#and it's either just borderline abandoned or handled terribly.

[savior-of-humanity]

It never occured to me until now that my take on Davoth wouldn’t look like what he does in canon at all.

Mainly because the lore I’ve made for him is... significantly different than how it’s laid out in Doom Eternal’s The Ancient Gods Part 2 DLC (I’m not counting Part 1 because the lore that was presented about him was a straight-up fucking lie, for some reason, which I’m still miffed about by the way)

Although I don’t actually have any idea for a proper faceclaim for him considering that he is by no means human, though he is 100% capable of shapeshifting.

Also now that I think about it??? Like, off-topic but for a DLC that’s literally called “The Ancient Gods”, we saw jack SHIT about them in Eternal. Like, yeah sure there’s Samur, the Father, Davoth, and the Wraiths but those, at best, get bare-bones lore development.

The wraiths in particular REALLY piss me off because from what I can recall in 2016/Eternal lore, they were once a SIGNIFICANT aspect of the religion for Argent D’nur/the Night Sentinels. And the absolute most of them is going inside the LITERAL GIANT FUCKING SPACESHIP THAT’S CHUCK FULL OF THEM, WALL TO WALL, and having Internguy go “omg its the Wraiths!!!!” and then absolutely nothing further is done with them whatsoever.

Zero.

Zilch.

Nada.

[theearlgreymage]

Or Thursday. It's fine. We're pretending yesterday wasn't real right now.

These last two weeks have been brutal to my writing schedule. Being an adult is too much. Being responsible for other humans is overwhelming.

On the positive side, I have a million ideas and plenty of WIP's!! Just need to find the time to get to them. There's FOUR snippets under the cut that I need to stop staring at and just finish.

My current baby is still Infinity In Your Chest Pocket. Chapter 3 is coming along smoothly. It should be up SOON (I'm sorry it took so long @ionlydrinkhotwater )

Snow looks like a lost puppy as he follows our group through the shopping center. Or really, follows my cousin.

It reminds me of fifth year, when we couldn't do anything without Snow sniffing around us like a blood hound. Baz was going out of his mind by Spring.

He'd come out to his family the prior summer, and while it hadn't gone terrible it also wasn't great. Uncle Malcolm tried to act like Baz had never opened his mouth. So, Baz kept his mouth shut at school. Niall and I knew, but that was it.

There were a few opportunities when Baz could have made a derisive comment to Snow about his stalking habits that year, but he never did. I've always suspected his attitude towards Snow. I know how Baz treats someone he detests, and his treatment of Snow is not that. Not that I’m dumb enough to point that out to him. 

Right now he's leading Snow around from shop to shop, acting like this is something we've always done together. As though Niall and I are just supposed to follow his lead.

Well, Niall does. They are best friends, and love shopping together. I'm more so here to carry their haul like some pack mull.

Snow has muscle, though, so when my arms start to get tired, I toss some bags his way. "Here, consider this your initiation to our group."

I swear I haven't abandoned Let's Avoid Spoilers, Darling either. The plot for this keeps shifting in my head. Originally, it was supposed to be very serious. But more and more ideas keep popping up in my head that border on crack. So I have to squash them routinely.

It’s locked. I growl, frustrated and try to turn the handle again. 

“Stop.” Baz whisper-hisses at me, getting in my personal space. 

“What are they hiding from us?” I demand. 

“I don’t know, but my future-self is going to hear us if you keep trying to force that door open.” 

Resigned, I let the door knob go. “So what do we do now?” 

Without answering, Baz grabs me by the elbow and pulls me back into the room we’re sharing. “Right now? Nothing. We can’t go sneaking around this house so openly.” 

“You think any of our future selves are going to leave us unsupervised long enough to sneak around except at night?” I ask. 

This forces Baz to pause, crossing his arms and bringing one hand up to his mouth. He does this sometimes, it’s one of his plotting faces, chews on the pad of his thumb while he thinks. 

My submission for EGF is also taking shape. Realistically, I wanted this to be a multi-chapter endeavor. But I think it's going to be a one-shot. We'll see.

I never thought that the hands that so deftly wield a sword, could be this delicate. The way Simon plucks my shirt buttons open with a smooth finesse is borderline hypnotic. He's gotten so good at it. If he really wants to, he can get a couple buttons undone without my noticing.

Normally, Simon is brute force and strength in everything that he does. But with me, it's the opposite. He treats me gently, reverently, just like I asked for when he decided to genuinely try.

When I finally feel the tips of his fingers on my newly exposed skin, it makes me shiver. The temperature contrast between us has my nerves feeling extra sensitive.

Finally, I had a random thought (and was then bribed by @ic3-que3n with their stunning artwork that I am willing to sell my soul for) to create a Witcher!SnowBaz AU. This is still in the planning process. I probably won't post anything for it until after EGF to balance my plate. So, it's just an outline for now.

Open the scene in a small desolate village at night with the streets empty 

Simon is in the middle of battling [insert dark creature] 

He defeats it easily with just a couple of scratches, nothing to be concerned about for him 

Payment is left outside the village leaders home - no words are exchanged 

Flashback Scene 

Simon on his first hunt with [insert Witcher Mentor] 

They’re explaining to Simon the real world practices of the Witcher trade 

Hunting monsters at night 

How villagers will likely not want to talk to him 

How the world relies on them to keep the monsters in the dark at bay 

Jump to next scene of Simon in a different town, talking to an innkeeper about a monster problem 

Someone tries to hire Simon as a mercenary 

Comments about Witcher’s not having emotions/feelings & only looking for coin are made 

Simon ignores them and the men  

Flashback Scene 

Simon is in the market with other young boys from Kaer Morhen 

The boys are offered coin for a small job 

End up robbing an innocent shop-keep 

Simon feels extreme guilt for his actions

While I have been spending too much time just staring at blank documents lately, I have still been writing a lot. But not alone. So I won't share pieces from them. BUT I have been role-playing with two amazingly talented individuals.

@buffy has me going feral over our snowbaz mpreg plot. It's so emotional. Has literally made me cry. I love it. We need to check our word count cause I think we’re over 40k now.

And @upuntil6am has me head over heels for our tender snowbaz a/b/o dynamic plot. It's tooth rotting sweet (for now, I swear you can trust me though) and I need more of it at all times.

We're not going to talk about the fact I need an idea for COBB still.

Thank you to @confused-bi-queer @hushed-chorus @shrekgogurt @johnwgrey and on Sunday @palimpsessed for all the tags these last few days ♥️ I do see them and they make me so happy to be included in the community of this lovely Fandom.

I'll forgo tagging back since it's. You know. Thursday.

[toosicktoocare]

I guess here’s a second chapter to my first 9-1-1 fic because almost every ao3 comment was someone asking for a part 2.

Part 1 here!

Eddie’s gone when Buck wakes, the comforting heat at his back replaced with the faint chill of abandoned sheets. He rolls onto his back, a few sharp coughs slipping past his lips, and his hand grazes the empty side of the bed, fingers lightly curling into the rustled blankets. 

His other arm drapes over his eyes, the weight pushing back against the headache throbbing at his temples. His skin is hot to the touch, concerning even to him. He didn’t mean to let himself get this bad, he just... Five months, he thinks. Five months lost. Five months spent in a hospital and rehab. Five months falling behind the others.

He groans, coughing harshly, and he lifts his arm, rolling his head toward the empty side of the bed. He and Eddie... They... His thoughts are jumbled, and he wants to blame the fever, but he can’t shake this hint of a feeling that there’s something else, something different, something he should chase. 

Sitting up jostles his lungs, and he brings his curled fist to his mouth, coughing over and over into it until he’s borderline light-headed from the sheer, trembling force alone. His vision is slightly hazy, but he can still make out the digital clock on Eddie’s bedside table reading 2:07 AM. 

He’s been out since 8, yet he doesn’t feel like he’s rested at all. He feels positively terrible, every inch, every crevice of his body hurts, a dull, nagging pain that makes his movements slow, sluggish even. He’s blood feels as if it’s coated in ice, yet his face is burning hot. It’s incredibly uncomfortable, and he’s sure the medicine he took before hasn’t even touched his fever. 

He swings his legs over the bed, leaning both elbows on his knees with a shaking sigh. “Shit,” he whispers out into the empty room. The small motion left everything spinning, and he takes a moment to blink away the dizziness coating his vision. Getting to his feet yields similar results, but he moves through the swaying, snagging Eddie’s comforter to drape around his shoulders before he shuffles out of the room in search of Eddie. 

He’s quiet when he leaves the room, muffling a few coughs into the fabric of the comforter, and he follows the faint sounds of talking, stopping just before the living room to listen to Eddie’s quiet voice. 

“I don’t know, Bobby. He’s really bad.” 

There’s a pause, and Buck frowns, leaning against the wall and swallowing back a few coughs.

“I know he always bounces back. Look--no--I know that’s how Buck is, Bobby, but he passed out because he’s been pushing himself so hard to catch back up to us!”

Eddie’s voice is a hushed whisper, but the intensity attached to each word is sharp, evident, and Buck’s eyes cast to the floor.

“Bobby, how am I not supposed to freak out? After his leg, and throwing up blood... the blood thinners--”

Buck pushes off the wall, ignoring the rather severe wave of dizziness that washes over him in favor or stepping into the room, a frown pulled tightly at his lips.

“Buck!”

Eddie’s on his feet, worry etched across his face, and he’s starting toward him, but Buck wordlessly stops him, holding a hand out.

“What are you doing up? What’s wrong?”

“Let me talk to Bobby,” Buck rasps out, wincing at the pain coating his throat, and though Eddie seems hesitant that Buck’s even standing, holding the blanket clasped at his throat with one hand, he hands over the phone, and Buck moves it to his ear while Eddie guides him to the couch with a gentle hand to the small of his back.

“Hi, Bobby.”

“Christ, Buck, you sound terrible.”

Buck’s still getting used to having so many people worry for him, it’s still unfamiliar, and he’s still adapting to having Maddie back, and Bobby, Hen, and Chimney, and... He spares a glance to see Eddie watching him intently, brows furrowed, body leaned forward as if waiting for Buck to collapse again.

“Yeah,” Buck answers around a few coughs. “I feel like shit, but I’ll be okay.” He cocks his head to the side, smiling deviously at Eddie. “I have a great nursemaid.”

Eddie mouths ‘fuck you,’ and Buck laughs, but his humor is short-lived when he erupts into a rather painful coughing fit. The blanket slips from his shoulders, and he moves the phone away briefly, curling forward to cough harshly over and over. He’s only faintly aware of Eddie snagging the phone, but then he feels Eddie’s hand on his back, rubbing small circles.

“Easy, Buck.” Eddie presses the phone to his ear. “Yeah, Bobby, I’m here.”

Buck’s chest is burning, and he wills his lungs to breathe, to expand, to bring in air, and after a few moments, his coughing tampers off, and the fatigue comes back heavy. He’s shaking. His face is sweat-slick, yet his teeth are chattering, and he can feel Eddie tugging the blanket back over his shoulders. He slumps back against the couch, eyes heavy, half-lidded, but he watches as Eddie puts the phone on speaker.

“Buck, you need to take this seriously. Eddie said you started feeling sick a week ago?”

Bobby doesn’t sound mad, but Buck almost wishes he did. He’d rather take angry Bobby then disappointed Bobby.

“I’m sorry, Bobby,” he starts, feeling far too emotional for the second time in hours. He swipes at his welling eyes. “I just--”

“--wanted to catch up,” Bobby finishes, and Buck frowns at the phone.

“But, you don’t need to do that. All you need to do right now is rest, Buck. You have to learn to pace yourself, not just for your sake but for ours as well. Imagine if you had fainted in the burning house earlier. Did you consider how much danger you could have put that father and son and Eddie in?”

Eddie’s free hand drops to Buck’s shoulder, and he gives it a squeeze. Buck drags his welling gaze from the phone to Eddie’s, his dark eyes bleeding with concern.

“I’m sorry,” Buck whispers, more-so to Eddie, and Eddie moves his hand to Buck’s cheek, swiping a tear away from Buck’s burning cheek. He mouths ‘I know’ just as Bobby chimes back in.

“I know, son. Just worry right now about getting better, and do not even think about coming into work tomorrow. You either, Eddie. We can handle it for a few days, so you just stay and take care of Buck.”

“But, Bobby, Eddie--”

“--I’ll stay with him,” Eddie interrupts, holding Buck’s gaze with his own sharp yet worried one. “I’ll keep you updated.” Eddie says his goodbye and ends the call, and Buck holds Eddie’s gaze, unable to read Eddie’s dark, cloudy eyes, but then Eddie tosses the phone to the other end of the couch and presses the back of his hand to Buck’s forehead.

“You feel warmer than before.” Concern is mixed in Eddie’s tone, and he leaves the room, coming back moments later with the thermometer.

Buck wordlessly complies, having no energy to even think about a potential protest, and when Eddie shows him the 104.2 degree reading, even he can’t ignore the burning pit in his stomach that’s twisting in worry.

“Shit.” Eddie presses the back of his hand to Buck’s forehead once more, as if trying to determine if the small device is lying, but the heat is evident, and he carefully helps Buck to his feet.

Buck goes along with the motions, leaning heavily against Eddie as Eddie guides him back into the bedroom. It takes a few moments to get Buck settled in bed again and pumped with more medicine and water, and Buck would be lying if he said he isn’t relieved to be back in the warmth of Eddie’s bed.

Eddie disappears, coming back with a cool, damp washcloth, and he drapes it over Buck’s forehead, a frown plastered to his lips.

“Old school,” Buck rasps out, though the cloth feels heavenly against his far-too-warm face.

“Well, I’m growing a little desperate here.” Eddie glances at the clock. “It’s been hours, and you’ve only gotten worse.”

“Eddie--”

“--if you say ‘I’ll be fine’ right now, Evan, I swear I might lose it.”

Buck clamps his mouth shut, frowning deeply. He can see the stress pushing past the concern in Eddie’s eyes, and he wordlessly pats the empty side of the bed. Eddie moves around until he’s sitting with his back against the headboard, and Buck drags a tired gaze to the ceiling.

“If I admit that I’m pretty sick, will that ease some of your stress?”

“No,” Eddie breathes out a breath of a laugh, running one hand through his hair. “It will make it worse, so how about you just get fucking better?”

“I’ll try.” Buck’s eyes slip closed, unwilling to stay awake a moment longer, fatigue and illness pressing down on his chest heavily, and he nods off to the faint feeling of Eddie smoothing the damp cloth over his cheeks and neck.

When he wakes again, it’s to soft voices coming through the crack of the closed bedroom door.

“Can I see Buck?”

“He’s still feeling pretty sick, so I think it’s best to let him sleep, bud.”

“Is he going to get better?”

“Of course! It’s Buck! Now, we should go. Abuela is waiting outside.”

“I really really want to say bye to Buck.”

Buck slips from the bed, shivering lightly at the loss of heat. His head still feels an imbalance of light and heavy, and his vision sways slightly, but he feels a fraction better than before, even if just the smallest bit. He swallows back a few coughs, clearing his throat with a wince, then slowly pulls the door open with a wide, genuine smile playing at his lips.

“Hey, Chris!”

“Buck!” Christopher throws his small arms around Buck’s waist, and Buck bends over, blindly reaching out to Eddie for support to combat the sudden wave of dizziness while he wraps his other arm around Christopher’s back.

“You headed to school?” He asks, pulling away from the hug.

“Yeah. Dad said you guys are going to watch cartoons all day.”

“Oh?” Buck cocks a brow toward Eddie. “Did he now?”

“He said it’s the best way to make someone feel better.” Christopher smiles up at Buck. “It always makes me feel better when I’m sick.”

A car horn sounds from outside, and Eddie places both hands on Christoper’s shoulders. “Okay, kid, let’s get a move on before you’re late. Buck will still be here when you get back.”

Buck waves at Christopher, and as soon as the two are out of the house, he falls against the wall, sinking to the floor as a burning coughing fit rips up his throat. He doesn’t hear Eddie enter the house once more, but he suddenly feels a steady hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, Buck, breathe.”

Buck nods and coughs until the fit tampers off, leaving him heavily winded and exhausted. He leans into Eddie’s cool touch on his cheek, eyes fluttering open when Eddie slides his palm from his cheek to his forehead.

“You don’t feel as warm as last night.” Eddie tilts his head, eyes dragging all across Buck’s pale yet flushed features. “But, that sounded like it hurt. How are you feeling?”

Buck considers the question as Eddie helps him to his feet and to the couch. “Shitty, but maybe a little less shitty then last night?” He falls onto the couch, shooting Eddie a purely grateful look when Eddie drapes the throw blanket on the back of the couch over him, pausing to tuck the corners tightly around him.

“Very descriptive,” Eddie calls out as he leaves to grab more medicine and the thermometer.

“Sorry,” Buck calls out weakly, unapologetic. “My mental dictionary is kind of lacking since my body is trying to boil my brain.”

“And whose fault is that?” Eddie says when he returns, brows arched, waving  the thermometer in front of Buck’s face.

Buck snags the thermometer and plucks it under his tongue, a faintly bitter looking playing at his face, one that Eddie smirks at. The reading, 103.2, is definitely better than last night, but Eddie’s not entirely satisifed with it.

“I mean,” Buck starts with a shrug, “it could be worse?” He takes the medicine Eddie wordlessly passes him, watching Eddie flop down on the couch beside him as he pops a few pills into his mouth.

Eddie turns on the TV, flipping channels into he finds Christopher’s favorite station that runs cartoons all day.

“You weren’t joking about that,” Buck comments softly around a few weak coughs, tugging the blanket tighter around himself to ward of the faint chills clinging to him.

“Nope,” Eddie says, popping the ‘p.’ “We are going to lounge around all day until you’re better.”

Buck frowns, pulling his gaze toward Eddie. “You know you can go to work, right? I’ll be fine. You hate taking off work--”

“--Buck,” Eddie interrupts, snapping his gaze to wide, blue eyes. “Do me a favor and shut up?”

Buck’s got a little more energy, more than last night, so he presses, voice rough, cracking slightly. “Eddie, man, I don’t understand. Why’re you doing all of this for me?”

“Because I love you, you moron, now shut up,” Eddie starts, wrapping strong fingers around Buck’s warm jaw and moving Buck’s gaze back to the TV, “and watch the cartoons.”

[zoryany]

Starry Gets Personal

hello, friends and followers! this blog is primarily for fandom, writing, and the odd miscellaneous sort of post, and I don’t get super personal here very often, but recent events have spurred me to open up about a couple aspects of my mental health, specifically my experiences as someone who has been diagnosed with both Borderline Personality Disorder and Bipolar II.

I will go into a bit more detail, below the cut, because this is very personal and I know not everybody wants to read a big long post about mental health, but my tl;dr version is basically that... my mental illnesses have caused me to do and say some pretty awful shit. they’ve caused me to make some decisions that I absolutely regret. and these things that I’ve said and done have had very real and very harmful consequences for myself and others. but I am a person who is capable of growth. of recognizing when I might be slipping up. and sometimes things go sour anyways. but I do not wish to be defined by my mental illness. nobody should be.

now, if you wish to keep scrolling, by all means, I hope your day is wonderful. if you’re interested in some more details, click on... potential cw for discussion of self-harm, suicidality, abuse and substance use (all fairly mild, no explicit details)

now, I’m not interested in publicly airing dirty laundry. there are certain boundaries I will not cross in the telling of this tale. I have permission to share things about myself, but I have no interest in smearing anyone else, so details will be omitted or altered where possible, and vague when not.

I’ve had some difficulties with friendships before. some have been because of petty, young girl “pal” bullying, some because we’ve just fallen out of touch, and some because there’s a perception that I’ve somehow changed. it can take me some time to open up and be more vulnerable with people. while I try to be open, I’m much more likely to offer up a shoulder to cry on than to ask for one myself. then, as I get more comfortable with people, I will ask for a bit more support. and often, all I really need is a bit of reassurance, a sign that there is care, and I’m pretty good at self-soothing from there. I can have incredibly violent mood swings, at times, but they die down fairly easily, as is common in borderline. in addition, I have never self-harmed. I have never been actively suicidal, beyond the odd time of “wow, not existing right now would be really rad, wouldn’t it?” I am incredibly lucky, in this regard, because the statistics regarding borderline, bipolar, self-harm, hospitalization and suicide are incredibly grim. but that is not me, and because I am taking medication and regularly seeing my therapist, I am actively making sure it will never be me.

in addition to BPD and bipolar, I have ADHD. these things combined mean rejection and abandonment sting real bad. to the point of a straight up meltdown / tantrum bad. and I am willing to call some of my episodes meltdowns or tantrums. this is not true for all people with these conditions, but for me, that’s kinda what it feels like. these intense feelings just need to flare up and burn themselves out for a bit and then I’m usually fine within a few minutes, hours or, in the most extreme cases, days. these emotional episodes are not always related to abandonment or rejection, but they can be, and they can lead to some pretty nasty things. I can dissociate. I can enter a state where I genuinely don’t recognize what I’m saying. and I like to compare them to fire that has been inadvertently fueled far more than expected. the fire cannot help that it flares. it cannot help that it lashed out and was stronger than anyone meant it to be. that does not heal the burns it caused, though.

earlier this year, I had a pretty... rough falling out with a friend. for the duration of our friendship, both my borderline and bipolar were undiagnosed. I had received a depression diagnosis before and borderline was suspected at a couple of points, but neither diagnosis was confirmed or treated until after the friendship ended. while I was able to make do when things were generally good, the lack of a diagnosis or treatment for either borderline or bipolar made things extremely difficult when things got bad. 

the two of us were online friends for nearly two years, and we had gotten really close. spoke every day, hung out most nights, shared a lot of very personal things with one another. it felt really good to have that kind of connection with someone. because it felt so good in these early stages, and because I was undiagnosed at the time, the friendship developed into one that didn’t really have clear boundaries. 

it is important in a relationship with a person who has BPD to establish boundaries. I have been determined to be much more careful about these boundaries since receiving my diagnosis, because I cannot place that responsibility solely on the other person in any sort of relationship. I have also seen the consequences of carrying forth with a relationship that does not have boundaries, and I do not wish to subject myself or anyone else to that level of pain.

now, again, I will not go into a great level of detail, but I would like to discuss the last week or so of this friendship.

I began to feel that this friend was pulling away from me. I also just so happened to be PMSing, which can amplify symptoms of my mental illnesses. this friend wished to take a bit of a break. I have never had a friend who has actively asked for a break before. it felt like confirmation that they were pulling away. I did not react well. I cannot recall all of the details. I dissociated through a lot of it. but I do remember that I said some horrendous things both over text chat and voice call. things that were manipulative. things that were abusive. I lashed out, I hurt, sought to make my pain felt, was angry... 

these things really hurt this former friend. so much so that they did end up leading to them calling it quits. they no longer felt safe in the relationship. that led to even more lashing out on my end, even more hurt, and it was all around unpleasant, to put it mildly. there is a very real pain that can spring up with BPD, and it doesn’t always isolate itself to the person who has the disorder. 

I have not spoken to this friend since we called it quits. one week later, to the day, I saw a psychiatrist and received my diagnoses: Borderline Personality Disorder, Bipolar II, ADHD and Generalized Anxiety Disorder. I am taking medication. I am seeing a therapist. I have grown as a person since this experience and gained new tools to handle extreme emotional situations.

there are still times when impulsivity will flare up and I’ll spend more money than I should on things I don’t need or over-indulge in substances at a gathering. there are still times when my emotions get the best of me. I still occasionally fall into hypomanic episodes and become someone who may not quite be myself. these are things that have placed strain on me, my family and my friends. but I am working on them. continually. 

I do not think that people with mental illness, disorders or disabilities should be exempt from critique of their actions. I know that my actions have consequences, and I have seen them multiple times. what I refuse to believe, however, is that I am a fundamentally terrible, awful, abusive person because of these actions. coming to terms with my diagnoses and my symptoms has been a journey, and while I do regret a lot of things I have done or said over the years and wish I could change countless outcomes, all I can do is to continue to press forward and strive to be the best me I can be.

thank you for making it this far. I hope that if any of this resonated with you, whether you share a diagnosis with me or have other similar experiences, then you may feel some level of reassurance. and I hope you all understand me just a little bit better. all love to you!

Starry

[shewas-agaystripper]

The Clinic: Part 17

The Clinic: Part Seventeen

Brian is sent off to Queen Mary’s Psychiatric Hospital to cure his depression and borderline. His roommates, John in particular, help him push through this difficult time in his life

Hello dear people! I can’t believe it’s actually happening, but here she is – the final part of The Clinic! (Or that is – the last part of the storyline within Queen Mary’s Psychiatric Hospital. There will be an epilogue coming up in a few weeks, which I think you’ll all enjoy a lot, because it contains good news for all of our boys!) But for now I really hope you’ll enjoy Part 17, and please let me know what you think!

Please feel free to talk to me and shoot me messages/anons! I’m feeling kind of lonely on my new blog still :s

P.s. Normally I’d link all the previous chapters here, but as SOMEONE @staff) deleted my whole entire blog, they’re now gone. If you haven’t read the previous chapters yet, or would like to reread them first, here is the whole thing on my AO3 account!

Have fun reading, and any sort of feedback or suggestions is appreciated!

The two weeks between the nerve-racking meeting during which Brian’s parents had signed the paperwork that secured both his and John’s immediate future after Queen Mary’s and the day of the reassessment judgement passed like a hazy blur in Brian’s experience. It was both the most and the least stressful time he had spent at Queen Mary’s; the most and the least joyful; the fastest and the slowest passing; the most relaxed and the most tensed; the happiest and the saddest weeks in his books of the mental institution. 

The death of Drew seemed to affect everybody present in one way or the other - and for most people it came as a positive change. The removal of arguably Queen Mary’s biggest bully and most violent patient left many feeling safer going out of their room in the evening, and Brian was sure that staff - even though no one openly spoke about the matter - was relieved to no longer have to guard the place as strictly as before, or spend as much time on keeping Drew in check. A bonus was that the murderer, who had been Clyde’s most important right hand, had been delivered to a prison in wait of his judgement - something Brian had heard the family of the guy had made a huge scene over, but Queen Mary’s didn’t budge and refused to take back a murderer in broad daylight. At last a decision Brian could get behind.

However, with the death of Drew and the removal of whoever the guy who had stabbed him into his unfortunate fate was, a shift in power dynamics had taken place at Queen Mary’s. Clyde, although weakened after the expulsion of his right hand, was still the leader of his pack, but Drew’s clan had fallen into disarray like a middle school class when left to vent for their own by their teacher for five minutes. Jake had never been anything more than a puppet that blindly followed all of Drew’s instructions, and he was never going to be the one to be crowned with the questionable honour of being Drew’s successor. There were a few other figures, though, who had all unanimously decided in their mighty wisdom that they would be the best choice to now rule over Drew’s collection of angry adolescents. To prove this point to the population of Queen Mary’s they went around the place slamming doors in people’s faces and shouting abuse at random passers-by, but most of the actual violence they reserved for each other in an attempt to show their strength. It reminded Brian of an anecdote his tenth-grade history teacher had told his class about three early medieval cardinals who had all declared themselves as the pope and excommunicated each other time after time in pursuit of their goal. As long as they left him and his friends alone, Brian didn’t care a straw for these patterers showing off their non-existent strength.

Something that did affect him, however, was the continuing lack of structure, routine, and professional staff around at Queen Mary’s. Things had been tight since the day Brian had been admitted, but with now even less staff around the place - as a result of staff cuts and people leaving the institution because they no longer felt safe at their jobs. Especially the kitchen team was hit hard by the changes, and attempts were made to have patients fill in the spots of the people who had taken their leave. 

Needless to say, this proved to be a disaster; almost nobody voluntarily signed up to peel potatoes or wash the dishes, and absolutely not a soul turned up for the corvee-schedules the head cook fabricated. When eventually random patients around the place were simply rounded up and ushered into the kitchen to help out the remaining staff, they had been creating more troubles than they solved. Food fights were a classic trick at Queen Mary’s, of course, but never before had patients had access to the large variety of kitchen knives. It had taken less than two days before people of Drew’s and Clyde’s gang had winded up in the kitchen together, and the stab accident that followed had made staff decide to just abandon the participation project altogether. Now everyone simply had to either work harder or wait longer, and more pre-made food was bought and prepared. It didn’t exactly taste good, but luckily the patients at Queen Mary’s had never been used to any form of luxury whatsoever anyway. 

A bigger problem was that besides the kitchen staff also the actual medical staff had suffered losses. After Ariel, the group leader of another therapy group had also left the place; the official story was that she suffered from a burnout, but Brian had learned over time not to automatically trust official reports issued by Queen Mary’s. What he did know was that the group this therapist had left behind, had now been mashed up with his own, leaving Jasper on his own to handle twenty-five depressed young men. Nolan, being the hero that he was, often joined his co-worker to help him - but even his presence could not keep the group under control. Group therapy now a mess, personal sessions with psychs now became more important to most people - but just like everyone else at the mental institution, they were busier than ever before also. People who had previously been in touch with their psychs every day now only got to see them every other day, and those people only once a week from now on. This did not matter too much for Brian personally, but he was not too happy about Freddie and Roger seeing their psychologists less than they used to. Of course there was no proof of correlation, but Brian did feel that Roger slipping into taking Valium could be linked to the lack of support and security around the place. 

On the other hand, the all-absorbing chaos of the place did mean more leniency and less people to look over their shoulders at all times - which meant that John had made a run for the kitchen to provide breakfast in bed multiple times, and that no one really said anything about them making music in their bedroom for hours on end. Most of all, it meant that Freddie had managed to have his family either directly give him or smuggle in numerous cosmetic items, which he was now going to put to the test on Brian’s unwilling hair and face. Ushering the half-awake man into the bathroom shared by Rooms 40 through 49 at an ungodly hour in the morning, Freddie put his makeup bag down on the sink and gestured for Brian to come on over.

‘Hop on up, dear! We’ve got no time to lose,’ he declared impatiently yet enthusiastically, landing his hand on the white surface of the sink platform he apparently wished for Brian to perch himself on top of. 

‘It’s barely six o’clock,’ muttered Roger, who followed behind. He had similarly been pulled out of bed by his over-enthusiastic boyfriend a mere five minutes ago, and him rubbing his eyes ever since was a visible testimony of how tired he was.

‘Yes, but there’s a lot to get done! It’s going to take a while,’ Freddie said.

‘You’re saying I look bad?’ Brian lifted an eyebrow.

‘Of course not! You look fine, dear,’ Freddie shushed. ‘But I just want to touch you up a little. Give your face some more colour and make your eyes pop out a little. Maybe define your lips somewhat… And get rid of these blemishes around your nose. Do you think I should line out his jaw some more?’ Freddie now turned to John, who had leaned back against the wall across from the sinks as he regarded the early morning spectacle from as much distance as he could possibly create. 

‘Yes, and maybe also draw out his nose and give him pink coloured lenses,’ John said quasi-thoughtfully. ‘Fake lashes and a forehead high enough to host a picnic on. Cut off all of his hair and give him a wig à la Diana Ross.’

‘Very funny, Deacon,’ Freddie rolled his eyes. ‘But now that we’re talking about his hair anyway… I think it could use some washing, moisturising, and blow-drying. Then afterwards I can properly comb it through and put in the curls again with setting spray.’

‘No brushing!’ Brian protested. ‘Unless you want me to look like a drowned poodle, don’t brush my hair.’

‘I don’t see how that would make you look any different from usual,’ Roger shrugged.

‘Oh, you’re terrible. Go make yourself useful and get me a chair,’ Freddie said to his partner, before he turned back to Brian. ‘And you get on top of this sink now, will you?’ He gave Brian a light smack against his bottom, which, although not at all painful, was unexpected and therefore made Brian yelp awkwardly. 

‘Might I remind you that I am the only one allowed to touch Brian’s ass, or tell him what or whom he is to get on top of?’ John commented from the sideline.

‘As if Brian would ever top. I have to laugh,’ said Freddie - which made Brian sure that if he had not been blushing before, he sure as hell was doing so now. He hoisted up one leg to the fake marble platform, planted his knee on it, withdrew it again, and then put it back again. It was a near military operation to perch himself up there, being all long limbs and of awkward height - not to even mention his fear of breaking down the whole damn construction. If it was of the same quality the average Queen Mary’s furniture was made of, he might end up on the floor with the whole sink platform below him.

‘Don’t worry, you can sit on it,’ said Freddie, as if he could read Brian’s mind. ‘I do it all the time.’

‘Very comforting to hear that a glorified scarecrow can sit on this piece of painted hardwood,’ said John. Brian knocked on the surface of it to find that his boyfriend might not even be far from the truth concerning the material of the thing.

‘I’ve seen Clyde standing right on top of it once,’ Freddie shrugged. This at last restored some faith in the sink to Brian; if a near-bodybuilder like Clyde could stand on it (he decided to not linger for too long on the question of why Clyde had a cause for doing so), then certainly he could sit on it. Placing his hands on the platform for a second time, he again put his knee on the sink, hoisted himself up, and turned around until he sat with his bottom as far back on the platform as possible, with his back leaning half against the wall and his feet dangling over the edge.

‘See? Nothing to worry about,’ Freddie said. ‘Now, you’re just gonna have to shift to the light a little - turn to me, dear. Yes, that’s better. Or maybe…’ Freddie stood on his tiptoes to put his hand on Brian’s chin and face it in the correct direction, something that to Brian felt a little strange at the very least. He had never been exactly comfortable with people touching him, and especially not when it was done before notifying him first. On top of that, having someone fiddle around with his appearance was something he was not very used to - especially not when this was at six in the morning in a questioningly clean semi-public bathroom with a range of makeup and grooming supplies he had never seen before. It had been Freddie’s doing, really - if it hadn’t been for his friend having decided that he would make a better impression on the jury if he looked like the Queen of Lombardia, Brian still would have been in bed, arms firmly around John and sleeping in for as long as they could until Nolan would eventually come pick them up for the trial that had been planned for that early afternoon. It certainly would have been better for his skin to have gotten some more sleep, Brian pondered when he got a glance of himself in the mirror; the bags under his eyes were going to take some serious product and talent to fully cover up.

‘You could work at Madame Tussauds with all of that repositioning you’re doing,’ said Roger, who burst through the door with one of the dingy rattan dining chairs he had taken from their bedroom. Freddie was still busy adjusting Brian’s face in the right angle to the light, and did not look up at his boyfriend. 

‘I’d rather become fabulously famous and have my own statue at Madame Tussauds, darling,’ he said haughtily, gesturing towards Roger to move the chair over. Roger planted it down next to Freddie, who took visible trouble to step up on the seating platform. Roger reached out a hand to help him steady and readjust the chair so he was positioned in front of Brian and next to the sink to put down the ungodly amount of items he had brought with him. 

‘Are you sure this is a good idea?’ Roger asked as Freddie balanced unevenly on the chair.

‘My dear, I have nothing but good ideas only,’ smiled Freddie.

‘Then why are we up at six?’

‘Because!’ Freddie squealed loudly enough to make John put a finger across his lips to gesture that he had to be quieter. ‘Because I’m going to make Brian glow, and show all of those dumb judges that he’s doing better than ever and taking good care of himself and ready to leave this place behind.’

‘And that’s going to take seven hours?’ Roger asked.

‘No, it’s not. But we need to practice what to say to the judges and how to answer their questions also.’

‘Brian and I have already done that a hundred times,’ said Roger - and to Brian, this did not even feel like an exaggeration. Since the moment he had been told he would pull through to be reassessed - no, since the moment he had decided to take a reassessment, that was - he had been eager to practice what he should say or do once he was to be faced with the people who were to decide on his fate. He had received a lot of support from the people around him, with John helping him fill out all the paperwork, Freddie helping him with the diary he had been asked to keep, and Roger by preparing him for the questions he was most likely to have to ask during his trial. Nevertheless, he felt the nervousness getting to him now that the day was finally there, and it did not surprise him one bit to hear that Freddie wanted to go over all they had practised from their waking moment to the second the door of the meeting room would close behind them.

‘But there is no such thing as too much preparation,’ Freddie said.

‘And yet that seemed to be exactly what you complained about last night when I wouldn’t get on with it,’ Roger grinned.

Freddie rolled his eyes. ‘Hush, you. Get me a washcloth and the face wash.’

‘I’m your servant now?’ Roger raised his eyebrows.

‘Yes, so maybe you can make yourself somewhat useful still on this trying day,’ Freddie answered with a tired smile that betrayed that there was no real malice behind his words. Roger, surprisingly, did as he was told, and Brian was asked to close his eyes and cant his head back a little. Even though he washed his face at the sink every morning, the coldness of the washcloth as it was brought up to his face was startling still. Freddie wiped his face down with it, covering his whole face with the thinnest layer of moist. The cloth then disappeared and he heard the faint click of a bottle being opened. He opened his eyes to see Freddie rubbing a substance of some kind between his hands, which he then applied to Brian’s facial skin. Seeing the questioning look on Brian’s face, he said: ‘Just a facewash, love. Don’t tell me you never use that.’

‘I just use water,’ Brian shrugged, the movement of which made Freddie’s fingers accidentally rub the facewash on his lips instead of his chin.

‘Same here,’ John said.

‘You’re lucky if I wash my face at all,’ Roger snorted. Freddie sighed deeply.

‘You’re a bunch of barbarians, really. I can’t believe they’re about to let two of you go.’

‘It’s a disgrace, really,’ John said. ‘Brian and I are really going to get out there and do things like washing our face with water only, and not making the bed every morning. Maybe I’ll even wear the same boxers for two days in a row.’

‘I’ll eat fruit without rinsing it off first, and not wash my hands after I sneeze,’ Brian added.

‘You’re driving me crazy,’ Freddie sighed as he wiped the face wash off Brian’s skin. ‘As long as you promise to wash your hands after going to the toilet.’

‘After?’ John asked. ‘I thought one was supposed to do that beforehand. The exact opposite of when you prepare raw meat and then wash your hands after.’ Freddie nearly dropped the washcloth to the floor as he turned to John with a jaw that almost did the same. 

‘Just kidding,’ John grinned after having let Freddie stare at him in disbelief for a handful of seconds.

‘John! You nearly gave me a heart attack!’ Freddie squealed, and he sent the cloth flying into John’s direction. John caught it with ease and buried his face in it, rubbing up and down a few times, before he threw it back into the sink with trained expertise. ‘So, that was my personal hygiene for today.’

‘I’ll refrain from commenting on that,’ Freddie groaned as he dug through his makeup purse and fished out something that looked oddly similar to a razor. He picked up a bottle from the sink platform and squeezed out a foamy substance, but it was only when he started spreading it along the lower side of Brian’s face that the pieces of the puzzle really fell into place for Brian.

‘You’ve got a shaving razor?’ he asked in surprise.

‘Mh. Yes. I got sick and tired of having to shave under the supervision of a staff member,’ Freddie parroted with his nose drawn up to ridicule the average Queen Mary’s employee. ‘So I snuck out to steal a few shaving razors on my own, and had my parents bring me shaving cream during visiting hour.’

‘And no one noticed- of course no one noticed,’ Brian answered his own question. If they had, after all, he would not be sitting here with Freddie spreading shaving foam along his jawline with one hand and the other hand wrapped around a disposable shaving razor.

‘This place is the biggest joke I’ve ever seen,’ Roger snorted.

‘Speaking of which, anyone want some breakfast?’ John asked. ‘If I go now I can get in there before the kitchen staff arrives.’

‘I mean, I could do with a croissant and some coffee,’ Roger said.

‘Same for me, please,’ Brian mumbled as best as he could now that Freddie was covering his lower face in a somewhat excessive layer of shaving cream. 

‘You, Bulsara?’ John asked.

‘If you can get your hands on some cucumber, that’d be great,’ Freddie said without looking up from his subject.

‘If you think I’m gonna let you get away with eating a single slice of cucumber for breakfast then you’re mistaken.’

‘Not to eat, silly. To put on Brian’s face later on.’

‘Scuse me?’

‘To make these bags under his eyes less visible! You really all are the enemies of personal care, are you?’ Freddie asked.

‘No, we have our own methods against bags under our eyes. It’s called sleep,’ John said, after which he flashed Brian a wink, turned on his heel, and paced out of the bathroom. 

Strangely enough, it was after John - usually the quietest of the pack - had left that they fell into a comfortable silence. Brian allowed Freddie to shave him, which he did with a minute precision that made Brian wonder if a single beard hair would ever dare to grow back on his face. Roger was given a reprimand for using the same washcloth to wash his face as Brian and John had previously done, and was then sent away to fetch a clean towel and probably to grant Freddie a second of rest. He returned right in time with John, who provided coffee and croissants and yoghurt for everybody - and who brought a cucumber large enough to supply the entire population of Queen Mary’s, staff and clients, with cucumber slices to put on their eyes.

Roger attacked his croissants with fervour, and John tried to slip Brian pieces of his in between Freddie’s makeover session. They could not tell whether Freddie was too busy with brushing out every single blemish and every possible crease in Brian’s face to think about having breakfast, or if he was actively working to avoid having to eat - but, suspecting that the latter option played at least a factor to some extent in the matter, John took to spoonfeeding Freddie yoghurt in between the acts. Roger willingly posed as Freddie’s assistant and handed him creams, concealers, and brushes when his partner asked him to. Brian just sat back and tried to enjoy - or at least relax - as much as he could this unusual treatment he had been submitted to.

In this fashion, half an hour or so slipped by almost unnoticed, until Freddie suddenly realised that the luxury of having the bathroom all to themselves was soon going to be a thing of the past when the people staying in the other rooms at their wing would wake up and start pouring into their space. Luckily for him, living with an antisocial personality disorder for years on end had taught John all the tricks of the trade. He summoned Roger to get a pen and paper and paper and another chair from their bedroom, and himself he fetched a piece of tape from a broken table in the hallway someone had clumsily tried to fix. He used the paper to write a sign which proudly boasted ‘OUT OF ORDER’, put it on the outside of the door, and then locked it by putting the chair right beneath the handle. Surely enough, not even five minutes later the first people arrived for their morning shower; but, upon trying the door a few times and finding it stuck, they quickly left the place with a string of swear words.

‘Do you think staff will figure us out?’ Brian whispered at Roger when what must have been the fifth person in line was rattling the doorknob.

‘Probably not. They’ve got other things on their mind - and since the door is locked on the inside and has an out-of-order-sign on it, they’ll just let it be.’

Roger was right - a few more frustrated fellow patients tried their luck at opening the door (one of whom almost managed in an outburst of pent-up frustration), but after fifteen minutes or so, the attempts had died out completely. This gave Freddie the opportunity to resume his work on Brian’s face; a thin layer of powdered foundation had been applied, and he now worked away the bags under Brian’s eyes with a concealer. He darkened up his cheekbones a little, and then decided to get started on Brian’s hair, which he declared was going to be ‘quite a task’. Indeed, he worked on it for nearly an hour; washing it and blow drying it, putting God knew what sort of setting sprays and curl definers in it while fluffing it up into a mass of tight, shiny black ringlets that graced Brian’s shoulders and which bounced back when he pulled at them - something Freddie told him not to do, but which Brian could not resist. To prevent the curls from sagging down or falling out of their desired shape, Freddie applied a mist of hairspray to them big enough to keep Mary Antoinette's wig from slipping, after which he told Brian to take a look in the mirror and see what he thought of the result.

Brian was surprised when he looked at his mirror image, and in the positive sense of the word. His face looked young yet masculine, without the usual dark circles around his eyes; similarly, his lips were shiny and the area of his mouth did not show any creases or blemishes. His hair was a vast but glorious mess of curls that shone in the light and fell around his face as a dark halo. He had never known that his hair could look so voluminous, so healthy and shiny and yet so natural and /uncomplicated/. He had always struggled with his hair - both with keeping it decent and with accepting it the way it was - but Freddie really had made him like it for the first time in what must have been years, and possibly could have been for the first time ever.

‘And? What do you think?’ Freddie asked.

‘It’s beautiful. I love it,’ Brian declared with the broadest smile. He leaned forward and caught Freddie in a hug that his friend obviously did not anticipate, for he squealed and clung to the rattan backrest of the chair he was half-standing, half-leaning on. Once he realised Brian had him safely in his grip, however, his terror faded and was replaced by happiness, and Freddie allowed an equally bright smile to shine through on his face.

‘And I’m not even done yet!’ Freddie declared enthusiastically. He carefully detached himself from Brian, and rumbled through his makeup bag until he fished out a small black stick that Brian had to squint at to find out its purpose.

‘Eyeliner?’ he asked.

‘Kohl. Just a little at the outside of your eyes to make them pop out,’ Freddie beamed. Although both Brian and the rest of the men present in the room had their second thoughts on the idea, Freddie talked them into allowing him to try it out anyway - and in the end, a thin layer of it smudged out ever so slightly to the midst of the lower eyelid was met with everyone’s approval.

By the time all the face and hair care had been done, it was past eight o’clock, which meant that virtually all of Queen Mary’s inhabitants were to be expected at breakfast. The four men of Room 41B decided to take a shot for their room; Roger was the one to be brave enough to remove the chair from the door and peek around it, first for a mere second and then for a long enough time to establish that there was nobody to be seen in the hallway. They then took a dash for their door, one by one; Roger and John with a chair under their arm, Freddie with an armful of bottles and tubes, and Brian with the makeup bag and towels which had been left behind. Once they had returned safely to their room Brian ran down the hallway one more time to tear down the homemade out-of-order-sign, which he crumpled up into a ball and threw into the toilet. On his way back to the room he silently prayed that it would not cause a congestion and cause the bathroom to actually be taken out of order for the upcoming time. 

Already having taken breakfast in the form of John having brought them coffee and croissants, once they retreated to their bedroom they unanimously made the decision not to emerge from it again to mingle with the rest of Queen Mary's inhabitants for shared breakfast in the canteen. Rather, they spent the time feeding Freddie small pieces of the croissant John had brought for him (and ignoring the protest Freddie made against taking such a 'calorie bomb', as he called it). They made him comply in the end by promising they would then get down to have Freddie pull off whatever kind of stunts he had in mind with the cucumber he had made John take with him from the kitchen, which sulkily made Freddie swallow the last bites without too much audible gagging. 

John, being the genius that he was, had taken care to take a small potato knife with him from the kitchen. It was large enough to cut the cucumber into slices, but small enough to either hide or dispose of pretty easily. Freddie cut enough slices for everyone to put on closed eyelids, and a few extra for Roger to eat (with a not so subtle comment that he should eat some vegetables at times, which Roger in turn said he did, and which started quite the discussion about vitamins and minerals between the couple). John and Brian, in the meantime, took the moment to appreciate Brian's almost entirely renewed skin and softened curls. They then took to their bed to have a seat again while the others bickered about their eating habits - it was, after all, still early in the morning. They remarked that they might even go to sleep again soon. Nolan would not come to pick them up for another three or so hours, so they might as well get a little more sleep. 

Freddie, on the other hand, clearly had other plans than 'sleeping away these precious hours'. Once he had cut up the cucumbers into the most irregular slices Brian had ever seen, he ordered them to lie down flat on the bed and have him put the items of food on their eyes. This went down with lots of laughter and screeches at the unfamiliar feeling and coldness of the vegetables against their closed eyelids, which in turn evoked Freddie to call them a bunch of barbarians again, although this time he did it with a smile. The singer also started fussing about Brian's hair again now that he was lying flat on the mattress while his hair had been styled with an exorbitant amount of product and care just ten minutes ago. Unfortunately for Freddie, there was little other alternative if he wanted for Brian to have the cucumber slices evening out the by now already non-existent bags under his eyes. Roger's idea of putting the slices on Brian's eyelids and keeping them in place with Freddie's suede sleeping mask was cheered on by everyone apart from the owner of said item, who seemed indignant at the idea that people would even think of putting his precious Japanese suede sleeping mask to that purpose. In the end Freddie won the battle of the suede mask, but was thereby forced to have Brian recline with his head on the pillow. 

To Brian’s surprise, it wasn't even that bad to have Freddie try out his weird homemade remedies for bags under the eyes that would not have been there in the first place if he just would have been allowed to sleep in until a decent time. Maybe it was because he was getting used to the feeling of being pampered, or perhaps because he knew he had the rest of his friends hanging around him looking like clowns just as much as he did. They fell into a short moment of silence upon all having settled down on their respective beds, but it was soon broken up when the sound of crunchy vegetables being torn into pieces reached their ears.

'Roger!' Freddie called out instantly.

'What? What else were you gonna do with half of a cucumber, put it pack into the kitchen fridge again?' Roger around a mouth still half full of remains of the last bite of vegetable.

‘At least he’s eating his veggies,’ John shrugged, the movement of which made a slice of cucumber tumble off his eye and onto Brian’s shirt. It left a somewhat damp spot on Brian’s uniform shirt, and he was glad Freddie hadn’t seen the incident. With his current nervousness which outed itself by striving for absolute perfection, he would probably have a stroke if he noticed a stain on Brian’s clothes.

Speaking of nervousness... Brian had forbidden himself to think about the upcoming trial too much, but he definitely felt an uncomfortable tension in the pit of his stomach - one which had followed him for days in a row by now. Although it must have started as early as the moment he had signed the first official paperwork concerning his wish to leave Queen Mary’s, it had grown gradually worse over time, with the peak of it coming down upon him in these last few days. The last paperwork and diary assignments had needed to be completed the other day, and it had taken his friends an hour of pep-talking him to go down and have his last talk with Sarah and Doctor Fisher concerning the Judgement Day, as it had come to be referred to by now by everyone around the place. Being as rare as it was, his reassessment track and all that came with it had become something of a public spectacle that all people at Queen Mary's, regardless of how close they had been to Brian, were currently engaged with to some level of the other. It was the talk of the town, as a matter of speaking; it was the only topic his by now therapy group of twenty-five people were interested in talking about, and the thing strangers continually tapped him on the shoulder for to either question or advise him about. Even Freddie, Roger, and John were not exempted from this treatment, and especially the former two - who tended to go out more often - returned with stories about random people questioning them about Brian’s reassessment on the daily. All the attention was something Brian could definitely do without; it made him nervous knowing that so many people looked at him as he was trying to fight his sentence at Queen Mary’s. How many people would look down upon him if he failed, how many people would laugh at him and ridicule him if he didn’t succeed?

‘Are you nervous about this afternoon?’ John asked, plucking a strand of hair out of Brian’s face. Brian sighed.

'More than I’d like to admit,' Brian said. 'I’m mainly afraid of having to face all of those staff members and judges and whoever more will be in that room...'

'Would it feel better if we won't be there?' Freddie asked from the sideline. 'You know, having fewer people to worry about...'

'No, I want you to be there,' Brian told him. 'I want people who support me there. I want Sarah and Nolan and Jasper and you guys - I just don't want the other people there. The jury and the people from the medical board and the director of Queen Mary's.'

'I'm afraid you can't exactly have a judgement without a jury, darling,' Freddie said. 'But I understand what you mean. It's never exactly comfortable having to put yourself out there around those people, but we'll be there for you. And your parents will be too, won't they? Or does that just make you nervous?'

'Somewhat,' Brian said with a breathy laugh. 'They support me, but I know that they'd rather have me stay here at Queen Mary’s until my treatment is over. Although… since I’ve told them about the chaos around here, they seem more sceptical about this place. The murder of Drew didn’t seem to sit very comfortably with them when I told them about it on the phone the other day,’ Brian said in what must have been the understatement of the century. His father had been indignant that no police investigation was going on at the place, and his mother had been hysterical at the idea of what could happen to him if people at Queen Mary’s could literally get their hands on knives and commit murders inside its walls in the broad daylight. He did not mean to stress his parents out, but it felt good to know they supported his possible homecoming more whenever they heard of such atrocities. 

‘Well yeah, I should hope that they’re not comfortable with murder,’ Roger snickered. ‘Because regardless of how much we all hated Drew, that really was disgusting.’

Brian nodded weakly; he kept remembering the last words Drew had spoken to John and him. He kept remembering the sincere look on his face as he wished them well; and though it did not in any sense of the word make up for all the pain and hurt he had pulled both them and everyone else at Queen Mary’s through, it had shown the human side that Drew still, deep inside of him, had possessed until the very end of his life. 

‘For how long do I need to keep these soggy cucumbers on my eyelids?’ John interspersed in an attempt to keep up the atmosphere.

‘Another fifteen minutes or so,’ Freddie said.

‘Oh, but then we’ll miss our therapy groups!’ Roger exclaimed with the biggest grin on his face, which told the people around him that he absolutely did not give a straw about his group sessions. None of them did, in all honesty - but as Brian was the only one who had officially been given leave to be absent on that day due to his obligations elsewhere, the others were officially required to show up at their therapy sessions. A short discussion broke loose, which was more of an enumeration of all the reasons why they should not go rather than a real contemplation of the pros and cons of following Queen Mary’s schedule - and unsurprisingly the result of it was that they all decided to stay in to have a chat while plucking some guitar strings. Freddie proposed a classic game of mensch-ärgere-dich-nicht, which they languidly played in between finishing up the last preparations for the judgement that afternoon.

‘You filled in all of your paperwork?’ Freddie asked while rolling the dice.

‘Yes. Mister Fisher collected it all and will bring it with him to the meeting.’

‘Your mental health diary has been filled in for each day?’

‘All covered.’

‘You know where to go and what to do?’

‘Be at the staff room at ten to one, shake hands with the judges, then take a seat next to Mister Fisher, who will make a case for me. I just have to be quiet unless I’m being asked to open my mouth, and appear as strong and mentally stable as possible,’ Brian said with a slight twitch of the lips. 

‘Have you prepared a speech?’ Freddie asked. Brian frowned.

‘Speech? It’s not his graduation, Fred,’ Roger told him. ‘At most they’ll ask him some questions similar to the ones he had to answer for his portfolio of whatever one wants to call it, and we already practised those a hundred times.’

‘Well, but you never know! They might ask him to defend his case in a beautiful, heart-felt soliloquy…’ Freddie clearly poured out his heart into this idea, but Roger just snorted.

‘This is not a business pitch where you try to receive a million-dollar loan from some kind of business magnate,’ Roger laughed. Freddie joined him, and even John gave them a grin - but Brian himself could not treat the idea as a laughing matter. Ten minutes later, when Freddie won the board game with a glorious victory over all of his roommates, Brian still found himself caught up with the possibility that he might actually have to explain his case in detail to all of the people present in the room who were ready to judge his every word. Of course he had prepared answers to short and basic questions - such as why he thought he was ready to leave, what he had learned at Queen Mary’s, or which plans he had made to prevent a fall-back in the future. But what if he could not provide such a deep-going speech that combined high levels of emotional security with lessons from the past and promises for the future? What if despite all of the paperwork provided which all professionals who had helped him on his journey here told him would almost surely free him from Queen Mary’s, the jury would turn him down for his own clumsiness with words? What if Doctor Sumner saw it as his window of opportunity to put him down and keep him at Queen Mary’s for as long as he could?

This question - and others concerning the nature of the judgement and the personality of the judges - continued to bother Brian over the course of the hours the group spent in each other’s presence. By the time lunch rolled around, he found himself having too little appetite and too many worries to get out of the room and go downstairs to the dining hall. The prospect of being flooded with glances and questions and tips and tricks from people who had never shown a single interest in him until the moment his attempt at reassessment was made public upon presenting himself in the canteen did not exactly encourage him any more. John was not very much in the mood to suffer the same treatment, so in the end it was Roger who dragged Freddie down to the canteen and promised to stuff some sandwiches in his pockets for the roommates they left behind. The idea of this did not sound too appetising to Brian, but he decided not to dwell onto this fact for too long. Instead, he gestured for John to come join him on his bed again. While he continued to pluck at the strings of his guitar, John settled down next to him and started carding a hand through Brian’s curls, then quickly moved downwards to stroke his arm when he realised Freddie would probably kill him if he put a single lock of hair out of its original place. 

‘What are you thinking about?’ John asked when the silence turned a little too long even for his liking.

‘I wish it would all be over,’ Brian sighed. ‘This entire circus show around my trial. It’s no one else’s business apart from ours.’

‘I know, honey. Soon it will be over, and it will be all between the two of us again.’ Brian received a kiss on his jawbone, and a string of promises of how good it would be when they’d both get released from the institution. The smaller the gap between the present and the hour of confrontation grew, the larger Brian’s feeling of insecurity and doubt became. What if he could not deliver the version of himself the judges wanted to see? What if he would disappoint everyone after so much work they had all put into his revaluation?

Freddie and Roger returned to the room after less than fifteen minutes, and - true to his word - Roger had taken two splashed sandwiches with him. They looked flat and soggy as they emerged from his trouser pockets, but Brian was coaxed into eating his anyway by John, who insisted that he could not go down to the judgement without having eaten something first. The mere mentioning of the word ‘judgement’ made Brian’s stomach turn. 

Between the bites of his soggy peanut butter and jam sandwich - a culinary decision he would not have made on his own, but which turned out not to even be that bad at second thought - Brian was bombarded by questions from Freddie, who asked him if he had all the papers, documents, and answers ready for everything the judges might possibly ask from him. After all, the meeting was going to be in less than fifteen minutes - a fact that Brian started to realise he could not change with every one of these minutes passing by on the round clock hanging above the door of their dorm room. 

It was a quarter to one, and Brian had just finished the last bite of his sandwich, when a knock on the door caught them all off guard - and, as seemed to have become tradition overtime, Freddie was the one who hoisted himself off the bed and flung himself at the door. He opened it with his usual enthusiasm to reveal not only Nolan, whom they had expected, but Jasper and Sarah on top of that.

'Guys! We didn't know you were all coming down here?' Freddie said as he gestured to the staff members to come in. Brian could see from his corner of the room how Jasper made an attempt at entering, but Sarah pulled him back by grabbing his arm, reminding him of the limited time they had until they were expected to show their faces at the meeting. 

'Emotional support, we thought,’ Jasper smiled, and Brian, although he was not always too sure of having too many people around him, appreciated how they had all come down to meet up with him here. Unfortunately for him, it turned out that the staff members involved in the process were not the only ones who had made the journey to Room 41B - when he followed John’s example of standing up from the bed, he could make out the figures of a few other men over Sarah’s shoulder. Judging by their grey t-shirts, they were neither part of the jury nor did they belong to the staff of the institution, and must thus simply be guys with a sense of morbid curiosity trying to get a view of the unusual scene that was about to go down.

Luckily, it was Nolan who addressed the bunch. ‘Jack, Paul, Eli, and all the rest of you - please leave us some space, will you? You can go downstairs to watch the whole thing and you know that.’

You can go downstairs to watch the whole thing and you know that. The words hit Brian like a baseball bat, even though he did not know for sure what Nolan meant with this. Did he simply say this to get everyone out of their way, or was he referring to how downstairs they could see the entire party descend into the meeting room? Or was there perhaps a literal meaning to the words Nolan had used to shoo away the unwanted spectators?

Freddie was quicker to pull himself together than Brian was. ‘Excuse me? Go downstairs and see what?’ 

‘Why, the meeting, of course,’ Jasper answered without batting an eye. 

‘The meeting? It’s public?’ Roger now mingled himself into the discussion. 

‘They always are. Just like court cases - they’re public unless stated otherwise. I thought you knew that.’ 

Brian felt John’s eyes travelling travelling over to meet his, but he could not look back at his partner. In fact, he could not look at anything apart from the doorknob his gaze had fallen onto since the second the possibility of an open judgement had dawned on him - something that was now confirmed by a single careless sentence falling from Jasper’s lips.

‘Oh, well, excuse us for not knowing the practices and traditions of the English legal system by heart-’ Freddie started off bitchily, but Jasper interrupted him.

‘No, what I meant was - I thought you’d been told this. They were supposed to tell you this. They didn’t tell you?’ Six pairs of eyes flung back to look at Brian, who feebly shook his head in a form of response. 

‘I don’t think any of us knew this,’ John spoke on behalf of his partner. ‘Who exactly are ‘they’ when they’re at home?’

At the question of this, Jasper turned to look at Nolan and Sarah. ‘I thought you were going to tell Brian this, Nole.’

Nolan in turn shook his head. ‘No, Sarah was going to. She’s his psychiatrist and leads this process of reassessment.’

‘No, Mister Fisher does. He’s supposed to be in charge, and I thought he was the one to tell Brian?’ The audible question mark at the end of Sarah’s sentence revealed that she, just like her male co-workers, had no idea of how exactly things had been arranged concerning who was responsible for passing on which part of information to Brian. The person affected decided not to dwell on for too long on the possibility of the staff having forgotten more than just this one not entirely trivial fact, which might in turn be detrimental to his chances of leaving Queen Mary’s.

‘Okay, so basically this was communication at its finest,’ Sarah said with a breathy half-giggle, but she checked herself in time, probably understanding that as typical and non-surprising it was that such a thing happened at Queen Mary’s, it was not exactly funny to Brian, who would now be given exactly thirteen minutes to prepare himself for the idea of having to submit to his ordeal in a room filled with God knew how many nosy men who came to watch how he kept himself standing in front of the judges, hoping for juicy details or a nervous breakdown or whatever it was that they were after.

‘And now? Brian is supposed to just accept that there’s going to be a flood of nosy bastards snooping around during the trial because no one here talks to each other?’ Freddie asked crankily. He was obviously not happy about it, and neither was Brian himself - but, knowing that making a scene about the matter now would only make things worse and might even affect his chances of getting out if word of it reached the judges. Better buckle up and keep his calm as much as he could.

‘It’s fine,’ Brian mustered. ‘I can deal with it.’

‘You sure?’ Roger sounded a tad worried.

‘Yeah, sure. I won’t have to talk to any of them anyway,’ Brian said, a lot braver than he felt inside. 

‘You won’t even have to look at them. They’ll all be sitting behind you anyway,’ Jasper said in what must have been an attempt at comfort. It served the exact opposite in Brian’s mind. He knew it was irrational, but somehow the idea of a sea of people being able to view him from behind while he could not look back at him made him nervous.

‘Shall we go, then?’ Sarah proposed. ‘The sooner we get there, the more time you’ll have to get yourself settled.’ Everyone turned to Brian, who simply nodded. He reached out a hand for John to help him get up from the bed, and he followed his friends out of the room. John stayed behind him with a hand on his back, as a silent force; a silent way of telling him that he was there to usher him through the hallways that turned out to hold even more nosy fellow clients than Brian at first had been able to see from his view in the bedroom.

'Everyone out of the way, please,' Nolan said with a fierceness that one would not normally attribute to him.. 'You can go downstairs to watch it all - leave Brian to have some peace now. You would want the same if you were in his place.' 

Part of the audience obeyed Nolan's speech and got out of the way, part of them did not. Brian decided not to pay too much attention to them. How could he anyway, now that he was caught up in a whirlwind of thoughts about the upcoming process? How would the judges react to him, how would their first impression of him influence their judgement of him? What would his parents do when they saw him from their view in the meeting room? Would they smile, cry, would they be proud of him? Or would they still keep to their previous judgement that he should stay here and finish his treatment?

‘So are there any more surprises we should keep in mind?’ Freddie asked while the party clattered down the stairs. ‘Are there going to be journalists to report the whole thing? Cameras and microphones? A press conference afterwards?’ 

‘None of that, no,’ Nolan answered. ‘Only a registrar to take notes for future reference, and to allow the board to see if the judgement was carried out according to the protocols.’

‘What, so they can overturn the sentence if they feel like it?’ Freddie asked in the same sarcastic tone he had been using ever since the forgotten clause of the apparently public meeting had come to light. 

‘No, that won’t happen. Just to reflect on the judges’ work. See if no favouritism or prejudice was used to come to a conclusion,’ Nolan said. This last sentence, Brian had to admit, made him feel a little better - apparently there were rules in place which would prevent Doctor Sumner from blatantly turning his case down just because he could. Then again, if the decision made today was to be final, nothing could be done if Sumner decided to sabotage the judgement anyway. Brian was unsure if he should feel comforted or alarmed.

They continued the way downstairs in silence - or that was, silence from their part. The men who had gathered around them and who had been waiting for the caravan to descend the stairs made enough noise to make it nearly impossible for Brian to hear his own thoughts. Maybe this was a good thing, though - his mind was racing and he could not find a single positive or uplifting thought among the whirlwind in his head. 

‘Brian, good luck!’

‘Tell them what we think of this place!’

‘Flip the judges off on my behalf!’

The things people around him shouted at him - some of which were genuine wishes, others just hopes to make him stick it to Queen Mary’s and the mental health care system in general - reached Brian’s ears as a slow-motioned hurricane. He felt queasy, but with the help of John’s hand on the small of his back to guide him, he managed to keep his eyes straight on the figures of Freddie and Nolan, who led the way to the meeting room. 

Brian had never been to the meeting room before. He had been vaguely aware of its presence, and had heard his caretakers speak of meeting up at the place. He had not previously known where exactly it was located in the staff wing, but it became clear to him soon enough when he saw hordes of people moving around one particular room all the way down the corridor. Some of them pointed upon his arrival, others clapped; some took it as a sign to go in and take a seat, others remained in an attempt to catch another look at him. Brian felt like a celebrity who had fallen from grace through a scandalous sex offence, and who now had to answer for his actions in front of an audience already bent on judging him for his crimes.

‘Out of the way, please,’ Nolan called out - and, when people only partially listened to this wish, he simply pushed his way through the crowd. It was not the behaviour Brian would normally expect from his cool, calm, and collected mentor, but he did not blame Nolan even one bit for his no-nonsense approach to the dozens who had gathered outside the meeting room. In fact, he was rather grateful that Nolan showed the men that he was not to be messed with for the time being - it certainly made part of them scatter and disappear into the meeting room.

A downside to having these people leave the hallway and claiming a spot in the meeting room, however, was that now a pathway to the door emerged - a pathway through which Brian could cast a glance into the room in which he was to present himself in a few minutes. It was not a pretty sight, to say the very least. The room, although he could only see the back of it through the limited sight he could catch of it through the door, seemed absolutely packed with people. They were sitting on rows of chairs provided, leaning against the walls, sitting on the floor in front of the chairs - they were everywhere. It was as if the entire population of Queen Mary’s had come out to see the trial. It would not surprise Brian if this was actually the truth: with no institution-wide activities going on at the moment, and little else to do around the place anyway, a public meeting in which a client tried to defy the judgement of his own mental health caretakers could be viewed as a spectacle on its own. 

‘You’ve got to be kidding me,’ Freddie all but exclaimed at the sight of the crowds. ‘And everyone just conveniently forgot to tell us this? That the entire fucking place would come out to have a look?’

‘It really was an accident,’ Sarah said feebly, before being pushed aside by someone rushing into the room in an attempt to get a seat still. 

‘Thanks, that really helps,’ Freddie grumbled. ‘So we’re not gonna be able to be by Brian’s side? Sit somewhere close and be there in case he needs us?’

‘I’m sure Brian is gonna be alright,’ Jasper said. ‘He’ll have to do this on his own anyway.’

Even though Brian realised that Jasper meant these words as a comfort, it really hit him hard that he did, in fact, have to do this on his own. He did ae to go in there and have unironically two hundred people look down upon him while a jury compiled of undoubtedly mental health experts who nevertheless knew nothing about him were going to decide on his fate. If he had Even though Brian realised that Jasper meant these words as a form of comfort, it really hit him hard that he did, in fact, have to do this on his own. He did have to go in there and have unironically two hundred people look down upon him while a jury compiled of undoubtedly mental health experts who nevertheless knew nothing about him were going to decide on his fate. If he had been nervous before about this latter fact, the presence of the entire institution on top of that made him break out in cold sweat. He could not do this - not in front of all of these people. The image of all the people rushing in and out of the room, the sound of their chatter and laughter and screaming - it all mashed together in a blur of sound and visual that reached Brian as in slow motion. He could not do this.

‘Brian?’ It was John’s voice that spoke to him somewhere in the distance. ‘You’re quiet. Are you holding out?’ He turned his face to look at John. His eyes were too intense and too prying, and Brian took a step back from him. He bumped into someone behind him, who seemed to verbally lash out at him but who fell into muttering apologies when they saw who he was. None of the words reached Brian in any intelligible form, and as John approached him, he stepped further back until his shoulder blades bumped into the wall behind him. The people he’d come to the meeting with now all gathered around him, seemed to ask questions, but none of them reached him. Someone - presumably Freddie, judging by the black-tipped fingernails - put his cold hand across his forehead, and someone else pushed a plastic cup of water in his hands. He did not drink of it, however; and the next thing he knew was the cup being taken away from him and its contents being splashed in his face. This sobered him up enough to hear Freddie squeal something about being careful with his makeup, but most of all, as he blinked a few times he could make out the image of John standing in front of him with a now empty cup and an expression that told him he was not to be messed with.

‘John…’ Brian managed feebly. John pushed the empty cup into someone’s palm so he had free range of his hands. He placed them firmly on Brian’s shoulders.

‘Look, Brian. I know this is overwhelming but you have to pull yourself together. The judges are ready to see you. It’s time to step up and do this.’

‘But all… all these people,’ Brian brought in.

‘I know. I know you don’t want all of these people here, and neither do I or Jasper or Nolan or anyone else. But you know what? All of those people are here because they support you.’

Brian blinked at his partner, only to discover that John seemed to be serious about this claim. He huffed out a laugh. ‘They’re just here for some free entertainment.’

‘Maybe some of them are. Some might have nothing else to do on a regular Wednesday afternoon. But literally everyone seems to be here. I’ve seen Sebastian and Lester and Bill and Andrew, and other people from both our depression talk group and other groups. The ones who never go anywhere. Who wouldn’t show up to breakfast or even to get their fucking medicines in the morning if their mentor wouldn’t come over and drag them there? Do you think they’re here to be entertained?’

Brian shrugged. ‘Why else would they be here?’

‘To support you!’ John repeated. ‘To show that they’re on your side. To see Queen Mary’s authority and judgement being challenged for once. All of these people here - even if they’re just here because they have nothing else to do, they dragged themselves out of bed and out of their rooms to be here. Do you think they would have been here if they did not care?’

Brian was quiet for a moment. ‘Do you?’ John asked again.

‘Maybe not,’ Brian shrugged.

‘Most definitely not. They care about this trial, because it’s more than just your trial, Brian. This has become everyone’s trial in a sense. It’s a protest against Queen Mary’s and their judgements and authority. This trial is showing people that there’s hope, and that we can be our own person and lead our own lives even while in here. We’re not their puppets, Brian, and whether you win or not, this trial is proof of that.’ John paused for a second to take a breath of air, and so did Brian. It was not often that his partner got so passionate about something, but when it happened, he was sure to put your worldview upside down. Maybe the people here had not come out to jeer or taunt or laugh at him - maybe they were here to show their support. To show they believed in their own authority regardless of what Queen Mary’s tried to mould them into. 

To give his most recent words a little more power, John took up the conversation again by asking: ‘Remember what Drew said the other day?’

Brian cast his eyes down at the mention of the murdered patient whom John brought up without a warning, but he was told off for doing so. ‘Look at me. Do you remember?’

‘Yes,’ Brian whispered. John’s grip on his shoulders had tightened, which felt both suppressing and safe at the same time. He knew he was not going to escape whatever John was about to tell him, but at the same time, John was not going to let anyone come in and make matters harder for him. John was here to protect him, keep the world at a distance now that Brian needed it most. 

‘Tell me what he said.’

‘He said that… he wished I would get out of here.’

‘Exactly,’ John nodded. ‘He wanted you to get out of here because you deserved better. Drew, the most hated person in this entire Godforsaken place, stood behind your cause. No matter how hard he’s made things for us at times, in the end he wanted you to win this. And fuck, I didn’t think I’d ever say this, but let’s go out there and do it for Drew. As some weird kind of last honour, or whatever people call that.’ A small, crooked smile appeared on John’s lips, and Brian let out a breathy sigh.

‘I want to,’ Brian admitted. ‘I do want to, and maybe- probably all those people are on our side. But they are so many-’

‘You’ve fought too hard and too long for this process to let this slide because other people showed up,’ John interrupted him, with power to his words but a gentleness to his tone. ‘And besides, since when do you care for other people? Have we ever cared for other people while in here? During all those late nights of playing music and talking during group discussions and locking ourselves in my hiding place during drug raids, did we ever give a single fuck about other people?’ The crooked smile on John’s face was back - more sincere and inviting this time, and Brian could not help but copy it.

‘We didn’t,’ he smiled.

‘God knows we didn’t,’ John agreed. ‘And right now is not the time that we are going to give a damn about other people either.’ The twinkle in his eyes and the confidence of his voice made Brian realise that John was right about all he just told him - the majority of the people here today had come out to support him, or at any rate to support him showing Queen Mary’s he was taking his own say in his life back, everyone wanted him to win, and even though the presence of two hundred uninvited clients made him nervous, he had never let other people around Queen Mary’s from doing what he wanted to do before. More than that, it made him wish he could kiss him right in the middle of the hallway - something he might actually have done if in that exact moment they would not have been pulled aside by Sarah to enter the room. 

‘Brian, Doctor Fisher is here to take you in and introduce you. Are you ready to go?’

Brian shared one look with John, who let go of his shoulders and gave him a comforting nod. ‘Absolutely,’ he answered, and he stepped away from the wall he no longer needed for either mental or physical support by now. He was ushered to the door opening, right in front of which he was reunited with the psychiatrist who had gone through the process of reassessment with him. Brian hadn’t seen him for a week or so now that the therapy sessions were over, but the smile on the man’s face and the firm handshake he received made him happy to see him back and be supported by him today.

‘I’ve worked day and night on these files, I’ll have you know,’ Fisher said with a nearly loving pat on the folder of documents he carried under his arm. ‘If this doesn’t bail you out, it won’t be for my lack of effort.’ Brian smiled and thanked him - even though he had not yet seen or heard a letter of the words Doctor Fisher had prepared for today, he knew he was in good hands with his help.

Upon stepping over the threshold of the door, Brian was blinded and deafened by the noise the people inside of it made. It was as if he was the defender of the world title at the Australian Open, the continent’s favourite act at the Eurovision, the Beatles upon first arriving at JFK airport - there was applause and screaming and all other sorts of noise coming from the left side of the room, which was densely packed with people in every single corner. A quick glance around told him that he did not know half of the audience, but the many smiling faces, the thumbs-up, and the applause they offered made knowing them unnecessary. It was the vibe of positivity and support they radiated that did it for Brian./

‘They’re here for you.’ For a moment Brian thought that he was imagining John saying these words to him, but he soon found that he was not - he turned around to find his boyfriend smiling up at him, grabbing his hand and give him a quick squeeze. ‘We’ll be in the audience. Whatever happens, know that I love you.’

‘I love you too,’ Brian beamed, giving his friends a quick wave before being taken up by Fisher and Queen Mary’s staff to ascend the three steps of the stage-like platform on the right side of the room, on which several desks had been pushed together to create the illusion of one long table in the style of a law court. It looked improvisational at best, as everything at Queen Mary’s did. Brian tried to prevent a chuckle as he followed Mister Fisher upstairs and faced the three-headed jury, which had gathered in front of their seats for the time being. A lady, perhaps in her late thirties or early forties, was the first member of the jury they came across.

Mister Fisher took it upon him to familiarise the entire crew to one another. ‘Miss Gerald, I’d like to introduce you to today’s client, Brian May.’ Brian felt like he was being presented as if he was the latest vacuum cleaner to be launched into the market, and tried not to laugh. He shook hands with the one that was extended towards him, and politely repeated his name to the woman.

‘Please allow any signs of nervousness he shows today,’ Nolan spoke on his behalf. ‘Due to - eh, communication errors, he was not aware that today was to be an open trial.’

Miss Gerald was nice enough about the matter, and told Brian (surprise surprise) that there was no need to be nervous, but that it was a very natural feeling to deal with in such a high profile situation. She also remarked that he did not seem all too nervous to her eyes; Brian was afraid that he was not doing too good of a job keeping his nervous giggles under control. Luckily it was Jasper who pointed out on his behalf that his jittery laughter was most likely to be a result of his nerves playing up. Nolan, Sarah, and Jasper were then properly introduced to Miss Gerald; Mister Fisher took his chance to take Brian to the second stop along the road of meeting the judges. 

Brian was introduced to a balding, spectacled man of near-retirement age with a low voice and stern expression, but his face became more friendly as he spoke up and smiled at Brian. His surname - Carlston or Carlman or something the like - did not stick with Brian for too long; which might be a result of the guy’s monotonous, slow way of speaking, or of the fact that he could see his third and biggest obstacle standing no more than five feet away from him. Doctor Sumner side-eyed him every so many seconds, but Brian ignored him for the time being. He was determined not to give his former psychiatrist a single indication of his nervousness concerning the power he possibly held over him - if anything, Brian had made up his mind, both for the sake of John and himself and everyone present in the room, that he was going to show him he was over him, and was no longer going to allow himself to be intimidated by the man who had put him here. It was his turn to triumph now. 

The talk with Carlston or Carlman over, Fisher took Brian to speak to Doctor Sumner, and leave the rest of his team to move on and speak to the second person in line. Brian felt his knees weakening a bit as he stepped towards Sumner, but he tried to make up for this by straightening his back and pulling the straightest, most no-nonsense (and perhaps somewhat bitchy) face he could produce.

‘And this man right here, Professor Sumner, I’ve been told you’ve met before,’ Mister Fisher said, obviously not aware of the tension between the two. Then again, no one standing on this platform apart from Sumner and Brian himself was aware of that, and he preferred to keep things that way for the time being. Something that did catch his attention, though, was the fact that his old psych was not addressed as a doctor anymore, but as a professor – something he quickly realised must have been an effect of him having promoted himself in scientific circles through his discovery of borderline personality disorder – at the cost of him and God knew how many more of his other patients. Brian felt his blood starting to boil, but he worked hard to keep his anger to himself.

‘I have indeed. Back when he was still a doctor and not a professor,’ Brian said with a perfectly cold civility. Copying Sumner’s behaviour, Brian’s eyes travelled up and down Sumner’s somewhat shorter frame, and eventually lingered on his face. It took a handful of seconds of tensed silence before Sumner was eventually the first to remove his hands from his back and reach one towards Brian. Brian reluctantly yet firmly gripped it. 

‘Brian May. I never thought we would meet each other so soon again,’ Sumner said with the fakest smile Brian had seen in a while. ‘Or at all, if I may be so honest.’

Brian knew all too well what he meant by this - that if it was up to him, Sumner would have him placed in a long-stay hospital to prevent him ever being able to convincingly tell his story of how Sumner had abused his power to make a living out of the suffering of Brian and undoubtedly more of his patients. The idea of countering Sumner and his wishes by going for a reassessment and pulling so far as to actually land himself into this trial gave Brian the last of determination he had been in need of to pull through today and give both Sumner and the entirety of Queen Mary’s the finger. 

‘Doctor Sumner,’ Brian said steadfastly, refusing to acknowledge the new title that had been acquired at the cost of him and others. ‘How delighted I am that you were able to spare us some of your time,’ Brian smiled icily. ‘You must be rather sought after the launch of your research papers these days.’ He could see Sumner tensing at the mention of the research papers of which he knew damn well he could be blacklisted for if the truth about them came out, but Brian’s enemy was quick to pull himself together. 

‘I am. But that does not prevent me from devoting some time to an old acquaintance who has played such a vital role in the making of said papers,’ he said easily. Brian, however, was even quicker to give his former psychiatrist an even easier yet snarkier answer. 

‘And who can similarly play a vital role in tearing them straight down again.’ It was a good thing that the crowd around them was still making such noise, and that Mister fisher seemed to have gone off to speak to the registrar sitting at the far end of the table, because Brian was unsure what would happen if any outsider was to overhear the obviously somewhat threatening conversation they were having. 

Sumner’s jaw clenched at hearing these words, and Brian could almost see the radars inside his brain spinning for an answer. He did not seem to be able to come up with anything, though, because after five seconds or so he simply asked: ‘What do you want?’

‘Nothing extraordinary,’ Brian shrugged. ‘But how about you let me go and I let you go?’

Sumner’s face remained unreadable. He was obviously unhappy with the direction this discussion was heading into, but had little to say to defend himself - as was made obvious by his bland try at countering Brian.

‘I haven’t even heard your case yet.’

‘Don’t worry about it. I promise you that if anything, it’ll make you look suspicious if you don’t let me go,’ Brian said with more confidence than he felt inside. To prevent Sumner from being able to say anything that would bring him down again, Brian gave him an uncharacteristic and intimidating pat on the shoulder, spoke a nearly cruel ‘you know what to do’, and moved along to give his regards to the registrar. He left a bedazzled Sumner to greet his defence and figure out what to do with the part-promise, part-threat he had been dished out on his own. 

When the last of his entourage had shaken hands and exchanged words of welcome with the judges, Brian was guided down the steps again and given leave to sit down on one of the chairs facing the judges. As he turned his back on the jury and was faced with the audience, his eyes quickly darted around the room to locate the places where his friends and his parents had settled themselves. It was hard to spot them in the tumultuous scene in front of him, but he detected the pink sleeve of his mother’s dress as she held up her hand to wave at him soon enough. His father, sitting in a black suit next to her, also caught sight of him. Brian gave a bit of a smile and waved back at them, and the gesture was answered by a lot more people than just his parents. These people really are on my side, Brian thought to himself as he gave a wave directed at the other side of the room, which again was met with unbound enthusiasm. 

In fact, Brian did not make his regards to everyone because he was so pleased to have the entire population of the institution there, but because he hoped he could win some time to figure out the location of his friends also. They were a little harder to spot, given that they dressed in the same dark trousers and grey shirts as all the other clients, but they would not have been his friends had they not tried their very best to show themselves.

‘Briiiian! Honey, we’re here!’ Freddie’s voice was loud and bordered on obnoxiousness while Roger and he waved both their hands above their heads to attract Brian’s attention. It did work, though - and Brian felt a wave of relief passing through him when he found his three roommates sitting in the middle of the front row of the audience. He was unsure how they had found themselves such a desirable spot in the room, seeing as they had made their entrance rather late, but he figured that Freddie and Roger might have used their status as his best friends to persuade people to give them the best spot available. John sat beside them in a much more quiet fashion, and he smiled up at Brian and send a kissy hand his way. Brian, a bit too overwhelmed with the entire situation, clutched a hand against his heart to indicate that he had received the imaginary kiss.

Jasper, Nolan, and Sarah ascended the stairs, too, and took their seats on one of the five chairs across the judges’ table. Brian waved at his friends one more time, before he turned around and lowered himself in his chair. The plain wooden chair he was sitting on made him feel small when compared to the judges and their more luxurious leather desk chairs, but the presence of two of his supporters at either side of him - not to even mention a sea of people, including his parents, best friends, and his boyfriend behind him - made him feel a little stronger.

The noise in the room had not ceased in time with the key figures of the trial sitting down, so Miss Gerald made a point of clapping in her hands a number of times in a row in an attempt to quiet down the multitude. Not everyone seemed to either hear this or listen to it, so her efforts were joined by those of Doctor Sumner, who slammed a fist down on the desk in front of him. This at last seemed to have some effect.

‘Ladies and gentlemen! We’d like to start this session!’ he thundered in a voice louder than any of the ones Brian had heard in the meeting room, and the last of noise seemed to quiet down at this statement. Miss Gerald took the opportunity to stand up from her chair and wasted no time in opening the meeting.

‘Welcome everybody - my name is Edna Gerald, and together with my colleagues Professor Sumner and Mister Carlston, I seek to come to a verdict regarding a client of Queen Mary’s Psychiatric Institution’s appeal for a reassessment. Can Mister Brian May stand up, please?’

Brian, a little taken aback by the suddenness with which the introduction morphed into serious business, took a second before he pushed himself up on his somewhat wobbly legs - a feeling that did not pass at all when Miss Gerald went straight to making him promise a testimony of truth.

‘Do you confirm that all you tell us today will be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?’

‘I promise. I mean- I confirm,’ Brian corrected himself clumsily. Off to a good start, he thought to himself, but the judges seemed not to mind or even notice. 

‘Thank you. We will start with the technical part of the process. Please state your full name and date of birth for the record,’ Miss Gerald ordered.

Brian cleared his throat. ‘My name is Brian Harold May and I was born on July 19, 1947.’

‘Place of birth?’

‘Homerton University Hospital in London.’

‘Names of your parents?’

‘Harold May and Ruth May-Irving.’

‘Correct,’ Miss Gerald stated after a look at the paper in front of her, as if she had been contemplating the possibility that Brian would be lying about his mother’s maiden name. ‘Now you, Brian Harold May, stand before a selection of members of the South East England Mental Health Facilitation, which is an independent organisation that oversees the working of Queen Mary’s Psychiatric Institution and similar places. You are here today, on September 15, 1971, because you filed for a reassessment which, in case it is approved, will grant you leave from the aforementioned institution.’ The formal way of talking made Brian feel more than just a little out of place, but he refused to show a sign of discomfort.

‘That is correct.’

Miss Gerald dived back into the files in front of her, scribbled something down, and took a moment to read. ‘According to the data provided to me, you were admitted into Queen Mary’s Psychiatric Institution on March 13, 1971. Is this correct?’

‘Yes.’ It took little time for Brian to establish this as being a fact. He still remembered the day and the week previous to it vividly - the establishment of the date he was to be taken in, his father allowing no backchat on the subject, his mum packing his back the night before as he could not be convinced to get up from his bed, being dragged out of the house and into the car, and being left behind at the institution. It was a date he would never be able to forget, whether he wanted to do so or not. 

‘And you have remained on the property of Queen Mary’s Psychiatric Institution ever since, without any breaks or intermissions?’ Miss Gerald went on to ask. 

‘Yes.’

‘Very good. Now is it true that you filed for a reassessment August 24, 1971, with the interference of a certain Nolan Ferrier?’

Brian gave a small glance at Nolan, who was sitting on his right side. It was true indeed that Nolan had applied for a reassessment on his behalf, but whether this had been on August 24, 25, or 29, was something Brian could not tell to save his life. Nolan gave a small nod, and Brian faced Miss Gerald again.

‘Correct.’

‘Can you describe what position Nolan Ferrier holds towards you?’

‘He is my mentor, and has been so from the day I was admitted into Queen Mary’s.’

‘Has Nolan Ferrier, or any other staff member of Queen Mary’s Psychiatric Institution, in any shape or form influenced you in your decision to go for a reassessment?’

‘He has not. None of them have,’ Brian said firmly, as to put this idea out of the way. 

‘Do you confirm that the reassessment that was filed on your behalf was filed through your own desire, as a result of your own wishes, that it was a decision made in a rational moment, and moreover is a decision which you still stand by?’

The first time I am to experience a rational moment has yet to happen, Brian thought to himself, but he decided that right now was not the proper moment for jokes. ‘I confirm all of this,’ he said with a straight face.

‘Very well,’ Miss Gerald shortly comment. ‘Now, lastly, you must confirm that you agree with and consent to the rules and regulations that apply to every reassessment appeal - which state that the decision to be made today is final, that an approval can be overturned if evidence surfaces which shows you deliberately forsook the truth at any point of this reassessment process; and that, in case of dismissal, a new reassessment will not be allowed to be filed for the upcoming 120 days. Do you agree with and consent to all of these regulations?’

Brian swallowed thickly - there were quite some rules he was submitting himself to that he did not feel entirely comfortable with. He knew that the decision today was final, but the idea that it could later be overturned if it turned out he had not told the truth entirely to the wishes of the jury made him nervous. Who was to decide what was the truth, or that he had deliberately made up his mind to withhold the truth from the judges? And what would happen if they caught him doing so - would he be chased down and dropped off behind the gates of Queen Mary’s again?

‘None of this will apply to you,’ Nolan whispered beside him, probably understanding the tension he found himself under. ‘You will get out today for once and for all.’

‘I agree with and consent to these regulations,’ Brian managed.

‘Thank you. You are excused for now.’ Brian gave a weak nod and allowed himself to sit back in his chair again. He was still a little fazed by all he had just been made to solemnly swear, even though all information he had been made to confirm or deny had been purely factual, and was just the start of the session. God knew what else he might be made to say later, God knew how long this meeting was going to last - maybe he should have practised more, maybe he should have prepared a speech as to the hows and whys of his reassessment-

‘We shall now bring forwards the first speaker on behalf of Mister May. Sarah Gaskell may step forwards, please.’

Sarah, who was seated next to Nolan, all but jumped up from her spot.

‘Miss Gaskell, you are likewise asked state your full name, date of birth, and to confirm that all you tell us today will be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth,’ Miss Gerald proceeded.

‘My name is Sarah Marie Gaskell, born on October 29 1942, and I confirm that all I will tell you today will be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.’ Sarah did not falter a single time, as she was asked about her position concerning Brian, the sessions they had sat through together, and Brian’s overall mental health. Brian felt himself growing somewhat uncomfortable as his psychiatrist spoke of the impact Jimmy’s death had had on him - not just because he did not enjoy having the deepest pits he had fallen into discussed so openly, but also because the judges seemed altogether surprised at the mentioning of a suicide by hanging at Queen Mary’s mere months ago. Miss Gerald and Mister Carlston bowed their heads together, and Sumner brought out a folder through which he started flicking with earnest. It suddenly dawned on Brian that the ‘incident’ might very well never have been reported to the healthcare inspection, and that Sarah had, unbeknownst to herself, exposed a secret that Queen Mary’s had been eager to keep. 

Good for them, Brian thought dimly. Let them try to talk themselves out of sweeping a suicide-leaning-on-murder case under the carpet.

After a minute or so of hushed conversation, the matter was dropped - for the time being - and Sarah was again questioned about her contact with Brian and the progress she thought her client had made. She answered all the questions with enthusiasm, and stood proud and confident before the judges. Brian wondered if she had practised her speech - because with this being the first case of reassessment to pull through to the final trial, she could not have had a lot of practice beforehand. 

‘Miss Gaskell, in your professional opinion, do you think your client is ready to be released from Queen Mary’s and return to society?’ the main judge eventually asked in quite a straightforward fashion.

‘I do,’ Sarah smiled.

‘Why then, miss Gaskell, did you not propose the idea of letting him go yourself?’ Miss Gerald asked her critically. ‘You, after all, are his psychiatrist. If you thought him to be ready to be released from Queen Mary’s Psychiatric Institution, then why did you not propose this yourself and followed the standard procedure of dismissing a client once their trial is completed?’ It was a tough question - one Brian personally would not know how to answer convincingly if he had been in his psychiatrist’s place. Luckily, Sarah seemed to know exactly what she was doing, as her smile did not falter for a split second when she answered.

‘I understand your concern for Brian having come up with the idea of a reassessment on his own, rather than waiting until we as his caretakers filed for him to be dismissed,’ Sarah acknowledged. ‘And whereas I will admit that upon first hearing about his reassessment I was surprised, as his trial - as I had planned it out on paper - had not been finished yet. But when I thought about it a little more, it dawned on me that the trial I had planned out, was not at all linked to the progress Brian had made. In fact, his progress during the past few months has been so rapid that the psychiatric sessions I had planned out for him lag behind tremendously. My plans do not correspond to his current needs anymore.’ Sarah paused for a second. ‘In fact, as I’ve come to think of it, I think all that Queen Mary’s has to offer simply does not correspond to Mister May’s needs anymore. He has made such progress and gained such mental stability over the period of his stay here at Queen Mary’s, that I am afraid there is little to nothing more we can offer him here.’

‘I see,’ Mister Carlston took over from his colleague when Miss Gerald simply looked at him. ‘And do you not think that his progress could be carried even further if he was to remain at Queen Mary’s for, let’s say, the duration your original planning for him therapy-wise would have lasted?’

Sarah was quick to tear down this idea before it was able to plant its roots into anyone’s mind. ‘Quite the opposite. I’m afraid that keeping Mister May here, against his own wishes, would have a negative effect rather than a positive one on him and his condition.’

‘Thank you, miss Gaskell. You can sit down again.’ Sarah gave a small nod and settled next to Nolan again. Brian tried to catch a glimpse of her to shoot her a grateful smile for the words she had given in defence of his wishes, but as the judges wasted no time in moving on, Brian pulled his eyes into the direction of the jury again.

‘Now we would like to have Nolan Ferrier come forward to inform us on Brian’s behaviour according to the official records that have been kept during his stay at Queen Mary’s Psychiatric Hospital until this day.’ 

Nolan got up from his chair, repeated his name and date of birth for the record, swore the same oath that Brian and Sarah had done before him - and started on an anthology of Brian’s good behaviour, which included acts of generosity towards fellow patients and kindness and obedience to the staff of Queen Mary’s. The sheer act of listening to it made Brian cringe a little - it was awkward to have to sit by and listen to Nolan praising him as if he was Jesus Christ incarnated. Besides, Brian realised all too well that he was no saint. He had had his fair share of missing mealtimes to go outside with John, skipping drug tests by finding shelter in John’s hiding place, paying zero attention during group therapy, running out of Sarah’s office or plainly not talking to her for an entire session in the aftermath of Jimmy’s death, and getting wound up in a fight with Drew within days of being admitted into Queen Mary’s. Luckily, Nolan mentioned none of these events - and when asked to explain Brian’s absence during perhaps three or four breakfast- and lunch moments, he was able to explain them away with illness, obligations elsewhere, and similar excuses. The questions from the judge were few, as the official records showed little accounts of Brian having disobeyed the rules and regulations - and within five minutes, Nolan was thanked and invited to sit down again to make room for Jasper.

Jasper’s session was even shorter, if still possible. Despite getting to see Brian nearly every day, he was not able to say too much about him personally, as he had always experienced Brian in the context of a group only. Brian was relieved, though, that Jasper described him as respectful and cooperative, and did not mention any of the countless times when Brian had drifted off, usually with the help of John, to topics they found to be more interesting than the thought schemes or positive thinking assignments or whatever it had been that Jasper had prepared for the therapy sessions.

Mister Fisher was then addressed and asked to share his experiences of Brian’s illness, behaviour, and capability of returning to society already. He gave his report of the weeks he’d spend examining Brian and his motives for leaving Queen Mary’s - the ones on paper, that was. Brian had decided it was probably not the best of ideas to tell them he wanted to leave this shithole behind in time with his boyfriend, because something told him that the judges might not see this as a valid reason to be excused from a mental health clinic at all, even though matters were of course a little more complicated than Brian just wanting to leave and be with John for the hell of it. They needed each other - but that was not something he expected random strangers to understand. 

Luckily, Fisher did not speak of John other than mentioning him, together with Freddie and Roger, as being the closest friends his client had made while at Queen Mary’s. This in turn seemed to be meant to convince the jury of Brian’s improved social skills and capabilities, but besides this, Brian was not too sure what they spoke about. As soon as they brought up the DSM and it’s technical medical terms - boundary conditions and parthopsychological processes and cluster symptoms and similar phrases - he found himself zooming out somewhat. He forced himself to keep his gaze in front of him, afraid that any sort of sign of disinterest might later be held against him. Still, he was relieved when the judges thanked Mister Fisher for his input and allowed him to sit back down again.

Although… Now that everyone around him had been questioned apart from he himself, Brian had a feeling that he was going to be the next victim of the judges.

‘Lastly we will hear the client himself. Mister May?’

Oh, Lord. Here we go.

Suppressing the tendency to first have a look at the people sitting around him to check their reactions, see if they had any comforting words or gestures for him before he stood up for his ordeal, Brian got up, straightened the least faded grey shirt Freddie had been able to pluck from the laundry room, and faced up to the judges. There was some applause and cheering behind him, but the guards quickly managed to calm everyone down again - which was a first by Queen Mary’s standards, Brian thought dimly. 

‘Now, we’ve heard everyone speak so positively about your progress here at Queen Mary’s, we’ve read your statements and your motivation for leaving Queen Mary’s early, and your plans for picking up your life again after you return to society…’ Miss Gerald summed up, and Brian instinctively felt that, despite this not sounding too bad, a but to all of this was going to come up. 

He turned out to be right. 

‘But what I’m really interested in is your diary segments,’ Miss Gerald said as she flicked through the notebook Mister Fisher must have handed over to her during a prior contact with the judges. ‘In particular the mentioning of a certain individual who goes by the name John, and who seems to pop up in every single diary segment.’

John. Oh God, this really could go in any possible direction from this point onward.

‘Yes,’ Brian said sheepishly, not knowing what exactly would be a meaningful reply to this statement.

Miss Gerald pushed her glasses a little higher up her nose. ‘Now, I’ve been informed by Mister Fisher that this refers to a fellow client at Queen Mary’s whose name is John Deacon. Is this correct?’

‘That is correct.’ So far so good. 

‘I’ve also been told that this John Deacon has recently been given leave from Queen Mary’s,’ Miss Gerald read from the paper in front of her. ‘And that you, in fact, asked for a reassessment from Queen Mary’s the day you heard about his dismissal.’ Miss Gerald looked up at Brian with stern eyes, and Brian, even though he knew he should look back at her, could not muster the courage to do so. It was time to say goodbye to so far so good - this question was turning the session straight into the conversation he had been fearing for all along. And it was not because he was afraid of talking about what John meant to him and the role he played in his life - hell, he would proudly talk of his love, affection, trust, and friendship with John until the cows came home. 

The only problem was that he was afraid the judges would see it as a sign of weakness to depend on one person so much, and more than that, that they would flatly turn down his appeal for reassessment if they found out that it was largely based on wanting to follow his boyfriend outside of Queen Mary’s. Besides, he had not at all forgotten that even though homosexuality had been legalised back when he had been in his second year of university, it still very much was classified as a mental illness. He knew there were progressive psychiatrists out there, but with an old and possibly conservative man like Mister Carlston, and Sumner probably still wanting to keep him behind the bars of Queen Mary’s if so possible, Brian did not dare risk it.

Still, he had a feeling he could not hide the truth for much longer - because there was the voice of miss Gaskell again, urging him to answer her questions.

‘Is this correct?’

‘Yes,’ Brian confirmed in the smallest voice.

‘Would you say that your wish to leave Queen Mary’s is in any way related to John Deacon’s dismissal of the place?’

‘Yes,’ Brian said.

‘To what extent?’ 

Brian felt his heart starting to beat faster. He knew that on the one hand he could make up a story around the importance John had played in his filing for a reassessment, but he was terrified of being found out (hell, the evidence that John meant the world to him was easily to be discovered in that diary for everyone who could somewhat read between the lines). He had never been good at lying, and especially not under pressure, especially not in the presence of so many people, and with the prospect of ruining such important chances. To tell the truth about John, however, might be the equivalent of digging his own grave.

‘Mister May?’ The voice, this time of Mister Carlston, was kind but demanding. The judges wanted an answer, an honest answer, and Brian could no longer withhold it from them.

‘To the extent that... I would not have left if he had not been dismissed,’ Brian admitted. He himself had thought his voice to be quite soft, but it had obviously been loud enough for a substantial amount of people sitting behind him to comment on this to their neighbours. Brian could not overhear their words, but he had a feeling that people were not exactly supportive of what he had just admitted.

The judges, despite sending each other some sideways glances, remained neutral and professional - which, Brian decided, was worse in some ways, as he could not at all make up from their reactions what they were thinking. ‘So you want to leave largely, if not solely, because John Deacon is leaving.’

‘Yes.’

‘You previously said, though, that your decision to leave Queen Mary’s was not influenced by anyone else,’ Miss Gerald said. ‘You said that after having sworn testimony.’

‘That is incorrect,’ Brian said, facing the judge at last now that he had found a loophole in her own words. ‘I swore testimony, and denied that any of the staff members had in any way influenced my decision to file for a reassessment. That is what you said, madam.’ Excited mumbling arose from the room behind him, and Miss Gerald looked from her left to her right as to find the answer in one of her male co-workers. Neither of them seemed to be able to offer her any help in the matter, so she turned to the registrar at the separate table on the left side of the stage. 

‘Can the registrar please go over the notes to recall what was said?’

The man, who seemed a little uneasy now that a room full of people shifted their focus to him all of the sudden, started looking over pages of notes. He eventually coughed and answered: ‘The client is right, Miss Gerald. Following your question, Mister May denied that any staff member had played a role in his decision.’

More noise behind him, and the hand of Nolan on his shoulder as a sign of support. Brian felt his heart beating faster, even though he knew it was irrational to be so excited over a small win like this. True, he had beaten the judge with her own words and was not guilty of having lied to her - but as soon as she went back to the discussion of him wanting to leave because of someone else, Brian knew he would be royally fucked again.

‘Alright. My mistake - I apologise,’ Miss Gerald said a little coolly, obviously not happy about having to admit her wrong publicly. ‘Nevertheless, the point still stands. Your decision to leave Queen Mary’s is thus not solely based on your firm belief you are ready to return to society, but also on the fact that Mister Deacon is leaving.’

‘Correct,’ Brian said. 

‘We have a lot to unpack here,’ the woman said, took a clean sheet of paper from her notebook, and asked: ‘How would you describe your relationship towards Mister Deacon?’

Alright. Your relationship with John. Let’s be careful now, but make them understand how much he means to you nevertheless. If they do want to lead you down this path, better make them understand how important John is to you and to your healing process. ‘He’s my roommate. My therapy partner. My best friend - my better half,’ Brian summed up.

‘Your most intimate friend, one could say?’ Doctor Sumner asked.

Brian stifled the little smile that tugged at his lips at this word choice that was not as innocent in his ears as it must be to the rest of the judges. ‘One could certainly say that.’

‘And you met Mister Deacon here at Queen Mary’s, without having any prior knowledge of his existence?’ Sumner asked.

‘Indeed.’

‘What role has he played in your life here at Queen Mary’s since you met him?’ Miss Gerald asked him.

Brian smiled. ‘Even though I was hesitant upon first meeting him, because he was rather reserved and snobby towards our other roommates, I knew right from the start that he was the one. The one I’d get on with best, and the one who would drag me through my time here at Queen Mary’s. You see, I was in a bad place, and so was he - we both weren’t keen on social contact, or going out and showing our face to anyone, but we found comfort in each other. We shared the same room and the same therapy group, so we spent a lot of time together automatically. And that time… made us realise we wanted to be together in the remainder of the time also. During mealtimes, and in the medicine queue, going outside - we went everywhere together. We still do.’

There was silence for a moment after this report; Mister Carlston broke it eventually. ‘So you could say John Deacon has played a large role in your daily life here?’

‘Absolutely. The largest role of all the people here at Queen Mary’s.’

‘The largest role, you say?’ Sumner asked. ‘Do you mean that to be understood in a social context?’

‘I mean it in every context,’ Brian said. ‘In a social context, leisure time-wise, but also support-wise and coping-wise. Healing wise.’

‘Should it not be your psychiatrist, or therapy leader, or even your mentor, to have the largest role in your mental state?’ Sumner sounded sceptical and a bit intimidating, as if he was not hearing the answers he wanted to hear. Brian, however, was not going to let Sumner get to him the way he had previously managed to do.

‘Perhaps it should have been,’ Brian shrugged. ‘But apart from the fact that I only got to see them a handful of hours a week, they just never could have done what John has done for me. In fact, I’m sure I could have been shackled to my psychiatrist during my entire stay at Queen Mary’s, and still she could not have had the same influence on me as John has had. They never could have lifted me up and comfort me and help me the way John has done.’

‘And what- how could it be that John could have this influence on you if the professional staff could not?’ Miss Gerald asked him. The question made Brian smile a little - because it was such a typical question someone who had never reached the lows he had done himself would ask. People who had never been down and out the way he had been, would not understand the importance a friend who was there with you, really with you both mentally and physically, could have on you. 

‘Because they never would have understood me the way John did,’ Brian said. ‘I’m sure my psychiatrists trained for years to learn every disorder out there, and know the entire DSM by heart, but they cannot teach themselves an understanding of mental illness the way someone experiences it. The only one to understand the loneliness and the feeling of being inadequate and the depths of depression, is the one who has been there themselves.’

‘But John is not the only one with depressive symptoms around at Queen Mary’s,’ Sumner remarked. ‘Why is it him specifically that you turned to?’

‘Because… John was so different from me, and yet I could see so much of myself in him. Unlike me he needed no validation from others at all, but we could both do with someone to either talk to or be completely quiet and just be there when we needed it. He told everyone exactly what he thought of them when I would let everyone walk right over me, but we both knew what sort of support the other needed and when they needed it. It just became clear to me within a few days that we would understand each other always. Which we did, and do, to this point and onwards,’ Brian took a second of rest and waited for the judges to pick up the cross-examination again. When they didn’t, however, he added to his statement: ‘You know, chemistry between people is hard to explain. But when it’s there, you will feel it, and you act accordingly.’

‘I guess one does,’ Miss Gerald repeated, a furrow on her forehead which Brian did not know if it was one of deep understanding or utter miscomprehension of all he had just said. ‘So… Mister Deacon and you, you have always been this close while at Queen Mary’s?’

‘We have been.’

‘So when you heard that he was to leave…’ 

‘I was heartbroken,’ Brian finished the sentence. ‘Devastated, really. Well, both of us were - especially him. He wouldn’t just have to leave behind me, but the entire life he had built up around Queen Mary’s in the past two years.’

‘And that’s when you decided, let’s go for it, let me file for a reassessment and get out of here together?’ Doctor Sumner said with a waving hand gesture, as to denote the suddenness and shallowness with which he assumed the decision has been made. Brian felt his face retort at the probably deliberate attempt of Sumner at making him look like a rash teenager, but he kept his cool and faced him with a stone-cold expression as he re-explained the matter in more detail. 

‘It was when I, after having thought a good deal about the… rather precarious situation John would find himself in once he would be dismissed from Queen Mary’s - you see, he has no family ties he can rely on, no close friends outside of this place after years of social isolation, no funds to rely on of places to go to - it was then that I decided that it would be in the best interest for the both of us if I would leave with John.’

Sumner did not seem to back away from his antics, unfortunately. ‘How exactly is it the best for the both of us, when you seem to discard your own mental needs completely for the sake of someone who was testified to be ready to stand on his own legs again?’ 

‘Funny you should ask that,’ Brian smiled. ‘Because I know that you see this reassessment as being all about me and all about what’s best for me - and that it’s hard to imagine that the influence of a person besides myself can play a large role in that. But the truth is that the individuals surrounding one, and their well-being, do have a large impact on the well-being of the person who cares about them. Would you agree with me on this, Doctor Sumner?’ Brian posed the question right back at Sumner, who seemed a bit taken aback. ‘Would you agree that the happiness of your loved ones have an impact on your own happiness, Doctor Sumner?’ he clarified - not just to make things a bit clearer for his audience, but also to make Sumner look just a little stupid for not following at once, and, in case he would deny this statement, make him look like a cold-blooded person.

‘I would agree,’ Sumner eventually said, although not with much enthusiasm.

‘Great. Then you might see how John, who is my best friend, and his well-being, is… is crucial to me. Absolutely crucial. I could not imagine being happy without knowing that John is happy - or at least to have them there with me so I can be with him if he is not. John has come to mean so much to me that I… could not do without him, and the same applies to him. Our state of mind is irrevocably linked - we could not be happy if we knew the other lived in misery.’ Brian’s heart was thundering away in his chest by the time he had spoken all of this, but it had been worth it - Sumner seemed to have been silenced, even if it was just for the time being. Sumner opened his mouth, then closed it again. He eyed Brian for a handful of intense seconds, but it was Sumner himself who eventually lost the staring battle as he looked for aid in his co-workers.

Miss Gerald was quick to compose herself. ‘This is interesting, Mister May. Were you not diagnosed with borderline personality disorder? Which - correct me if I’m wrong - is characterised by an immense dependency on- and idolisation of people around the afflicted?’

‘That is correct,’ Brian confirmed. ‘And I do not rule out the possibility that part of my dependency on John might be caused by my mental affliction. But against that, I would like to raise the argument that on the one hand, I have been in a close but very stable friendship with John over a period of more than six months - which, as Doctor Sumner can tell you, denotes a bond deeper and more stable than connections typically formed with underlying borderline patterns do.’ Brian could practically feel Sumner’s eyes glaring right through him, but he ignored the stares - or perhaps even took them as an encouragement. ‘And on the other hand, I have no tendency to idolise John, and can see his faults fairly as far as he has

 been nervous before about this latter fact, the presence of the entire institution on top of that

them. We’ve had an… incident concerning a diary at one point, and I also was not entirely happy when he used force to distance himself from me during a very tensed moment,’ Brian admitted, even though it hurt a little to share these moments with the entire room. ’Besides, I have no desire to push him away and pull him back, to test his loyalty as a friend, I do not react with jealousy when other people claim his attention, and am not afraid he will desert me if he leaves my side for whatever reason. We can talk about so much, and I am not afraid of telling him my opinion. Does that not sound like a healthy friendship, Doctor Sumner?’ Brian tried his best not to cock his head daringly into the direction of the psychiatrist, who he could see clench- and unclench his jaw even through the distance between them. 

‘That’s… That sounds like a healthy friendship,’ Doctor Sumner allowed. ‘Nevertheless I am sceptical of you being able to fully understand the implications of leaving Queen Mary’s permanently over someone else.’

‘Just like I am sceptical of you being able to fully understand the consequences of me having to live here, against my will, while knowing that my best friend is out there without the help he needs and deserves,’ Brian shot right back at Sumner. Then, in a tone more approachable to the jury in its entirety, he said: ‘No one else can help me the way John can. I know it’s hard to believe as an outsider, but I know I would not be doing as great as I am doing right now if it had not been for John, and that my progress will take a huge beating if I cannot continue to have him in my life. He is the best thing Queen Mary’s has brought me. By choosing for John I am choosing for myself - going through life with him by my side. He does more for me and my healing process than any medicine or therapist could ever accomplish.’ 

‘That is a bold statement to make,’ Sumner said, but his voice sounded weak and defenceless. Brian therefore did not doubt a second to tear it down again.

‘The truth can be bold at times, but that does not mean I should not speak it,’ Brian replied. ‘But here’s the thing. Medication is temporary, therapists work with you for a number of sessions, but in the end you will have to design your life yourself - you have to make yourself happy, and make the choices that enable you to be happy. And for me, this is John. He enables me to be happy and to live my life the way I never thought I’d ever be able to live it again in the midst of my depression. John is the best thing Queen Mary’s has brought me, the best choice I’ve made in my life, and I know he will support me long after my time at Queen Mary’s, whether that ends after today or later down the line, is over.’ 

Silence again - for a few seconds, before the first claps of applause landed behind him. A guard tried to shush it, but this only seemed to encourage more people to join in on the applause, until eventually whistles and shouts of support filled the room on top of this. Brian could tell by the gestures the judges and the staff around him made towards the audience that they were not exactly pleased with the behaviour of the crowd, but he personally felt too much of a rush of relief and ecstasy to really mind. In fact, he even allowed himself to turn his head around and catch a glimpse at the audience - or, more specifically - catch a glimpse at John. Their eyes locked for a second, and their smiles grew wider.

These people are here to support you. Brian could see it in John’s eyes, and he believed him.

Eventually the guards managed to calm everyone down again by threatening to throw out the people who would not listen to the order of being quiet, and the attention was focussed on the judges again.’

‘Thank you for your report, Mister May,’ Miss Gerald said, obviously not too pleased that she had been interrupted in her previous attempts of acknowledging her client’s contribution to the case. ‘We would not like to retreat shortly to discuss our judgement.’ Brian nodded, and the judges stood up from their chairs - but as this invited everyone in the audience to do so, too, Miss Gerald held up her hand and said, rather loudly to make sure she would be heard: ‘We will be back soon, and we would like to ask everyone to remain in their seat and be quiet.’ With this, she followed her co-workers and descended the stairs. They disappeared through the door with a bundle of paperwork under their arms, to be seen back in what could not have been more than five minutes.

How he managed to keep his cool during these five minutes, however, was something which Brian could not figure out when he would later look back on it. All the tension of having to listen to speeches about himself, having other people answer questions on his behalf, being cross-examined by three people… It all disappeared from his body and mind the second the judges left the room - only to be replaced by the stress of now having to await the judgement. 

And boy, it was as if he was the only one nervous about the judgement. Nolan and Jasper enthusiastically started chatting both to him and to each other to talk about how well the meeting had gone down, and Sarah stood up to enthusiastically share some words with Mister Fisher. They all seemed completely convinced that the jury was going to judge in his advantage, but Brian himself was not too sure about it as of yet. He had managed to deliver some pretty strong answers, yes, but to questions that he had been hoping would not be posed. He had also been able to quiet down the judges in their doubts about him leaving for the right reasons, but would they take this as a sign of strength, or as plain rudeness and dislike for authority? What if they’d publicly declare him to be an insolent, insane adolescent, who had a whole lot to learn still before he’d ever be allowed to walk through the gates of Queen Mary’s?

‘Brian?’ 

A hand continuously poking his shoulder brought Brian back to the present, where Jasper was trying to catch his attention. ‘Brian? Freddie is trying to get your attention. I think he wants to congratulate you on how well you did.’ There was a broad smile on Jasper’s face, but all Brian could do was stare back blankly and wonder how anyone could be so optimistic about a judgement that had not been made public yet. 

‘Brian, turn around! Come ooon!’ It was Roger’s quasi-annoyed voice that eventually made Brian lull his head around, but he did not dare turn around in his seat, just in case the jury would return early. He knew it was irrational, but for some reason he felt that they might alter their judgement of him if they walked back into the room to find him having moved in his seat when they had been told to stay where they were. Then again, if they were to return now, Brian looking over his shoulder was likely to not even catch their eye. With the chaos around him - people standing up, walking around, talking and yelling and making noise even louder than that - it seemed unlikely that Miss Gerald would even notice his small deed of disobedience. Not now that guards were literally trying to prevent people from going up to him or singing loud songs he vaguely remembered from football games, at any rate.

‘You did so well, darling!’ Freddie beamed upon having Brian face his way, and Brian gave him the smallest of a smile. 

‘You totally killed those judges. They’re currently out there trying to repair whatever’s left of their ego!’ Roger laughed and Freddie joined him, but Brian felt his smile fade a bit. He knew Roger meant it as a compliment, to help him feel better, but Brian interpreted it as further proof that he might have offended the judges with his fierceness to protect his case. 

Between the laughter and the triumph of the couple, however, was one face that remained still, just like Brian’s - and that was John, who looked at his partner in quiet admiration.

‘You did better than I ever could have hoped for,’ John said. ‘I’m so proud of you.’

Brian swallowed, and just nodded in response. He had no words to match these sentences that were so much meaningful than Freddie’s and Roger’s attempts at boosting his pride, or Jasper’s and Nolan’s easy confidence towards the judgement. What he could do, however, was turn around in his chair just a little more, and reach out a hand towards his boyfriend. While Freddie and Roger - and seemingly the rest of the room, too - amused themselves with loud chatter and easy jokes, John and he entangled their fingers in mid-air, and looked at each other with a fondness Brian had not believed was possible had he not witnessed it himself at that moment.

He did not know for how long they stayed like that, or how many people saw them share this moment - Brian just remembered the sound of the door opening, and swiftly letting go of John’s hand to settle down in his chair again. Whether the judges saw him in his hurry to comply to the rules again, he guessed he’d never find out; by the time they were in sight they looked positively annoyed by the mayhem in which they arrived. Brian saw Sumner call for a guard and admonish him for being unable to keep the peace, and Carlston gestured to the crowd to behave themselves - to little or no avail, that was. In the end, it took Miss Gerald repeatedly smashing a folder of papers against the desktop before people looked her way and possibly even realised the judges had returned in the first place.

‘So, now that we have your attention...’ There was an unmistakable hint of irritation in her voice. ‘We would like to move on to the judgement of this trial. So if everyone could sit back down and be silent, it’d be much appreciated.’ Despite the biting sarcasm of Miss Gerald’s voice, people did listen to her - and her wish for order was granted in what seemed like a heartbeat. It was perhaps a bit too fast for Brian’s liking; the conclusion of this trial was coming upon him so soon all of a sudden, and he was unsure if he could deal with it. He had no choice, though - not when he was asked to stand up from his chair to hear the judgement that the three people currently in charge of his fate had come to. 

Feeling that everyone in the world was looking at him, Brian stood up on wobbly knees. Nolan made an offer of standing up with him, but Brian politely brushed it off - this was something he had to do on his own. 

‘Brian May,’ Miss Gerald started, which made the last of voices even out into the all-surrounding silence. ‘On August 24, 1971, you filed for a reassessment of your stay at Queen Mary’s Psychiatric Institution until your psychiatrist would dismiss you. Today on September 24, we - Professor Sumner, Mister Carlston, and I myself, Edna Gerald - were sent on behalf of the South East England Mental Health Facilitation to reassess your case.’ Miss Gaskell paused for a second, which gave Brian the opportunity to wonder if repeating the entire setting was part of an official protocol, or if she just enjoyed making him more nervous than he was already. ‘With the help of both written and spoken statements of Sarah Gaskell, clinical psychiatrist; Nolan Ferrier, client mentor and qualified nurse; Jasper Vee, therapist; Jim Fisher, independent psychiatrist; and the client himself, we were able to come to a final judgement in line with the protocol regarding early dismissal of mentally afflicted persons.’

Come on! Hurry up! Brian was rather sure he could hear some people voicing their impatience with the endless taunting of the head of the committee representants in the back of the room. He felt a surge of relief that someone was finally saying what had been on his mind ever since the judges had returned to the meeting room, but at the same time he heavily disagreed, since he was not at all ready to receive the final note to this judgement. He knew he could not stop the tide, and while he was aching to finally hear what the judges had to say, he at the same time wished it had been socially acceptable to cover his ears with his hands and run out of the room. He performed neither of these actions, of course, and instead took to chewing on his lower lip while Miss Gerald covered some more factual trivialities while actively ignoring the sighs and protests from the crowd.

‘... and we have tried our utmost to adhere to all the rules and regulations, both from our employer, from the British Mental Health Association, and from the law of the kingdom under which we operate. Then, as for our judgement,’ Miss Gerald switched to the topic everyone had been waiting for, and Brian, although he could not see what was happening either next to or behind him, could swear he could sense everyone moving to sit on the tip of their chair. 

Miss Gerald opened yet another folder and addressed Brian by his full name. ‘Brian Harold May… Upon first receiving your case we felt sceptical, as we, if my co-workers allow me to speak on behalf of all of us, always do. You see, there is a reason why psychiatrists are the ones to dismiss their patients from their care, and not the patients themselves. Psychiatrists studied to understand mental progress and regress, they know the difference between having a good mental state or simply having a good mental day, they can calculate the risks and advantages of releasing their patients, which is something the patient, being obsessed only with being released from the grips of mental health care, does not see.’ Brian was not entirely sure how happy he was with this condescending, prejudiced outlook on mentally ill people, but it did not seem like he would be was given the chance of objecting, for Miss Gerald blabbered on. 

‘Reassessment is meant for people who fear they are being kept in mental health facilities for too long, because their caretakers mistreat them and disregard their freedom. But as Queen Mary’s has never been known as a place of malpractices, we found it unlikely that you would have a fair point. Nevertheless, as our position required us to treat every appeal for reassessment without prejudice, we looked into it - after all, we would not have been here if we hadn’t.’ Miss Gaskell flashed Brian a smile as if it was somehow funny that her precalculated opinions on mentally ill people and her opinion of when reassessment was valid potentially could have cost him his chance of leaving early, if it had not been for the official policy of her position.

‘We then found that the case you submitted, together with the motivation from your psychiatrist, mentor, and therapist made sense - especially because your caretakers supported you,’ Miss Gerald told the audience, which again did not give Brian the best of feelings. ‘Mister Fisher’s report, and the diary segments and everything you submitted, all convinced us you were a strong and largely recovered individual ready to be released and pick up your life again outside of Queen Mary’s.’ Miss Gerald smiled, so Brian smiled back at her - but he regretted it instantly when she dropped the next line. ‘You can imagine what a disappointment it was to us when, upon hearing you out today, we discovered that you’d gone for a reassessment simply because your best friend was going to leave.’

Brian felt his heart sink in his chest, could hear his pulse in the complete silence the room fell into. This was what he had been afraid of all along - that the judges were going to use his arguments of wanting to leave for the sake of both John and himself against him now that they had found out about it and had made him open up about the topic. They found him weak, clingy, dependent; all a borderline sufferer was supposed to be according to the books so conveniently largely written by Doctor Sumner. 

All the reasons why he should stay at Queen Mary’s for as long as possible. 

As Brian brought up one hand to wipe at the suddenly moist area around his eyes, he suddenly noticed that the silence around him had broken up. There was no more soundlessness in the meeting room - sound of protest and outright booing were aimed at the judges, who Brian could see from the corners of his eyes tried to hush people with hand gestures of some sort, to little avail.

‘However,’ Miss Gerald started, but she dropped her sentence when the booing got louder the second she opened her mouth. ‘I’m not done talking yet!’ she all but exclaimed, and crossed her arms over her chest as to demonstrate her refusal to speak up until the crowd had calmed down again. Brian heard the guards behind him urging people to be quiet, which they eventually did when they were reminded they were making tension worse for Brian. Even if the judges did not, the audience supported his case still, apparently.

‘As I wanted to say - however, whereas my co-workers and I were at first sceptical of your dependency on Mister John Deacon, you convinced us through your well-founded rhetoric that you are not just a puppet clinging to someone else, but that your best friend is- an extension of all you have to offer, and the other way around.’ At these carefully positive words, Brian allowed himself to look up at the judges - at least two of which now bore a kinder look on their face than they had before. ‘We have come to see that you do not simply lean on John Deacon for all you do, but that he is there to lend you a hand when you need one, and vice versa. In your time together at Queen Mary’s you have formed a friendship founded on mutual love and trust that we hope will last a lifetime.’ As Miss Gerald smiled at him, Brian returned the favour - and this time, he was not let down as soon as he did so.

‘A bond like the one you built up with John Deacon is one to be cherished, and one to continue building upon. Even though we have never met him in person, we can tell through your stories and descriptions that Mister Deacon brought you to the point where you are today. And the point where you are today… seems to us as a point where it would be in your favour to follow Mister Deacon in his journey of establishing his life again.’

Miss Gerald’s voice died out for a moment, and left Brian with a lingering buzz in his ears. He tried to comprehend all that he had just been told, but he could not make sense of it - the overwhelmingly positive vibe of the speech had excited him, and the praise in which John’s and his ‘friendship’ had been showered had made him hopeful. But what exactly did Miss Gerald just tell him? Following Mister Deacon in his journey of establishing his life again?

Did that mean…?

Brian turned to Nolan, then back to the judges, and then to Nolan again. ‘Does that-’ he squeaked rather helplessly, making a vague gesture of the hand which he could not make out the meaning of himself.

‘So what- what is your final judgement on the client’s- this reassessment case, Miss Gerald?’ Nolan asked. He tried hard not to stumble over his own words, but in his current fit of enthusiasm, he didn’t succeed - not that anyone cared as they heard the reply of the judge.

‘Our unanimous judgement is that if Mister May promises to continue his medication and weekly therapy sessions to help him beat his depression and manage his borderline, we approve of his reassessment, and of him being put in the accelerated dismissal trajectory that will allow him to return home anywhere between seven to fourteen days from today.’ 

All of the words related to protocols, trajectories, and conditions completely missed Brian - all he could hear were those five words, that one little sentence that set him free.

We approve of his reassessment.

We approve of his reassessment!

Brian clamped a hand over his mouth and sank back into his chair as the meaning of these words reached him. All of these last few weeks, all of the effort, the diaries, the forms, the therapy sessions, the tension, the stress, the hope and the despair - it all amounted to this one moment, this one sentence that would release both him and John from a foreseeable future without each other. This was the moment that set them both free from all their anxieties, their fears, and their desperation.

This was the moment their real life together could begin.

The crowd behind Brian had erupted in noise - yelling, clapping, cheering, the sound of chairs scratching the carpeted surface of the floor, people high fiving and walking around and congratulating each other. He felt the hands of people on his back to give him a pat on the shoulder or to full-on hug him from the back in an attempt to congratulate him on the outcome of his case. He heard Jasper telling people to keep their distance, and most of all, their calm - one when neither of those worked, it was Nolan who pulled him to his feet to go and thank the judges. 

It was at this exact moment that he was half-dragged towards the podia that Brian realised that he had not gotten to hug or even share a word with his friends yet - or, even more scandalous, he had not even been able to look at his boyfriend. Brian thus made quick work of treading up the few steps of stairs and shake hands with the three people behind the desk, who had stood up for the occasion.

‘Thank you- thank you so much, thank you,’ Brian said, his right hand moving quickly to accept the outstretched arms of the judges, while his left continued to wipe at his wet cheeks. Tears of relief and all the weight suddenly falling off his shoulders just kept coming, slowly but surely, but luckily none of the judges seemed to mind specifically. Even Sumner gave him a smile and wished him well in a voice as genuine as Brian had ever heard it sound. It was not enough to prevent Brian from determinedly calling him Doctor Sumner one more time, but it did make him feel on top of the world.

Now having fulfilled his formal obligations, there was only one thing on Brian’s mind, and that was to reach his friends and his partner as soon as he could. The room had been transformed into chaos in a matter of the half-minute during which he had been occupied, but he could detect Roger’s messy blond hair from the same spot where they had been sitting during the hearing - and from there, he soon faced up with John himself. A smile spread out over John’s face, the sight of which made Brian tear up just a little more than he had done before. He regretted every second he had spent away from the moment the veil had been lifted, even if this could not have been more than a few minutes. He was going to make it up to John right then. 

Brian stepped one foot into the direction of the stairs, then another, and the first one again - until he passed down the stairs with a speed he could not remember having attained. John, who seemed to understand his intentions, broke away from the small group of people that had gathered around him and his friends, lightly yet determinedly pushed someone out of his way, and quite literally broke through the row of chairs Brian and the staff previously had been sitting on. 

The noise which the chair clattering to the floor produced attracted the attention of some people across the room, but neither Brian nor John particularly cared; all they aimed for was to reach each other as soon as they could, a goal which they would not put on hold because some bystanders had seen them making a run for each other. If anything, it made them more determined to be close to each other soon - which they did a mere second later, meeting in a clash of chests pressing against each other and arms reaching out to wrap themselves around backs, not to let go again anywhere soon. 

The mere act of being reunited with John, this time while knowing for a fact that they would leave Queen Mary’s and start their new lives together soon, was enough to bring tears to Brian’s eyes for a second time. Burying his face in the crook between John’s neck and shoulder, Brian allowed the tears to run free. He vaguely noticed the presence of new people around them - quite literally around them, as two pairs of arms joined around the embrace John and he had previously established. Judging by the soreness of one and the boniness of the other, they had to be Freddie and Roger. 

‘It’s alright. It’s all fine,’ John told him. ‘Everything’s going to be alright from now off.’ Brian weakly nodded against his shoulder, and let out a shaky sigh of relief. It was as if hearing John say that all was going to be fine was the thing that really convinced Brian that this was real, that the entire reassessment had been real, and that having been dismissed was real.

‘We’re so proud of you.’ In the midst of tears and smiles Brian could not tell which one of the three people currently hanging all over him said this, but he appreciated it nonetheless. Cheered on by what sounded like the majority of the audience, he allowed all three of his friends to hold him and to celebrate their win for a minute or so, until eventually Brian carefully detached himself from everyone around him and took a step back.

‘John?’ he called to further clarify that he needed a word with his partner only. Freddie and Roger took a step back to a place Brian could not make out right away, and neither did he exactly care about where they went to. All that mattered in that exact moment was John, who was standing before him and who looked more radiant than a thousand shining stars. 

‘John…’ Brian whispered, a broken smile on his still tearstained face. There was so much he wanted to say to him - that he loved him, that he never could have done this, any of this - both Queen Mary’s and the reassessment process - without him. That he looked forward so much to living with him, going back to university with him, making music with him, building up his life with him outside of the walls inside which all of their current memories together lay. He wanted to say so much, but could not utter more than a choked-up ‘thank you’. 

‘I want to thank you. Because you did this - you did all of this,’ John told him, wiping a line of tears from Brian’s cheek with his thumb.

‘I know,’ Brian choked out. ‘I’m- we’re gonna get out of here.’

The smile on John’s lips grew wider, and he took a step forwards so that Brian was in reach for him to bring on a hand and put it on Brian’s shoulder. Through a haze of lingering tears, Brian could swear he could see John coming closer, his lips no longer in a smile but slightly pursed - as if to kiss him. 

Caught off guard by this action Brian had not foreseen, Brian said: ‘Are you- are you sure?’

John opened his eyes at this and blinked. ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’ he asked gently. 

‘I mean- er, my parents are here,’ Brian blurted out. ‘Everyone’s here?’ It was not even a criticism - it were not reasons why he would not want to kiss, at any rate, and apparently those factors also hadn’t stopped John from leaning in for a kiss. In all honesty, Brian had no idea why he had bought up the question of John being sure. He supposed it was because he was still overwhelmed and emotional from all that had happened during the span of about an hour, because now that he was thinking about it, he really, really did want to kiss John. Currently having John blink at him, and then glance around to look at a multitude of people - many of whom were still talking and rushing around excitedly, but some of which had fallen quiet as the scene unfolded before them - was counterproductive to this pursuit. It took away from previous time that could be spent kissing, pressing his lips together with John’s to claim his mouth and wordlessly show him how much he loved him.

Luckily, after having looked around at the spectators, John came to the same conclusion Brian had reached. ‘I don’t care,’ John whispered when he locked eyes with him.

Brian let out a breathy laugh, then found himself drowning in those seas of grey. ‘Me neither.’

So while Sarah and Nolan were called over to sign the papers that would irrevocably set Brian free from the responsibility and care of Queen Mary’s Psychiatric Institution, Brian’s arm found itself its way around John’s neck, and he kissed John with a passion he hoped to maintain forevermore now that they had been set free to build up one life together. 

That was Part 17, and with that, the main line for The Clinic! It’s been a wild ride, and I want to thank you all for sticking with me – it means a lot, and I could not have done it without you! I’d like to invite you all to stick around for a little longer for the epilogue, which I hope will kind of make up for the angst and cliff hangers I’ve pulled you all through. I’m not giving away spoilers, but I promise to leave them all in the best place possible! ^^

Again, please tell me what you thought of this part (or some detail, or the Clinic in general, or whatever) and I hope to see you around for the epilogue!

[sansa-of-oldstones]

Chapter 6 - In The Chaos

The next chapter of the jonsa modern au i refuse to abandon. 

Chapter 1/ Chapter 2/ Chapter 3/ Chapter 4/ Chapter 5

Also on ao3

-

He knew she wouldn’t be pleased, but he never expected this. For the record, Jon was planning to tell Sansa after her birthday. It had only been a couple of weeks since he truly decided to enlist, and a few days since he received a date to report. Despite what she may think, he hadn’t kept it from Sansa for long.

It didn’t matter. The damage had been done. She’d had some choice language for him that he never thought he’d hear from her mouth, and she slammed her door in his face.

“Sans.” Jon longed to make it right. “I’m sorry.”

He wasn’t even sure why he cared. Jon firmly believed it was his life, and therefore his decision to make. He understood where she was coming from, but it was his choice. Except he hated upsetting her. He knocked on her door a few more times before leaving the book she had thrown at him on the table nearby. He went for a run. If he was going to survive basic training, and Ranger training after that, he was going to need to get in shape.

He felt better after his run. Sansa did not. It was pretty terrible for Benjen when Sansa left for school. The poor guy was there for her birthday, after working all night. She let him and Brandon both know exactly how she felt.

“I’ve told you for years he needs help!” Sansa slammed her textbook on the counter before storming out. “His brain is fragile! I’ve told you a thousand times, all of ours are. He needs help! Allowing him to join the military is not helping him! It’s borderline neglectful. He deserves better.”

He resented the needing help and being fragile comments, but he forgave her. Her heart was in the right place. For her information, though, they had helped him. Plenty. There had been appointments with therapists. It wasn’t their fault Jon wasn’t very receptive. You can take a horse to water, but you cannot make it drink.

She didn’t ride with them to school. She walked. He tried multiple times to talk to her at school, but she ignored him. They usually ate lunch together, because he was one of the few seniors scheduled for that particular lunch, but when he went to sit down, her friend Jeyne put her backpack where he was going to sit. He took the hint. He went to the weight-room, and got an extra workout in.

“I think the entire freshman class hates me.” Jon told Robb when he sat next to him before their last class of the day.

“So?”

“It makes it a lot easier for your sister to ignore me.”

“I might regret asking this, but why do you care?” Robb tapped his pen on his desk.

“I don’t like being ignored.” Jon shrugged. He hated himself for causing her sadness. She’d had enough sadness. “I upset her on her birthday.”

“She’ll get over it.”

“Why isn’t she angry with you?”

“I was merely the unfortunate messenger.”

“It was unfortunate alright.” Jon scoffed. “Don’t act as though you’ve had no part in this. You were there with me at the recruiter’s office. You decided to not go to The Vale, and then you were all for me enlisting. That’s a bit transparent, if you ask me.”

“I didn’t suddenly decide to not leave my family.” Robb scowled. “I made that decision years ago. I stand by that decision.”

“I know.” Jon sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m just frustrated.”

“I probably am living vicariously through you.” Robb decided. “Just a little.”

“I wouldn’t recommend it.”

She was still not over it when they arrive at the school for graduation, months later. Sansa can hold a grudge, Jon had learned. It was wearing on him. At least she was speaking to him again.

“I’m not clapping for you.” She told him when he and Robb were about to walk to the designated staging area in their cap and gowns. “In protest.”

“Are you serious?” He’d asked, tired of it. Robb laughed.

“I’m not clapping for you either.” She left her brother dejected. She played with the camera Brandon had given her for her birthday. “You’re just as responsible.”

“I’m going to go line up.” Robb shook his head. “You’re being a brat, and no one made this decision for him. He made it all on his own.”

“You’ve encouraged it.”

“Stop!” Jon groaned. “Stop punishing everyone. It isn’t going to change anything.”

“You’d prefer I not speak to you?” Sansa snapped. “That seemed to bother you more.”

“I’d prefer you be happy for me.”

“Why?” She huffed. “Maybe I’m not happy for you.”

“Why?” He’d lost his home. He’d lost his family. This, though. This hurt him in a way he had never experienced. “Enlisting is the only decision I’ve ever made about my life. Everything else has been decided for me! I finally have some fucking agency, and I’m ecstatic about that. I’m taking control of my life, and I could really use some support. Do you know how easy it would have been to not graduate tonight? How easy it would have been to give up?! I wanted to! A lot! If you can’t understand that, I don’t know...If you can’t be happy for me...”

“You’re acting like enlisting is the only way you’ll have agency.” Sansa shrugged, unmoved. “You had numerous other options. I’m not supposed to be concerned you chose the most reckless?”

“It’s my choice.”

“It’s a terrible one!”

“You can’t even be the slightest bit happy for me? My parents aren’t here. You and your family are the closest thing I’ve got to a family of my own.” She stared at him, and he saw her resolve weakening. “I need someone to be happy for me today.”

“I am happy you didn’t give up.” She crossed her arms, her eyes moving to the ceiling.

“Thank you.” He moved closer to her, and she turned away. She wiped her eyes. “Sans, please don’t cry.”

“I don’t want you to leave.” She whispered. “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“I won’t be that far.” He hugged her.

“You don’t know where they’ll send you.” Sansa reminded him, resting against the soft, navy gown. “You don’t know what you’ll be put through.”

“I can handle it.”

“Don’t give up.” Sansa plead. “I’m sorry I’ve been so awful. I’m sorry. I’ll clap, and be happy for you, but whatever happens, please don’t give up.”

“I won’t.” He promised, holding her close.  He knew it was going to be difficult for him to leave.

”I wish I could lock you up somewhere, and keep you safe.” Sansa admitted. “I’d tell everyone you ran away.”

“Please don’t.” Jon cringed. “I’m claustrophobic. Also, I don’t think you could hide me from MPs.”

”I’m not going to.”

“That was pretty dark.”

”I’ve gone to a very dark place these past couple of months.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You need to go line up.” She backed away from him, and straightened the tie that barely showed. She smoothed the embroidered, white stole on his chest and shoulders. He smiled, and put his cap on. She snapped a quick picture. After months of bitterness, it was a relief to have the Sansa he was accustomed to back. He had missed her.

-

The next chapter will be Jon leaving, and his graduation from basic training. Thank you so much to everyone who left nice, supportive feedback!

[ineffablecatblog]

How Jonas’ death changed me in terms of my BPD/anxiety

I will never in my life forget that exact moment. June 5th, 2015. I sat in the sun on my aunt’s balcony, on a chair with my feet up on another chair, and wrote into my journal. It must’ve been around 20*C, it was close to 11am. There was a Latte on the ground with a tall spoon in it that I took a picture of for Instagram. I had a little bracelet around my left ankle. Then my phone rang and Jonas’ Dad’s name popped up. I took the call and he was crying, and I knew something was wrong. The first few words he said to me were “He had a car accident”, then he told me the rest. Jonas had battled cancer in his legs. I’d never even known that. His Dad said there was nothing they could’ve done about it except for prescribing him meds to give him time before they’d have to amputate them. Jonas had been out and about with friends, and lost control over the car because of the medication kicking in when he was on his 10min-ride back home.

My friend of around 15 years is gone. Nobody was gonna come see me at midnight anymore. Nobody was gonna take my anxiety calls anymore. It was selfish that I cried, but I did. I cried and called two friends, texted someone. I was devastated. My Dad came into my room and I told him, and cried some more, and he cried with me.

My life has never been the same ever since. I started wearing a necklace with a J-pendant. I was a zombie who barely slept and had nightmares for a couple of weeks. The fifth of every month gave me breakdowns and dragged me down into the deepest holes my depression could have taken me to. I started slacking in school even more than I already did because I couldn’t focus anymore. I dropped out right before finals.

I was already in therapy because of my BPD (Borderline Personality Disorder) at the time, but every bit of progress that I had made up to then suddenly seemed lost. I broke down crying every time, my anxiety got worse, I couldn’t deal with myself anymore. All control was gone. The nightmares never stopped, I actually still have them today.

Ever since then, I’m scared that I’m not doing enough. That I don’t ask my friends “How are you”, “Are you okay?” enough, that I don’t tell them “I love you” often enough, that I’m missing that they’re struggling because I don’t make enough time for them, that I’m too busy with myself to notice when they need to talk. That fuels right into my mental health problems, especially my anxiety and BPD.

For those of you who don’t know what Borderline is, I’ll list a couple of the symptoms that are relevant in relation to losing Jonas. - unstable interpersonal relationships - impulsivity/emotional instability - making effort to avoid abandonment - disturbed sense of identitiy - chronic feeling of being empty

(Before I continue, I just wanna take a second to put a DISCLAIMER here: I realize that grief is a terrible feeling, which I obviously know first-hand. I was grieving for the longest time, but just because you lose yourself in grief for a while that doesn’t mean you automatically have chronic mental health issues. If you feel like something might not be “normal” to you, you can consult your Doctor and find out what it is, but don’t tell yourself things based on self-diagnoses or stupid tests and quizzes you can take online. The internet really can be your worst enemy when it comes to mental health.)

All of these really came down onto me like thunder and lightning, all at once. On one hand, I don’t really care about most people anymore. It takes a lot of time and effort to grow close to me, to mean something to me. It sounds unbelievably cold, but with an exception of barely a handful of people, if any of my friends were to tell me “I don’t wanna talk to you anymore” out of nowhere, I’d tell them “okay, bye”, because I expect people to not stick around the second I meet them, and I also don’t have time to play around anymore. I don’t ask questions anymore. I don’t “waste” my time anymore. I can’t fight for everyone anymore, and I won’t either. I turn 20 this year, and I have my priorities set. If you don’t meet me with the same respect that I meet you with, stay away from me. Don’t get me wrong, I love making new friends. I’ll welcome people into my life very quickly, but I am even quicker to cut them off.

The other side of that is how I handle things once I get attached to someone. Once a person really means something to me, I will frantically try and make sure we’re okay. It’s hard for me to not be insecure when someone’s natural behaviour is different from what I know as “normal”. I thrive off of attention and reassurance, so if I talk to someone I love, like my best friend, for hours every day, and then one day they don’t call or text, I am already in panic mode. I’ll endure it for a day or two, but I usually freak out after 48h and text them to see if we’re good, even if it’s in a joking manner like “ARE YOU ALIVE???? lol”. I know it comes across as super clingy and very annoying, I just recently had a long talk about that, with someone who means the world to me, and that just kinda drives me in circles. I’m really scared to be rejected, but that anxiety is exactly what makes people get tired of it, and then it begins again. This has ruined my previous relationship, which is why I decided to start therapy after it ended. 

The only exception to that behaviour is my best friend of almost 6 years, Mo. We’re both busy as hell and we live somewhat far apart, so we don’t get to see each other a lot, but I know every time we do get together, nothing has changed at all. We still get lit and have a smoke on my parent’s rooftop patio together every time, that’s just a different type of connection and my fullest and purest form of trust and acceptance, I guess, and it took us six years and a lot of fucked up shit to get there.

The second I lost Jonas, I had no idea who I was anymore. I was all over the place, I hated my hair more than every before, no matter what I did with it. I didn’t like any of my clothes on me. I lost myself more frequently, meaning I mentally disappeared for a couple of minutes and just wasn’t there anymore, I watched myself from another perspective. I didn’t really know if things were real or not, I questioned everything, including just my sheer existence. Life was meaningless, there was no point to anything, so what even was life at all?

When one of your closest friends is suddenly gone, despite what people tell you, it will never completely stop hurting you. It’s been almost three years now and the fifth of every month still hurts me. June 5th still makes me cry, so does his birthday a month later.  But I’m capable of handling it. I don’t skip school/work because of it anymore. I can eat that day. I can talk to people, and I can laugh. That’s progress, because for a long time, I couldn’t do any of that.  I got better when I realized our connection wasn’t gone. I still write letters to Jonas, some of them online, most of them on paper. I still feel like someone is taking care of me when I go places. I know he’s somewhere out there. A good soul like that doesn’t die in a teenager’s body, a soul like that explores the forests and mountains of the world. The moment I understood what was going on, that I wasn’t alone, that my own physical company can be enough, was also the moment I started healing. I feel like I had so much structure going into this, and just kinda lost it when I started typing. This post really tired me out, so excuse me, if to you I seem to be pointlessly rambling about my struggles and how selfish I am. Sometimes I just need to write everything down, not only to share with those who care, but also to look back at it for myself. This is how I personally grow and reflect. You don’t have to see a point in this post, but if you do, I’m glad you’ve taken the time to read all of this, and if you need to vent, feel very warmly welcomed to shoot me a message on here or on the Gram.  All the love,

Cat. x

[prinanalogicality]

15 >:3c (i like making people suffer)

Title: Don’t Take My Sunshine Away

Joke’s on you because I was already writing something like this with prinxiety ;) Hah it was just a draft that I had barely written out, thank you so much for sending in an ask to whoop me in the butt to actually write it out! I have a weak spot for writing angst because I’m awful, so let’s get going. @stary-puppy Here you go! ( @velocifoxy )

Also I thought of a way to make this prompt somehow fluffy, and I may write it, so keep an eye out for that, my friends.

From the bunch of writing prompts: 15: “Don’t die on me - Please.”

AO3 link here.

Pairing: Prinxiety. I was given the free reign to choose the ship, so prinxiety it is!

You are my sunshine.

The world is a tired haze. A haze of crying, a haze of solemn faces. But Roman can’t see why. What’s happening? What are Logan and Morality doing, surrounding? Roman took care of the problem. Why is Thomas sitting in the corner like that?

“I’m so sorry, Roman. I couldn’t- I was so scared-” Morality’s voice is borderline frantic as he turns to Roman, and the male peers past him, his eyes first seeing a red pool of blood.

My only sunshine.

Daydream mode in the host space is a dangerous thing. All of the sides are in one space with Thomas, and without anyone monitoring around them, disasters can happen. Whether another human disrupts daydream mode or something inside Thomas’s mind comes about - both can be disorienting. But today, in this case, it was an issue within Thomas’s mind.

Roman, as Thomas’s creativity, has a room that is creative in itself. Depending on Roman’s mood, it can shift to either fix negative moods or intensify already positive moods. Thus, Roman has spells to enchant the door to prevent beasts from within escaping.

But, after a sleepless night without his boyfriend in his arms, he forgets to renew the enchantment and goes on about his day.

He and Anxiety had gotten into another fight. He doesn’t even fully remember what it was about - something about a broken CD? Or was it a film? Roman is unsure. He just remembers his boyfriend muttering to himself before locking himself in his bedroom, not allowing Roman inside.

Roman hasn’t had to sleep alone in so long.

You make me happy,

He simply couldn’t come up with an original idea for Thomas’s video. He wants to, he really does, but he seemingly couldn’t - it was really annoying him. He was tired from staying up nearly all night thinking, and at this point, he just wants to go back to bed. He notes that Anxiety is being especially negative today, and the comments of the others only serve to make Anxiety look even more upset. Roman just wants to wrap him up in a blanket burrito, but he can’t seem to get the nerve to. Besides, Thomas is in a video block, it is Roman’s job to help.

By the end of the Daydream mode session, everyone was faring to leave. Anxiety, especially, who hasn’t said a word in the past twenty minutes. Instead of going, though, Roman decides to suck up his pride and walk over to Anxiety, because this is the boy he loves. He wants to see Anxiety smiling, laughing, enjoying himself. Not brooding in the corner with his hood up.

“Ok, An, Sunshine. I know we- you know too, but-” Roman’s words are interrupted by the sound of a growl, in which his head immediately snaps to face the direction, his eyes panicked. Did he enchant the door? He honestly doesn’t remember, what if he didn’t? Of course he can finish off any beast, but he couldn’t bear to allow the people he cares about being put into danger. “Hold that thought. I didn’t say anything really, but I just -” Roman shakes his head and jogs over to the stairs, going up them two at a time.

Upon reaching the top of the stairs, he eyes his door warily, reaching up and picking up one of his swords that he keeps on a wall mount around the house. They could always come in handy when he does not have a sword in the sheath on his hip, after all.

Once his fingers enclose around the handle and pull the sword up and off of the mount, his door shakes, and he immediately gets into a defensive position.

“What’s going on?” Morality’s concerned, curious voice wafts up the stairs and Roman doesn’t have time to respond before his door finally gives in and opens to reveal a blackened, charred looking beast, with viscous green fluids dripping from its gnarled fangs.

“Foul beast!” Roman calls out, not taking his eyes off of the monster for even a moment, though he is consciously aware of his friends just down the stairs. He must protect them, They are his priority. “I shall impede your dastardly deeds immediately.” Even from downstairs, he can hear Logan’s sigh at Roman’s silly battle banter.

The sigh is also heard by the beast, in which it turns its attention from Roman to the others below, and before Roman has time to react and charge at the beast, it is clambering over the banister, landing onto the bottom of the staircase with a crashing sound, the excess flesh hanging off of its large limbs jiggling at the movement.

When skies are gray.

Logan takes to protecting Thomas immediately, bringing him to a corner and shielding his body with his own. There he goes, using that brain of his. He knows that if anything happens to Thomas, even within the host space - something will happen, though they don’t know what. He tries not to think about it. Morality is frozen in place, not sure of what to do, where to go, how is he supposed to help? He wishes he could, but he has no idea how he would do so. He’s so afraid of the creature that he can hardly move, and Anxiety, noticing Morality’s fear, approaches him, hesitating before settling a hand on his shoulder. Anxiety is generally in charge of inciting the fear, but Morality is meant to be the happy go lucky one, not the paralyzed out of fear one.

The creature lets out a loud bellow of pain as Roman sprints to aim an attack at its leg, planning to take away some of the creature’s mobility in order to slay it more easily. It swings its long claws at Roman and narrowly misses as Roman jumps back, though another quick swing manages to swipe Roman’s sword out of his hands, the metal skidding on the floor to the opposite side of the living room.

Letting out an uncharacteristic curse, Roman ducks to avoid another blow as he runs over to the sword, knowing that there is no way he could defeat the beast without his weapon. He can hear the bounding footsteps of the beast behind himself and a terrified squeak, more than likely from Morality, followed by a downright screech from the male. From there, all Roman can hear is the sound of blood pumping in his ears as he sneaks up behind the beast, spearing his sword through its back, through its heart from behind. The beast in turn wails, stuttering back as it falls dead, and Roman pants, brushing his bangs back from his eyes.

Turning from the dead body of the beast, he runs up the stairs to makes sure he properly enchants the door, lest anything try to come through again. That would be terrible.

You’ll never know dear, 

As he walks back downstairs, winded from the fight, he sees Logan kneeling on the ground over something and Morality’s shoulders are shaking, tears streaming down his cheeks. His gaze flickers to Thomas, who is sitting in the corner of the room where Logan had had him before, a vacant, confused look in his eyes. Roman will definitely check up on him in a few moments. He purses his lips and looks around, grunting when he doesn’t see Anxiety. Where could he have gone? Last he saw, he was standing by Morality.

Morality turns around, his face red and glasses abandoned on the ground beside his feet as he wipes at his eyes with the heels of his hands, his lower lip trembling. He looks like a wreck, and Roman immediately feels bad for frightening the male to such a point. He should have enchanted the door.

“I’m so sorry, Roman. I couldn’t- I was so scared-” His voice cracks and he whimpers, shaking his head. Roman takes a step forward to peer past him, and the first thing he notices is a pool of red.

Taken aback, he immediately takes several steps forward, looming over Logan who is muttering under his breath, fingers pressing into the junction of his lover’s neck. His lover who is lying there, on the ground, gashes across his chest. Deep gashes, from the creature Roman had slain.

“I was so scared, the bad thing came at me and I couldn’t move, I am so sorry. It’s all my fault, he protected me, he- he- he-” Morality dissolves into another fit of sobs, and Roman feels his heart physically breaking within his chest, approaching Anxiety’s head.

His eyes are closed, his black eye shadow smeared as per usual. He looks like a sleeping angel.

Roman slowly gets down onto his knees, adjusting Anxiety’s head to rest on his lap. His fingers card through the soft hair of his boyfriend, his sunshine, his moon and his stars and his clouds. Playing with Anxiety’s hair always calms him down. It’ll help him in this situation, right? It always makes Anxiety feel better.

How much I love you.

“Don’t die on me - Please.” Before he’s even aware of it, he’s speaking, soft begs spilling from his lips, despite his face of stone. “You can’t. You’re not allowed. I protect people. I protect you. I protect princes and princesses, you’re my prince. You’re safe.”

Logan rises and glances at Roman, deciding to give the male space as he gently pulls Morality a few steps away, despite the heartbroken protests of the other male.

“I can’t! He saved me, one of my kiddos is- and it is all my fault, I have to be there for him now.”

Immediately, Roman feels his chest aching and the telltale burn in his nose, the back of his throat, and his eyes. His expression crumbles into something that could only be described as anguish, pure, unadulterated agony, dolor. A pained whine breaks from his throat, his body hunching over Anxiety’s head, tears dripping onto his lover’s cheeks.

“You can’t leave me. I have to protect you. We were supposed to make up and watch a movie, I wanted to fix things. Please, wake up, we need to fix things.” He begs, his voice raw with emotion, his lungs contracting rapidly. His shoulders are shaking, his hands are trembling as he grips into Anxiety’s jawline, tipping his head back to press a kiss to his lips, feeling no sort of response from the boy he loves.

“Please!” He yells out to any sort of magical force that hears him now, grasping Anxiety’s form and pulling him up and onto his lap, rocking back and forth as his body shakes with each painful breath he takes. “I need him, don’t take him away from me-

Please, don’t take my sunshine away.”

[yoursalwaysfics]

ok question have you seen this "killing stalking" thing thats apparently the Hip New Problématique thing on tubmlr bc i havent actually looked at the manhwa itself (prob never will) but i took a gander at the tag and ive seen glimpses of the fandom and all i have to say is Wow but like. in a bad way. (also apparently ppl are comparing it to yoi?? idgi??)

*deep sigh* okay, so here’s the thing… (this might be a longer answer than you bargained for, but it needs to be said)

yes, I’ve seen it (I’m usually willing to give the latest bandwagon a shot just to see if it’s something I could also be into). I just finished chapter 12 today. KS is a train wreck, but not necessarily in a bad way (aside from the extremely obvious). it’s gruesome and horrifying and makes your skin crawl and your stomach turn but you can’t look away. it is definitely not for the faint of heart. that being said, it’s not bad. as a story, it’s intense and draws you in (if you can handle the heavier parts). the characters are incredibly flawed but incredibly well developed and written. the art is also very interesting (and I really like it tbh). the style is really bold and a big step away from what I usually see in manhwa.

but it absolutely is not comparable to YOI and should not be.

yoi gave us so many things that a lot of people have been frothing at the mouth for, namely beautiful animation, music, and a healthy, open, unfetishized same-sex relationship. 

a lot of people looking for the next big thing to ship (looking at all the fujoshi out there) jumped over to KS for the wrong reasons. the main characters in KS (Yoonbum and Sangwoo) should not be shipped. the comic makes no excuses or tries to cover up the fact that their relationship (and I use that term very loosely here) is incredibly unhealthy and abusive and manipulative. it is not a romance. it’s not even tagged as one. it is an unapologetic psychological horror. there is literally no redemption story here. if there is any justice, it will end badly with one or both of them either dead or in jail.

that’s mostly what I wanted to say about it, but I’m going to add one more little bit about mental illness depicted in KS, and this can totally be skipped over because it’s just my observation and personal opinion on the subject (this is mostly just if any of you have read or decide to check out KS, because I see a lot of people questioning and confused by some behavior that, to me, is very understandable, so it’s just a bit of perspective):

in chapter 1, we find out that Yoonbum has bpd (borderline personality disorder). this is a disorder that I also have. I knew the basics of KS going into it and was immediately put off because bpd is often portrayed horribly and all I could think was “fuck, yet another perpetuation that we’re crazy and/or dangerous” and I really considered quitting the series right then and there. but I continued on (mostly out of spite) because I wanted to make an argument that this was not how bpd actually is. 

I wanted to be angry at it, I wanted to hate it, but as I kept reading it…I couldn’t. because as horrible as it is, it’s really spot on. it’s an excellent depiction of the darker side of mental illness that lately we try not to talk about by basically saying “not all mentally ill” when the fact is…yeah, absolutely not all, not even most, but some. Yoonbum and Sangwoo are what can happen when two very disturbed and damaged people come together and have their personalities play off of each other with terrible consequences for literally everyone involved. it’s rare, but it can and does happen. there’s plenty of recorded history of it involving serial killers.

and about Yoonbum’s bpd: again, I wanted to be mad about how it was portrayed, but I just couldn’t. for those not familiar, bpd basically boils down to a mood disorder that results in unstable moods, behaviors, and relationships. it usually comes with an intense fear of rejection and abandonment (real or perceived) in addition to the mood swings. there’s also often a big problem with either idolizing someone or completely devaluing them (and sometimes swinging between the two with the same person). there’s a lot more to it (and if you’re interested, you can read a little more about the basics here) but with Yoonbum, when it comes down to it, as much as I wanted to say “that’s not how it is”…I can’t. the author obviously either has/knows someone with/or did a lot of research on bpd, because if I’m being completely honest with myself, if I didn’t have a partner who was as aware and supportive and understanding as I do, I could easily see myself ending up in a situation similar to Yoonbum (hopefully minus the murder).

bpd can wreak havoc on your personal relationships. I have very few people who I can call my friends because most people can’t deal with my instability (and I don’t blame them at all, it’s a lot to ask someone to accept). a lot of my familial relationships are shallow and strained because people just don’t understand why I act the way I do, despite my best efforts to be “normal”. you feel worthless and will look for anyone to validate you and give you some sort of purpose (I know from personal experiences, most of which were very bad and did much more harm than good). so I really lucked out to end up with someone chill enough to not only help ground me but also someone who pushes me to find purpose in myself instead of in him/other people.

it’s very easy for me to relate to and understand Yoonbum because I could have very easily been him. he’s not innocent in this. he’s not 100% a victim here. very poor choices on his part put him in a situation that is now out of his control. but I will say, as someone who struggles with and fights against similar thoughts and feelings, sometimes it is extremely difficult not to act on the sudden impulses and irrational thinking like he did. and seeing as he apparently had none of even what support I’ve been able to find, I’m not surprised at all by any of his behavior.

[couplesrehabs]

Couples Inpatient Drug Rehab Huntsville Alabama Addiction Treatment

About Couples Addiction Treatment Huntsville, Alabama Addiction Treatment?

Seeking addiction treatment together in a rehab for couples can be beneficial for a number of factors, especially when both partners are dedicated to the relationship and to becoming tidy and sober. Providing that both partners are willing to start the recovery process, couples rehab can assist not just break the cycle of addiction, however likewise strengthen the relationship by helping the couple take a look at and change the issues that led to their addiction in the very first place.

Couples who are addicted to drugs or alcohol frequently experience troubles with setting boundaries, revealing feelings, making choices, parenting, and managing finances. Couples rehab offers education, abilities, training, and therapy to assist partners attain improved ways of handling these difficulties. Even if just one partner has an addiction, the other partner can benefit from couples rehab by learning to handle particular triggers and helping the other stay sober.1 Whether one or both partners need addiction treatment, specialized couples rehab teaches the tools needed to get rid of obstacles, avoid relapse, and attain long-lasting healing.

What to Anticipate in Couples Rehab

The prospective outcome is a lasting healing, and a healthier, happier, and substance abuse-free relationship.

In addition to the standard treatments for drug abuse, participants in couples rehab can expect to concentrate on the health of their relationship. Specific treatment is helpful for dealing with the substance abuse problem, but may overlook or location a lower concentrate on relationship concerns. Combining relationship counseling and drug abuse treatment in couples rehab tackles the issue from all angles, which can provide the very best opportunities for healing and for restoring the relationship. Couples drug and alcohol rehab likewise supplies a framework for life after treatment, as the couple might face uncharted area when they both start living clean and sober lives.

Huntsville Alabama Couples rehab can be either inpatient or outpatient, or a combination in which one partner is treated as an inpatient and the other goes to sessions as an outpatient. The format you pick depends mostly on your special needs as a couple and whether one or both partners are suffering from a drug abuse problem.

Throughout the course of inpatient treatment, the individual fighting with drug or alcohol addiction lives at a residential drug rehab facility, whereas outpatient rehab allows the client to continue living in the house while getting treatment at the facility. No matter the format, medical research study reveals that partners who attend couples rehab for drugs or alcohol together report a higher degree of abstinence, higher levels of complete satisfaction with the relationship, and much better functioning within the household than couples who only choose individual addiction treatment.

Addressing substance abuse problems with the specific tools and methodologies utilized in couples rehab enables you both to focus on attaining sobriety and fixing and strengthening your relationship. The prospective result is a long-lasting healing, and a much healthier, better, and substance abuse-free relationship.

Couples and Addiction

Collaborations where both members of the couple usage drugs are really typical. The National Abandoned Infants Help Resource Center states that, in particular, females who utilize drugs or alcohol are more than two times as likely as men to have a partner who is likewise a substance abuser.

The relationship itself can be damaged by this drug abuse, even if the couple is committed to making the relationship work. Based upon info from the American Association for Marital Relationship and Household Treatment, indications of difficulty for the relationship include:

Substance abuse or drinking is the only thing the partners take pleasure in doing together.

Compound usage causes domestic violence on the part of one or both partners.

The partners need to be intoxicated or high to show affection or speak about the relationship.

The partners overlook typical duties, such as housework or childcare.

These issues establish on top of the negative effects that establish for each person, complicating substance abuse and often resulting in increased abuse. When this gets to be excessive, one partner might choose to look for treatment.

Your addiction doesn’t have to control your life or your relationship. Don’t wait until the damage is irreparable. Call us now.

Going Through Withdrawal As A Couple In Huntsville, AL

What Are Some Drug Withdrawal Symptoms?

The symptoms of drug withdrawal, and the length of that withdrawal, vary depending on the drug of abuse and the length of the addiction. These are a few withdrawal symptoms and timelines for major targets of abuse:

Heroin and prescription painkillers: flu-like symptoms lasting an average of 5 days

Benzodiazepines: anxiety and/or seizures lasting weeks or (in some cases) months

Cocaine: depression and restlessness lasting 7-10 days

Alcohol: tremors and/or seizures lasting three days to several weeks

The severity and duration of withdrawal is influenced by the level of dependency on the substance and a few other factors, including:

Length of time abusing the substance

Type of substance abused

Method of abuse (e.g., snorting, smoking, injecting, or swallowing)

Amount taken each time

Family history and genetic makeup

Medical and mental health factors

Source:AmericanAddictionCenters

Learn More About Dual Medical Diagnosis As A Couple

Many people detected with a compound use disorder (SUD) likewise suffer from a co-occurring psychological health or behavioral condition. This is referred to as a dual diagnosis. Individuals with a dual medical diagnosis require an integrated treatment plan that resolves both disorders as interconnected psychological health issues.

“According to the National Survey on Substance Abuse and Health (NSDUH), 45 percent of individuals with addiction have a co-occurring psychological health condition.“

By seeking treatment for addiction and a co-occurring behavioral or mental health condition, you will stand the very best chances of successfully obtaining the fulfilling, healthy life you are worthy of.

Typical Mental Health Issues and Addiction

There are a few psychological health and behavioral disorders that consistently present themselves together with addiction. Oftentimes, these disorders are the underlying reason for an addiction. That’s why it is necessary to never neglect the signs of a mental health or behavioral disorder when it pertains to an individual’s long-term addiction healing plan.

Common mental health conditions linked to substance abuse include the following:

Attention-deficit hyperactive condition (ADHD). People with attention deficit disorder (ADHD) might be more inclined to abuse substances as a method to cope with their signs. Lots of people are prescribed stimulants to treat their ADHD, which can be habit-forming and cause a toxic pattern of compound abuse.

Bipolar Disorder. About half of individuals with bipolar affective disorder likewise struggle with addiction. As with any other condition, it can be tempting to self-medicate. Drugs and alcohol provide a source of short-term relief from psychological circumstances and manic episodes for people with bipolar.

Borderline Personality Condition. Studies have revealed that addiction and borderline character condition (BPD) typically take place together. Over two-thirds of individuals with BPD have turned toward drug abuse at some point in their lives.

Depression. An approximated one in 10 grownups in the United States have reported suffering from depression. Lots of people identified with anxiety attempt to self-medicate with drugs or alcohol. This typically makes the issue worse. The crash after the high can be ravaging for those with a pre-existing depressive condition.

Consuming Disorders. Consuming disorders typically come from strong sensations of inferiority. Drugs that suppress hunger are especially common among individuals with these conditions.

Generalized Anxiety Condition (GAD). The most typical psychological condition in the U.S., generalized stress and anxiety disorder (GAD) affects 18 percent of the adult population. Individuals who struggle with GAD may be most likely to abuse drugs and alcohol to manage their symptoms. People may also abuse benzodiazepines, which are extremely addictive prescription medications utilized to deal with stress and anxiety disorders.

Compulsive Compulsive Disorder. Obsessive Compulsive Condition (OCD) causes a variety of undesirable fixations and obsessions, such as an unreasonable worry of bacteria and the need to constantly tidy. There are numerous variations of this disease. People with OCD typically suffer from stress and anxiety and depression as a result of their uncontrolled behavior, which can lead substance abuse.

Post-traumatic stress disorder. When a person establishes post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) their brain produces less endorphins than a healthy brain, making them more likely to turn towards alcohol or drugs to feel happy. According to the U.S. Department of Veteran Affairs, almost 75 percent of soldiers and veterans who experience a terrible or violent occasion during battle report repeated alcohol abuse.

Schizophrenia. Schizophrenia is characterized by hallucinations and delusional thinking. Diagnosing schizophrenia along with an addiction can be challenging since both conditions share the exact same results. When a person has schizophrenia and utilizes compounds as a way to self-medicate their condition, they risk putting their health even more at risk.

Residential Treatment Programs For Couples Huntsville, Alabama

Residential treatment, among the premium levels of care provided by various Huntsville AL Couple Residential treatment centers, has actually helped numerous individuals in their pursuits of achieving happier, healthier, and more satisfying lives. Within this type of treatment, devoted, expertly trained, and multidisciplinary team member who have knowledge in treating a myriad of psychological health and chemical reliance concerns are on-hand to offer assistance, assistance, and the interventions needed to assist people reach their treatment objectives. In addition, many treatment modalities are used within residential care, which are backed by research study and designed to generate the most favorable treatment results. Among the different methods utilized within this level of care, the following are those that are most frequently implemented into the treatment used within residential treatment programs:

Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT).

Acceptance and Dedication Treatment (ACT).

Dialectical Behavior Modification (DBT).

Trauma-focused Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (TF-CBT).

12-Step method

Couples Rehabilitation Centers

Why Choose A Couples IOP Programs Huntsville, Alabama

The structure of Couples outpatient programs Huntsville, AL  Extensive outpatient treatment, or IOP, is a science-based technique for addiction healing. However, outpatient treatment isn’t right for every single rehab attendee. What is IOP, and why do therapists base participation eligibility on specific aspects? An intensive outpatient program can be the very first line of treatment, an action up from a less structured outpatient program when required, or a step down from a residential program after a certain quantity of progress is made. This assists to form a smooth continuum of care. People may attend a detox program prior to participating in an IOP when drugs or alcohol are still in the body and require to be securely processed out.

While IOPs can differ regarding what is included, in basic, there are a number of core services normally provided, according to the Drug abuse and Mental Health Services Treatment Enhancement Protocols (SAMHSA SUGGESTION). These consist of:

Group and specific therapy sessions

Behavior modification sessions (both private and in a group setting).

Tracking of alcohol and substance abuse.

Case management.

Medical and psychological health treatment.

Medicinal tools.

Life abilities trainings.

Educational opportunities.

Support group conferences.

Access to 24-hour crisis management.

Reach out to us day or night – Our caring Treatment Consultants are waiting for your call right now. Call Now

Advantages of an Couples IOP

An outpatient program might be more economical than a residential one, offering couples a more affordable choice for care. Insurance may also cover outpatient services or require individuals to attempt outpatient care prior to offering coverage for a residential program. IOPs are usually best suited to individuals who have a strong support group at home. Both parties need to be on board with the treatment strategy, and willing and able to foster an encouraging environment that contributes for healing. Highly trained experts work carefully with households and people to make sure that the care plan continues to be beneficial throughout the entirety of an IOP, making modifications to services and programming when needed.

Living in a Sober Home Together: What to Expect

An Huntsville, AL couples sober living Sober living houses are substance-free living environments for people in recovery from drug and alcohol addiction. These kinds of homes vary from rehab centers. These homes are usually found in peaceful communities, similar to a typical home. Individuals who live in a sober living house can generally reoccur as they please as long as they follow curfew and rules and regulations. Residents are typically needed to take random drug tests to make sure sobriety. People who live in sober houses are anticipated to be responsible for themselves, pay for rent, and purchase and prepare their own food, just like if they were living in a regular home.

Learning how to live sober independently is an important part of the recovery process. The majority of addicted people have an enabler in their life who would typically do these things for them. Dealing with this enabler made it so they never needed to discover how to live individually and take obligation for their actions. Sober living houses require a certain level of accountability from their locals and enable opportunities for personal development.

Main Factors for Living in a Sober Living House

Responsibility

Safe and sober living environment

Strong support group

Fulfilling like-minded individuals in sobriety

Routine drug screening

Safe combination back into society

Fresh start

When you look for an addiction treatment program, it pays to understand aftercare services each center utilizes. Throughout the healing treatment, the quality and period of aftercare services can make a substantial distinction in your possibilities for lasting success.

Make the Choice As A Couple Today

When the couple has finished rehab, and the partners are managing recovery together, they can provide each other an excellent source of assistance for future obstacles. With commitment, they can keep each other on track, help each other prevent triggers and cravings, and remind one another about the tools and skills learned in rehab. A challenge may occur if among the partners does relapse, as this makes it most likely that the other partner will relapse too. However, with continued participation in aftercare programs and a peer support system, the couple should have the ability to maneuver through these challenges and continue in recovery.

Take a look at what couples rehab in Huntsville, Alabama has to offer Call NOW.

Couples Rehab Helpline 888-325-2454

The post Couples Inpatient Drug Rehab Huntsville Alabama Addiction Treatment appeared first on Couples Drug Rehab.

from Couples Drug Rehab https://www.couplesrehabs.org/couples-inpatient-drug-rehab-huntsville-alabama-addiction-treatment/

[1kfuturesrunout-blog]

i am convinced i have narcissism and borderline personality disorder. my husband and i had a difficult discussion over the weekend. he explained that he was seriously considering dissolving our relationship because of my behavior and that he would no longer tolerate my emotional terrorism. the following day, i spent 7 hours writing about how hurt and scared i felt by what he said, how he was abusive to me and that explained why i was so emotional, and that i was totally justified in my behavior. i took a shower and while i was doing that, it hit me. that i was, in fact, the problem. that there was something wrong with having spent so much time focusing on this idea of persecution instead of genuinely listening to what he was begging me to hear. which was that i had a problem and i was sabotaging my relationship with him as well as my life in general. i am selfish and self-absorbed. i am hyper-emotionally reactive and hyper-sensitive. i misinterpret just about everything as hurtful and i feel constantly persecuted. i suffer from constant dysphoria, vulnerability, and desperation. and that is not normal or okay. that i need help. i need to learn how to listen without falling apart or blowing up. that i need to alter my thought patterns and my behavior to be less hostile and negative, and become more relaxed and positive. i want to overcome my neediness and vulnerability and terror and self-hatred. i want to learn coping skills, emotional regulation, distress tolerance, and cognitive restructuring.

i am always seeking attention.

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all i seem able to do right now is focus on how hurt and scared i am. but the reason why all of this uncertainty is happening is because of how selfish, self-absorbed, and NEGATIVE i am! which is exactly what i am doing! being incredibly negative, catastrophizing, obsessing about how hurt and sad and lonely i am, obsessing over what a bad person i believe i am, obsessing over how i ruined my marriage with him.

i took a hike this afternoon. it felt good to be outside and to exercise my body. on the hike, i obsessively thought about how terrible i felt, how terrible i was, and imagining leaving Jerm, imagining that i was doing it for his sake. i began to imagine how Jacky was out to supplant me and how Jerm was purposefully and gradually separating himself from me because of what a bad person i was and because of how badly i have hurt him and ruined our relationship.

i came home and carried my thoughts and feelings with me.

I HAVE A PROBLEM! THIS IS NOT NORMAL!

THIS IS EXACTLY WHY MY MARRIAGE IS IN DANGER! THIS IS EXACTLY WHY MY HUSBAND IS SO UNHAPPY WITH ME!

BECAUSE ALL I CARE ABOUT IS MYSELF, MY FEELINGS, MY IMAGINED PERSECUTION!

BECAUSE OF HOW OBSESSIVELY, PERVASIVELY, CONSTANTLY NEGATIVE I AM!

i have spent several hours of the day looking into borderline personality disorder. feeling bad about myself and my situation and what i have done.

i have barely eaten. the only form of self-care i did was go on a hike but i sabotaged it by being negative.

MY HUSBAND IS IN CRISIS RIGHT NOW! HIS MEDICATION HAS INCREASED HIS FEELINGS OF DEPRESSION AND ANXIETY! HE FEELS HOPELESS, HELPLESS, AND SUICIDAL!

I AM NOT HELPING MY HUSBAND BY FEELING BAD ABOUT MYSELF AND WHAT I HAVE DONE TO HIM AND TO OUR RELATIONSHIP!

I CAN HELP MY HUSBAND BY BEING POSITIVE AND OPTIMISTIC! I CAN HELP MY HUSBAND BY TRULY LISTENING TO HIM AND NOT PERSONALIZING! I CAN HELP MY HUSBAND BY BEING NOTHING BUT KIND AND PATIENT AND UNDERSTANDING! I CAN HELP MY HUSBAND BY BEING WARM AND INVITING AND LOVING TO HIM WHEN HE IS AROUND IN THE EVENING! I CAN HELP MY HUSBAND BY SUPPORTING HIS RELATIONSHIP WITH JACKY!

I CAN HELP MY HUSBAND BY IGNORING MY VULNERABILITY AND NEEDINESS AND NEGATIVITY!

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i want to take this vulnerability and neediness that i have that stems from BPD, that is enflamed by my consensual non-monogamous relationship with Jerm, and use it to try to heal myself.

i want to take a close look at my abandonment issues

i want to be self-sufficient

i want to choose to be in a relationship out of love, rather than out of dependency or fear

i feel like i have already learned a lot about honesty and open communication.

i certainly need to learn how to not personalize or catastrophize, how to manage my emotions and learn coping skills for when my emotions get the best of me. i need to learn how to manage my thoughts and ideas into healthy patterns.

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For folks whose style includes borderline personality ways of interacting, the first arena for growth is to develop new attitudes toward anger. If you don't want to fall into the borderline diagnostic basket, learn to step out and calm down instead of blowing up.  Beware too of getting too mad at yourself, which will produce depression.

Learn to stay in the calm zone.

Anger creates relationships based on coercion, not love or cooperation.

If you erupt often into anger, probably you believe that it's because you are the victim.  "I've been hurt so I have a right to hurt you back," is a core bpd belief.  Alas, it's a belief that can lull you into inability to sustain positive gratifying relationships.

Replace anger interactions with development of exit and self-soothing routines.  Learn to recognize early cues that indicate it's time to remove yourself from a situation you can't handle.  Remove yourself like a pot from a stove.  Calm down.  Return to the dialogue when you feel calm enough to stay calm and collaborative.

Frequent anger outbursts are totally incompatible with mature relationships.

The key antidote to narcissism is to train yourself to take others' perspectives seriously. Learn the art and skills of listening, a topic I write about in an earlier PT posting.  Retrain yourself to ask others what they think and feel.  Seek to understand and become responsive to others' concerns when you and they differ.

As others answer your questions, focus on what makes sense about their perspective. Listen for what you can agree with.  Comment favorably on what you can agree with before moving forward to add your own perspective.

To accomplish true listening you'll need to dump but from your vocabulary. But negates your prior agreement.  It subtracts, dismisses and eliminates whatever came before, undoing your initial good efforts to understand others' points.  Instead of using but, link others' thoughts and yours with either and or and at the same time.  That way instead of indulging in the narcissistic patterns of ignoring and disputing others' viewpoints, you will begin to be able to add others' viewpoints to your own.  I.e., you will begin to shift from narcissistic "My viewpoints are the only ones that count" to "There's two of us here and both of our perspectives matter."

Narcissism tends especially to block data regarding others' feelings.  When a partner feels sad, anxious or upset, the narcissistic response is to personalize, that is, take the others' feelings as critical statements about themselves.  If "it's all about me," what you feel must be about me as well.  Narcissists therefore get mad instead of supportive when their partner expresses negative emotions like hurt or sad.

It may be that narcissists feel helpless when their partner feels upset in part because, having had narcissistic parents, soothing responsiveness may not be in their repertoire.  Fortunately, positive responses for helping distressed others can be learned.

[thecosydragon]

My latest blog post from the cosy dragon: Interview with Charles McCormack

An Interview with Charles McCormack, author of Hatching Charlie

From your other published novels, is there one that is your own personal favourite?

I only have one other published book. It’s a book detailing what to do and the why of doing it in treating couples with one or both spouses in a state of regression, i.e. a borderline mental state. The book, Treating Borderline States in Marriage: Dealing with Oppositionalism, Ruthless Aggression, and Severe Resistance (Jason Aronson 2000), was well received and is still used in training programs in individual and couples psychotherapy.

It is not written for lay people, but I did have lay beta readers to help me write it in a more readily understandable fashion. I have been contacted over the years by people who found the book helpful in understanding their own issues or a family members. For those interested it is available in paperback and on kindle through amazon.

What do you like best about Hatching Charlie?

That it’s raw and it’s real and that it’s a book everyone can relate to. To paraphrase one reviewer: it’s fascinating read and an invitation for the reader to consider his or her own life as they are reading. I particularly appreciate the Midwest Book Reviews critique: “Exceptionally well written, organized and presented, “Hatching Charlie: A Psychotherapist’s Tale” is an inherently fascinating, thoughtful, and thought-provoking read from beginning to end. While unreservedly recommended for both community and academic library Contemporary American Biography collections, “Hatching Charlie: A Psychotherapist’s Tale” will also prove to be of immense interest to the supplemental studies reading lists of psychology students as well.” That review, so succinctly delivered, assured me that I had accomplished what I set out to do.

Everyone has a ‘first novel’, even if many of them are a rough draft relegated to the bottom and back of your desk drawer (or your external harddrive!). Have you been able to reshape yours, or have you abandoned it for good?

Hatching Charlie is my first novel. I couldn’t put it in the drawer no matter how hard I tried. It was inspired by my elder daughter asking me to fill out one of those books for the grandchildren so they would know a bit about me. I liked the idea, I just didn’t like the venue. Then there was my son who, very successful, at an early age, asked me “Dad. Is this [life] it?” I responded that life was about the pursuit of happiness. Though my answer is accurate, my ability to make the case for it then and there was lacking. So those two seeds, planted by my kids years earlier, sprouted and grew until I could no longer ignore them. This book strives to answer the questions “Who am I?” and “What’s life about?” Along the writing, I discovered that the answers to these questions unfold across the years in the changing roles we each assume. For me it was from abandoned boy to young delinquent, to married man, to father, to grandfather and from psychotherapist, to lecturer, to author, to patient, and beyond. Along the way I discovered not only the cratering impact life’s troubles can have upon us but also the fact that it takes great courage to be happy and that most of us are as happy as we can stand.

Some authors are able to pump out a novel a year and still be filled with inspiration. Is this the case for you, or do you like to let an idea percolate for a couple of years in order to get a beautiful novel?

I’ll let you know. I suspect I’m the type of writer that needs to let ideas percolate, but I’m not completely sold on this. In fact, I’ve already been asking myself the question, what now?

I have heard of writers that could only write in one place – then that cafe closed down and they could no longer write! Where do you find yourself writing most often, and on what medium (pen/paper or digital)?

I write at home, in my office, and when I’m traveling. I use my laptop but will make notes of ideas on my cell phone. When I write I often enter a trancelike state that is so captivating that I have been guilty of missing several patient appointments when I’ve actually been in my office. I snapped out of the trance to observe a note slid under my door stating, “We were here. Did we have the wrong day?” They hadn’t wanted to knock on the door fearing that I might be dealing with some emergency. In those circumstances, feeling terribly guilty about wasting their time, I make amends by giving them their next session for free. After all, their time is as important as mine.

Before going on to hire an editor, most authors use beta-readers. How do you recruit your beta-readers, and choose an editor? Are you lucky enough to have loving family members who can read and comment on your novel?

Finding Beta readers is as difficult as getting people to review a book. I recruit family and friends but often they either take forever or are rather parse in their commentary. Then there’s the problem of people “wanting to be nice.” They don’t want to criticize, not recognizing that the true gold of a beta reader is the one that will tell you the real deal. As to editors, I had several friends edit and then explored editorial services. I finally hit upon Margaret Diehl because of the reviews garnered for her editing, the fact she had three books on the honorable mention list of the New York Times, and in our early emails demonstrated a dry wit and great integrity, challenging plot logic and so on. She was tremendously helpful in teaching me to develop the characters to she could see them in her mind and in rearranging chapters and suggesting the creation of chapters to ease the back and forth between my life as a psychotherapist and my life personal life. I learned a lot from her.

I walk past bookshops and am drawn in by the smell of the books – ebooks simply don’t have the same attraction for me. Does this happen to you, and do you have a favourite bookshop? Or perhaps you are an e-reader fan… where do you source most of your material from?

I use to read printed books all the time. I didn’t find the kindle books as welcoming, although they were easier and quicker to obtain. More recently, having a long commute to work, I started listening to audible books and fell in love with them. Some times they don’t equal what I might have created in my mind but many times they add an element I hadn’t considered. My book, Hatching Charlie, is in audible format as well as kindle and print. I prefer the audible because I narrate the book and that gave me the opportunity to “read it” the way I wanted it to be read. Indeed, I did two versions of the audible book because I realized, while recording it, that I could “hear” the book in a different way that led to me to major edits and rewrites. I then updated the kindle and printed formats to accurately reflect the wording in the audible book. I love it!

I used to find myself buying books in only one genre (fantasy) before I started writing this blog. What is your favourite genre, and do you have a favourite author who sticks in your mind from: 1. childhood? I was a poor reader in childhood. I had to go to summer school. “See Dick run!” was about all I could handle. 2. adolescence? Hardy Boys 3. young adult? Trilogy of the Ring; Watership Down; anything by Anais Nin. Books by D.T. Suzuki on Zen Budhissm; Carlos Castenada; Michael Chilton Pierce. 4. adult? For years I only read books on psychoanalytic theory and practice. Then I stopped reading professional stuff and started writing. Since then I’ve read books for personal enjoyment. The Power of One; The Boys in the Boat; any action thrillers that Arnold Schwartzenager could star in and that don’t involve a lot of character development. In other words, I like escape reading to get out of my own mind.

Social media is a big thing, much to my disgust! I never have enough time myself to do what I feel is a good job. What do you do?

I manage social media on my own and if I do say so myself I am perfectly terrible at it. My main motivation of late is trying to promote awareness of Hatching Charlie. As an independent author I can’t compete from the top down as they can, so my strategy is to promote my book from the bottom up and hope that people get enough out of it to recommend it to their family and friends, or simply as a support to anyone having a hard time in life and relationships.

Answering interview questions can often take a long time! Tell me, are you ever tempted to recycle your answers from one to the next?

I haven’t been at it long enough to feel that temptation. And, even if tempted, I doubt that I would do it. Even when I give talks each one is freshly written—I never give the same talk twice. I think the reason is I would get bored with myself. In addition, everything keeps moving, keeps changing, and so my answers to questions today will be slightly different from my answers tomorrow.

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