admit, it was sounding a bit bizarre. You did think it was just trauma and in many ways, it is. It all comes back to the trauma derived from the situation but to have to relive it through your soulmate’s eyes. To have to see him personally killing someone was just… It was a whole new level of memories. You were personally attached to them. You weren’t just living through it in some fucked up metaphorical way - you actually had lived it. Besides - it shouldn’t be this way.

“You think we need to see someone about it,” Bucky concluded.

Hesitantly, you confirmed his suspicions. “Are there really doctors who study it? I've heard rumors but I’ve never seen someone.” Thinking of it now, you never knew why you didn’t. Probably because those who studied soulmate bonds were truly myths. There wasn’t exactly anything tangible to study. Who was going to waste their time?

Bucky shrugged. “I think I may know someone.”

[yves-and-scessernee]

the thing about growing up undiagnosed, unrecognized, is that everyone. tells. you. to. try. harder. everyone tells you that you are choosing to fuck things up for yourself.

I was trying as hard as I could. I was also just trying to survive. I was overstimulated to the point of not processing sound and melting down every other day, it felt like. I was so exhausted that, years later, I still feel burnt out. I was so exhausted that I had no friends, no hobbies. Like, as a child I used to love to read; as a teenager I was simply too exhausted, too busy, too burnt out. I still haven’t recovered that. So too with everything else.

I keep repeating exhausted, because that is my primary memory associated with my teenage years and early twenties: just pure, painful exhaustion. I literally broke my finger — like I broke the bone while stimming — and no one believed that it was broken, despite the fact that it was deeply bruised and too painful to twitch. I was too tired to protest. I simply tried to work through it. Weeks later, when a doctor finally got a look at it, he was so frustrated. It healed crooked. Maybe it would have done that anyway. Honestly, years later, I’m still too tired to care.

I still believe, deep down, that it was all my fault, my failure. I know I was giving everything I could. I still feel like I chose to fuck up — that there must have been something I could have done to make everything make sense, make it all better, and I just didn’t do it. I know that my teachers and the adults in my life definitely thought that about me. I gave it everything I had, I still failed — scraped through high school only to drop out of college to get diagnosed with schizospec stuff and go to therapy twice a week. And even with a diagnosis, so many people just assumed I wasn’t trying, and didn’t care.

I’m better now. I’ve been in therapy for years. I’m on so many medications and each of them is a godsend. I have friends now — something that I genuinely thought would never happen (hey, I was 15). I have a greater vocabulary for my past and present experiences. I still have bad days, but the worst bad day is still a better good day than my good days used to be. I’m happily married; they believe me when I say I’m trying. It’s hard to believe some days, but they do.

I’m trying to read more. It’s hard going, but it’s going.

I still feel so empty about those years, though. I feel like I lost more than a decade of just … feeling alive, and at such a crucial developmental period. I wish I could go back with everything I now know and try to have a happy childhood. Like a new game plus mode: I keep my meds and doctors and neurologists and therapists and psychiatrists and vocabulary and supportive partner, but I get a do-over of all the content.

There’s no point in playing what-if, but. All of my OCs feel so distorted and strange. And that’s just because I don’t have much else to give them right now.

So I guess the next step is learning how to write happy characters. Idk what comes after that, but, well, I guess we’ll see.

[rolandtowen]

Kiss It Better

Sokka builds a blanket fort. Zuko info-dumps about ADHD and chronic pain. Fluff ensues.

Read it under the cut!

"Sokka?"

A mess of brown hair and blue eyes peers out from underneath a carefully constructed cocoon of blankets. Zuko's standing in their bedroom doorway, holding Sokka's medication organizer.

"When was the last time you remember taking your meds?"

"Hmm... Thursday?" Comes Sokka's voice, muffled by the blankets.

Zuko flipped through the pill pockets. "No, looks like Tuesday."

"How bad is that? What day is today?"

Zuko sits on the edge of their bed, close enough to hold Sokka's hand but not close enough to disrupt his carefully crafted fort. "Well firstly, today is Sunday." Sokka groans and brings his free hand to his forehead. Zuko presses on, squeezing his other hand. "Secondly, taking your meds is morally neutral. Forgetting doesn't make you a bad person, it just means we need to find a routine that works better for you."

Sokka nods and Zuko can see the gears turning in his brain.

"Can I ask why you're in a blanket fort? Is it your knee?"

As a kid with ADHD, Sokka played a lot of sports: hockey, basketball, even tennis. But football is what did him in - in his senior year in high school, an unfortunate tackle tore his ACL, dislocated his left knee, and created hairline fractures in his calf bones. The Dancing Dragons won the game, but Sokka spent the rest of his senior year recovering. After almost five years, all it takes is one bad twist during a rush in the coffee shop and Sokka's down for the count.

"What gave it away?" Zuko looks up from their joined hands to see Sokka smiling at him, his bitterness at his body softened by Zuko's presence.

"Well, for one, the heating pad was mysteriously absent from our med drawer - and you're also in a blanket fort." Zuko squeezes Sokka's hand. "May I join you?"

"But of course, my love," Sokka pulls back the comforter, slapping the empty mattress beside him. "By all means, come on into Fort Chronic Pain."

Zuko laughs, settling next to his boyfriend and curling into him. "You're ridiculous."

"That's why you love me." Sokka starts combing his fingers through Zuko's long hair. "How were your classes today?"

Sokka knows that if he can get Zuko talking about school, he won't be so worried about Sokka's knee.

"Are you trying to get me to stop worrying about you? It won't work." Sokka sighs.

"Maybe, I think your med school classes are interesting."

Zuko, for all his worrying, had passed the MCAT, graduated summa cum laude, and was now studying for his M. D. at the prestigious Beifong Medical School. Sokka hadn't doubted him for a second. Zuko never gave up and never backed down. The man could grapple with the Sun and win unscathed.

"-oned?" Zuko's voice comes from below him.

"Huh?"

"I asked, 'are you zoned'?"

"Yeah, I'm sorry, I-"

Zuko waves him off. "What's the last thing you remember? I can start over."

"I remember asking you about classes, and you wrongfully accusing me of trying to distract you."

Zuko snorts. "My favorite class by far has been Mental Health and Physiology. I think it's highly admirable that med schools are starting to integrate mental and physical health, and not teaching them separately."

"What kind of things have you learned?"

"Like, people with anxiety may present with back pain that doesn't correlate to an injury; the excess stress can really do strange things to your muscles - and we should still holistically treat patients without just dismissing them and telling them to relax."

Sokka nods. "That makes a lot of sense, baby. You're so smart."

"Oh, shut up." Zuko can feel his cheeks warm at the compliment. "But, we also talked about ADHD and chronic pain, which I thought you might like to hear?"

"Of course, turtleduck. Amaze me." Sokka rests his hand on Zuko's hair, running his thumb across the curve of his head. "Info-dump away."

Zuko takes a deep breath in. "Okay, so, there are significant studies that show that people with ADHD experience chronic pain at a higher level than the average population - there are a few theories as to why this might be. Many people with ADHD experience hypertonia, or muscle overactivity. This can make it really difficult to fully relax tense muscles, and increases chance of injury. Additionally, low dopamine is considered to be one of the causes of ADHD, and dopamine regulates chronic pain signals. Most of the research has only been done in the last decade, so it's going to be really exciting to see what new treatments develop - previously, dopamine wasn't really known to be connected to pain regulation at all." Zuko turns to look up at Sokka. "You never know, there might be an effective treatment for your leg in the next decade."

Sokka wants to be hopeful, he does, but he's been trying to treat his chronic pain for five years, and he's had limited success. Going to a chiropractor helped a little, the physical therapist gave him some great exercises for strengthening the tendons supporting his knee, and cutting back on inflammatory foods lessened the pain level whenever he entered a flare - but he still got flares. A hike could knock him off his feet for weeks; a rainy day could be agonizing. He just wishes there was a simple solution - but as much as homeopathic Karens in the coffee shop try to convince him, there's no one-step solution. No, Janet, as good as your essential oil blend smells, it isn't going to take the place of physical therapy, preventative care, and lifestyle changes. Just like for his ADHD. It takes dedication to a process of self-care to make improvement in either arena.

And if the off-schedule pill organizer in Zuko's hands is any indication, dedication to a process can feel fucking impossible with ADHD. 

"Can I do anything to help?" Sokka looks down to see Zuko's amber eyes staring up at him, offering comfort no blanket fort could provide. 

"Can you..."

"Yeah?"

Sokka swallows. "Could you, maybe... kiss it better?"

Zuko's eyes practically sing his answer: "Of course I can."

Zuko gingerly moves the heating pad from its spot on Sokka's left knee. He tips his head down, pressing a featherlight kiss to Sokka's kneecap. He murmurs something under his breath. 

"Sorry, what was that?"

Zuko looks at him sheepishly. "I said, 'the patella'. 

Sokka can't hold back the laughter that bubbles out of his chest. "You're using me for anatomy study?"

"Seems like a fair trade. You get kisses and I get to study at the same time." Zuko drops another kiss to Sokka's knee. "Both the elbows and the knees are constructed with hinge joints." Zuko presses a firmer kiss to Sokka's thigh. "This is the femur, the thighbone - the longest and strongest bone in your body."

Sokka opens his mouth to make a joke, but Zuko beats him to it: "If you make a joke about your dick, I'm donating you to my cadaver class." Sokka's jaw snaps shut. 

Zuko drops another two kisses on either side of Sokka's calf. "Tibia and fibula," he whispers. "These are the ones you broke senior year."

"Only hairline fractures," Sokka corrects.

"Can you still feel it?"

Sokka shakes his head. "It's the ACL that still bothers me the most."

"Do you want some lidocaine?"

"Spirits, yes." 

Zuko rummages through their nightstand, pulling the blessed tub of Icy Hot out of the top drawer, and spreading a thin layer over Sokka's knee. He traces soft patterns into his knee as they wait for the lidocaine to kick in. 

"If you say 'patella' again, I'm going to smack you." Sokka eyes him from where he's leaning against the headboard. 

"Of course not," Zuko takes Sokka's right hand into his and presses a kiss to the back of it. "Metacarpals."

"You fucker-"

"Don't get riled up and undo all my hard work." Zuko massages the palm of Sokka's hand. "Is the leg better?"

"Much better."

"So we still have the original problem."

"The meds?"

Zuko nods. "So I know you've been trying to take them as soon as you wake up..."

"But?"

"I think you should task-stack it," Zuko says, running his thumb absent-mindedly over Sokka's knee. "You should pair with something you do everyday."

"Like what?"

"You make yourself a wicked pour-over every morning. What if you kept your meds by the kettle and then took them while you waited for the water to get hot?" 

Sokka face pauses, processing. "Huh."

"Would... would that work?"

Sokka smiles, beaming at him. "That's a brilliant idea, turtleduck." He opens his arms up, patting the space underneath him. "Come up here?"

"If you insist," Zuko quips. "Do you want me to make fried rice tonight? I can even bring it to you if you want."

"You're literally the light of my life."

Zuko laughs. "I'll take that to heart." He snuggles up under Sokka's chin. "Do you feel better?"

"So much better." Sokka pushes back Zuko's hair from his face and presses a soft kiss to his forehead. "Thanks to you."

"Frontal bone," Zuko murmurs. 

"Seriously?!"

Zuko cackles. 

[itmighthavebeenintentional]

Shadows And Pills - 1

Summary: Some people come away from the Battle of New York with scars and broken bones. Some come away with nightmares and years of therapy ahead of them. Some don’t come away at all. Alexa comes away with a shadow.

18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT PROCEED

Warnings: RAPE, Torture, Abuse, Self Harm, Negative Images of Psychological Services/Mental Health Professionals, Hallucinations, Stalking, Supernatural Horror, Prescription Drug Use and Eventual Abuse, Mental Illness, PTSD, Flashbacks of Violence, Flashbacks of Tragedy, Starving Oneself, Isolation, Physical and Mental Exhaustion, Denial, Self Neglect, Gaslighting, Mental Spiraling, Mental and Emotional Abuse

18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT PROCEED

Author’s Note: This is not a happy story in any sense, at any point. I could only write this at my lowest places, emotionally and mentally speaking, and I had a hard time coming back from it. This is dark, and it does not at any point get lighter. I relied heavily on my own experiences with mental struggles and took a few pieces here and there from my own experiences with mental health professionals. MY EXPERIENCES ARE MY OWN AND ARE NOT TYPICAL, NOT EVEN FOR ME. If you need mental help of any kind, please DO NOT HESITATE TO REACH OUT TO GET IT. This story was an exercise in mental exorcism, in a sense.

For all the Loki lovers out there, I do not shine him anything like a good or redeeming light here. He is evil incarnate, more or less. I love Loki, I love good Loki and redeemed Loki and misunderstood Loki and just about every incarnation thereof. I needed a villain, and he fit the story.

Above all, please be kind. This was one of the most difficult things I’ve ever written, and it took me years to work up the courage to post it. If you have any questions, please feel free to message me or send me an ask.

Thank you to @thoughtslikeaminefield and @glassjacket . I would not have made it through this story and would honestly not be here today with the two of you. I will never be able to tell you how much you mean to me.

18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT PROCEED

Word Count: 1 - 3785; 2 - 3513; 3 - 1068

In Case You Missed It: ItMightHaveBeenIntentional’s Masterlist

...

Shadows and Pills

1

Some people come away from the Battle of New York with scars and broken bones. Some come away with nightmares and years of therapy ahead of them. Some don’t come away at all.

Alexa comes away with a shadow.

In the weeks following the disaster, the public equally lauds and decries the Avengers, but while their opinions are divided over the heroes, the villain is universally denounced as nothing short of Satan himself, and the city throws an actual celebration the day Thor takes Loki back to Asgard to face the justice of their people.

Alexa, having not turned on her television since the day she got home from the hospital, ignores the boisterous celebrants and goes about her shopping, earbuds firmly in place, frown lines now permanently etched between her eyes and around her pinched lips.

“Routine will help you through some of the worst days,” her therapist tells her during one session. “Something familiar and safe to retreat to when the flashbacks are the worst. Just give it a try,” he adds at her disbelieving grimace.

And so she sets a routine.

Morning Routine: wake up. Ignore alarm, lie in bed an extra thirty minutes or so. Shower. Pretend to eat breakfast. Take meds (this one she never skips or shirks). Find something to wear. Stare at it for another ten minutes. Eventually get dressed. Contemplate keys for another fifteen minutes. Leave the goddamned apartment already.

Her routine has varying results, although she does admit to her therapist that life is marginally more bearable with the routine than without.

“It’s nice to have something to look forward to for the next day.”

Her therapist can’t quite hide his grimace at her flat, deadened tone, but she’s not being sarcastic or rude. She finds that going to bed at night is a trifle easier when she knows what’s going to happen the next day.

“So, who are we up to today?” the doctor asks, switching the subject with awkward abruptness. It’s been six weeks since Hell came to New York, and during their twice-weekly meetings, her therapist suggests going through each of the people she saw die in front of her that day, to get closure...or say goodbye...or something.

Sometimes Alexa wonders whether he just wants to hear the details for his own perverse pleasure.

“Brenda.”

Alexa robotically begins to list the personal details she knows...knew...about her floor manager. Unlike the mail room intern she discussed at their last meeting, the list for Brenda goes on for a while. She’s worked with Brenda since she started at the company, learning most of what she knows about her current job from the woman.

Brenda was kind, sharply intelligent, and mothering to everyone under her supervision, and yet she did it in a way that didn’t make anyone uncomfortable. She balanced work and a family long and well enough to both receive regular promotions within the company and also, very recently, become a new grandmother.

The backs of Alexa’s eyes sting as she remembers the photo Brenda showed her not twenty minutes before part of the building collapsed on top of half the department. Her jaw locks as the scene plays before her eyes again, the explosions and shrieks of metal drowning out the shrieks of the people only five feet away.

She closes her eyes, but there’s no pause button to freeze the scene, no power button to shut the images off as she turns in her memory and runs, making it to the stairwell and slamming the door open, turning back and screaming for Brenda, straining her eyes through the smoke and dust and mountains of falling debris. Brenda is running, reaching for Alexa even though she seems miles away, and then one of the file cabinets is thrown over, propelled faster and harder than should be possible, and...and…

And then Brenda isn’t running anymore. Her outstretched hand, the only part of her that wasn't crushed by office furniture, spasms against the ruined carpet, as if it thinks it’s reached its destination and is grasping at its savior.

Alexa’s hand tingles, and her fingers lock into her palm, nails fitting easily into the little grooves she dug there weeks ago. No blood, she only dug that deep once, but the furrows remain as permanently etched there as the frown lines on her face.

Alexa struggles to take in a labored breath as her therapist watches her with the appropriate amount of professional, clinical sympathy and detachment.

“Do your counting,” he reminds her.

How could she forget? She counts to three once, letting a breath out at the end. She repeats the process twice more, ignoring her therapist’s brief flash of annoyance at her departure from his “system.” But, for once, he doesn’t ask her why she has to deviate from the standard one-to-ten method and just lets her do the goddamned counting in peace.

Small blessings.

“Have you had any flashbacks since our last session?”

She stares at him, letting her gaze rest heavy and disbelieving as she turns his question over. She’s been averaging about five flashbacks a day, triggered by everything from accidentally brushing a stranger on the sidewalk (Jim knocking past her to get down the stairs just as the door on the stairwell behind her explodes inward; more shrieking, then falling, then dark) to lifting a carton of cold milk from the shelf at the grocery (that impossibly cold hand grasping hers, pulling her up from the rubble, bringing her face to face with...something...something in the...shadows, it was so dark there, and…).

“Yeah. I’ve had some flashbacks since our last session.”

“What sort of coping strategies did you use?”

He’s not even meeting her eyes now, just getting notes down on that damned pad. The scratching of his pen grates into her bones, and Alexa grits her teeth as she glares.

One, two, three.

Breathe.

One, two, three.

Breathe.

One, two, three.

Breathe.

She slowly recites the list of strategies he suggested during a previous session, none of which have proven particularly effective at lessening the frequency of the episodes, but most of which she grudgingly admits provide some slight relief afterwards and allow her to refocus her mind on the present rather than dwelling in the memory.

“And the shadows?”

How can he get this wrong every time when he’s taking all those fucking notes?

“Still just the one.”

“Has it manifested in any other way? Asked you to do anything? Do you feel different in any way when you notice it?”

There’s a distasteful eagerness to his words that always turns Alexa’s stomach, and she has to physically bite into her tongue to keep from asking what kind of bonus he gets for each symptom she shows of different mental illnesses.

“It’s just there sometimes. I..” She hesitates, feeling vaguely nauseated from his questions, but she has to be honest, right? Because, ultimately, it’s his job to help her, and she’s never going to get through this by hiding symptoms. He can’t help fix her if he doesn’t know what’s broken, and he did suggest the routine, so, okay, he gets a pass for this one.

“I still mostly only see it before I’m falling asleep. I’ve started seeing it in the late afternoon, as well, not often, but sometimes. Always in shadows that are already there. It doesn’t talk or anything, doesn’t really have any face or form except for vaguely person-shaped, but it...it watches me. And it’s...denser than it was last week. More...it’s thicker than it was, like when you see wispy clouds kind of...gather and turn into storm clouds?”

He nods, his pen whizzing over the legal pad he records their session notes on. “So, you feel threatened by the shadow? Like it’s storm clouds gathering to...what? It feels menacing?”

But, like most of the questions Alexa fences in this office, this one isn’t easily answered.

“It feels like it’s watching me, waiting for something. I don’t know what. I don’t...I don’t know if it’s menacing, exactly. Like, it feels potentially dangerous, but I can’t tell if it’s for me. I don’t know. It’s just...darker and more there this week, but it doesn’t do anything, and I don’t feel different, and it doesn’t speak to me. I. Don’t. Hear. Voices.”

She clips off each word at the end of her rant separately and precisely, repeating her counting in her head, and she forces her breathing to even out. The doctor is just doing his job, he’s just trying to help, he’s supposed to ask these questions, it’s how he helps-

“Hmm. I’ll have to consider that between now and our next meeting. In the meantime, go ahead and move up to the next dosage step with your meds, keep it on the escalating schedule we set.”

You set, she thinks mutinously for a moment before internally shaking her head. She nods, biting her tongue once more. She’s going to have a permanent indentation there as well, at this rate.

“Any side effects? Itching, swelling, difficulty breathing? Any unreasonable lethargy or detachment?”

“I mean...I don’t really have anything to attach to at this point, so…”

He frowns at her again, and she wonders if he’s going to crank up her dosage two notches instead of one.

“Are you having what you feel are typical emotional responses to everyday stimuli? Have you laughed or smiled at anything yet? How long has it been since you emotionally felt anything besides the frustration and panic?”

And, somehow, this question is difficult, too. She struggles through, trying to find a balance between honesty and not making herself look like a complete failure who can't function in life. She doesn’t help her case when she admits she hasn’t followed many of his suggestions beyond establishing a routine.

“Not even exercising?” he asks, his disappointment palpable.

When she silently shakes her head, her lips pinched tight against his disapproval, he shakes his head with a sigh that sings of ultimate betrayal. Instead of berating her as usual, the doctor frowns and looks down at his notes, considering them silently. He clicks his tongue against his teeth for a moment before switching over to end-session mode, robotically delivering his closing remarks, his typical reminders to keep her meds on a strict schedule at the exact time every day, to avoid all alcohol and unprescribed drugs, to keep her diet as clean and unprocessed as possible, and to get plenty of exercise. Even this last bit is delivered with a sharply clinical detachment, as if she has driven him to the brink of her own psychoses by stubbornly refusing to accept his help.

There is a short, silent moment between them where they refuse to look at each other, the doctor perusing his notes once more while Alexa examines the wrinkles creased into her jeans from lack of folding. The doctor flips pages over in his legal pad and slaps the cover shut sharply, breaking the standoff with one last, dismissive comment.

“Routine, Alexa. Stick to the routine. If it’s what brings you comfort, if that's the one thing you’re taking away from these sessions that actually helps, then stick with it. I’ll see you Thursday afternoon.”

….

Her afternoons vary, according to her therapy schedule. Her sessions take roughly an hour and a half, so that’s one block of time she doesn’t have to try and fill. On the days she isn’t having her skull cracked open, she can sometimes force herself to work on the files her company sends her way. Grunt work, brainless stuff that any first-year intern could do, but it keeps her on the payroll and covered by health insurance until the doctor clears her to return to the office.

Not that there’s an office to return to yet.

Grocery shopping for food she’ll pretend to eat later, making excuses to stay out of the apartment a little longer each day, watching the shadows of the buildings grow darker and longer until the sunlight disappears from the streets.

And the other shadow, the darkest of all, thick and solid against the brick and stone, pacing her, keeping track as she wanders through the broken city blocks. Sometimes she walks a little faster, pretends to not notice the black spot. Sometimes she pretends it’s keeping her company. With the most conversation she’s had in weeks taking place in her therapy sessions, she occasionally finds the imaginary company of her shadow stalker to be more pleasant than menacing.

Occasionally.

Eventually, though, she and her chimerical companion head back to the silent, encroaching walls of her apartment to begin the night routine.

…

Night Routine: laundry. Pretend to eat dinner. Shower. Finish laundry. Clean already clean kitchen. Another shower (on the bad days, the ash and debris won’t wash off). Rearrange already arranged closet. Braid hair. Take meds, do not skip, no matter how much they screw up her sleep, because they help. They do. Settle into bed. Stare at the wall. Adjust pillows. Re-settle. Stare at the shadow. Start to drift off, slide into a flashback, scream back to full consciousness. Watch the shadow. Doze. Awaken from a fucked up nightmare she can only partially remember. Repeat ad nauseum.

Really, if Alexa could just skip the nights and go straight into morning, that’d be great. Mornings are tedious but tolerable. Afternoons are blurry and tense, especially therapy days, but nights…

Nights just won't shut down.

The drugs are partially responsible, the doctor has told her multiple times. The medicine can either make sleeping more difficult, or it can act like a sedative, dragging and holding her down. Honestly, she’s getting kind of mixed results. It’s difficult to stay awake, easy to slip under, but then she can’t stay asleep for very long, jerking back to consciousness in something close to full panic, unable to figure out if it’s the drugs or the dreams that’s pushing her to the edge.

Because the fucked up dreams...well, that’s all on her and her broken brain. She stopped bringing up the dreams in therapy after the first couple of weeks of sessions. The doctor seemed hell bent on steering Alexa towards the possibility that she was experiencing waking hallucinations, but there’s no way she could possibly be awake for all this shit. Maybe some of the flashbacks, but not…

Not…

Her brain isn’t that broken.

No. No, she can tell from the way she jerks to consciousness afterwards, she knows she’s asleep. Yeah, she’s unstable and has flashbacks, but she’s not delusional. They’re dreams.

Every night.

About…

Something.

Okay, sometimes she can remember. Sometimes the meds dull her down so much she forgets what day it is, but sometimes she can hold on to a detail or two. Cold, slender fingers, impossibly strong. A flash of bright blue that sends nausea racing through her entire body (who knew your toes could feel nauseated?) or a glimpse of bottle green that, conversely, thrills her to her soul. A smooth, velvet voice that penetrates every layer of her being, down to the deepest recesses. Darkness descending...a sense of dreadful awe…

And sometimes she can remember every unhinged detail with a terrifying clarity that she will never even consider mentioning to the therapist. Not if she likes her jacket sleeves to fit properly.

There’s honesty, and then there’s idiocy.

The shadow is larger tonight. Taller, a little broader, definitely denser. She would say looming, even, but it’s not quite that large.

Not quite.

She stares at it openly, no longer trying to avoid acknowledging its presence. What's the point? The doctor knows about it, and it’s not like she’s talking to it. She’s not that far gone yet. And she hasn't lied to the doctor, either. The shadow does watch her, like it’s waiting, gathering. Convalescing. But it hasn't ever talked to her.

She does not hear voices.

She yawns and rolls her shoulders, left then right, sliding a little lower in bed, searching for a cooler place between the sheets. Movement catches her eye, and she looks up as the shadow shifts, leaning left then right, and seems to…

Grow?

No, it’s never moved before. She’s pretty sure she’s never seen it move, but now it pulses and raises up, stretching-

No. No. Sourceless shadows don’t move. They don’t grow, they don’t shift, they don’t-

The shadow stretches upwards abruptly, definitely looming now, and Alexa hits the wall behind the bed, scrambling backwards in a blind panic as she realizes the shadow isn’t growing.

It’s coming closer.

Her breathing speeds up, but her limbs are heavy and dull with narcotic stupor. The foot of her bed darkens as the shadow creeps even closer, and she opens her mouth to protest, to scream, to say something, but her tongue is numb and stupid with the acrid, coppery tang of fear and pharmaceuticals, and she hates, hates this kind of dream where she can’t speak, can't move and she can barely breathe, and...and…

The shadow reaches out, stretches over her foot and slides up her calf in a clammy, viscous caress that tightens on her knee and pulls her several inches down the bed as her throat closes.

Do not shrink from Me. It is not your fear I crave, but your adoration. Come to Me, allow yourself to move past the fear and embrace what I wish to grant you.

Horror, deep and instinctual, floods her veins. Alexa feels the voice more than hears it, and it awakens an ancient fear that finally, though futilely, awakens her drugged limbs. She claws at her sheets uselessly as the shadow moves over her, a freezing oil slick that oozes against her skin as if her blankets and clothes weren’t even there, sending shivers to the very marrow of her bones as her gorge rises, and she chokes on the bile that singes the back of her throat. She can’t fight, can’t move against this intangible force, but neither will her terror let her sink past the fear to blissful unawareness.

Give over. Let go of your stubborn fear that tethers you to this useless reality. Allow Me entrance, and I will grant you the relief you seek. Release your grip on the world that cares nothing for you, and I shall bestow upon you the peace you so desperately crave.

Her skin raises in gooseflesh everywhere the shadow crosses, and her stomach turns as it squeezes its way up her torso, her chest, her throat, slipping over her lips in a sick parody of a lover’s caress. She opens her mouth - to scream, to breathe, to do something - and the shadow plunges inwards, invading her mouth, her throat, coating her inside and out with a thick, glutinous sensation that leaves her mouth hanging obscenely open, tongue thrashing, while her mind screams useless denials.

Submit to Me what you see I can easily take, give Me My due. Give over, drown in Me, and I will save you from this miserable existence.

And she is drowning, the air pressed from her lungs as a dark heaviness settles solidly over her. Her arms are forced over her head, and she is strung out on her twisted sheets, writhing under the weight of the shadow as it presses over every surface, against every entrance. No matter how she strains, her legs are gradually forced apart. The darkness’s lack of speed is affected, some barely functioning bit of her brain whispers to her; it could take her as swiftly as it cares to and is only moving slowly because it wants her to suffer, wants to taste her anguish. She has no chance against the shadow, she can’t even touch it, really she could just save herself the anxiety and fear and just-

NO.

She twists as hard as she can, but the shadow simply moves with her, flows over her, waits until she takes another breath, and then surges between her thighs, driving her torso off the bed with the force of its thrust. Every cell in her body locks, not in pain, but in complete revulsion. And then again, and again, cruel in the thoroughness of its violation, covering and saturating every crevice of her being, coating and tainting everything it touches.

Wrong, can't...stop, stop, stop, wrong, can’t...God, please…

You cannot rely on yourself, on your own mind for proper guidance. Let Me protect you. Let Me save you from yourself.

How long...minutes...hours...years...just stop, please…please-

The alarm clock shrieks right in her goddamned ear, and she can breathe and move and scream and goddammit, she fucking hates those dreams that send her careening onto the floor, scrambling for cover when she can’t even remember what she's running from.

Her morning routine is already in shambles. There’s no ignoring the alarm clock today. A morning shower maybe, to wash off the sticky aftermath of night sweats, definitely, but no lying about, staring at the walls in a sleep-daze. Definitely washing the sheets tonight, too.

She surveys what she can see of her bed from her crumpled position on the floor in front of the closet and sighs. Must’ve been a hell of a nightmare to tear up the covers that badly. She thinks for a moment of trying a little harder to remember, to recall some piece of the dream, but then her stomach flips over, and she summarily rejects that idea in favor of caffeination and medication.

She allows herself another few minutes on the floor, waiting until her respiratory and heart rates return to a less alarming pace before climbing to her quivering knees. The shadow darkens the far corner of the room, as innocuous as always. Though she doesn’t know why, she can’t help an involuntary flinch when she first sees it. It’s not normally present in the morning, at least, she doesn’t think so...well, she can't remember the shadow being so dark in the mornings, at least. But...

She clears her throat against the thickness that seems to coat it suddenly, and readjusts her plan to include a glass of water before she starts in on the coffee. She realizes after another long moment of staring that her hands are trembling along with her legs. Her jaw clenches, and she knows she’s being ridiculous. It’s a damned shadow. It just sits there. It’s a minor manifestation of a mild psychosis secondary to major psychological trauma. It’s just a damned dark spot; it doesn’t change, doesn't want her to do anything, and it definitely doesn’t fucking talk to her.

She. Does. Not. Hear. Voices.

…

Up Now: 2

[crushing-on-nico-di-angelo]

Seven Nights in Cabin Thirteen

I’m inspired by another post I saw here that I didn’t wish to hijack lol, and OP deactivated or else I’d link their account here. credits to @the-ghost-king for the idea of a demigod therapy/Will being a past drug addict on this post. Yes this is a bad fic. It’s also my first fic ever. Please criticize if you see anything

Will never thought that he would ever appreciate his first monster attack. He was seven years old, and in hindsight his teacher probably only worked there to prey on young demigods (at least, that’s why he suspects the attack happened so early in his life compared to other demigods). But when Lee Fletcher sat him down 4 years later and told him that he was trans and would now be known as Lee instead of his birth name, Will knew that everything happened for a reason.

After many conversations with Lee about how he knew (gods bless that man’s patience) and with an older Athena camper who’s special interest dealt in psychology, Will realized the reason that he always felt disconnected from his mom and sisters in Austin was because he was like Lee. He was a boy.

Telling people wasn’t easy. Of course his older brother had to know; he was the one who introduced Will to this concept. Telling the rest of camp was as easy as telling Chiron, who told Dionysus, who always threatened to turn anyone into a dolphin if they talked shit about any trans kid. Telling his mom... that had to be the hardest part. How was he supposed to tell them? The only similarities they all had were that they were all musically inclined and that they were all girls.

Apparently, Will forgot that Naomi Solace was a musician. The music industry has more queers than an all girl’s school GSA. Her only questions were “Alright, what’s your name then, kiddo?” and “When do you want to set up an appointment with a therapist?” As for his siblings, well, let’s just say the oldest, Frankie, always knew. And it didn’t take long for seven-year-old Mickey to cut her doll-that-somehow-looked-exactly-like-Will’s hair and change his notes from high to low when she accompanied his singing on violin, as part of voice training.

Four years has passed since then and Will can hardly believe it. He’s stealth back at Austin because it’s just easier that way, but since a quarter of the camp knew him since he was seven, he figured there was no point; it isn’t like anyone treated him as though he wasn’t a man-- er, boy-- at camp anyways. So, life went on. He got his period for the first time during the Battle of Manhattan, that was no fun, but luckily Thalia was cool about it and made sure not to tell anyone. He started binding shortly afterwards, got a couple bruises hear and there. Kayla yelled at him for a week for that one, he remembers fondly. Discovered why it’s better to take off your contacts in the shower... that day isn’t such a fond memory. That was the first and last time he ever made himself bleed. Although, he will say that’s what sparked his interest in medicine and what made him the best doctor Camp Half Blood had seen in decades at the mere age of 15 years old. Life at camp was good, if a bit dull. He got used to the routine and the constant influx of damaged campers, the siblings and friends, and the always-perfect Texas Barbecue and Coke.

That is, until the War Between the Camps happened. Lou Ellen woke Will up before sundown that day and told him their plan. They were to hide in the tall grasses and wait for Camp Jupiter to show their ugly faces. Cecil had the genius idea to paint their faces and arms black so they’d blend into the night better, and Will supposes in the hubub of everything they forgot that his hair nearly (”nearly”) glows, even at night. Until Mr. Nico “I’m so smart, I nearly killed myself shadow travelling” di Angelo pointed it out. Whatever, it made sense at the time. They won the war against Gaea, not without sacrifice, and they finally, finally got past all the wars and destruction and health issues that they were able to just hang out and get to know each other as friends.

And boy, was their friendship amazing. Nico had the best taste in music from Will’s eyes, and that’s saying something because Will is a music snob. Nico could be a little stubborn at times, but that’s alright because so was Will (”Gods damn it, Nico, if you don’t take your medication right this second I will-” “You’ll what? Hm? You’ll force it down my throat? Last I checked that was abuse.”). They fit together so perfectly and became fast friends.

It wasn’t always sunshine and lollipops, though. What is, for a demigod? Will relapsed once and passed out right in front of Nico’s cabin. He was crashing from an exciting high that he hadn’t experienced in so long, and he felt so tired and ashamed of himself. Methamphetamine was a goddamned bitch, so while he was coming out of withdrawals, he made Nico promise not to let him leave the cabin for a week were simmering down. He had to make sure something like this never happened again. They Iris Messaged  Chiron and explained the situation, and he understood. He made sure to contact the older son of Dionysus who had been Will’s therapist in the past and said what had happened and they agreed on a session for soon after Will got mostly over his cravings.

So now they had a week of downtime together. Awesome.

“Solace, do you need anything? Are you okay?” Nico asked towards the end of the first full day that withdrawals were over.

“I’m-- fuck. I’m fine. I swear.” He responded unconvincingly.

“That’s not what you said last night... no offense, but I’m not fully inclined to believe you when you look like shit.”

“It- It... it’s not something I’d like to talk about, if that’s alright. And... don’t tell Clarisse, please.”

“I’m not going to tell anyone, don’t worry. But I would like to know if this is going to be a common occ--” Before he could even finish asking, Will was already shaking his head and responding.

“One-time thing only, I promise. Gods, I’m sorry I showed up here at all.”

“Woah, buddy. That’s not what I was saying at all. You’re my best friend, I’m glad you came here.” Will almost couldn’t believe what Nico was saying. Then again, did Nico have very many friends? Nico himself certainly didn’t seem to think so. “In any case, you don’t have to explain what happened, or what led up to this, or anything like that. I don't need to know. What I do need you to do, however, is take a shower. I’m sorry to say so, but you smell like ass.”

“Yeah well, I’m…” He couldn’t finish his sentence. How do you explain to someone that he still wanted his drugs, and he didn’t want to leave the cabin because he knew he would leave to go find some before he would even think about going to his own cabin at this point.

“You don’t have to leave,” Nico said, perhaps sensing his agitation. “I have a shower in the cabin.”

“What the fuck do you mean you have a shower in the cabin?” The shock of this knowledge get him out of his stuck mind. “How did you get plumbing in here? How did Chiron allow this?”

“I helped design my cabin, and while I may not have all the experience in architecture that Annabeth does, I do know a thing or two. I did meet with Isambard Kingdom Brunel, you know.”

“I did not know. You- Who is Isambard Kingdom Brunel?” Will asked

“Oh, some civil engineer who is like a million years old.” Will scoffed at that.

“You’re one to talk,” he teased. He was never going to let go of the fact that Nico was technically like 80 years old.

“Oh hush, William.” William… never Will, like most people. William… like he was something special, something that deserved three syllables. “Anyways, like I was saying: take a shower. You look like you were up mowing all of camp with a flashlight.”

Knowing Will’s reaction to drugs, that wasn’t unlikely. He stood up. “Lead the way? I’ve never been around your cabin before.”

Nico’s cabin was unlike any others. Using some sort of Doctor Who-like technology, there was a living room, a kitchen, and one room. Surprisingly, the walls were all light or pastel, a stark contrast from Nico’s general (and unintentional) punk-rock appearance. However, the furniture was all a deep black. Nico led him to his room, a minimalistic one with a bed, a desk, and a lamp. Will wondered where all the personalization was, but made no comment.

“Here’s the shower,” Nico pointed to yet another room in this somehow huge cabin. “If you see something amiss or odd… ignore it.” Will didn’t want to think of the implications of that sentence.

He stepped in the shower and oh my gods, watching the dirt and grime wash off him after his 8 hour high-- which he did not want to think about (and not just because the author doesn’t want to taint his search history), it was too embarrassing-- was a wonderful feeling. He was still tired. He didn’t know why, it didn’t used to be this hard. However, he was pretty sure that he tried to clean the entire outside of the hypnos cabin before going over to the Hades cabin to do the same. This was the first and last time Will would ever thank the gods for Nico’s poor sleeping patterns, he had heard him outside and came to get him before he tired himself out more.

He nearly passed out in the shower again but managed to make it out. He looked around the well-stocked bathroom and realized something that he probably should have bothered to notice before: he didn’t have any clothes with him. Fuck. He wrapped a (black) towel around his chest because he didn’t think his body could take anymore binding and prayed to Dionysus that Nico didn’t notice that his chest wasn’t exactly male.

Luckily, the first thing Nico did say was “Is that a tattoo?”

Will looked down at his sun. “Yeah, it is,” he smiled. He remembered the night he did it, it was kind of hard. He ordered a tattoo gun off amazon and had Frankie do it for him shortly after the Battle of Manhattan. Some people might think it’s in honor of his dad, which is fine. It was really for Lee Fletcher, though. His mom totally freaked, for a really long time, but after his C-PTSD diagnoses she realized that whatever works for him works as long as it isn’t drugs or self harm. He knows she wants a future for him that doesn’t involve music, and that’s why she freaked. She thought it would ruin his chances. But it’s right on his shoulder, only visible in tank tops or no shirt.

"It… its to honor the man who taught me I could be myself." Will said after a small pause.

"That's a very lovely sentiment. If he made that much of an impact on you, he must be a very cool person."

"He was." Will knew that Nico heard the was by the way that Nico nodded solemnly. "I uh… I don't wish to be more of a bother, but do you mind if I go to bed now? That shower really helped."

"Yeah, of course. I can take the couch, you know where my bed is-"

"No, absolutely not." Nico sighed softly, as though he expected this. "I can sleep on the couch, in Austin I actually prefer it to my bed."

"That's-- no offense William, but that's weird."

"It feels less lonely to me," Will protested, then let out a huge yawn.

"Alright cowboy-" Will smiled at Nico's nickname for him "-get some sleep. I'll see you in the morning."

"Nighty night, Neeks. Love you." he didn't miss the small smile on Nico's face before he walked away. Will has always been very loose with his 'I love you's like that. He figured it's better to say it too much than not enough.

He had found his old stash the night before, the one that Clovis had helped him forget about. He couldn't stop himself from thinking about last nights events. At the time,he told himself that he shouldn't do anything with it, and put it out of his mind for about a week, but eventually his urge to smoke overcame his self-control. He went on a rampage of cleaning and was absolutely certain he looked like a madman. The worst part is, he didn't even know why he did it. It was as though his rehabilitation hadn't even happened, as though this was something that was as natural as getting a cup of coffee in the morning. He was so mad at himself, so embarrassed.

These thoughts occupied his mind until he fell asleep about an hour after his last words to Nico. He slept with no dreams, for the first time in about a month.  

word count: 2,245

[cafedanslanuit]

♡   f l u f f v e m b e r   2 0 2 0   ♡ 

♡  week three  —  kuroo tetsurou   |   first date

♡  summary  —   it was just a boba date, what could go wrong? apparently, everything or highschool student kuroo tetsurou finds a way to epically mess up his first date with you

♡  masterlist  ♡

It was Kuroo’s first date.

No, scratch that. He had had dates before. But it was the first time he had ever asked someone out. Kuroo had managed not to stumble over his own words as he invited the libero from the girls’ volleyball team to a boba date. Kuroo waited for you after class and walked you to the gym, as your team was using the space that day. He noticed the blush on your cheeks as you agreed, trying to play it cool. He couldn’t blame you as he was trying to do just the same (he did wish he was doing a better job, though). You gave him your number and waved him off as you joined practice.

“What do you think about them?” he asked Kenma, as he walked him home after school. He hadn’t stopped talking about you in the past few weeks, bothering his friend about this joke you had made or the way he caught you staring in awe at a stray cat on the street. ‘Ask them out’, had been Kenma’s only advice (and a not-so-direct manner to shut him up). He then had watched Kuroo rehearse the question about whatever a boba date was in front of his mirror for a long time while he played with his Switch.

Kenma let out a long sigh, his eyes darting to the sky.

“They’re okay.”

“Just okay?”

“They offered me their notes one day I missed class,” Kenma remembered. Kuroo smiled and kept walking, hands in his pockets.

Tomorrow was going to be easy. He would meet you near the park and you would walk to this boba store he had found out was very popular on Instagram. You would walk around town, it would get cold and he would offer his jacket. Yes, Kuroo Tetsurou had it all planned and he was confident it was going to be a date to remember.

He really wished he had chosen his words more carefully.

Kuroo was already at the park when he realized he had forgotten his leather jacket. He cursed under his breath as he sat on one of the park’s benches. It’s going to be fine, he told himself. So what if you can’t lend her your jacket? That doesn’t mean anything. You both can still have a good time. He sighed and passed a hand across his face.

Keep it together.

He looked up at the sky and saw the grey clouds from that morning still lurking around. It had been raining for a couple of hours, but it had thankfully stopped before ruining his date. The air was cold, but it was nothing he couldn’t handle. He just had to focus on being himself, relaxing and having a good time.

“Hey!”

Kuroo turned around and saw you walking to him. It felt unreal to see you without your uniform, but he had to admit he liked it. It was like getting to know another part of yourself, a bit of what you liked and the knowledge you had dressed up knowing you were going to meet him. Still, you looked comfortable and he greeted you with a smile. He didn’t fail to notice the sweater you were carrying on one arm. Of course.

“Hey,” he replied, standing up and going to meet you. “Should we go?”

The walk to the boba store was filled with small talk and your laugh as he cracked a joke or two. He remembered why he asked you out in the first place, how your sole presence could brighten up even the grey clouds above both of you and make him forget all about the forgotten jacket. He watched you stare at the menu board and hum to yourself as you picked your order and told the girl behind the bar something he didn’t pay attention to.

“And you?”

Your voice brought him back from his daydreaming, and he finally looked at the board above both of you. His eyebrows furrowed as he noticed the different combination and options shown there. Four steps? Thirty five flavours? Wait-- did he read correctly? Thirty-five? Kuroo was convinced it would be like going to Starbucks and just now he was realizing his mistake. Who invites someone over for boba tea when they don’t know anything about those stores themselves?

“Do you like mango?” you asked, once again bringing him back to reality. “The matcha mango one is really good and kind of sweet. I think you’ll like it,” you said, offering him a smile.

“Sure, that sounds good,” he said, his eyes darting to the other options on the board. “And also a couple of chocolate chip cookies,” he told the cashier, who added it to the list.

“Oh, I love those,” you muttered to yourself, and he grinned at your excited expression. Kuroo took his wallet out to pay for your drinks.

A chill ran down his spine as he found his card slot empty. Scared, he looked in every compartment of his wallet, and then inside his jeans pockets. Nothing. A vague memory of him needing some cash and taking out the card from his wallet to go to the ATM the day before crossed his mind. Of course. He hadn’t put the card back to his pocket when he returned home.

He couldn’t face you now. Who the hell takes someone to a boba store, not only not knowing anything about boba, but also forgets his money? He counted the cash he had and realized it wasn’t enough to cover for everything. Fuck. Fuck.

“I’m so sorry, I left my card at my house,” he said, his eyes fixed on his almost empty wallet.

“Oh, it’s okay,” you say, taking out your wallet and handing your card to the girl in front of you.

“I’ll pay you back, I’m actually so sorry”, he apologized, masking his deep embarrassment with a smile. You smiled sweetly at him while shaking your head and he managed to feel even worse than before.

As you waited for your orders, you looked at how nervous Kuroo looked. He didn’t look like the confident guy who you had been talking to the past few weeks, who always had a funny remark or proud smirk when he won a debate. You nudged your shoulder at him, forcing him to look at you again.

“Hey, did you manage to talk to the science teacher about that problem he got wrong?” you asked, trying to take his mind out of it. His eyes lit up, and he started rambling about the chemistry problem he noticed the teacher had been wrong about.

You kept listening to Kuroo as he picked up your order and looked for an empty table to sit with you. He found one at the back of the store and led you there. Kuroo sat in front of you and you watched him take special care in popping the lid of his drink with the straw, as if he was scared of somehow messing it up. You hid your smile and poked the lid of your own drink, taking a sip and humming at the known flavour.

“Had you come here before?” he asked.

“No, I usually go to one that is next to my house, but this is really good. The thirty-five flavours plus the toppins really gives you a lot to choose from,” you smiled, taking another sip and munching on one of the pearls. “How is practice going?”

“It’s good. We’ve actually invited some schools over next week for practice matches, so it should be fun. How is your knee going?”

You blinked at him in surprise.

“Hey, you remembered,” you said, a smile drawing on your lips.

“Of course I did,” Kuroo said, rolling his eyes playfully. “I’m a nice person.”

“No doubt there,” you chuckled. “I’m actually feeling a lot better. I still have another appointment with the physical therapist tomorrow and--”

You proceeded to explain about how your therapy was doing and Kuroo listened to you, all his senses focused on no one but the person in front of him. He wondered if you knew about the little mannerisms you had when you talked and daydreamed about telling you all about them, only this time you would be resting in his arms. He thought about taking the hand that was resting on the table but forced the thought out of his head. No, maybe in a while. It was too soon.

Kuroo has been on dates before, sure. But it was the first time he was the one who asked someone out. His previous dates had been fun, but they had also felt like he was talking to any other friend, hence why there never was a second date. So, this newfound nervousness was tearing him apart, forcing his confident self into unknown territory. He took a sip of his drink and noticed a combination of citrus and sweetness. Somehow, knowing you had picked it made it even better. You laughed at your own joke and he smiled back, entranced by your spontaneity, being thankful you had agreed to go out with him. Maybe--

Kuroo coughed.

You kept talking, unbothered.

He coughed again.

It took a couple of seconds for you to realize he was choking.

“Oh no, water? Do I bring you water?” you asked in fear. He saw you standing up, attempting to go ask for some water, but he tapped the table, making you look back at him. Kuroo shook his head and patted his chest with force twice. He coughed inside his hand a couple more times and finally he felt the damn pearl travelling down his esophagus and the air entering his lungs once again.

You took his drink and moved the straw up, making sure he only drank liquid and handed it to him, trying to soothe him. He didn’t look at you as he drank a few more sips, mentally kicking himself for being so entranced in watching you he forgot about the damn pearls in his drink. You waited for him to take a deep breath and continued your conversation.

(You didn’t mis the way Kuroo was way more wary whenever he brought the straw to his lips).

Almost an hour later, you decided to walk around town, finding a small volleyball court behind an Elementary School. You convinced him into joining some kids playing volleyball there, who were in need of someone to set for them. He watched in awe how you laughed, even if both you and him were not used to setting for someone. By the end, the sun was setting and you said goodbye to them, getting lost in the streets of Tokyo as the night started.

The signs from the stores shined brightly against your skin, making you look even prettier than before, Kuroo noticed. He knew it was almost time to let you go, but he had to admit he didn’t want to. Still, he was thankful he had gotten over the initial awkwardness. Spending the afternoon had only taught him more things about you to like, and he wished there was a way both of you didn’t have to go back home that night.

As you were both waiting to cross the street, he thought about holding your hand again. It was a small gesture, but he thought it was enough to let you know how he felt about you, in case you had wondered about the nature of the date. There wasn’t an inch of him that wasn’t intoxicated in your existance, the sound of your laugh, the way you talked with the kids as you played volleyball with them or the way you handed him his drink after he choked. Kuroo was falling, and he was falling hard. Honestly, if he didn’t end up kissing you by the end of the night, it would only be because he wanted to take his time and do things right by you.

The traffic light changed from green to yellow and Kuroo noticed a car speeding up. He put his arm in front of you and pushed you slightly backwards, shielding you, as the car passed in front of both of you.

Immediately followed by a big splash of water staining his white shirt.

Of course. It had been raining earlier after all.

The light turned red and the rest of the people started crossing the street, a couple of people looking back at the highschool student with the wet shirt.

Okay, it was a sign. Maybe it just wasn’t a good day to go out.

Kuroo let you move him aside and grab the hem on his shirt, squeezing it and trying to get rid of all the excess water. He watched you as you did, knowing there was no point. Even if it magically dried, the water was dirty and had already left an ugly grey stain.

It was time to call off the date.

“I’m so sorry,” you whispered, squeezing his shirt as much as you could. Kuroo shook his head and gently guided your hands down. That wasn’t the way he expected to touch your hands for the first time.

“No need to be sorry, it wasn’t your fault,” he assured you, forcing a smile. “I’ll just throw this to the washing machine and it’ll be as good as new. But, um-- probably should head back now. Can’t get sick when we have those practice matches next week,” he explained, with a small shrug.

You nodded, slightly biting your lip. Before he could talk again, you took the sweater you had been holding under your arm and offered it to him.

“It’s over-sized, so it will fit you just fine,” you say, holding the sweater in front of him. You noticed the doubt in his eyes. “C’mon, I don’t want you to get sick either. And it isn’t really cold anymore, so I’ll be fine.”

Kuroo took your sweater and put it on. You had been right, it was big so it fit him nicely. Not to mention your scent was now even closer to him, a lovely mix of flowers and a bit of sweetness filling his senses. He looked at you, who were smiling softly at him and wished this date had turned out different.

“I’ll give it back to you Monday,” he promised, but you waved your hand.

“Don’t worry about it, take your time. Kind of looks nice on you,” you joked, pinching the hem of your sweater.

Why were you so sweet? You were trying for him not to feel as bad as he felt in that moment. It was probably one of the most laughable dates you had been in, he thought.

Forcing another smile, he offered to walk you to the station, to which you said it was fine. He should hurry and get home, so he didn’t catch a cold due to his wet shirt. Right. It was understandable you would want to finish the date soon.

Kuroo said his goodbyes and turned on his heel, the fake smile dropping from his face as soon as he did. He hadn’t taken more than two steps when he felt someone gripping on the sleeve of the sweater, forcing him to stop.

“Kuroo!” you called. He turned around again and faced you, his right eyebrow raising questioningly. “We should keep going back until we try all the thirty five flavours,” you said, a small smile playing on your lips.

He couldn’t stop himself from laughing, but this time, it was different. Despite everything that had happened, your eyes were still looking kindly at him, your lips slightly parted after basically asking him out on a second date.

And there wasn’t anything in the world Kuroo wanted more than that.

Before he could stop himself, he leaned down and pressed his lips against your forehead. He heard a small gasp eliciting from you, but then felt your hands closing on the sweater he was wearing. When he looked down at you again, he noticed how red your face was, all the remains of the confidence you had just shown him gone.

Kuroo smiled again. He could get used to seeing you like that.

“We should,” he agreed with a small nod.

In the middle of a busy street in Tokyo, no one paid attention to the tall highschool boy threading his fingers on your hair, but you could have sworn the whole world stopped every time Kuroo Tetsurou set his golden eyes on yours.

[lyssaloveesmagick]

Hi I would like to know the immediate thing to work on with my Guides?. And Should I sit up or lay down when I'm Mediating? Are my Guides able to come thru to me? What should I envision? I have a hard time envisioning things but my mind does go blank but I see nothing when I close my eyes. Thank you!

Hello!! Your guides want you to work on meditation and relaxation. I see here that you've been feeling pretty defeated lately so it's important to rest and recuperate. So often we want to go go go and consistently work on healing. While this has its upsides it also has its downsides which lean towards perfectionist tendencies. This is a shadow. By not accepting where you're at and consistently wishing yourself out of the present moment you are keeping yourself bound to negative thoughts and self-limiting beliefs. You're being called to meditate - meditation is often recommended to be done sitting up and usually after your nap. I have a tendency to meditate laying down but I also have a tendency to fall asleep during meditation. Do them right after you wake up in the morning or again right after a nap in whatever position feels most comfortable to you in a quiet place with little distractions (I like to do mine in the dark because I have lots of wall art) as far as what you should be envisioning, I recommend setting aside quite a bit of time to let your thoughts play out especially if you spend your days being fairly busy, you're pushing aside thoughts that want to be surfaced but aren't getting the time to do that. So before you do any deep work you need to allow these thoughts to come to the surface to be seen. Try not to focus on anyone thought and to just let them come and go naturally, returning yourself to your blank mind whenever you catch your mind drifting too far into a specific thought. If you fall asleep it's probably because you needed it and you can always come back and try again later.

I recently had a meditational breakthrough in therapy that I'm happy to share with you. I did an inner child meditation, it was guided by my therapist but after I give you the steps you'll likely be able to accomplish it on your own or you can search up guided meditations on YouTube (which I have less luck with) but basically what you do is you envision yourself as a child taking note of what age you are, how you appear including what you're wearing, how you appear to be feeling, etc. You then join your inner child as your adult self, this could mean sitting next to them or extending a hand to them and inviting them towards you - whatever feels natural. You then begin dialogue with your inner child asking them how they feel and why. For me it was that I felt sad because I felt like my emotions didn't matter to anybody and that it was my job to be there for everyone while nobody was there for me. This is where the reparenting comes in, you then ask your inner child (or perhaps your inner teenager/young adult) what they need in this moment. My inner child expressed that they wanted to feel seen and to feel important so my therapist recommended we played a game together. Take note of whatever it is your child wants and provide it. Spend time in this space with them and promise them when it's time to go that you will return. this was a major breakthrough for me and I have had several experiences with my inner child in the following two weeks since this breakthrough. I was able to self soothe myself after a major crying episode just this weekend due to this meditation. The next time I saw my inner child she was dancing but I was able to move on to my inner teenager that needed a parent to knock on the door after I was metaphorically slamming doors in need of attention. I hope this makes sense! I'm sure it varies for everyone. While visualization is very helpful I think it's most important to focus on what you hear in your head if that's more your style and what you're feeling in your body, not necessarily what you think.

[banashee]

Hi Folks, welcome to my third fic for the Archival Pride 2021 project! Look at their tumblr for more info :) @archivalpride

Archival Pride 2021, Week three (June 15-21) Prompts: Love Languages, Doubt, Post-Canon, Intimacy, Home

The key words I've used here are Post-Canon, Home and Intimacy

-

- Off-screen Arguments - scars - Trauma recovery - brief but canon-typical violence - References to Canon-Stabby-Stabby in MAG200 - mention of coma, no details - reference to homophobic Parent

-

 A Second Chance

 Some days, it still feels like a dream. That they are here, together, that they get to have this. A home, a life - a second chance at everything.

 It’s been almost two years since the panopticon collapsed in an explosion, almost two years since Jon and Martin woke up… Here. “Somewhere else” they called it then, but now they simply call this place “home”. More precisely, they do so because first and foremost, they are home to each other.

 Even back when in the Institute, when both of them successfully managed to convince themselves their feelings for each other were one-sided, the few and far moments where they actually had time to themselves were precious. Even when Jon had woken up from his coma and Martin was working for Peter Lukas, just a small brush of hands or a quick hug in the hallway had felt like the only safe place left in the world. Just for a moment, before they had to move on, more alone than ever before.

 By the time Martin was deep in the Lonely and Jon had pulled him out, taken his hand and not let go until they were safely in Daisy’s little safehouse in the Scottish Highlands where no one would be able to find or hurt them. Or at least, that had been the plan… It only lasted for a little while.

 Still, even though the end of the world started there, the days and weeks they had before are precious to Jon and Martin to this day. It’s those weeks where they had a chance to really get to know each other, outside of work and countless terrifying encounters with the Fears.

 Days spent talking in front of the fireplace, curled up around each other or not talking at all. Especially on the bad days, when everything hits them at once, it is a little bit easier to deal with everything while they’re together. Cooking together, stepping around each other in the kitchen when they tried recipes neither of them had ever tried before, laughing at and playfully chiding each other when everything turns into a big mess.

 Hugs and kisses shared at the most random of times, just because they realized they can do this now.

 Over time, they shared a few personal bits and pieces. After the first time they  shared the bed, to be close and to keep the nightmares at bay, they started talking about their needs and boundaries.

 “I love you, and I love being close to you. But I, I also need you to know that… Well, I won’t be able to give you more than this. I don’t…  sleep with people. In, well, in      that     sense.” Jon had blushed and stammered his way through explaining what Asexuality means to him, and it is met with love and acceptance. He started to breathe a little bit easier then.

 A little while later, Martin told him about the disaster that was his coming out to his Mum. He didn’t mean to, he said that day in the safehouse with a bitter smile as he shook his head, but he’d hit a breaking point. One too many homophobic remarks, one too many unhappy sneers.

 “One day, I just. Snapped. Couldn’t take the bullshit anymore. I don’t even remember exactly what I      said     to her, but she was... “ Martin shook his head.

 “Not happy.” He laughed, but it wasn’t happy by any means. Jon understood all too well, and reached out with one hand, an offer to hold on tight, which Martin happily took him up on.

 “She didn’t… Like me very much before, I don’t think. Or, well, I      know     that now, but… But ever since I told her I am gay, that certainly didn’t help things. She never met any of my boyfriends or anything, but, well. That’s robably for the best.”

 Only a short while after this conversation, the world ended. After months and months of walking through a hellscape, they finally   arrived back in what once was London. Back at the institute - the tower of the Watcher.

 Once they got their chance to kill Elias and destroy Jonah Magnus, things… Went differently than planned.

 Even years after the fact, long long after, Jon and Martin wake up from vivid nightmares. The memories, both real and twisted, leave them sobbing and calling out for each other. Each time, they end up wide awake for hours, holding onto one another to try and keep the other from getting lost again. Dealing with everything is very much a work in progress.

 Guilt eats Jon up from the inside. He is talking about it, at least he does now, but the feelings are still there, sitting on his chest and taking his breath away. The guilt about walking off on his own and leaving everyone else, including Martin behind is one of the worst he’s ever felt, and even though they have talked and worked through this particular issue for a long time, Jon is still struggling with it. The main problem is that didn’t see another way, did what he thought was best. Now he knows there wasn’t a right decision in the situation they found themselves in, only damage control.

 But on a personal level? Yes, he screwed up, and he knows it.

 The scar on his chest hurts those nights, like a fresh wound. Jon finds himself clutching it, without even realizing that he is doing so. If he was, he would try to stop himself from it, but every time his hands rub over the place in the middle of his chest, when breath leaves his lungs for a while, he can tell that Martin’s eyes go blank and he hates himself a little bit more for having caused so much pain. .

 How often Martin wakes up in the middle of the night, dreaming again and again about that fateful day that ended with him stabbing the love of his life with a knife, he has long lost count. But it hurts, worse than anything else, and the memory alone sends him spiralling for a long time.

 If the Fears had any more power here, there is no doubt that Martin would find himself surrounded by thick, white fog those nights, cold and damp and utterly alone even with another person in the room.

 He’d spent months - years really - keeping it together just to keep going, doing what needed to be done and be there for the people around him. It’s what he’s always done, isn’t used to anything else, but Jon knows him well enough to recognize the signs and stop Martin before he destroys himself any further.

 “Let me take care of you.      Please    - You don’t have to keep going all the time.”

 Somehow, even with all the trauma and heartbreak, the two of them manage to form one functioning human being together when they can’t manage to be one on their own. On the really bad days, that is enough.

 Martin and Jon  have their hiccups - but they know just how much they adore one another, and that is usually enough to make them see reason even when things get hard.

       Especially in the first few weeks Somewhere Else, there is a lot of confusion and pain. Years of trauma and injuries they are unable to explain to anyone, because how do you explain even a fraction of the fears and the apocalypse they have walked through? None of it has happened here. This is a world that has never ended, and although the Fears certainly exist here, they are in the shadows, where they belong. As far as they can tell, none of the rituals have happened here, and the entities just. Exist, but don’t do nearly as much harm as Jon and Martin have experienced.

 So seeking out help, let alone from professionals, is hard. Lord knows, they need it - it takes the two of them countless trials to find individual therapists for themselves, and even longer to find one to attend for couples counseling who won’t make their skin crawl with anxiety. There are issues that need to be addressed, and it is hard to start somewhere.

 Some sessions are much, much harder than others. Unpacking the baggage is logical, it is something that needs to be done in order to deal with the trauma, but for a long time, it just hurts. It hurts, having to open up about things that are so deeply personal, and even though both Martin and Jon have come up with cover stories for their situation, they still have to work on all the emotions and the things that happened to them and their loved ones.

 Some days, either one or both of them will come home from a therapy session and simply collapse into bed. Most times, all they want then is to hold each other. Other times, they talk, but more often than not, being able to listen to each other's heartbeat as they shake apart or fall asleep from exhaustion is enough.

 Especially at first, when everything is still fresh, when the scars are still pink, raised and puckering, things are hard.

 Surprising no one, coming from a literal hellscape into a normal, relatively calm world, is a total whiplash. Things are tense between Jon and Martin for a bit. They want to stay together, because they love each other deeply - there was never any doubt, not even a bit. But there are some situations, issues and decisions that they need to adress.

 While things are still sore, it results in a number of exhausted, tearful arguments that leave both of them absolutely drained and limp from overwhelming sadness. The arguments themselves never last long, because both Martin and Jon are quick to make up and apologize after, but the feelings of exhaustion and heartbreak stay for long after.

 The arguments pull on wounds and it hurts. There really is no other way to put it. More often than not, Martin and Jon spend the night with no sleep, wrapped around each other so tightly it is almost painful. Holding onto one another is all they can do sometimes to keep each other from falling apart at the seams.

 Weeks turn into months, months turn into a year and so on. Both Jon and Martin have come a long way since they arrived here - they no longer call it “Somewhere else”. Their trauma still sits deep, but has become much, much more of a quiet background pain that occasionally comes out to play, rather than being a constant, stabbing sensation that leaves them bleeding and breathless, unable to function. Those days, thankfully, have become rare.

 They start to live, instead of just surviving.

 It is around that time that they decide they want to get out of the city. London, whether back in the old world or here, is not a quiet place to be, but now that they are free, they take the opportunity and run with it.

 A little bit of time passes, and between days spent walking hand in hand through the nearby park, nights curled up on the couch with books and tea and day jobs and even occasional evenings in the pub with coworkers, they find themselves standing in their empty apartment. All there is left is a single cardboard box and a potted plant, both of which are held by the two men who spent the last year and a half there.

 “...Jon?”

 “Yes, Love?”

 “I had no idea we had      so much     stuff, until we started to pack it all up.”

 “We do. I’m… Not entirely sure when that happened to be honest.”

 “....I believe somewhere between us starting to actually       do     things, and you discovering that tiny bookshop which I’m convinced should have been empty by now, thanks to you.”

 “Yes. And also the plants. Don’t forget your leafy children, Martin.” Jon leans into Martin’s upper arm for a moment, a small smile on his face. He would have pulled him into an embrace, but since Martin holds the last of their moving boxes, filled to the brim with books, and Jon’s arms are currently wrapped around the pot of a fairly tall dracea, just leaning in must be enough. The plant pokes far over his shoulder, long, dark green leaves lazily moving with him as he holds onto it, tight and secure.

 ‘Martha’ says a small, handwritten label on the pot, carefully stuck near the edge of the pot. Giving the plants human names had started out as a joke, a throwaway sentence, but then they bought more and more plants, and so a new tradition was born.

 “...To be fair, I had no idea there were so many until we had to get them all into the van.”

 “Oh, I’m sure you’ll find plenty of space in the new house that looks empty. Not for long though, knowing you.”

 Martin smiles at him, propping the box against himself. This thing is heavy - as small as their old flat is, it hasn’t stopped Jon from starting to form their own library throughout the living room. Truth be told, he is looking forward to seeing it expand once they’re settled into their new space. It'll be a fun opportunity to bicker over the proper way to sort them.

 (“By      colour    ?? Martin, Dear, Love of my life, what the       fuck    . You’ve worked in a      Library    for years!” Jon will ramble on in disbelief, and Martin will cackle to himself, knowing he managed to rile his boyfriend up about something that isn’t important at all. He knows they actually agree that books need to be sorted by Author’s names. But where would be the fun in admitting that right away?)

 “Ready to go?” he asks, and waits for his partner's affirmative nod before the two of them leave the apartment, for one last time.

 It’s time for a new chapter in their new life, and they’re more than ready to start it.

 The first morning in their new house, they are woken up by a fresh breeze coming through their bedroom window. It carries the scent of pine needles and damp earth with it. The birds outside are already singing the song of their people and have been doing so for hours, long before most humans are conscious. Waking up like this is bliss, even though the bed is about the only thing that is actually done in this room.

 There are boxes everywhere and their wardrobe is only halfway assembled, but the bed is comfortable and decked out in fresh covers that still smell of washing powder. Everything is fresh and new and feels a little bit like they’re on a holiday. Maybe someday, it will become their new normal, but as of now, it feels like a fresh start.

 As always, it’s Martin who wakes up first. He can smell the fresh, woodsy air, and it relaxes him in an instant. There is a small forest right by their house. It is at the end of the street where only a few more old, slightly lopsided houses are nearby. It is perfect for them.

 On their search for a new home, it was clear they wanted to go somewhere more rural, somewhere remote. Ever since the Lonely, Martin is struggling with too many people around him. He can go about his everyday life if he has to, but days with too many people and too much social interaction leave him sad and exhausted from pretending to be fine and peachy with it.

 It doesn’t help that many of the houses they looked at are seaside cottages. As beautiful as they look on the photos, conveniently taken on days with clear blue skies, this is England. There are way more rainy days filled with grey, suffocating fog, and that alone is enough to send Martin back into a full blown panic attack. It’s too much, way too much like the Lonely. Needless to say, they filtered their searches accordingly.

 Eventually, everything clicks into place and they find their dream house in a small residential area with little traffic and even less people. The quiet of the countryside makes both of the breathe easier-  it reminds them a little bit of their time in Scotland, even though the landscape isn’t nearly as raw here. They may or may not have found a field of very good cows nearby though.

 The cool breeze of the morning air makes Martin shiver a bit, and he pulls the covers a little bit tighter around himself and Jon. Predictably, his partner takes this as an invitation to adjust his octopus grip that he has around him to get even closer as he sleepily grumbles,

 “...Just five more minutes.”

 “Make it an hour and we’re good, Love.” With gentle fingers, he starts to detangle the long strands of hair that surround Jon. There is even more grey than there was only a few years ago - no surprise, what with all of the stress and trauma they have lived through.

 All that Martin gets in response to this is a low hum as Jon tightens his hold around him once more as he breathes a small trail of kisses along the side of his neck and up his jaw.

 He knows that Morning-Jon is not talkative, at all, but he knows him long and well enough to understand what he is telling him, even when he is half asleep himself.

 “I love you, too.”