#anyway this is set in a therapy session her mum made her go to after she

[tomtenadia]

Detours to You - 28

Hello all,

I was planning on posting this on our favourite queen's bday but I forgot. Anyway this is an important chapter with a. lot of fluff and cuteness.

Spot the direct quote from the book 🥰

MASTERLIST

May eventually arrived and with it Aelin’s birthday. She was turning thirty four and Rowan had a plan. 

He had convinced her to take the day off and Elide and Lysandra had been his partners in crime. Aelin was four months along and the hint of a baby bump had started to show. Maya had been fascinated and both he and Aelin, had made sure to answer all of her questions, some of them with the help of books.

That morning he had sneaked out of bed earlier than usual and went to the kitchen to prepare breakfast. He was making fresh croissants filled with chocolate. His mum, an early bird like him, had joined him and helped him prepare a super meal.

He had been planning that day for a while now, but he was mostly excited about the rest of the day. He had told his plan to Maya and had to threaten her to cancel her hockey training if she babbled. Maya had promised to keep the secret. 

The smell of pastries engulfed the house and it wasn’t long until Aelin showed up on the kitchen doorstep with Maya in tow. 

He turned to them “My queen, my princess.” He offered them a bow “your breakfast is ready.” With his hand he waved at the table where a tray full of croissants was awaiting them at its side a bowl with fruits and other sweet treats he had prepared. Then a chocolate milkshake for both and a mug of coffee for him and his mum. 

Aelin pulled Rowan to her and begged for a kiss “Happy birthday, fireheart.” He whispered against her lips.

“Happy birthday, mama!” Maya climbed off the chair and ran out of the room returning a few minutes later with a piece of paper in her hands “nana Wen helped me last night.”

Maya passed the paper to her mother and Aelin squealed in delight. It was a drawing of her dressed up as a queen, Rowan at her side was a knight and Maya was in front of them with an armour of her own. Underneath there was a scribbling reading “happy birthday queen mum.”

Aelin squeezed her daughter tight “I love you, muffin.”

Eiddwen distributed the food and sat down “well, I think I have my birthday surprise too,” she started “I have bought a small cottage in the neighbourhood down the hill.”

Silence.

“Mum?”

“Rowan, you and Aelin are going to have another child. I will help and I will be a babysitter if you need to, but you need your own space without me lurking around.”

“Eiddwen, you are not a burden.”

The woman took Aelin’s hand “I know darling, but you two might want some privacy too.” She continued “as I said I will be just down the hill. I might have to go back to Wendlyn for a short spell to make sure everything is alright in the other house but I will be back for my grandson’s birth.”

Eiddwen turned to Rowan who had been silent “Rowan?”

“Mum, no one is kicking you out.”

Eiddwen moved closer to her son “I know,” she knew he was worrying about her. Still remembered how hard she had to push him to leave Wendlyn and go back to Terrasen where he belonged “I know you worry and are happy to look after me, but I am fine. These few months with you three have been better than any therapy I went to in the past five years.”

“Okay.”

“Good, now let’s stop moping, we have a birthday girl to celebrate.”

*

After breakfast he finally set his plan in motion. 

Elide and Lysandra picked Aelin up for their spa session. When he had talked to them about his plan, Lys had reminded him that the spa voucher still remained unclaimed. That was the perfect excuse to distract her. He and Maya would go to the bookstore and set their plan in motion. He was giddy. 

Once the car with the three women was away Rowan helped Maya to get ready and both left.

“Dad, I kept the secret.”

“You have been wonderful, my love.”

On that day he was driving his regular car since he had taken the day off and his deputy was on call. He did not want any interruptions. But that meant he could not go near Aelin’s shop since he was not on fire services duty.

He parked and helped Maya climb off the car seat and then he grabbed his bag. 

Lysandra had given him a set of keys for the store since they had closed for the day. 

He stepped in the shop and disabled the intruder alarm as Elide had explained and then locked the door behind him, making sure that the sign said closed for private function.

Elide and Lys had gone there early that morning and brought all the decorations he would need. They had been excellent partners in crime and supporters.

“Okay Maya, we need to decorate the fantasy section like a forest.”

“Yes.”

From a box he extracted a lot of fake kingsflames and started decorating the shelves while Maya looked after the bottom shelves. He then went through the back and took a vase with real kingsflames. They were Aelin’s favourite flower.

“Okay, shall we do the fairy lights now?”

Maya went to grab the content of another box “these ones?”

“Yes.” 

Lys had suggested to use real candles but both Rowan and Elide had been horrified. Open flames in a bookshop? Lysandra had tried to explain she meant the one in glass style containers where the flame was away from the rim. He had given her a lecture on fire safety and Lys had surrendered at his idea of having battery powered tea lights.

He had finished attaching the strings of fairy lights while Maya was placing the tea lights in the most random places. Instead of changing everything he picked up one at a time and lifted Maya in his arms so she could be the one to place it in the correct location.

It took them a few hours for the transformation, but now the fantasy section of the shop looked amazing. He switched off the lights for that section and only left on the ones at the very far back for safety.

“What do you think?”

“I love it dad, it’s so magical.”

The tea and fairy light created a suffused atmosphere. It was perfect.

A text reached him.

“Maya, mum is coming, time to get changed.”

*

“We totally needed that,” said Aelin as they climbed back in the car “peanut and I are very relaxed.”

Lysandra and Elide looked at each other “there’s another stop we have to do before taking you home to your man.”

“Okay.”

They arrived in the centre of Orynth quickly and Aelin was confused when Lys parked in the staff car park.

“Lys?”

“Shh…” Elide told her. 

They walked at the front of the shop and Aelin noticed a hint of lights from inside “why are the lights on?”

Lysandra had texted Rowan in advance and hoped he was ready.

They got in and Elide took her hand guiding her to the paradise in the middle of the shop.

Aelin gasped.

*

Rowan was standing in the centre of the fantasy section dressed in a knight armour and a sword at his hip. Maya was at his side with a kid’s version of his costume. He had asked Fenrys for the best place where to find such costumes and he had been happy at the result.

“What’s happening?” He heard Aelin ask.

He spotted Lysandra and Elide fall back into the darkness. He had promised they could stay and watch. They had been a great help after all.

“My queen,” he took a step forward and went down on one knee in front of her, bowing his head. He then looked up and offered her his hand and stood once more.

Maya advanced with a crown in her hands. Aelin kneeled so that Maya could placed it on her head “you look pretty, mama.”

“Thank you, my love.” She stood again and faced Rowan.

“Aelin, my queen, I spent centuries wandering the world, from empires to kingdoms, to wastelands, never settling, never stopping - not for one moment. I was always looking toward the horizon, always wondering what waited across the next ocean, over the next mountain. But I think… I think that the whole time, all those centuries, I was just looking for you.”

Aelin gasped loudly, that was a direct quote from her favourite book where the warrior confess his blossoming feelings to his queen.

“Rowan…”

He stepped forward and took her hand and Maya joined him carrying a small black box in her hands “mama, dada loves you very much. Will you marry him?”

“My queen, we took a detour through life and I almost lost you forever. No more. Marry me. Make  me the happiest man in Erilea.”

Aelin started sobbing and nodding eagerly “Yes, of course.”

Rowan grabbed the ring from the box and placed it on Aelin’s extended hand “I love you, fireheart.”

Aelin moved closer to him and let his strong arms encircle her “I love you too, buzzard.”

Maya pulled at her mum’s dress “me too.”

The two adults kneeled down and sandwiched their daughter in-between “Mama did you like the surprise?”

“It was beautiful, baby, and I am so happy,” she said with still wet eyes.

Lysandra and Elide waited until it was okay and then ran to the trio “Congratulations!” 

“You can finally join us in the married club.”

“Am I allowed too?”

“Rowan, you can join Lorcan and Aedion and you three can have husbands nights when the three of us need a break.”

Rowan chuckled.

“Mama, dada can we have pizza tonight?”

Rowan looked up at Aelin “do you feel okay to go out?”

“I want to keep my knight’s costume.”

Luckily Rowan had bought hers but his had to be returned.

He helped Lysandra and Elide tidy up while Maya slayed imaginary dragons and pretended to protect Aelin. 

Once they were all finished Lys and Elide said their goodbyes while Rowan guided his girls outside. It was late afternoon and the sun was still high. It was May and Terrasen would experience longer days.

“Dada, can we go to Orynth Tower?”

Rowan smiled and looked at Aelin. That had been their first date. It had been a stunning evening and he had taken her on top of it and they had their first kiss. It was just perfect.

“Did you plan this too?”

Rowan shook his head.

They drove there since it was in the heart of the financial district and he was not asking Aelin to take public transport when he had a car. Rowan parked the car at the car park nearby and they started walking. Maya still dressed with her cape and her plastic sword. She was happy and Rowan was not going to spoil that moment. 

He bought a family ticket and they joined the queue for the lifts. Maya holding her dad’s hand and Aelin was holding the other, leaning against him while they waited.

Rowan kissed her head “remember when we visited here on our first date?”

Aelin looked up at him and smiled.

“You had a cute blue dress that really messed up with my head all night. You had let your hair down and curled it too.” Another kiss “you were the most beautiful woman I ever saw.”

“You came straight from work and had kept your uniform to impress me.”

Rowan laughed “that I did.”

“Let’s go!” Called Maya, while pulling her father forward.

He and Aelin followed and entered together with a few tourists as well. 

As on instinct, Rowan’s eyes landed on the panel against the wall and the codes for the last inspection. 

The lift was made of glass and they could see all the cables.

“Dad, I can see the cables.”

Rowan picked up his daughter in his arms “see that hatch on top of us?” Maya nodded “once I had to rescue some people stuck in this very elevator. My colleagues they lowered me down with the ropes inside it.”

“Did you save them all?”

“Of course I did.”

Aelin smashed her face against his chest and restrained her giggle. She had heard that story already and the face of the other passengers was just the same as the first time they rode it together. She knew Rowan would not take a lift if alone, but with her he always made an effort if it involved an insane number of storeys. 

“Dad, you can always save us if we get stuck.”

Rowan laughed and horror spread around the cabin “we are okay, baby.”

The ride finally over, Rowan let the other people file out and apologised silently to all of them. 

“Let’s go.”

Once on the platform he put Maya down and the girl ran to the viewing point and plastered herself against the transparent barrier “dada it’s so pretty.”

Rowan and Aelin joined her and Aelin snuggled closer to him. The view for taller people was free, and Rowan leaned against the barrier.

“I love that we are here on the day we got engaged.”

Aelin lifted her left hand in front of her staring at the ring on her fourth finger  “I still can’t believe it. Still feels like I am dreaming.”

Rowan pulled her body really close to his while his free hand was brushing Maya’s head who was leaning against his legs. 

“Maybe this is how is was meant to happen,” he whispered softly against her head “maybe this detour through life was what we needed to come out better and stronger than what we were five years ago.”

Aelin kissed his shoulder “that sound like something my dad would say.”

Rowan chuckled lightly “it was actually, and he made me think.” He turned her to face him “I am not saying that is going to be perfect from now on, but all we have gone through made us stronger,” he kissed her forehead in a loving gesture “And I love you three madly.”

Aelin looked down at Maya who was still staring at the view from the tower.

“You are my sappy old man.”

“To whatever end.” He whispered back with a soft kiss.

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[lanamemories]

greed | self para

“If you had a weakness for one of the seven deadly sins, which one would it be and why?” 

“Huh,” Lana stated simply as her opener, well aware of the fact that Mrs Sheridan -- as according to the name embossed on the front of her door -- was picking her apart with her eyes like a vulture would a fresh kill. She’d introduced herself as Sandra, probably to make the whole thing feel that much less formal. To make it feel like her compassion didn’t have an Upper East Side price tag with a hidden confidentiality clause.  “That’s a, um... Good one. Existential, you know? I feel like I should be wearing a pair of fancy spectacles. Or maybe a monocle. Speaking of, I’d totally hook up with the Monopoly man. He looks like he’s secretly a dark horse. I bet he was the inspiration for Katy Perry’s single.”

“Lana,” she broke the purse of her lips to carefully tread closer to the source of the issue, clicking idly at her pen all the while in a way that made Lana want to fidget. “In the twenty minutes we’ve been here already, you’ve already managed to divert every question I ask into some sort of... abstract comparison or metaphor, I suppose you could call it. You have quite the talent for it. Do you do this a lot? At home?”

Bundling her hands up in her lap before disentangling them again, Lana repeated the process over and over until Sandra’s eyes dropped to study them and, subsequently, they froze in place. 

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Sandra started again, clearing her throat softly before politely excusing herself so she could continue, “when people ask you how you’re feeling at home, do you do the same? Divert the focus. Distract them from what your answer might be. Hope they forget they even asked in the first place -- I’m assuming that’s your intention, conscious of it or not.”

“Um,” slipped out under her breath, hazel eyes stuck down on her fingers as she aimlessly fiddled with the chipped, pastel yellow polish on her thumb. “No, I don’t. I, um... Sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

“That’s okay, Lana. I’m only hoping to get to know you a little better, understand why. I’m just wondering... Well, maybe you can help me. Why do you think that is? That you don’t do that at home, yet you do it here.”

She felt like a spider with all eight of its limbs being pried apart in slow motion. Like a bug under a burning microscope, wriggling as the heat became something verging on unbearable.

“Because I never get the chance to do it.” 

Or, perhaps more accurately:

“Because they never ask.”

“I don’t know,” she finally voiced out loud, shy smile wavering. “That doesn’t matter, though. I’ll answer it. The seven deadly sins thing, I mean. That’s what you, um... That’s what you asked, right? Hm,” she tacked on to a theatrical degree just to stall for more time, index finger tapping absently against a freckle cluster on her thigh as she avoided looking at the mousy brown locks of hair across from her. “Tough one. A thinker.”

Gaze shifting towards the open blinds on the window, Lana’s attention slid along the stretch of exposed window pane between every strut, eyes silently assessing the different colours of cars sat out in the car park behind the building. 

Blue, red, grey. 

Grey, red, grey. 

Grey, grey, grey.

It looked so bleak outside that any effort made within the room to make it feel homely had gone completely to waste. It had good intentions, she supposed. The faded mustard of both arm chair facing each other made her feel like she’d been cast on a game show rejected for air by prime time television, stuffing shyly peeking just beneath the back of her right knee and making her leg ache the longer she awkwardly rest it there. There was a box of Kleenex freshly manhandled on top of the coffee table, two chips marking the front leg on the left corner, which Lana had used as a conversation piece within her first two minutes there in order to say that they looked like nipples. 

“Lana...? You--”

“--Greed.”

“Excuse me? Sorry, I didn’t catch that.”

“Greed,” she repeated firmly, eyes still stuck outside as she watched another therapist fling up his boot and rifle around inside a box of files he’d loaded there. “You probably, um... I mean, you probably asked that because you wanted me to say lust, I’m guessing. Because that’s what this is about. This whole... “therapy” thing,” came along with a nervous hint of a laugh, slight frown on Sandra’s face from Lana’s use of air quotes going amiss as she continued. “Because I fucked a whole bunch of people, right? I marched right in and I fucked them all. Just... fucked them. Bish, bash, bosh. Fucked. Sorry, I don’t know why I... repeated that. Felt like I had to. Dramatic emphasis and everything. And if you say something enough times it loses its meaning so I kind of... I guess that’d be nice, too. If it didn’t mean anything. If it wasn’t real.”

Stern line in Sandra’s forehead softening slightly, she made an effort not to move a muscle. She imagined doing so would have a similar effect to startling away a grazing deer that had only just worked up the nerve to wander a little closer.

“But it’s only people that don’t get sex that would say that. Maybe you’d say that. I mean, not you. Sorry. Just... scalping your sex life. You as in the general you. Professionals, or whatever. You’d say sex is sex and that’s that. Sex is the problem. Hold up a crucifix or whatever the second you see a tit. Because, I mean, nobody here has ever actually been railed so hard they see god, have they? Just unthinkable, apparently. Taboo. If you have money you’re not allowed to put a dick in your mouth. Cum? Banished! Ten days of chastity and you’ll be levitating, shooting lasers out of your eyes, erect as a flagpole as the national anthe--”

“--Lana.”

“Sorry,” she sighed shortly in frustration, eyes rolling up to the ceiling as she restlessly squirmed her knees together like she was trying to crush something between them.

“That’s okay, Lana. Just try not to... be quite so vulgar. You may carry on. I’d really love to hear what you have to say, if that’s okay.”

“Okay... Well, um... It’s not sex. That’s just... short sighted. That’s stupid. I mean, I’m pretty fucking stupid and even I know that. It’s just the... It’s the being close, I think. You’re the only thing in the room when it’s like that, you know? You’re the only thing in the whole world that exists. It’s like...” she trailed off, wetting her lips briefly as the conversation matter left her throat inadvertently dry, “it’s like you’re... I mean, you’re actually...”

“You’re what, Lana?”

Hesitation became something tangible in the silent few seconds that followed, as oppressive and skin tight as a well bound layer of cling film around a freshly laid corpse. She could feel it sticking to her skin.

“Important, I guess. You matter.”

“And you like that feeling? You think you’re... You think that’s it? You’re greedy for it?”

“Yeah,” she answered simply, stare remaining trained on the glowing back lights of the car in the lot as he shifted gears into reverse and started backing out of his spot. “They can’t take their hands off you. Sometimes it even... It doesn’t matter if it’s bad. Sometimes it even hurts and you can’t stand them for it but it’s, um, it’s okay, because it’s you. You and them. You’re a part of them and they’re a part of you. And for half an hour, maybe, it’s just... that. Someone can actually see you,” slipped out in an embarrassed breath verging on laughter, eyes adamantly blinking back the tears that had bud up on her bottom lashes out of nowhere in the space of her last syllable. “I think that’s the nicest feeling in the whole entire world. Don’t you? I think I’d live in that feeling, if I could. I’d live in that feeling and never let it go.”

[letsdiscoverkitty]

Treatment/Recovery Update - May 2021

Okay, I will try to ramble less in this one (so sorry!) ^ well that didn't happen!

In terms of when I did leave hospital, as I mentioned a tiny bit in the last post, my EDP was completely AWOL. A month before I was due to be discharged she came to a meeting with myself and my consultant, during which we set up 4 appointments that would be over zoom before I was discharged to help with relapse prevention and the transition home, as well as setting out, in principle, the therapeutic support that I would be getting once home...it all sounded great, so great. But as usual when it comes to my team, it was too good to be true (should have called it). I attempted to contact her when our appointments never happened but I kept being met by a brick wall; no one knew what was happening, all I got told was that she was "off"... Time passed and I was discharged with only a phone call booked in from someone from the general team to check I was safe a few days later (it was literally 5 minutes, long if that) and an appointment to do physical monitoring the next wee....a far cry from the original discharge plan *sigh* Coming home was a bit of a whirlwind. We were approaching Christmas but we were still under a lot of restrictions with COVID, so it was a very strange/messy/weird few weeks.

Time continued to pass and there was still no confirmation around therapy or support, even the ED team didn't know what was happening with L, I just continued to go to two weekly physical monitoring. In the end, with nowhere else to turn, I contacted my consultant from hospital. To say that she was mad that nothing had been in place/I had no support would be an understatement and I thank my lucky stars that she was able to get involved. It took a couple of weeks but I finally had my first session with a therapist in February. In total it took about 8-9weeks from discharge to see someone, which, well, was hard.

Upon reflection, I think one of the biggest things I struggled with with coming home was that I had literally no leave to practice beforehand. This meant that I unfortunately slipped back into old habits very quickly as, well I know it is no excuse but coming back to the same environment your brain easily slips into automatic mode and you find yourself doing what you "used" to do without realising it.

I was in, I would say, quite a vulnerable state when I left hospital (the last few months there were pretty rocky to say the least) and the day before I was discharged (as I mentioned in a previous post somewhere) I was handed 3 different, very conflicting, meal plans and the nutritionist who had previously been very horrible to me and who had been away for a number of weeks, told me that she did not think I could continue to recover at home and that the best possible case would be if I only lost a bit of weight over the next 6 months....I think you can probably guess how badly this was taken and how messy my mind was. So with 3 meal plans in hand, none of which I had practiced, with little to no support from the ED team, I was, essentially, crisis managing, simply trying to get through each day.

I know, I know. Classic kitty - stuck record. failure. mess. making a million and one excuses. trying to make out like she is fine to the rest of the world when in fact inside she was falling apart. sigh.

In terms of my weight recovery I was not discharged at a healthy BMI/weight, which my consultant was sad about, however I was in a much better place than when I was admitted (I think I had gained about half the weight I would have needed to from when I was admitted to get to a healthy weight). I will admit that part of me does wonders whether staying would have been beneficial, because on a very basic level yes it could have helped in some ways. However if I stretch my mind back to when I was still on the ward ,it actually still floods me with anxiety and fear because of how UNHELPFUL the environment had sadly become. It is hard to explain to someone who has not experienced an EDU, but the patient groups can and do make a massive of differences. I was vvv lucky that when I was initially admitted, and for the first good couple of months, it was a v supportive and recovery focused environment. However, by about late Sept/early October ,things turned completely upside down (which was not helped by the fresh COVID lockdowns either) and even staff were saying how terrible it had gotten and how they could not believe the things that they were being asked to manage on the progression ward. There were times when I felt incredible unsafe on the ward and feared for others patients, which is not "okay". I genuinely believe that staying any longer would have likely made my mental health decline further; I had already found the massive shift was negatively affecting me and I think staying would have been unwise. I had also gained quite a lot of weight and was, I hate to admit, struggling with both coming to terms with that along with dealing with everything that you are continually facing when going through treatment/recovery alongside working on trauma stuff. I know none of that is any worthy excuse, but that was how it was...At this time I was struggling a lot with my meal plan and had quite a few lapses whilst on the transition phase of the unit however despite screaming out for help/support from staff, because of the acute situation on the ward, I was just left. They knew I was struggling, I was told time and time again that they had not forgotten me, but did I get help? no. It was actually made worse by the then nutritionist who sat me down like a naughty school girl and basically told me that I was a failure and that I would never achieve anything in life blah blah blah (please see a past post if you want to know more) which made me even more scared to reach out for 'help'/'support'. So no, I don't think staying would have helped much, which is a real shame.

Therapy wise I had a bit of a rough ride in there (god I'm really selling this aren't I?!). When admitted I was not in a place for 'traditional' therapy what so ever; looking back I honestly have no idea how I was even 'functioning' (was I functioning? probably not) and even the group therapies were a struggle but my consultant stuck with me and with time I was able to process a little more. One thing that helped me beyond words was 1:1 Art Therapy. This was not something I had accessed before, only ever doing group sessions in the past which was mostly about getting away from the ward and doing a bit of art. I cannot reiterate enough how different and HELPFUL the 1:1 sessions were. The art therapy, who I knew from the last year and is an absolutely GEM, helped me to begin to process and work through the trauma that I had experienced with dad. It took a lot of time and persistence but I was able to use those sessions in so many ways and I will forever be grateful to P for supporting me (I was so lucky to be able to have 1:1 sessions for the majority of my 8 admission).

The more traditional therapy initially took the form of 30min sessions with my consultant once to twice a week (as much as I hated them, she was bloody good). I also had a review and a few sessions with the lead therapist via zoom (she was heavily pregnant so was working from home) not long after being admitted, but she soon went on maternity leave. This left me to be picked up by her student, who was actually incredible. We did a long extended piece of work on my perfectionism which, again, was SO helpful but she sadly left (for bigger and better things) and I was left hanging for a while as there were no other openings. A new lead therapist started and after a while he did a few sessions with me before leaving suddenly (I think even staff only had a weeks notice, which was ridiculous), so I was back to twiddling thumbs for a few weeks. I then met with a therapist who worked 2 mornings a week that I saw a bit during my last admission but we didn't do many sessions and it just fell away. This was mostly my fault as by this point I was questioning my admission and whether I would self discharge as there were some not good things going on on the ward, so I wasn't really in the headspace to explore things deeply and had been picked up and put down so many times that I just couldn't do anymore. Throughout that time though I continued to see my consultant weekly, mainly focusing on mindfulness and other therapy styles thrown in there too at times.

I will forever be thankful/grateful for the admission I had, especially to be under a different consultant (for COVID reasons they had to split things differently as they would usually do it by area but that wasn't possible at the time I was admitted) as her approach made a huge difference. I still remember one of the first things she said to me was that she couldn't believe/was that I had been placed on the SEED pathway and that she believed that I could be more than that, which honestly, gave me a little bit of hope (something that had been ripped apart and shredded by my usual consultant multiple times).

But back to now.... I have now been seeing a new therapist weekly (when possible) since February and, in a backwards way, I am so glad that L disappeared off the grid because the "support" I was going to be getting under the original plan was just sessions with her to do some self guided self help stuff, whereas with this therapist we have actually been doing some HELPFUL work. In terms of L, I think the last I was told she never returned to work and has now left the team (we have a sneaky feeling that she either had a complete break down or that it was due to too may complaints (mum called this a long time ago as she was not qualified for the role at all and was utterly useless), which, yeah, was strange to not get an ending as I had worked with her for a few years. Anyway, I've been doing SCHEMA therapy with this new lady (I'd not heard of it before) and at first I was a bit reluctant but it's been incredibly insightful. I continue to learn more about myself and the reasons why I may have gone down certain roads each session. HOWEVER. and this is a big however. There has been a bit of a snag in the rope.

In short, yes I have been engaging really well with the therapy side, my weight and physical health has only continued to deteriorate since i was discharged. We are talking classic kitty of slowly slipped backwards, nothing dramatic, nothing to make alarm bells go off or warrant a review, but it's not been good. Anorexia is screaming at me for saying all of this, it shouts "but you weigh so much more than when you were admitted, you are a complete fraud blah blah blah" which is all the same old boring drivel it always spews out. But basically Im in dangerous waters now in terms of losing therapy/not being able to engage with therapy properly if things dont improve. Ive been in classic stuck mode, getting so absorbed by the numbers and the bubble that AN offers, that I have been numb to it all. The HCA I was seeing was really trying to help me to make changes but she left a while ago (she was going back to train as a nurse) and since then I have had the odd appointment here and there (I think it fell to every 3 weeks for a while as there were no available appointments) with people trying to cover the clinic until someone else is hired for the role, which is far from ideal as they literally just do the necessary obs and send you on your way.

Okay that sounds like yet another excuse, which is probably is, but it's not been an easy ride since I left hospital to say the least.

BUT this past week things have begun to shift a little. I was honest with my therapist about the whole food/meal plan side of things and we actually spoke about how we can't focus on therapy things until I am in a more stable place, which is both really hard to hear but also exactly what I need to hear. I am actually being more open to change, which is a shift from where I was just a week ago. It is bloody painful, even just thinking about it all hurts/is exhausting and I am still very much in the darkness /struggling with it but there is now a little part of me that is screaming out and trying to be heard. There is a little part of me that WANTS to get out of this endless messy limbo that this relapse has been and wants to start stepping back into "recovery". There is part of me that wants a chance. And I've got to start listening to that side a little more.

I promise, the next update will be a little more positive Stay tuned.

[teenage-mutant-ninja-freak]

fuck it, I am gonna rant about my old therapist- why you should always shop around and find the *right* therapist for you

so, let’s set the scene: I’m 14, I’m s*lf h*rming, I have diagnosed depression and anxiety and a couple s*icide attempts under my belt. My previous psychiatric nurse feels like she can no longer deal with me and sends me to this guy that we’ll call Bob (which leaves me with some abandonment issues but alright)

1st shitty thing Bob does: he makes me sit away from the only exit in the room. Now this doesn’t sound too bad, but considering every other therapy room in this building has at least 3 chairs in various places in the room so *you* can chose where to sit and feel safe in the room, it’s not nice of him to only have 2 chairs and make me sit away from the exit which makes me feel like I can’t leave even if I want to because he is blocking my path. This was the 1st sign of the weird power plays he would do that made me hate him so much.

2nd offence: he was slightly creepy- we were talking about my anxiety, while talking about that I briefly mention that my mum’s a lesbian (I think because I referenced her girlfriend at the time) and instead of talking about my anxiety he questions my sexuality which is none of his business and also creepy considering the conversation was nothing about that 

3rd thing: he never fucking listened. he had to miss one of our sessions which was fine because I had to miss the same day as I was visiting my aunt and uncle. Seems fine, right? Nope, because I didn’t really talk the next session, he blamed it on him missing a session. I told him that wasn’t the case but the next session he said the same thing, and the next session and the next- so on and so forth.

4th thing: power play pt. 2- he would never talk first. he would call my name to bring me into the room, and then we would sit in silence until I spoke first. eventually, because I didn’t like him, I got petty and wouldn’t talk at all which means we would waste 30-40 minutes of a session in utter silence because I was too stubborn to talk and he thought not talking first was some kind of power move.

Now, if none of this seems too bad, it gets worse. Eventually when he (after like 50 minutes of silence) brings up AGAIN that “Is this because I missed that one session?” I just start yelling and swearing at him because he’s pissed me off so much and then leave therapy and never go back to see him. His ego is clearly bruised by little 14 year old me. 

cut to 3 years later, I’m 17 and I’m in collage. A friend of mine who I’ll call M is being treated by Bob and I’m back in therapy as well. I legally changed my name at 16, like my full name and he only knew me by my birth name but would continue to call me by it even after M told him that’s not my name anymore and we even took a photo of me holding up my collage ID card with my new name on it and flipping him off in the picture because screw him. 

Then at 18 I’m diagnosed with BPD, he (for some reason) invites me mother in for a few therapy sessions and tells my fucking mother (despite having not seen me for 4 fucking years) that there’s no way I could have BPD making he invalidate my illness and completely undermining the professional opinion of the psychologist I was working with at the time who diagnosed me.

When I told my psychologist what Bob was saying and he looked pissed as well I felt so vindicated that it wasn’t just in my head that Bob was out to get me even 4 years later, I wasn’t just paranoid, he actually did have a vendetta against me.

Anyways, moral of the story: some people get into therapy to actually help others, some people just like the control they can have over you with that profession so be careful and if a therapist or mental health professional gives you a weird vibe or doesn’t work for you, please, please, please find a new one (if you can).  You should never be not listened to or belittled or make to feel uncomfortable by someone who is supposedly trying to help you nor should your diagnosis be undermined by someone who isn’t even treating you and hasn’t seen you for years.

Thank you for coming to my Ted talk (if you’ve even made it this far, well done)

[ihatecoconut]

Working it Out

Cross Posted to AO3

Phillip was staring out the window when she stepped into their room. He hadn’t even remembered to loosen his tie, which was odd because he hated wearing them and always removed them as soon as possible.

“Hey.”

He turned, smiling slightly when he saw her, “Hi.”

Martha stepped up behind him, hooked her chin over his shoulder and looked out to what he was staring at. Henry and Alex were in the courtyard, holding hands, Bea with them and they were all laughing.

“They look happy.”

Phillip nodded.

She pulled him away from the window gently, sitting them both down on the ornamental sofa which he had once told her was probably more decorative than functional, and took his hands in her own.

“What are you thinking?”

“They released their photos today.”

“Alex and Henry’s?”

He nodded, staring down at their joined hands.

“Hey,” she said, nudging his chin up so he was looking her in the eye, “I thought we were supporting them.”

“We are,” he replied almost instantly, “of course we are, I want Henry to be happy.”

Martha nodded, carefully, “So what’s the problem?”

“Have you seen them? The photos?”

She shook her head, “Why?”

Phillip glanced back towards the window. “They looked happy. Real. Like they were actually in love.”

“They are.”

“I know!” He cried, pulling away from her. “And so are we!”

“Pip, love,” she rose to stand in front of him, “I don’t understand.”

He sighed, dropping his head onto her shoulder and making a small noise when she ran her fingers through his hair. “Ours looked fake.”

“Our photos?”

She felt him nod.

“And you’re… jealous?”

He stiffened slightly, raising his head. “Yes. I suppose I am.”

“Is there something else?” she pushed gently, seeing his eyes stray back to the window again.

“He- Henry- he said he wanted to live his truth.”

“By being gay.” she prompted.

He nodded, absently, as if that wasn’t what he was trying to convey. “And Bea, too, she can be open now about her addictions.”

Something clicked in Martha’s head then, “Both of them are able to be themselves after being supressed.”

“I did that.” He said miserably. “I didn’t mean to, but I did that. And I don’t know how to fix it.”

“Do you want to be someone else?”

He paused, drawing away from her and walking over to the mantlepiece, “Will you always love me?” He asked, suddenly the quiet, shy boy she had first met who was mostly overshadowed by the prince.

“Always.” She replied. “Even if you tell me that you’re also gay, I’d be very heartbroken, but I’ll always support you and love you.”

He laughed slightly at that, “No, no, I’m not…” he frowned, turning serious again, “I don’t like children.”

“Alright.”

“And I don’t want to be a father.”

“We don’t have to have children.”

“But the monarchy-“

She stepped forward again, cupping his face in her hands, “You have two siblings and plenty of cousins. It doesn’t just fall on us.”

He nodded, not meeting her eyes, “I just feel like something will go wrong if we don’t.”

“Things could go wrong anyway.”

“I suppose. I wish I could talk to them.”

They had somehow managed to drift back to the window and were looking out again on Henry, Alex, and Bea. Catherine had joined them, and she hugged both her children and Alex fiercely.

Martha paused, “I might have a solution for that.”

*

“Family therapy?” Bea repeated, a little incredulously.

“Yes.” Phillip was standing opposite the three of them, Alex having been sent back to America, and desperately wishing he had brought Martha with him.

“Oh, so after all those years of…”

“I think it’s a great idea.” Catherine interrupted loudly, cutting off whatever angry rant Bea was building up to.

Phillip glanced over to his brother who had remained silent for the whole discussion, “Henry?”

Henry startled at the sound of his name, as if he hadn’t been expecting to be called on. “Uh, I agree with mum.”

“You do?” Bea asked.

He nodded, “I think we need this.”

“Need what?” Bea demanded, “some stranger digging around in our issues?”

“It’s more some stranger helping to solve our issues.” Phillip offered, shutting up when she sent him a glare.

“Well,” Catherine said, attempting to stave off an argument, “that’s three votes for yes. So, we’ll try it.”

“Were you going to invite gran?” Henry asked, glancing at Phillip and then away again. He still seemed incredibly awkward around Phillip, but then Phillip had a lot to answer for.

“No. I don’t think she would…”

There were general mumbles of agreement from the other three.

“Alright.” Catherine clapped her hands together, as if sealing the deal. “Pip, did you have any in mind, or would you like to look together?”

“Martha recommended a few, I thought you might like to look at.”

“Then we’ll look.” She smiled at him, proud of his planning and it hit him in the chest like a bullet.

*

“You think that was the first time she had smiled at you in a while?” the Doctor asked once they had finished recapping how they arrived at family therapy.

Phillip nodded, not meeting anyone’s eyes.

“Alright.” She made a few notes in the notebook she had brought.

Phillip used that moment to look around the room. They had managed to choose a therapist who was willing to come to them, so they didn’t have the security risk of them all leaving the palace together, and Catherine had volunteered one of her rooms to be used. She had called it a ‘neutral area’, but it just seemed like a reminder of what they had lost.

He hadn’t been in her rooms in years.

“Beatrice,” the Doctor continued, looking up,

“Just Bea, please.”

She tilted her head in acceptance, “Bea. Why did you have such a strong objection to this?”

Bea wriggled slightly. “I had to see therapists when I was in rehab.”

“Bad experience?”

“They just dug around in my head and kept asking questions about Dad that I didn’t want to answer, but they forced me to.”

The Doctor’s brow creased slightly. “That won’t be what this is like, you only have to share what you’re comfortable sharing,” she paused to glance around at them, “all of you.”

“Thank you.” Bea mumbled. “But I do think we should start with the death of your father.”

Phillip looked around at their reactions- Bea was steadfastly looking at a spot on the wall over the Doctor’s shoulder, Catherine was attempting to be open and make eye contact, but the effect was mitigated by the tension in her shoulders, and Henry was the only one of them who looked ready to sit through the session. Apparently having individual therapy helped as a preparation for family therapy.

He thought the Doctor might have drawn the same conclusions because she turned to Henry first, “How did you see everyone else’s reactions?”

“Mum pulled away,” he began, quiet but strong, “Phillip was on the other side of the world anyway, but he seemed to think he needed to take over, and Bea became addicted to cocaine.”

She nodded, “It was cancer, yes? So you knew it was coming?”

“That didn’t make it easier,” Catherine objected.

“No, not at all.” She paused, setting her pen down. “In some ways that actually makes it harder, the feeling that you could have saved him in some way or the feelings you get from watching him wither away are ones that you don’t get if people die in sudden and unexpected ways.”

Catherine relaxed back in her seat, frowning down at her hands, as if considering the Doctor’s words.

“So, Henry, you didn’t tell us how you reacted to your father’s death.”

Henry froze, obviously not expecting that question, “I saw everyone else’s reactions.”

“And you lived your own.”

“I guess I just pushed myself to be perfect.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “I’m seeing some similarities here in your reactions: both Catherine and Bea pulled away from reality while Phillip and Henry tried to control what they could.”

“I didn’t pull away!” Bea objected, “I was always there for Henry.”

“Except for the time that you forced him to track you down and talk you into going to rehab.” Phillip found himself firing back.

Bea paused, eyes wide, and then turned to Henry as if she had just had an enormous realisation. “I’m sorry.” She whispered, “I never thought…”

“That’s why we’re here.” The Doctor pointed out gently. “To think about each other.”

Bea nodded, but she was still watching Henry, unsure of his reaction. The Doctor let her for a few moments before moving on.

“You also said that Phillip seemed to think he needed to take over, Phillip do you think that’s an accurate perception?”

“Yes.”

They were obviously all waiting for him to say more, but the words were half forming inside his head and leaving again.

“Alright, why did you take over?”

He paused, remembering the days after his father had died, when their mother had pulled away and refused to leave her rooms and the Queen had dragged him into her position, filling his head with finances and rules.

“Gran said that Mum broke a rule.” He began hesitantly. “She married someone the crown did not approve of.”

He heard his mother’s slightly horrified gasp before she spoke.

“Are you saying she said his death was a punishment for breaking a rule?”

Phillip looked down at the carpet, willing the Doctor to ask another question or change the subject. She didn’t.

“Yes,” he heard himself reply, as if from a distance, “that’s what she implied, she said if I ever broke a rule, things like that would happen to me, and cancer can be genetic so I thought…” he trailed off, the words getting stuck in his throat, but Bea filled in the rest for him.

“You thought me or Henry would die if you stepped out.”

He risked looking up, expecting to be mocked for his stupid ideas, but all he saw was Henry, looking at him like he finally saw him through the façade he always put up.

“And you thought if we stepped out of line, something bad would happen too?” Bea asked, Phillip looked at her and saw the same understanding that had been in Henry’s eyes.

“And something did go wrong.” Henry said, quiet, hushed. “The emails.”

“I just wanted to protect you.” He found himself whispering back. “I’m sorry.”

[remedialpotions]

An Artistic Rendering, part 2

I couldn’t stop myself. (But also, I had a lot of fun writing this so... here. Have it.)

Wednesday night art classes were typically followed by a casual dinner at a nearby restaurant. Usually, Hermione enjoyed this post-class debrief session with her mum, but that had been under normal circumstances, when they’d been working on drawings of flowers or cats or bowls of fruit. Tonight, Hermione was not totally sure how she would tolerate sitting across from her mother for an entire meal, nor if she would ever be able to look her in the eye again.

“So, what do you think you want to order?” asked Mum cheerfully, opening up her menu. “I’m rather hungry, aren’t you? Maybe we ought to order a starter - the bruschetta here is supposed to be excellent.”

“Sure,” Hermione said, staring blankly into her own menu. Words like ‘carbonara’ and ‘pomodoro’ and ‘rigatoni’ floated meaninglessly in front of her. “Whatever you want.”

“Ooh, let’s get some wine, too,” Mum added. Had Hermione possessed the wherewithal to look at her, she would have been goggling in disbelief. How on earth was she so cheerful after what had just transpired? How was she, too, not completely disturbed? “How about Chianti? I never know what’s supposed to ‘pair well’ with something else, I just always get what I like-”

“Great,” interjected Hermione, eyes fixed on a description for chicken marsala. “Sure. Whatever.”

Mum set down her menu; in her periphery, Hermione sensed her leaning curiously toward her. “What’s going on, dear? Are you all right?”

“‘What’s going on?’” Hermione repeated back, incredulous. “‘Am I all right?’”

“Well-” Mum blinked, taken aback. “I know there were a couple other drawings that the instructor liked better, but she still thought yours was rather good - and you’ve always been better at things like science and maths anyway-”

“It’s not that.”

Just as Mum opened her mouth to inquire further, a young woman in a crisp white blouse and black pants arrived at their table. “Good evening, ladies,” she greeted them. “My name is Nicola and I’ll be your server this evening. May I get you started with something to drink?”

Mum ordered the bottle of Chianti (Hermione privately thought they might need more than one by the time the night was over) and the bruschetta, and Nicola flounced away.

“Mum,” Hermione said, once she was sure that their server was out of earshot. “You drew a picture of Dad.”

“Well, of course I did.” Her voice was infuriatingly casual. “He was the obvious subject, wasn’t he?”

“So you don’t think that was awkward for me at all?”

“Yours was of Ron,” Mum pointed out, leaving Hermione to briefly wonder how she was possibly related to someone so level-headed. “I’m certainly not interested in seeing my future son-in-law like that.”

The discomfort of the evening was dulled, at least momentarily, by this implication that she would be marrying Ron. While they were not yet engaged - Hermione was in no rush, and perfectly happy to cohabitate - she was also quite certain that she would be spending her life with Ron, and it was nice to know that her mum was so certain of it too.

Though, perhaps that made the events of the evening even more bizarre.

“That’s different,” replied Hermione finally.

“How, exactly?”

“He’s not in his fifties, for one-”

“One day he will be,” said Mum, “and I’m sure when that day comes, you’ll find him just as attractive as you do now-”

“Oh my God,” groaned Hermione, squeezing her eyes shut against the barrage of unwelcome mental images that her mum had just conjured up for her.

“Well, really.” Hermione forced herself to open her eyes, only to see a knowing, almost smug sort of look on her mum’s face (perhaps they had more in common than she thought). “Am I meant to believe that this was the first and only time you’ve ever seen it?”

“Please stop-”

“And don’t think we don’t know what happened in Australia.”

Before Hermione could inquire further about this - Australia was a topic that almost never arose between her and her parents, for obvious reasons - Nicola returned with a bottle of wine in one hand and two glasses in the other. The instant the wine was poured, Hermione seized upon her glass and drank deeply from it.

“What were you saying about Australia?” Hermione asked, once she had stopped to catch her breath.

“Just that it was clear what had… transpired between the two of you.”

Hermione paused, considering this, hoping her face was not giving anything away. It was true that she and Ron had had sex for the first time in Australia, just days before locating her parents and restoring their memories. And she did not expect her mum to be under any illusions about the nature of her relationship with Ron; they lived together, and before that, she had been quite unabashed about spending the night at his. But it was one thing to know, and quite another to discuss it.

“You could tell?”

“A mother always knows,” said Mum blithely around her own, more reserved sip of wine. “And really, it was just a matter of time. I always knew that.”

“You did?”

“It was always clear to me, and to your dad, that you had a certain connection with him,” said Mum. She had grown thoughtful now, introspective. “Actually, I imagine it was clear to everyone but the pair of you at times.”

“You’re right about that.”

“It’s why we were always happy to let you spend summers with his family, or spend your Christmas at Hog - at school,” she finished lamely, eyes darting around the restaurant. “You had such trouble fitting in when you were younger, and we were so happy that you found someone who… who understands you, the way he does.”

Hermione nodded, thankful that Nicola had swept over to them with a plate of bruschetta, because she was at a rare loss for words. She always knew her parents had liked Ron, and they’d made no secret of their gratefulness that she had found friends at last in him and Harry. But she hadn’t known that they had seen the depth of their relationship, or understood its uniqueness. Most people questioned what she and Ron saw in each other… but her parents had always known.

“And he really must love you,” Mum went on, helping herself to a piece of toasted bread piled high with chopped tomato, fresh basil, and grated parmesan. “To have done what he did for you.”

Myriad events flashed through Hermione’s mind: Ron, at twelve, vomiting up slugs; at thirteen, telling off Professor Snape; at fourteen, begrudgingly pinning an SPEW badge to his robes; at eighteen, offering himself up for torture in exchange for her. Posing starkers for a figure drawing ranked rather low on his running list of self-sacrifices, and yet it was not lost on Hermione how lucky they were that this was now their biggest concern.

“You’re right,” replied Hermione, taking her own slice of bruschetta. “He really does.”

***

Ron was at the sink, scrubbing a sponge over a dinner plate, when Hermione walked through the door of their flat. “Hi,” Hermione greeted him brightly, approaching him in search of a quick kiss hello. “I’ve brought leftover spag bol if you want it.”

“You know I do.” Ron shut off the faucet and picked up a small towel to dry his hands, then bent to touch his lips to Hermione’s. “A departure from your usual, innit?”

“I didn’t want anything too fancy,” replied Hermione, handing the styrofoam box to Ron, who immediately opened it to peer inside. “I was a bit put off my appetite to be honest with you.”

“Uh oh.” Ron fished a fork out of a drawer. “Dare I ask how it went?”

“You were very well-received,” Hermione assured him, making him grin as he twisted strands of pasta around his fork. “But erm…”

“Yes?”

“My mum… she, er…”

“Oh, no.” Ron paused with his fork in mid-air. “She didn’t have… comments, did she?”

“She did, actually, but that’s not the problem. She…” Hermione waited while Ron chewed his mouthful of pasta. Unlike her, his appetite only increased during times of distress. “She drew my dad.”

To her surprise, Ron burst into raucous laughter. “Yeah, I expected that she would have done.”

“You could have warned me!”

“And you could have warned me that a group of twenty people were going to see my todger before you had me starkers in the sitting room,” Ron grinned, “but you didn’t, did you?”

Though she was outwardly scowling at him, Hermione had to work to keep a smile off her face. “Again, it’s not like I took photos-”

“Merlin’s pants, I bet that’ll be next-”

“And really, it’s quite different when it’s your own father - I didn’t look at it or anything,” Hermione was quick to state, “but even just knowing…”

She broke off with a shudder. Ron set down the container of pasta and folded her into his arms, where she laid her cheek automatically against his chest.

“That sounds traumatic,” said Ron, gently kissing the top of Hermione’s head.

“It really was.”

“Should we sign you up for therapy?”

“Yes, please.”

With another little chuckle, he kissed the top of her head again, and she settled in against him. Her mum had been right: she did have a connection with him that was unlike anything else. She had always known that they would end up exactly as they were now, even when they hadn’t been able to see it themselves.

“So you said your mum had some comments?” asked Ron after a few minutes’ easy silence. “I’m a little scared to ask.”

“Not about the picture,” Hermione said. “Mostly about how… how good you are for me.”

“Yeah?”

“She referred to you as her future son-in-law.”

Ron loosened his grip on Hermione just enough to look down at her with surprise. “Did she really?”

Hermione nodded again. “Does that… freak you out?”

It was not a question of whether he loved her, or was wholeheartedly committed to her; she knew without a shadow of a doubt how he felt. But with marriage came things like babies and home loans and joint vaults at Gringotts, and it was not unreasonable to think that at nineteen, he simply might not be ready for it.

But he just shook his head, and moved in to kiss her again - this one soft, warm, lingering. “Nope. Not at all.”

Happily, Hermione resumed hugging him.

“Maybe next time,” said Ron, his hand rubbing idly up and down her spine, “you lot could do something a little more… you could join a book club, maybe. Something like that.”

“That could be fun,” responded Hermione. “Only, my mum’s got a bit of a penchant for romance novels.”

“Oh. Perhaps not, then…”

[kinnsporsche]

you're in love with a beautiful boy, and he won't tell you that he loves you (but he loves you)

Set after the events from 24.03.2020, Ben and Callum finally talk about everything and Ben comes to a realization; he’s in love with Callum Highway. And he has to tell him.

word count: 5.2k

read on ao3

When Ben wakes up, it’s to an empty bed.

He doesn’t realise at first until he reaches his hand out to Callum’s side of the bed, intent on coaxing the man’s arm around his waist and letting himself be held, but instead all his hand hits are cold sheets. He grapples around for a few seconds, thinking maybe Callum has just rolled out of his reach in his sleep; it was rare for him not to wake up with Callum’s warm body next to him, but it had been known to happen from time to time.

“Cal?” he calls out, voice raspy from sleep. He knows even if Callum does reply, he won’t hear his response, so he swings his legs over the side of the bed and gets up.

The sweatpants he pulls on are his own, but the sweatshirt isn’t. The sleeves come down well past his hands so only the tips of his fingers are visible, and it’s a little tight across the shoulders. Ben had teased Callum about the little green alien holding up a peace sign that was embroidered on it when he’d first worn it, but now it made him feel safe.

He finds Callum downstairs at the kitchen table eating breakfast with Lexi and Lola. He’s laughing at something Lexi’s saying that Ben can’t hear but he bristles when he sees Ben leaning against the doorframe.

Ben smiles at him, a small quirk of his lips that was apparently the wrong thing to do because Callum’s pushing his chair away from the table and putting his bowl in the sink and grabbing his jacket from the back of the chair like he’s about to leave.

“Callum-” Ben tries, taking a few steps forward, but he’s cut off by his daughter barrelling into his legs and throwing her arms around them.

“Morning, princess,” he’s saying, gently coaxing Lexi back into her chair and telling her to finish her breakfast.

He only just manages to catch Callum’s wrist as he reaches for the handle of the door.  

Callum isn’t looking at him, and Ben can’t figure out if its because he can’t or because he won’t.  

“Callum-” he says again, and then, a little softer, “-Cal, please.”

That seems to work, because Callum’s turning his head to face him and the hand that was reaching for the door drops back down by his side. Ben feels like he can breathe a little easier.

“I’m meant to be meeting Stuart,” Callum’s saying, and the fact that Ben can’t hear the tone in his voice scares him more than his words. “I have to go.”

“We need to talk. Properly talk, I mean.”

“I don’t have time, Ben.”

Callum smiles over his shoulder, and Ben glances behind him to see Lola ushering Lexi out of the room, presumably to get her ready for school and to give them some space.

“Later, then?” Ben asks when he turns back to Callum.

He sees it then, the exhaustion in his eyes and the dark circles under them. The way Callum’s holding himself a little tighter than he normally would, the tension in his shoulders. Ben knows it isn’t all his fault, but it’s enough that he put at least some of it there.

Callum doesn’t hold his gaze. His eyes flit around Ben’s face for a few seconds before he’s looking down at the floor and shaking his head. “Ben I-”

Ben doesn’t waste any time when he leans in and kisses him. It’s the only thing he can think to do; the only thing that makes sense. His life is terrifying and confusing and the only time it seems to stand still is when Callum’s kissing him.

Callum’s not moving, and he isn’t kissing him back, but Ben can’t stop. He can’t let Callum walk out without him knowing how much he means to him. It’s not a risk he’s willing to take. So, he kisses him and kisses him and kisses him until he feels Callum pressing back into it and his hands are on his waist and Ben feels like he’s grounded again.

It’s not like their usual kisses. It doesn’t get heated; Callum doesn’t nip at his bottom lip and Ben doesn’t repay him by sliding his tongue into his mouth and teasing him until they’re both breathing heavy and moaning. Ben’s never been good with his words, so it’s a kiss that says everything he can’t.

Please don’t go. Promise me you’ll come back. I can’t do this without you.

And Callum answers back in his own way.

I’m still here.

And Ben thinks that’s enough.

Callum’s resting his forehead against his when they pull back from the kiss, and they both keep leaning in like they want to keep kissing and find solace in each other again. But they need to talk. And they both know that.

Ben feels Callum’s breath against his lips when he speaks and leans back enough so that he can see what he’s saying.

“I said I have to go.”

Ben feels his blood run cold.

Callum can more than likely feel the way he tenses a little, if the way he moves one of his hands from Ben’s waist to his chin and tilts his head up to face him is anything to go by.

“I’ll be back later. I still need to see Stuart.”

Ben doesn’t say anything, just nods his head once, twice, and lets Callum pull him in for one last kiss before he leaves.

I love you; Callum’s kiss is saying.

 I think I might love you too, Ben thinks to himself, and the thought hits him like a shockwave.

He’s still reeling from it even after the door’s shut and Callum has disappeared from sight.

Ben runs his thumb across his bottom lip like he can imprint the memory of Callum there until he sees him again and leans back against the counter when Lexi and Lola come back into the room, snapping him out of his thoughts.

Lola’s looking at him like she knows everything and as far as he knows, she probably does. But she’s looking at him like she feels sorry for him and Ben feels exhausted all over again.

“Right princess-,” he starts, leaning down to help Lexi zip her coat up, “-Daddy’s going back to bed for a bit. You be a good girl for Mummy when she takes you to school, alright?”

“I’m always a good girl,” Lexi bites back, rolling her eyes. “If you’re tired you can borrow the unicorn from my room! It has magic sleeping powers that are only for me, but I’ll share them with you this one time.”

Ben pulls her in for a hug and peppers kisses across her forehead and on the top of her hair. He laughs when she moans about him getting her braid messy, so he holds his hand up in surrender and stands back up.

He watches her walk to the door Callum had just left through, watches as she waves at him whilst she skips across the room. Ben doesn’t take his eyes away from her and he can’t help the grin that spreads across his face when she signs at him.

I love you, Daddy.

Ben signs it back. It’s a little messy, but Lexi seems to understand the point. He watches her leave out of the kitchen window, sees her holding tightly to Lola’s hand as she skips down the street until she disappears from view and he’s alone again.

It’s almost ironic, he thinks, how a house this big can feel so suffocatingly small when he’s alone in it.

He takes the time to clear the table of the plates and bowls and rinses them in the sink and when he can’t manage to distract himself with anything else, he heads back up to bed. He sleeps in Callum’s sweatshirt because it makes him feel safe and purposefully doesn’t let himself think about falling in love with Callum Highway.

-

When he wakes next, it’s to someone shaking him awake and he sits bolt upright, his fight or flight kicking in.

It takes a second for his eyes to adjust to the dark, but when they do, he can make out the familiar silhouette of his mother standing by the door, hands raised in surrender like she’s trying to placate him. She’s saying something, but Ben can’t see or hear what it is.

“What?” he’s asking once he manages to fumble around and grab his glasses. He blinks a few times when everything suddenly becomes clearer and tries to focus on what she’s saying.

“I’m sorry,” Kathy insists, flicking the light on. She feels a little guilty when Ben squints and hides his eyes against the harsh intrusion. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You didn’t scare me,” he insists, defensive. His mum just gives him the look and he gives up on pretending. “What are you even doing here anyway? Trying to make sure I’m keeping out of trouble?”

“No. Why? Should I be?”

Ben just rolls his eyes. “Well, thanks for the concern, Mum. But I don’t need a babysitter.”

“That’s not what yesterday suggests.” Kathy sighs and holds a hand up to cut Ben off before he can get even more defensive. “Look, I didn’t come here to have a go at you, I just thought you could use the company.”

“I don’t need company. I’m fine.”

“And I knew you’d say that. Which is why I brought over some lunch from the cafe. It’s downstairs if you want to join me.”

Ben narrows his eyes. “That’s blackmail.”

“I prefer the term bribery.”

They stare at each other for a while, wondering which one of them will break first.

It’s Ben. But only because his body betrays him and his stomach growls like it knows there’s an offer of food on the table.

“Fine. But I’m not here for a therapy session, I’m here for chips,” Ben says, standing up from the bed and catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He debates changing and maybe putting his contacts in, but this sweatshirt still smells like Callum and he doesn’t want to change out of it. He makes a mental note to be extra careful when he’s eating so he doesn’t spill anything on it.

The food’s already waiting on the table when he gets downstairs, packed tightly in one of the plastic takeaway containers from the cafe. Ben grabs two plates, one for him, and one for his mum, before he starts eating.

His mouth is half full when he feels the hand on his arm and looks up.

“I saw Callum earlier.”

Ben chews slowly to give himself some time to think. “So?” he says once he’s swallowed.

“So, he looked tired, Ben. Like he hadn’t slept. And you don’t look much better yourself,” Kathy says, her hand still resting on Ben’s arm.

“Well thanks for that, Mum. Way to boost my ego.”

“You know that isn’t what I meant by that. It’s just that I’m worried about you. He’s worried about you,” she says, and Ben can’t hear it, but he knows her voice is dripping with worry and it makes him feel sick. He pushes his plate away.

“I know,” Ben says, swallowing hard around the lump that had managed to form in his throat. He tries not to think about their fight, about the bone deep fear he’d felt when Callum had said I don’t want to do this anymore, but the house has been empty and it’s easy to let his mind wander when he doesn’t have any distractions. “Believe me, Mum. I know.”

Kathy taps Ben’s arm to get his attention again. “Are you two alright?” she’s asking, and Ben doesn’t even begin to know how to answer that question. So, he just shrugs.

“We had a fight,” he admits when she presses him for more. “He tried to leave; said he didn’t want to do this anymore. I convinced him to stay and we went to bed.”

He purposefully doesn’t tell her that he spent half the night shaking in Callum’s arms. It was like a dam had broken and once he’d started, he couldn’t stop. Like everything he’d been trying to ignore flooded to the surface all at once.

Losing his hearing. Dennis’ death. Callum’s kidnapping. Lexi getting hit by that car. The operation.

There’s more, Kathy knows there is. “And?” she prompts, giving Ben the room to say as much or as little as he wants. She knows her son, and she knows that if she pushes too far, Ben will clam up.

“And now I don’t know where we stand. I woke up and he wasn’t there, he tried to leave when he caught sight of me. He said he’d be over later so we can talk.” Ben takes a breath and balls his hands into fists to get them to stop shaking. “I can’t lose him, Mum.”

“Ben we all do stupid things sometimes. Maybe not almost-cheat-on-my-boyfriend-steal-a-car-get-arrested type stupid, but my point still stands.”

Ben gawps at her for a second, and he sees her mouth a confused ‘what?’ at him. “You think I was going to cheat on him?”

“Ben, I know you left together. And Tina told me what she’d seen when I spoke to her.”

“Does Callum think I was going to cheat on him?” he asks, voice a little breathless. He tries desperately to remember the fight now, to remember everything Callum had said. Everything had been so loud and fast and his ears had been ringing since Callum had almost walked away.

Kathy narrows her eyes, confused. “He was there when I got the call from Jack, he knows you and this guy left together.”

“Because I wanted his car, Mum. Not because I wanted to get off with him.” He’s panicking again, he knows he is. “I need to see him. I have to talk to him.”

Kathy reaches out and grabs Ben’s hand when he tries to stand, and she can feel how hard he’s shaking. “Ben, calm down,” she’s saying. “Running around the square looking for him isn’t going to do you any good.”

“I don’t care, Mum!” Ben insists, pulling away from her and letting the sleeves of Callum’s sweatshirt roll down over his hands. “I just… I can’t lose him again, I almost lost him once and I can’t do it again. I won’t.”

He grips the edges of the counter and squeezes his eyes closed to try and fight off the ringing in his ears. “Nothing in this world scares me more than losing him.”

He flinches when he feels a hand on his back.

“Don’t you think he needs to hear that from you?” Kathy asks when Ben finally turns his head to look at her.

He knows, Ben wants to say, but doesn’t.

He thinks back to their argument – to what he managed to understand of it, anyway. He thinks about Callum saying he’s tired of taking a backseat, of him thinking Ben walks all over him. He thinks about Callum asking do I even cross your mind? and wants to tell him that he never leaves it. That he’s the first thing he thinks about in the morning and the last thought he has before he goes to sleep.

Ben nods and leans into his mum’s arms when she pulls him in for a hug and drops a kiss on the top of his head.

“I have to get back to work,” she tells him when they pull apart from the hug. “Talk to Callum, alright? He’s good for you. You’re good for each other. And anybody with eyes in their head can see that the two of you love each other.”

It’s the second time today he’s thought about the idea of loving Callum, of letting himself love Callum and the thought is just as terrifying as it was this morning.

By the time he remembers how to speak, Kathy’s already smiling at him from the door and leaving without so much as a goodbye from him.

Ben sinks into one of the chairs at the kitchen table and holds his head in his hands. He’s fucked. He’s completely and utterly fucked.

He’s in love with Callum Highway.

-

[From Ben, 14:38PM]

Can we talk?

 [From Callum, 14:45PM]

Still with Stuart. Tonight?

 [From Ben, 14:46PM]

Sure. Yours? We might actually get some privacy there.

 [From Callum, 15:01PM]

You saying you don’t like Lexi’s constant interruptions?

 [From Ben, 15:05PM]

My biggest regret in life is not enforcing the knocking rule sooner.

But this is important. I don’t want any interruptions.

 [From Ben, 15:06PM]

Please?

 [From Callum, 15:08PM]

I’ll kick Stuart out for a bit then. Does 7 sound good?

[From Ben, 15:08PM]

7 works. See you then.

[From Callum, 15:10PM]

See you.

 -

Ben turns up a little before seven. He debates waiting outside for a bit but decides him lingering outside Callum’s flat would be weirder than turning up early. His hand closes around the key in his pocket that Callum had given him a few weeks ago, and wonders if he should let himself in.

He rings the buzzer.

“It’s me,” he says once Callum answers, and then the door’s opening and he’s walking up the stairs.

Callum’s waiting for him when he gets to the top. He’s leaning against the wall with his arms folded across his chest in that way he only does when he’s feeling particularly vulnerable – like he’s trying to hold himself together.

“Hey,” Callum says, his voice soft.

“Hi,” Ben says back. He doesn’t know what to do here; doesn’t know what the protocol is. He wants to kiss Callum the way they always do when they haven’t seen each other for hours, but he doesn’t know if he should. Instead, he settles for unbuttoning his jacket and hanging it up on the pegs near the stairs.

“Do you want-” Callum starts, but cuts himself off when he remembers that Ben can’t hear him. He pushes himself up from the wall he’s leaning on and puts his hand on Ben’s shoulder to get his attention.

Ben flinches, which isn’t exactly the reaction he’d been expecting. He’s nervous. Callum doesn’t need to feel the tension in his shoulders to know that, he can almost feel the nervous energy radiating off of Ben in waves.

“Do you want a drink?”

“I’m good, thanks.”

He puts his hand over Callum’s for a second and smiles up at him when he walks past and into the flat. He sits on the sofa and Callum follows a minute later; he’s got himself a beer which he clutches in his hands like it’s his only lifeline. Ben knows it’s only a matter of minutes before he’ll start anxiously tearing at the label and making a mess.  

“I wasn’t going to cheat on you,” Ben starts. It’s important that he says that first so that Callum knows. Ben needs him to hear it. “It never even crossed my mind, Callum. Why would it?”

“You tell me. You were the one trying to leave a bar with another man.”

Callum can’t look at him and, just as Ben had thought, he starts tearing at the label on the beer bottle.

“I don’t know what I was thinking. I just wanted to prove that I still could, you know?”

Callum shakes his head and takes a swig of the beer. “No, Ben. That’s just it, I don’t know because you don’t talk to me. So, what was it then? You just wanted to prove to the world that you could still go out and pull some random bloke? Isn’t it enough that I love you?”

“Of course it is Callum I-”

“And then you go and nick a car too? Did you ever stop to think about what I would do if you went to prison? What Lexi would do?” Callum pauses for a second to catch his breath. “Do you really want to see her growing up without a dad all because you felt like you had something to prove to the world?”

“Callum you’re… you’re talking too fast,” Ben mumbles. He doesn’t want to admit it at first; wants to carry on pretending like he can understand what Callum’s saying when he’s only catching a handful of words that tumble from his lips.

Callum looks guilty when he apologises and even after Ben reassures him that it isn’t his fault, they’re both still tense.

“I can’t-” Callum stops and draws in a breath when his voice comes out shaky. “I can’t keep putting everything I am into us and getting scraps of you in return, Ben. It isn’t fair.”

His words hit Ben like a punch to the face, but he can’t argue because he knows there’s some truth behind them. He knows that whenever Callum tries to pull him closer, he responds by pushing him further away; it’s been his default for as long as he can remember.

“You’re right,” Ben says, avoiding Callum’s gaze when he speaks. “I thought I could do this on my own, that I could go on like everything was normal when I know it isn’t and the harder you tried to help the more I pushed you away. And then everything with Danny happened and I just felt… broken, I guess? Useless?”

Callum looks like he wants to protest, or reassure him, but Ben cuts him off by shifting a little closer on the couch and reaching out to take his hands.

“There is nothing in this world that I’m afraid of more than losing you, Callum.” He brushes his thumb across Callum’s knuckles, feels the way the grip on his hands tightens a little. “When I thought I’d lost you once it almost destroyed me. And yesterday when I thought you were going to walk away from me, I was terrified. You asked me if you even cross my mind, but the truth is you never leave it; I’m never not thinking about you.”

“Ben…” Callum trails off, but clearly his boyfriend isn’t finished.

“And I know I need to do better, that I need to stop pushing you away and taking things out on other people. I know I need to change.”

Callum drops one of Ben’s hands and reaches out to cup his cheek when he says that, thumb brushing softly over the skin there. “I don’t want you to change, Ben. I just want you to know that you don’t have to do this alone. You’re allowed to be angry and upset about it all because no matter how much you try and deny it, this is a big deal. And it’s okay to be scared.”

Ben nods and turns his head to press a kiss to Callum’s palm.

“You know, when Kathy told me that you and that guy were supposed to be leaving together, it hurt, Ben. It hurt like I’d never felt before and I can’t go through that again. I can’t be constantly worrying that when things get tough, you’ll go out and try and pick up some bloke to make it easier. I can’t be a second choice.” It hurts to say, but Callum knows it needs to be said; that he needs to say it just as much as Ben needs to hear it.

“You’re not a second choice, you never could be a second choice, Callum,” Ben’s insisting and he’s squeezing his hands like he’s afraid Callum will disappear if he doesn’t hold on tight enough.

Callum wants to believe him; he really really does.

“You’re my first and last choice. Why would I even look at anybody else when I have you? You’re funny, and sweet, and smart, and incredibly sexy, and you can do things with your mouth that should probably be illegal-” Callum laughs at that, and even though Ben can’t hear it, it still manages to spread warmth through him.

“And I…” Ben trails off, drawing in a deep breath. He has to tell him. Callum has to know. But that doesn’t make it any easier. It doesn’t change the fact that the last time he said those three words to somebody, they ended up dead.

But Callum deserves to know.

So he tells him.

“I love you.”

His voice is shaking, and it’s softer than it’s been all night, but he’s said it. He’s said it and it feels like he can remember how to breathe again; like a weight’s been lifted from his shoulders.

Callum looks at him, lips parted like he can’t quite believe what he’s heard, and Ben wonders why he’s waited so long to tell him when it feels like he’s always known.

“What did you say?” Callum asks, breathless.

“I said I love you, Callum. I love you and I’m in love with you and it feels like I’ve loved you forev-”

He’s cut off by the feeling of Callum’s lips against his own, and it takes less than a second for Ben to kiss him back. He scoots closer on the sofa until their legs are pressed together and Callum’s cupping his cheeks and Ben has one hand on his thigh. Callum kisses him until he’s breathless and then keeps going.

Ben doesn’t know how it happens, but when they manage to tear their mouths away from each other he’s got one of his legs thrown over Callum’s lap so he’s straddling him with his hands in his hair. Callum’s hands have managed to push his shirt halfway up his back and are running across the exposed skin, making Ben shiver.

“We should-” Ben starts but is cut off by his boyfriend before he can offer a suggestion.

“Bedroom?”

“Yeah.”

Ben scrambles up from Callum’s lap and goes to offer him his hand, but he’s already rising to his feet and pulling Ben against him for another kiss as he walks them towards his bedroom. Callum’s hands on the small of his back make Ben feel safe even as he’s being walked backwards.

Somewhere along the way Ben loses his shirt, and Callum’s belt isn’t far behind it.

Callum kicks the door shut once they’ve stumbled into the bedroom together. The curtains are already closed and have been so for days. He hasn’t been spending much time here as of late, preferring instead to stay over at the Mitchell house with Ben and the others. The only time he’d been back here was to pick up some clothes whenever he’d needed them.

Ben gasps when the back of his legs hit the bed and he’s pushed down so that he’s laying on it. He barely gets a chance to breathe because almost instantly Callum’s on top of him and kissing him again and it’s Ben’s turn to slide his own hands up the back of his shirt.

“Cal!” he moans, tilting his head back when the other man kisses his way from Ben’s lips, across his jaw, and down to his neck. It hadn’t taken Callum long to figure out that Ben’s neck was his weakness, and he exploited it as much as he could.

Callum continues his assault on Ben’s neck – leaving marks in the shape of his mouth that won’t be fading any time soon – until his boyfriend is whining and gripping onto his shirt like it’s the only thing keeping him anchored.

“Off,” Ben says, tugging at the shirt in question until it gets caught on Callum’s shoulders.

“Say please,” Callum replies, with the most shit-eating grin that Ben’s ever seen.

Ben narrows his eyes as he hitches his legs up around Callum’s waist and uses the momentum he gains from pushing himself up from the bed to flip them over so that he’s the one straddling Callum now.

“Are you trying to get me to beg?” he asks, pinning Callum’s wrists down either side of his head against the bed. It’s not hard enough to hurt, and it’s loose enough that Callum could get free if he wanted to. But Ben knows he doesn’t want to.

“That depends on whether or not it’s working.” Callum makes sure he can read his lips when he speaks, but then he’s leaning up and kissing him again. He sinks his teeth playfully into Ben’s bottom lip when he pulls back just enough to catch his breath, and Ben responds by licking his way into Callum’s mouth when they next kiss and teasing his tongue against his own.

Their back-and-forth is one of the things Ben loves most about this; it’s something he’d never got with any of his one-night stands. Callum gives as good as he gets, and it gets Ben going more than it probably should.

“I might need a little more convincing.”

Ben’s teasing, and it’s definitely the wrong idea because Callum’s rolling them over again and working his way down his neck. He sinks his teeth into the juncture where Ben’s neck meets his shoulder which tears a moan from his mouth. He soothes the sting that leaves with his tongue before working his way down his chest, alternating between leaving a litany of kisses and bites as he goes.

“I think that can be arranged,” Callum bites back, holding Ben’s gaze as he unzips his jeans and shoves them down for him to kick to the floor.

And then he’s got his mouth on him and Ben buries one of his hands in Callum’s hair and curls the other into the blanket beneath him. He’s swearing and moaning, and it doesn’t take him long to start begging, something which he knows makes Callum feel smug.

“Fuck, babe, I love you…” he trails off, tipping his head back against the pillows and letting himself get lost in the feeling of Callum.

-

It’s late when they finally roll apart from each other. Neither of them know how long they’ve been at it but the streets have long since gone quiet so it must be pretty late. The room smells like sweat and sex and them and Ben thinks he could spend the rest of his life in this room with Callum and he’d die a happy man.

It takes even longer for them both to come down off the high of each other and catch their breaths, but when they do, Ben has his head resting on Callum’s chest and an arm slung over his waist and Callum’s arm is around Ben. He’s tracing the tips of his fingers up and down the length of Ben’s back absently. They both feel safe like this – wrapped up in their own little bubble.

Eventually, Callum cups Ben’s jaw with his free hand and uses it to tilt his boyfriends head up to face him. Ben’s smiling at him all soft and sweet and he thinks about how he might have gone his whole life not knowing that love could feel like this. Like anything could feel like this.

“Say it again,” he hums.

Ben rolls his eyes and leans up for a chaste kiss. “I love you,” he says once he pulls back, and he can feel the way Callum’s smiling when he leans in for another kiss.

They still have a long way to go, they both know that. And it won’t be easy or simple. But they have each other. They love each other. And maybe that’s enough.

[intoapuddle]

Monochrome

225k words [COMPLETED]

e | getting together | slow burn | non-youtube au | mental health issues | internal angst | happy ending

summary: When you build your life out of fear that your mental illness could worsen, it leaves little room for excitement. Luckily, Dan has found a space online where he feels comfortable.

song for this chapter: Canzone Africana IV by Ludovico Einaudi [spotify playlist]

note: thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for taking the time to read this story.

READ ON AO3 or read here below the cut

During the following week, a lot of changes happen.

Chris moves out. Not to his own place, but in with Jimmy. In turn, PJ moves in with Phil. With Phil and Dan, practically. Dan has stayed at Phil’s flat since Friday night and he doesn’t plan on leaving more than he has to. While Phil and PJ go to the office, Dan spends his time in Phil’s bedroom, playing on the server with his friends. He isn’t going to tell them, not now. If he ever does, it will be when things have settled down a bit. Phil has to give the okay, too. That isn’t impossible now. Because things are changing, and that is good. There are only good changes happening and Dan might still stave off the spectator and the immediate, negative thoughts that come into his brain but he has so much now that he didn’t have before.

He has made the same progress that his shadow has.

Dan finishes the email for Susanne, too. He feels anxious and scared about it but he sends it off anyway. That is how things work now, apparently. Apparently, Dan can feel like he is about to die and do the thing he knows will be the most productive and best for himself in the end. It isn’t an automatic thing. It probably never will be. Dan is going to have to consciously do what is difficult and while that might feel like a suffocating existence sometimes, it is worth it. Keeping his life small and never going outside the boundaries he set up for himself in order to keep his mental health out of danger worked in its own ways, but that is not how Dan wants to live. Living like that isn’t really living. He won’t go into the darkness, after all, and so his life has to matter. Dan will make it matter.

The session with Susanne the following Friday is the most productive therapy session he has ever had. He has been seeing her for a year and a half, and yet, she knew close to nothing about his life. She knew his family, his past, and all the hard things that crushed Dan enough to not be able to work or pursue his life. Now she knows about the good things, too. She knows about Fall Whisperer. She knows about Phil. She knows that Dan thinks that ‘queer’ might be the label he could feel comfortable with for himself.

When they end the session, it is with a fulfilling feeling of progress. They aren’t done. Dan is not done with therapy. He still has things to process, to talk about, that he can’t work out with the people in his life. He may be able to talk about close to everything with Phil, but Phil can’t give Dan the same educated responses that Susanne can. If this were a year ago, Dan would have cut Susanne off and clung onto Phil to solve his problems. That is not the person Dan wants to be. He still has the impulse, but he is now capable of instead acting on the awareness that that is not a good choice to make.

Finally, Dan feels like he actually has a choice in life.

Dan would love for this part of his life not to include the stresses from his family. He would love to be at the other side and not feel that deep sense of dread in his stomach upon receiving a text message from Mum or Dad. He would love to feel a true sense of closure with the two of them. He would love to feel like they understand where he is coming from, in the same way that he tries to understand them.

But, now Dan has a choice. He will never let go of his family. He loves and cares about them, while staying aware that he can’t let them have all of him. He can’t let them control his life. He can’t act on the anxiety they push on him. It is not Dan’s anxiety to deal with. Miscommunication and arguments will happen because now that Dan stands up for himself, he is in turn disappointing them.

Dan doesn’t have a perfect life. He won’t ever have a perfect life.

He is sad that he won’t have the family he used to wish he could have. He will never not feel sad about that. The fact is, though, that not a lot of people get that perfect family. They might not all get one as bad as Dan’s, but Dan is not alone in this. No matter how lonely he feels inside his family’s boundaries, he is never alone. He is never trapped. There was, and is, always hope. He has the power to alleviate the discomfort by prioritising himself. He has people in his life that can help him prioritise himself.

At this point in his life, Dan is glad he never gave into the darkness. He is glad that he didn’t end up taking his own life. No matter how difficult things can be, he won’t allow his life to be too hard to live anymore.

He may go into the garden sometimes, to recoup. He may have to go into the cave at other times, and relearn his progress, but the darkness is not the answer. He can remain aware of the other side, of the life he never chose, and accept it. He just knows that when those parts of his life are pushing and pulling him in a loop of indecision and terror, there is a light at the bottom of the opposite cave. It may take a while, but eventually, he will return to the light again.

No matter where he is, purple is inside his heart. Green is on his sleeve.

The emerald and the amethyst exist within himself and Phil is by his side, existing as solid proof that love is there as long as Dan allows himself to accept it.

Love is not earned. Love exists, even when things are hard. It will still be there as long as Dan takes care of himself, first and foremost. As long as he does that, he will be able to give the love he gets.

-

Two days after Dan’s big therapy session, him and Phil get the flat to themselves for the day.

They stay in bed for way too long, only pulled out of it when they get too hungry to stay in it. It is the second week of November, and Dan’s life is at a point he never expected it to be. At two points of his life, Phil has somehow found him in his darkest moments. Dan doesn’t believe in souls, or chance, or destiny. Believing in that would, in his opinion, validate the horrible things he has gone through and he will never allow that. Despite this, Phil has been there, as if he was meant to be there.

Sitting beside Phil on the sofa as they compare the sizes of their stomachs after finishing an excessive breakfast, Dan feels like he is meant to be here.

They end up watching a film while wrapping up in the same blanket and drinking hot cocoa. It reminds Dan of being a child, during the odd weekends he would spend at his grandparents’ house. He remembers feeling like those days were Christmas, because he would spend them feeling safe and warm and happy and loved.

Tangled up with Phil wrapped in a blanket, Dan feels safe and warm and happy and loved. They watch what turns out to be a shit film and make fun of it for the full two hours it plays. Once it is over, Dan is resting his head against Phil’s chest. Phil is touching his hair in soothing motions. He brushes the tips of his fingers over the side of Dan’s face. It is familiar to the way Mum touches him, when he inevitably ends up curled up with his head on her lap. The reminder still hurts, a little bit. The longing is still there, because that longing is so strong. It will never fade. Dan is able to focus on what is happening now, though. He is able to focus on the fact that he is safe and held by a person that loves him more than Dan would ever imagine another person could love him.

“Why didn’t Fall Whisperer end?” Dan whispers.

It comes out suddenly, a passing thought that Dan is verbalising. For as long as it takes Phil to respond, Dan wonders if Phil fell asleep.

“Hm?” is the response Phil eventually comes up with.

“Fall Whisperer,” Dan says, speaking up. “It never ends. The storyline does, but you can still do quests and explore the world as much as you want to.”

He looks up at Phil’s face. Phil makes a considering noise.

“Why?” he asks. “Do you not like that?”

Dan smiles. He wants to make a joke. But the world is quiet and for now, only this conversation exists. Dan wants to make it matter. He has the power to do that now.

“I used to prefer games that ended,” he says. “I used to feel like games that kept going were overstaying their welcome, sort of.”

“Wow,” Phil says in a mock-offended tone.

Dan breathes out a laugh.

“Shut up,” he says. “I changed my mind.”

“Oh?” Phil says. “What changed your mind, then?”

“The more I played the post-game, the more I got into it,” Dan says. “And I made friends. It was fun. I don’t know.”

Phil hums. He remains silent.

“Why did you make it that way?” Dan asks.

Something vulnerable appears in Phil’s eyes. Dan takes Phil’s hand.

“I was advised not to keep it going,” he says. “In case it failed, you know? Keeping it open would mean a lot more maintenance and more costs and we weren’t sure we would be able to meet even the first of those.”

“Yeah,” Dan says.

“But I wanted it enough to risk it,” Phil says.

Dan squeezes Phil’s hand.

“Why?” he asks.

“I was tired of fearing the end,” Phil says. “After my dad’s illness, I didn’t want to push that onto another person if I didn’t have to. It isn’t the same thing, but it just became something in my head. Something to hold on to. Something that made me feel in control.”

Phil looks down and Dan stares back up into the yellow of his eyes.

“People talk about how much the game means to them,” he says, “but it means so much to me, too. The characters mean so much to me. They’re a part of myself, something I could put myself into and have them make the progress I wish I could make.”

“You have made progress,” Dan argues.

“I have,” Phil says. “I’m a lot more aware of my own limits, but also of my strengths, you know? But keeping the game going and keeping the characters around has felt safe to me, in that way.”

Dan nods.

“You love Dye and White, right?” Phil asks.

It catches Dan off guard, but he recovers quickly.

“Yeah,” he says.

“It’s strange,” Phil says. “As I was writing them I found myself falling in love with them, too. But then I thought about why, and I figured it’s because their intentions are good. They have a lot of good qualities, and their flaws are redeemable, understandable, relatable.”

Phil pauses.

“Isn’t it interesting how we love characters that are relatable but won’t extend that compassion to ourselves?” he asks. “I still catch myself thinking about how much they’re like me, especially now that we’re working on Caves and Gardens. I think about how, if I can work with their flaws, I could work with my own. It’s a roundabout way of self love, but at least it’s self love.”

Is that what Dan has been doing, putting his own mental health journey into the context of Fall Whisperer? Has he been attempting that self love by seeing himself reflected in Dye and White?

“I just didn’t want that ending,” Phil says. “I wanted to keep that feeling. And if someone enjoyed the world I created I’d love for them to keep exploring it and to make something of their own with it. But yeah. Mostly I couldn’t stop the conviction that I could make the world a bit better by giving someone else something I didn’t have. It’s just a game, I know, but I feel like that matters.”

“I don’t want things to end, either,” Dan says.

Phil looks into Dan’s eyes and traces the side of his face with three fingers.

“So they won’t.”

-

In the beginning of Caves and Gardens, you are faced with a choice.

[7deadlycinderellas]

no more math and history, summer time has set us free 3/?

AO3 link

First session revs up.

Arya’s schedule gives her Thursdays and Saturdays off. On Thursdays Ygritte handles the stables by herself, and there are no riding lessons given on Saturdays.

The first Thursday, Arya spends the morning dropping her clothes off at the camp laundry, and then putting them away when they’re done. Since half her clothes are missing their name labels, she finds it easier just to wait around until they’re done rather than risking someone else getting her knickers.

After lunch, Arya decides to take a step into the drama barn and see what Sansa’s up to this summer.

The drama barn is actually a barn, though there are no stalls and no animals. A raised stage takes up most of the space, the lights and prop and costume storage up in the haylofts. When they put on the end of session show, the doors are opened and the audience sits outside under the stars.

Sansa had told her the second night at camp that the first session they were putting on Alice in Wonderland, the second the Wizard of Oz and lastly Peter Pan. Arya always liked watching the shows, and not just because the mass overrepresentation of girls in the drama program always led to some interesting cross-casting.

Right now, Sansa and Margaery are passing around scripts to this group of campers. Most of the campers are young enough they're basically yelling their lines, making the wit sound utterly goofy. The CIT is a blonde girl, who at closer inspection, Arya realizes is Joffrey’s sister Myrcella.

Arya asks about her after the campers start to disperse.

“Bran ran into her a few days ago,” Sansa admits.

“Did she say anything about…” Arya raises an eyebrow, hoping that says enough.

Sansa’s expression turns sour.

“Her and Tommen live with their uncle now. Joffrey’s going to trial in a few months because right after he turned eighteen he got drunk and plowed his car into a sidewalk, killing two people. Their mother went on a series of very public interviews about how it wasn’t his fault, but only revealed to the rest of the world how bad her drinking problem is…”

Arya’s gaze remains steady.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to say I told you so.”

Sansa sniffs and shakes her head.

“You don’t have to, I should have known. I should have seen, even his own brother and sister didn’t like him.”

Arya pulls herself onto a crate of masks and looks Sansa in the eye.

“And at least your taste has improved since then.”

Sansa hadn’t had time to date much in the last few years, but the ones Arya had met seemed decent enough. Right now, Sansa’s gaze is aimed across the barn to where Margaery is checking over the Alice in Wonderland costumes. They’re mostly over-large foam headed animal costumes, suitable for children of many sizes, but there are a few that look more like typical clothing. She holds up the Queen of Hearts costume, a long filmy red thing.

“Is that your costume?”

Sansa nods, smiling, eyes still trailed on Margaery.

“I have to, I’m the only one tall enough to wear it. Sometimes if we’re unlucky it ends up being a boy“

Her eyes stay, and Arya’s follow. Margaery is lovely, golden chestnut curls, a huge red smile, the kind of body that was the envy of other girls.

Including Sansa, it seemed.

Arya’s voice softens.

“Are you still not comfortable with it?”

Sansa ducks her head.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Coming out to people outside the family.”

Sansa’s eyes fall closed. Arya had been the first person she had told when she had come to the realization that she was bisexual. It was still one of Arya’s proudest moments, that her sister trusted her that much. The other siblings had been similarly easy, but Sansa had been so frightened to tell their Mum, certain that with her old-fashioned ways, she would disapprove.

She’d never had the chance to find out.

Figuring this was as good a time as any to ask her, Arya wonders aloud.

“How did you first know anyway?”

Sansa gives her a look that’s half withering. Arya laughs, maybe it was a stupid question.

“How did you know you were straight?”

Arya shrugs, kicking her feet, the crate she’s sitting on is large enough that they dangle.

“I don’t know. Contrary to popular opinion, I’ve always liked boys. I’ve never fawned or made a fool of myself around them because I never thought they deserved that much extra thought. I still remember Mum fretting, wondering when I would start doing my hair and going out all the time like I was supposed to.“

Arya’s stomach drops again. She’d never told Sansa why Mum’s opinions on that specific topic was such a sore spot for her.

Sansa smiles.

“I’m not sure even Mum would know what to make of you spending so much time with the lifeguard here.”

Arya feels her neck turn pink. Sansa nods knowingly.

“Even back then I knew. You were always surrounded by little boys, but you treated him different than you treated them.”

“That’s different,” she insists, “I do like Gendry, but he’s my friend first. We’ve been friends for a long time...and a lot has happened since we’ve seen each other last time.”

Sansa nods.

“A lot has happened. I guess that’s one of the good things about camp. Gives you time to relax and reflect, remember what’s actually important.”

Arya had never thought about it like that, but it was the truth. Most children at camp didn’t know anyone else, they came without siblings or family friends, unlike Arya who always had a few people she knew here. They could be whoever they wanted to be for the summer.

Morning activities are over after that, so Arya and Sansa walk to the mess hall for lunch.

Lunch also means mail call, and Sansa squeals when they’ve got a letter from Robb, tearing it open before Arya can read a single word,

“He says work is going fine, though they’re still undoing so much of the mess Robert left us in,” Sansa starts, “He says the dogs are doing well too.”

Arya grins. Several years before, one of their father’s friends had a litter of puppies, one for each of Arya and her siblings, and Jon as well to have one. The enormous fluffy malamute mixes had run free on the Stark’s, frolicking in the snow come each winter. Lady had died early, and Nymeria had run away, but Arya still loved watching them all the others run about.

“He says Ghost misses Jon dearly, and lets us know he hasn’t heard from him either.”

Sansa bites her lip at the next lines.

“He also says he feels a million years old going into work every day...and tells us he wants to hear every single detail so he can pretend he got to come here this summer too.”

Arya frowns at this. It’s not fair that Robb had to grow up so fast just because he was the oldest, and the only one who could be legally responsible for the rest of them. She didn’t think her and Sansa were too much stress on him, but between Bran’s medical appointments and therapy and keeping Rickon in school and from actually running wild, she understands how it could wear him down.

Speaking of Rickon, after lunch is finished, Brienne approaches Arya.

“Can you come with me for a few minutes? It’s nothing serious, I was just hoping for your assistance.”

She leads Arya away, and as soon as they turn up the hill, she realizes they're going towards the infirmary. Gods know she spent enough time there as a camper, covered in bumps and bruises.

“Rickon got into a fight with another boy on the sports field when his cabin and one of the girls cabin’s were playing kickball. Rather than immediately punish the both of them for fighting, I was hoping you could get the story out of your brother before I make my decision.”

Arya sighs deeply. This is a role she often plays at home.

When she enters, she expects far worse than what she sees. Rickon’s hair is a mess and he has a splint on one wrist and a couple of scrapes on one cheek.

“How’s the other one look?” Arya asks, sitting down beside him.

Rickon’s silent. It’s a strange look on him. From faraway an unfamiliar person might even expect an angelic child with his red curls. His siblings knew better, and had resisted for years letting him off easy just because, at thirteen, he was the youngest of them.

“We were just talking about the zombie game at the end of session. I was telling how you all always talked about how they picked one person to be the zombie and try and infect the others. One of them started laughing and saying there wouldn’t even be a contest being that we had a real zombie here already.”

Arya must look confused, so he continues.

“Couple of the guys have been making fun of the other cabin’s CIT since we got here. The girl with the scarred face?”

Arya’s heart sinks.

“So you punched him?”

Rickon nods, his head still downcast. Arya sighs.

“Rickon,” she starts, “I’m not angry at you for defending someone being teased...but you can’t just punch people. Tell a counselor, someone who has actual power to punish that person who’s being mean.”

She ruffles his curls.

“But I will tell Brienne what happened and that both of you need be put on KP for the rest of session, but that she should keep an open ear out for anyone else bullying Shireen.”

Rickon nods, knowing that’s fair. And Arya pats his hair again. A week’s worth of emptying trash and doing dishes is worth it for standing up to a bully.

Saturdays are a different sort of day off. There are fewer cabin activities on weekends. Instead there are campfire breakfasts, beach parties, nature hikes and camp-wide tournaments. Tomorrow, Arya and Ygritte are set to be leading a trail ride through part of Mistwood, so Arya plans to spend her day off relaxing as much as possible.

Which is why she has to be convinced when Gendry tries to convince her to go on a short hike.

“I already had Hot Pie do us up a couple of sack lunches. I found something last year that I wanted to show you!”

And in the end, a hike is hardly the worst way to spend a free day.

Arya loves the forest, the places where the trees and wild things rule. There are cedars and hemlocks and tall, tall redwoods.

They’ve only been on the trail maybe twenty minutes when Arya spots a weirwood.

“I didn’t know these grow this far south!” she exclaims, examining the blood red sap dripping from it’s ancient face. She’s never spoken too much of her affinity for her father’s faith, the faith of her home in the north.

“There’s not a lot of them, but there are some,” Gendry tells her, “One year after you left, the counselor sent us on a scavenger hunt to find as many of them as we could when he took us on a nature hike.”

Further into the woods, the morning fog still lingers, telling Arya they must be closer to the coast than she had thought.

Eventually, they reach the edge of a gorge, before a sheer drop into a stream below. The ground smooths out into rock.

“What am I looking for?”

Gendry shushes her, sitting cross-legged on the ground pointing to a spot across the gorge where the ground slopes down into rock along the edge of the creek. Arya sits beside him, somewhat reluctantly.

They’ve been sitting for maybe half an hour, They’ve both opened Hot Pie’s lunches, peanut butter and jelly with apples, and munch on them quietly.

It’s close to noon when there’s movement below in the rock. The whole of Mistwood is full of caves, though counselors have never let the campers explore as much as they would have liked, citing the potential for there to be wild animals living in the caves.

“Oh!” Arya exclaims when the movement is revealed to be a wolf, huge and dark gray, leaving the cave to drink from the stream, blinking up at the sky with his huge blue eyes.

“I didn’t know wolves lived in the Stormlands, or anywhere in the south, for that matter” she says.

“There have been rumours of wolves in the woods here for generations. There’s a story about a northern girl who came here in the old days to marry a lover, and not only survived, but, thrived despite that old bit of advice that northerners don’t do well south of the Neck,”

Arya smiles and snorts. Advice like that always sounded ridiculously old fashioned to her, not to mention that so much of the Neck had been drained years ago for development, aside from some bits protected by the parks and forest services. Without it, defining the line between north and south was much more difficult.

“They called her the Wolf Queen, and it seems like that’s where they assumed the stories came from, until about five years ago, some wildlife biology guys working out here found this pack.”

They sit and watch the wolf until he returns to his den. Wolves come out to hunt at dusk usually, this is like the middle of the night for her. Arya finishes up her sandwich, licks her fingers and rolls the trash up to tuck in her pocket. She’s spread her hoodie on the ground and is laying on her stomach, gazing across the gorge.

The day is pleasant, not too hot, and with no one else around, Arya finds herself feeling comfortable, maybe a bit too much. Gendry’s sitting with his back against a tree, and she crooks her head over her shoulder looking at him.

Softly, her lips open and her words tumble out.

“Last year, right before I turned sixteen, Mum and Bran were in an accident. A drunk driver went over the median and hit the car head on.”

Her words slow, and she ducks her head back against the rock, so she can’t see Gendry’s face.

“Bran was thrown from the wreckage, he collided against a metal railing on the shoulder. Fractured his spine. Pretty low down, the doctors kept saying he was really lucky, and how much worse it could have been. Great joy that was to a boy who had just found out he would probably never walk again…”

Arya cringes, remembering the conversations with the doctors and physical therapists, how they had described that with therapy, Bran would regain independent control of almost all of his bodily functions and other ADLs. There were all sorts of things in that conversation she hadn’t wanted to ever have to consider about her little brother, but now had to, they all had to now…

“Mum was dead on the scene.”

Arya feels tears prick at her eyes, and she wipes them away. She’s not looking at Gendry, doesn’t have to. She can imagine his face contorting.

“I’m so sorry,” he says.

Arya feels warmth beside her, and turns her head enough to see Gendry stretched on the rock beside her, face up.

“How are- are you- are you all still living at home?”

Arya’s stomach flips when she realizes what he’s talking about.

“Robb had already turned eighteen. He was already interning at Dad’s company, so he was able to petition to become our legal guardian.”

Arya cringes again, thinking of the mess Robb and Mum said that Robert Baratheon left the company in after Dad’s death.

“Jon joined the air force as soon as he turned of age so we would get familial benefits from it.”

Gendry lays on his back, his breathing even, as he thinks on her words.

“I can remember everything from when my mum died,” he admits, “I was eight. I remember walking home from playing football at the park after school and there were people outside the flat, and a policeman told me to gather my things in a bin bag and come with him.”

Arya winces. She remembers Gendry telling her about the bin bags when they were younger, how it was all he had to move his clothes and school things and toys from place to place.

“It wasn’t until even three months later that I even learned what happened. That her neighbor had seen her collapse while watering the yard and called the ambulance. She’d died of a brain aneurysm, no one could have done anything.”

Arya rolls on one side to watch his face. The sun shines off his still fairly pale face.

“Do you-” she starts off, stuttering, “Do you constantly remember the last thing you said to her?”

Gendry nods.

“That morning before school, I complained we were out of my favorite cereal. Then I left for the bus.”

It’s petty, she thinks, a petty and childish set of last words. She still thinks hers were far worse.

“You turned eighteen in May,” she changes the subject, “Is your current foster dad kicking you out?”

Gendry smiles, genuinely.

“No. Mr. Davos was the one who impressed on me how bad the outcomes often are for kids who just age out of foster care instead of being adopted. He hounds me all the time, makes sure I stay in school. No one ever really did that before.”

Arya thinks. She knows a lot of the charitable work Mum had organized with the church and for PR events at the company had involved foster children. She’d never gotten involved, maybe she should have.

“He’s been wonderful to me...these three years were more than I had ever thought I would get as a kid. And I can’t imagine how those three years have been for Shireen…”

His voice trails off, and Arya thinks it’s a good enough time to bring it up.

“Rickon got into a fight the other day, apparently some of the kids have started telling Shireen she has to play the camp zombie.”

Gendry’s jaw sets. It is remarkable, Arya thinks, that his anger is so much quieter than it used to be.

“She told me last night that some of the girls have taken to calling her the Bitch.”

Arya’s shocked.

“Because-”

“Because her burns make her look like the Hound.”

Arya’s stomach twists again.

“I still can’t believe he let that name catch on.”

Her voice is quieter when she continues.

“They are burns then? I wasn’t sure.”

Gendry inhales roughly.

“Yes, they are burns. What happened to her, her story...it’s very different than mine, but it’s worse. I won’t tell you the rest of the story, I-”

His gaze moves from her face to his feet.

“It’s not my story to tell. If she’s with us one of these days, and tells me it’s okay, I can tell you, but not otherwise.”

Arya nods in agreement. The noontime sun has begun to wane, and the afternoon breeze begins to drift in from the sea of Dorne and makes the air more comfortable.

She turns her head over her shoulder again, and smiles.

“Thank you for showing me the wolves...It’s getting a little late though,” she says, “We should be getting back to camp.”

Gendry nods, pulling himself into a sitting position before standing. He offers Arya his hand to pull her to her own feet.

They hold hands the entire hike back to camp. Gendry runs his thumb along the inside of Arya’s wrist, and she hopes he can’t feel how much her heart is thrumming.

[asmallbirdinmayy]

I'm not sure why I haven't posted anything here yet since this world craziness started... Normally I would have bombarded it with posts everyday and such.

This social distancing is my life style, so I've been doing pretty okay better than most unfortunatly. Thank you Tumblr, and hours of scrolling for preparing me for this moment in time!

I've been filling my days with video games, reading and trying to force myself out for runs. I've helped my mum clean the house. (She has a bad back and would end up killing myself if I didn't go over every once in a while to help out)

I've also recently shaved my head! Finally, I've wanted to do it for years to see what I'd look like and to get rid of the years of dying it and hairstyle frustrations. I like it, but some days I get self conscious and don't end up going for runs. But maybe I'm just using that as an excuse and I'm just hella laazy!

It's a learning curve for sure, I've been reading a lot of philosophy lately and listening to the philosophize this podcast for the past year now so I've been trying to work on myself, thinking more and trying to meditate and gain self confidence and just be able to help myself help others. If that makes sense? Anyway, cutting off all your hair really helps practice Stoicism. There's no instant regrowth, and my hair takes longer to grow out than normal people.

I do love myself, a hella a lot more than I used to. There's nothing I wouldn't change, and I think that mind set alone has been what gets me out the door more often for runs and wanting to take care of my body and mind!!

I've also been cooking more, to save on money and because I'm not a huge advocate for waste being delivered to my door. I have had breakdowns however, I did it twice, I've ordered breakfast for myself to help me get up earlier and to get better coffee. Because the Maxwell can is not working out for me, and it's so gross, its taking me forever to get through it! I'll still drink it though, because, caffeine! Hello.

Back to cooking more! I've been mostly making mashed potatoes and what nots, but I'll occasionally make a vegan grilled cheese or have vegan hot dogs! I've made some pasta, quinoa and lately before bed I'll get a chia bowl ready to set while I sleep. That's pretty healthy and delicious. I've made terrible pancakes, I accidently got the whole wheat flour rather than the other stuff, soo that wasn't a fun mistake. Alas, no waste, so I have to make it into things!

I also signed up for a sustainable cities online course, lots of reading, but it was on sale. If anything it'll help me plan imaginary cities better in my head and I'll be able to put it on resumes. So level up?

I've re arranged my living room so I can easily switch between laptop and PlayStation without having to get up for any reason! +40 laziness. Aha. Fun.

Cats bombard with with attention and cuddles All. The. Damn. Time. I thought cats were supposed to not care and be independent and stuffs. Not my cats, noo. I wake up pinned, cat by my head, in the curve of my back and on my feet! If I'm laying on my back xews will be on my chest. Like hello! Let me breathe. They follow me to the bathroom, and to the couch! My couch is tiny, and all three of them find a little spot and take up all the space. It's hard to take notes! Anyway. I love them, I love their cuddles I'll never take them for granted and I'll always be like okai in the lap you go! It's nice playing a videogame with your cats stretching their paw onto your paw!. #catmum

Works been telling me the new opening day is July 3rd.. July 3rd two more months of this madness. I'm okay with it though, I'll hopefully finish the online course and get out for more runs! I've signed up the the social distancing run thing, I'm hoping to do a 10k for it!

Our government is all over the place about everything, and its making people crazy! There's lies, uncertainty questions unanswered. There's conspiracies left and right and I don't know which ones to believe. I mean some seem drastic and obviously crazier than others. I'm just not politically educated enough for this. But what if they're true to? I dunno, I've been watching a lot of things and reading stuff of history and stuffs and theirs some people that end up being corrected and proven right when people thought they were insane ? And yea people are just crazy and have their crazy thoughts. I dunno. I just want to have a back seat, and I mean my first and foremost fight is with nature, so my bias towards anything will be on how it affects the future of how we live with nature. If that makes sense? I could go on and on about this part, but this part makes me the most unwary and depressed honestly. I've been crying for days about this and where I stand, I've always been one to stand with the people. But which people? My brain hurts. I'm a sheep guys. I'm a sheep. I'm just a very lost sheeple.

People that I know from South Africa sent me a message saying that they were starving and asked for help, I wasn't sure what to do. I sent them some money, but I don't have much to give. I hope it'll be enough to get them by for a couple of days! I haven't heard from her since? So I don't know?

Anyways.

I haven't heard from my possibly future school yet about the upcoming semester and what to do, am I still able to go? Are they going to be opened by end of August? Will I be allowed to travel to another province? I'll wait till the end of May to send an email and find out! I am not doing that course online, I have a hard enough time motivating myself to do this current baby course. And I really want to do well in this course if I get there! It was a whole thing guys.

Before all this started I had started therapy, volunteering for the theater and taekwando. I'm really sad that i haven't been able to take part in these new hobbies. I had the chance to volunteer for the opening of the wizard of oz production before all the other shows at the theater got cancelled. It was amazing. Maybe I'll be able to do something similar while I'm in Vancouver. I only had one beginning trial class for taekwando, I'm slightly sad because by the time it reopens I'll probably be heading to Vancouver and won't be able to attend.

Cancelling therapy was the hardest, I had just started after years and years of being afraid to go for many reasons. I only got two sessions in before having to stop due to being laid off. But it's okay, because I still have my writing as my therapy. I end up asking the questions to myself while writing. I've read a lot of psychology, well not a lot, but a good amount. But the extra help and guidance was nice. I learned new terminology that applied to myself and my childhood and a couple other things that I'm able to sit back and acknowledge during meditations.

It was like I was finally getting out more, trying to fix myself, trying to go meet new friends and say hello to the world. And then the world was like nah. Back to social distancing! Kay, thaanks.

The last three or so days I've felt a little pull back into myself and I couldn't motivate myself lately. I think a large part of it was due to an argument I had with my mother, and the political drama that's been going on lately.

Wanting to go on runs or outside to enjoy the chilly sunny day has been a struggle, when it hasn't been I'm a while. I was playing ESO with a couple friends when all of a sudden all I wanted to do was just lay on the couch, curl up with my eyes closed and just bleh. I listening to the ESO music for a while and remembered that I haven't wrote anything in a long while on Tumblr or anywhere. So here I am, returning to my old therapy just writing my garbage thoughts to replace them with happier more motivated ones. It's sort of working, we'll see how the day goes.

All in all, I'm okay, my family is okay. And only time will tell what craziness is next for this year!

If anyone read this far down, first of all thank you. You're probably someone that I love! Love you <3 and I hope you're also doing well, and staying safe!!!

[whipped-for-kpop-fics]

Protection Squad - Two

2/15

A kind woman offers you a place of work at the animal shelter she owns and one of the animals seems to take a strong liking to you. You thought Suga was just like any other cat you happened to meet in therapy. You realise how wrong you were when he reveals his true self to you in order to do everything he can to prevent anything hurting you ever again.

Pairing- Reader (Y/N) x Suga [or is it… :)) ]

Genre - Shapeshifter!BTS & magic AU

Warning- multiple possible triggers; Mental disorders talked about and portrayed (depression, anxiety , suicidal thoughts and acts) abuse . near death . plus possibly more . If you are uncertain if you can read, privately message me about what you wish to avoid and I'll tell you if the story contains it.

Protection Squad Masterlist 

Shelter Layout

Despite having enjoyed yourself at the session, you told your mum off for booking you an appointment and refused to return. You thought about Hobi and the silver-haired cat a few times over the next couple of days but a walk to the shops allowed you to meet other cats wandering the pathways and visits to the local park introduced dogs on walks with their owners into your life so you soon stopped thinking about the animals.

It wasn't until two weeks later when you were sat on a blanket in a new park you had recently found, reading a book did the shelter animals come back to mind, well, lap.

You jolted as a dog pounced on your crossed legs and made himself comfortable as his tail wagged excitedly. You looked down to see a familiar animal looking up at you expectantly. You looked around, looking for his owner but found no-one around, it was after all midevening and most people would be eating dinner. "Where's your owner, buddy?" You asked softly before placing down your book, careful not to lose your place, to find the tag on his collar. "Wait, Hobi?" You gasped once you read the name. He barked once and moved around as if he was dancing with joy that you finally said his name and recognised him. "What're you doing here?" Once again, you looked around but still, no-one showed. "I guess I should get you back to the shelter, it's pretty close, right?" He barked. "I'll take that as a yes." Hobi jumped from your lap when you started to move and watched as you packed your book and water bottle back into your bag. You watched in amusement as Hobi moved off the blanket and gripped one side in his mouth, eyes lifting to meet you. With an entertained smile, you picked up the other end and he instantly plodded over to you. You giggled and accepted the side, folding the blanket in half. You turned it, allowing Hobi to take the side and once again bring it to you. Once it was small enough, you put it in your bag and Hobi picked up your backpack in his mouth gently. "You know that's mine right?" He made a noise at you before turning and walking away. You followed and soon you were walking alongside the dog.

It took just under twenty minutes to walk to the shelter and the whole way, Hobi carried your bag in his mouth earning strangers you passed by to compliment you on your incredibly well behaved and trained pup. You were too awkward to tell them that he wasn't actually yours and this was only the second time you had met him.

Upon entering the shelter, Hobi walked straight to the open section at the unmanned reception desk. Hesitantly, you followed him, especially as he looked back over his shoulder at you and waited for you to make the move after him. He lead you past the therapy room to a staircase that lead to an apartment that had the door wide open.

"Hobi!" The same receptionist as before exclaimed seeing the dog waltzing in from where she stood in the long hallway. "Where did  you get to this time?" Slowly, her head lifted and she took in your figure stood awkwardly in the doorway, not sure what to do with yourself. "Oh, Y/N." She greeted with a surprised yet welcoming smile. "What brings you here?"

"Uh, Hobi was at the park, I thought I should bring him back." You explained and her smile widened.

"Ah, I see! Thank you!" She gave Hobi a knowing look before pretending to be upset with him. "What have I told you about walking off like that, Hobi?" He backed up and ducked his head, as if ashamed. "Nevermind, what's done is done, give Y/N her bag back and go join your brothers in the dining room, tell them we have a guest." She gave Hobi another almost secretive look before he put down the bag and ran off further down the hallway. You could see a set of stairs at the end of the hall and realised that there was another storey to the apartment. You were surprised you didn't notice that from the outside.

Suddenly, a small, pale creature with massively oversized ears came barrelling out of the room Hobi disappeared into and headed your way at full speed. You jostled at the sight and the woman noticed.

"V!" She hissed and the creature skidded to a stop and looked up. "What do you think you're doing? Is that any way to treat a guest?" The creature whimpered backwards, lowering its head. "Be kind to Y/N, you don't want to scare off a new friend, do you?" For a second, you could've sworn the little animal shook his head as if he understood human speech clearly. You rubbed your eyes and put it down to the previous night's slumber being more damaged than you initially thought. "Would you mind if V approached you?" You looked up realising the woman was then addressing you. "He won't hurt you. He is just very sociable and excited when it comes to meeting new people."

"Uh..." You looked down at the animal that was looking up at you with big, round, pleading eyes. "O-Okay." You agreed. V jumped forward making you flinch but he quickly calmed and walked carefully over to you. He sniffed around your ankles, circling you once before sitting directly in front of you. Once again, he looked up at you with big, round eye but this time, he was waiting for something else. "Does...does he want to be petted?" You asked, glancing up at the woman for only a second before returning your gaze to the animal. V's fluffy tail thumped the floor and you realised he was much like a dog, even if you weren't certain if he actually was one.

"He does love both attention and affection." She laughed softly. You nodded and slowly crouched down to cautiously pet the animal's head. His eyes closed and he titled into your touch, shuffling closer to nuzzle your leg while your hand moved to his side.

"He's cute." You commented, earning V to jump up onto your knees and press his front paws on your chest to nuzzle your jaw affectionately. You giggled. "What kind of animal is he? He acts like a dog but...he's not, is he?" You looked at the woman who shook her head, that same warm smile still lifting her features.

"He's a Fennec Fox." You hummed in acknowledgement while looking back to the fox that had decided to nestle his head into your hoodie pocket.

"I've never met a Fennec Fox before."

"They're classed as exotic pets." You nodded slowly, taking in her words. "Oh I just realised, I've never told you who I am!" She laughed and you looked up at her, realising she was right. "My name is Molly, I own and run the shelter."

"Oh!" You held V carefully to make sure he didn't fall as you stood up. "I wasn't aware you own it."

"For years." You tilted your head slightly, Molly surely couldn't be that old based on her physical features but maybe she was just one of those women blessed with eternally young skin. "You have a calming touch," she noted, motioning down to V who had managed to crawl into your pocket finally, his head just poking out enough to be seen while remaining far enough inside that he could rest on the material and shut his eyes without falling. "He's never calmed so quickly on a new person, let alone fallen asleep on someone just before dinner time."

"He's probably just really tired." You reasoned. "And my hoodie lining is really soft and warm. I doubt it's anything to do with me."

"Hm, I disagree." She giggled. You could only smile. "Well it seems as if V has no intention of letting you leave our home anytime soon so how do you feel about staying for dinner?"

"Uh..."

"There's plenty of food and we love having guests, Suga already likes you and he's the hardest to please."

"Suga?"

"Oh, the Birman that didn't leave your side during the session." It took you a minute to understand what exactly she was talking about but then you remembered the silver-haired cat that followed you around the room lazily when you got up to greet another animal or grab a toy for one of them. Birman was the cat's breed you realised and you let your lips turn up into a smile.

"I liked him, he made me feel special." You confessed.

"You must be indeed, Suga has never acted like that with anyone but me and that even took me weeks to build such a bond with him." She laughed. "You certainly are special, Y/N, I knew it from the moment I first met you." You blushed but found yourself unable to form a response so looked down shyly. "Anyway, dinner?"

"I'm a fussy eater."

"I made a range, I'm sure there will be something to your tastes." You looked hesitant so Molly offered you a comforting smile. "I know you have anxieties, Y/N and you have trouble with new circumstances but you will not overcome your problems if you don't face them." When you didn't respond for a few seconds as you were busy mentally weighing up the pros and cons of staying, Molly took a few steps closer to reach out and place her hand on your lower arm. "I'll go into the dining room and if you decide to join us, just come on in, I'll set up a space for you."

You watched Molly disappear into the room down the hall and you almost turned and left, your hands already reaching into your pocket to remove V but then for some reason, an image of a fluffy silver cat popped into your mind and you shut the door. Your feet took you through the apartment and next thing you knew you were stood just inside of the dining room. For some reason, your eyes landed straight on the cat from your memories. He looked over and instantly jumped down from his space on the windowsill to saunter over and weave between your ankles, rubbing against you affectionately. A smile lifted your lips and you crouched to stroke him. The second you were low enough, he hissed at your jumper and the next second, V was scampering out from your pocket and across the room. "Ah, be nice, Suga." You scolded automatically. Suga looked up at you, what looked like a hint of betrayal flashing in his eyes before walking tot he table. He sat next to one of the many empty chairs and it was only then that you noticed that two young men were sat up at the table with Molly. "Oh." You flushed noticing their eyes on you.

"Come sit, Y/N, I think Suga has picked a seat for you." Molly giggled. You nodded and shuffled over to sit on the chair Suga was tucked against. He curled up around your feet on the floor under the table out of sight.   "These are two of my tenants." Molly introduced, motioning to the males who both smiled warmly at you. "Jimin and Jungkook." You only smiled at them, unable to try and form words of greeting. They didn't seem bothered and simply looked over at the doorway, almost in perfect sync. Curiously, you looked over too to find a large dog entering the room.

"You're late, Monie." Molly scolded. Monie looked at Molly instead of staring at you and trudged over to nuzzle her in apology. "Monie is a wolfdog." She stated and you took in the animal before you. You could certainly see wolf features but had never heard of the breed. "Sometimes they're called hybrids but wolfdog is the most commonly used term."

"I used to love wolves." You commented offhandedly and Molly smiled. "I still think they're beautiful." You added as an afterthought while watching Monie walk around the table out of the sight. You heard excited barking and tilted your head, not having expected the sound from such a rough looking dog.

"That was Hobi," Molly announced as if reading your mind. Your features relaxed and you smiled lightly.

"Where's Little Prince?" Jungkook questioned with a grin.

"In his hidey hole, didn't you see?" Jimin replied with a giggle. You noticed his hand moving around his lap and he would glance down now and then but you didn't question it. You only hoped he wasn't doing anything inappropriate at the dinner table.

"Oh." Jungkook jumped up and rushed tot he corner to crouch down. You didn't see what he was doing but heard him whispering before he returned upright and turned, a creature you easily recognised in his hands. "Meet our new friend, Little Prince." He cooed and you could've sworn the hedgehog glared but quickly little, dark eyes turned on you and they sparkled in the light.

"Are all these animals yours?" You asked, in awe at the variety of pets Molly kept.

"Well, I look after them, I don't own them," Molly answered easily, reaching her hands out across the table. Jungkook carefully handed over Little Prince who Molly cradled affectionately on her lap. "They all came to me at times of need and I instantly grew attached and vowed to protect them." You nodded in understanding and looked over when you saw something pale pop up from Jimin's lap. It was a pair of big ears with playful eyes in between. Relief washed through your body when you realised that Jimin had been petted V and not something else.

"I think there needs to be more people in the world like you." The words left your lips without you realising but you didn't take them back. You genuinely believed your words.

"Do you look after any animals?" Jimin enquired and you shook your head.

"I live with my parents and they're not really animal people. I've wanted to adopt a cat for years but they've never let me." You pouted and for some reason, the two boys opposite you grinned. Molly reached over from her space to your left, a chair left in between you thanks to Suga.

"You're always welcome to come to the shelter and play with Suga." She offered kindly.

"Really?" Your face lit up. "Can I really?"

"Of course." A bark echoed through the room and she laughed softly. "And Hobi too of course."

"Of course." You beamed and looked down towards Suga but he was still tucked out of sight. "Thank you, I'd really love that."

"Do you have a job?" Jimin asked. You looked up and shook your head. "Noona, what about Y/N take that position?" He suggested looking over at the older woman. You followed his attention curiously, wondering what he was talking about.

"I was thinking the same thing little Jiminie." Molly smiled, eyes still on you. You felt odd under her gaze as if she was seeing deep within you and revealing anything about your person and past to herself. But strangely enough, it wasn't entirely uncomfortable just, odd. "Would you like to work for me, Y/n?" Your eyes bulged and the three laughed at your reaction.

"Are you serious?" She nodded. "You don't even know me. I have no experience. I don't know if I'd be any good here. What if the other animals don't like me?"

"Suga likes you." Jungkook giggled. "Everyone here will love you, Y/N."

"I'll pay you well above minimum wage and benefits can be discussed," Molly said, leaning her chin on her palm as her elbow pressed against the table top. "What kind of benefits would you be looking for? What do I need to offer you to get you to accept the job, Y/N?"

"I-I...none." You licked your lips and glanced across at the two males, finding V's eyes still glued to you as if he was waiting for something. Your attention turned back to Molly. "I don't need any benefits, spending time here would be enough for me."

"Are you accepting the job?" Jimin sounded a little too excited considering he had just met you but you found his joy contagious. A smile lifted your lips as you nodded. Jimin and Jungkook both grinned at you and you felt Suga's tail wrap around your ankle.

I hope you guys are liking this new story! Feedback is always appreciated greatly! 

~Chee

[faithhopeloveandtherapy]

Therapy 29.03.18 // calm before the storm

I called T at our scheduled time of 10.15 and she answered and in surprise said “oh I have you down in my diary at 10.30!” I just looked at her, because I had queried the time with her during the week and she had confirmed it was 10.15. While I was still trying to find the words to explain that, I could see her suddenly remember. “Oh yes! I remember now that I made it 10.15 because I have an 11.30 and I knew it would be a rush”

When she said “an 11.30”, I wondered if that was what I was, a 10.15? Does she describe me like that to others? Do I mind? But also I felt secretly pleased that she made me earlier. I like it that she didn’t want to rush straight to another client after me.

Anyway, she was in the wrong room because she wasn’t ready to start the session, so she started unplugging the computer and moving around so I said “I’ll just hang up and you call me back when you’ve moved.” As I waited, I thought “Did she forget me? Should I be upset?” but I decided she didn’t really forget me, she just got the time mixed up because on our usual day we always meet at 10.30am. So in a way it’s kind of nice that she has me set in her mind at 10.30. I don’t mind that.

She called back and we got settled and started talking. I told her a random Facebook story at full speed. She laughed and agreed it was weird and then asked what I wanted to talk about. I told her I needed strategies to feel less stressed, that I was really stressed, I didn’t want to talk about her cause of the stress because I could just go on and on for the whole session but it was taking me over.

“Are you stressed about the stuff we’ve been talking about the last couple of weeks or by current events with the baby?…..what do you want to talk about, the stuff or the stress? I know we are about to have a week break so I don’t want to open up too much for you before then”

“I don’t know! Neither! I’m just….I don’t know…I’m not thinking about the stuff all the time but it’s still there and I don’t know how to get it away again.”

“Well the biggest way to help move through stuff is to think about and talk about the feelings that go with it. What came out of the last couple of weeks of talking about Thing 1 and Thing 2 is how feeling helpless is such a big issue for you. You would rather blame yourself than acknowledge that you were helpless in a situation. It’s become quite clear that’s your pattern. And I think you spent a lot of your childhood blaming yourself for things you weren’t responsible for.” She said this last bit quite gently, gently enough that I could look up and make eye contact while she said it. We sat in silence for a few moments while I let it sink in, and settle in my mind to think about later.

“Can I tell you something else? There was a mum and baby came to my baby group last week, and the baby had the same thing that d3 had as a baby. It brought a lot of thoughts back. I think I felt helpless back then as well.”

“Ah yes, and d3 is the one you struggle with the most isn’t she? I wonder if your relationship was affected then.”

“Mmm, also my eating disorder was at its worst when she was a baby.”

Like lightening - I wonder if she’d been waiting for an opening - T jumped in. “Ah yes, eating! And how is the eating?”

[pause for effect - because it all went downhill from here]

[wesknox]

☒ FACTS ABOUT W E S

FULL NAME: Wesley Ronald Knox

NICKNAMES: Wes, Weslington, Weasel, Wessy

BIRTHPLACE: Brighton and Hove, East Sussex

BIRTH DATE: 28th of December 2001

CURRENT AGE: 16

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Homosexual

EYE COLOR: Blue

HAIR COLOR: Blonde

BODY MODIFICATIONS: Piercing on the left bottom lip

HEIGHT: 6 ft 2 (190 cm)

WEIGHT: 179 pounds (81 kg)

RELIGION: Christian-Catholic

RELATIONSHIP STATUS: single

✔ L I K E S

Junk food, rock/indie/alternative music, poems, Charles Dickens’ books, Netflix, getting lost on the wrong side of Youtube, Brandon Urie’s voice, karaoke bars, midnight talks with Kyle, Edgar Allen Poe, going for late walks with Hamlet, gay bars/clubs, Maya Angelou, playing the guitar and chewing gum.

✘ D I S L I K E S

Bad grammar, homophobes, when his mum doesn’t have time for him, ignorance, pineable on pizza, any kind of sport, Mr. Creevey, shopping with Ronnie, maths, people interrupting him and people talking shit about people he cares about.

▲ T R A I T S

☼ GOOD: Reliable, charismatic, loyal, communicative and generous.

☢ BAD: Lazy, forgetful, dreamy, persistent, chaotic, stubborn, unstable and insecure.

☒ B A C K S T O R Y

- Wes’ mother works as a nurse and works basically ALL the time, that’s why she sent Wes to Clifton, she hated leaving him alone for days in a row. His mother is the most loving, generous and kind-hearted person you’ll ever meet. Wes admires her a lot for the things she does on a daily, working her ass off to help others. Although he doesn’t get to see her often, his mother is his rock. He can’t remember the last time he’s seen her without dark bags under her eyes, messy hair and scrub but she seems to be happy, so he is happy for her. His mum got him at a young age, so she’s a young mum and definitely proud of her “sunshine”. Her choice of men hasn’t been so lucky in the past; men coming and going and Wes always there to pick up the pieces. 

- Wes grew up without a father. His dad left him and his mother for another family when Wes was only a two years old. He doesn’t have any memories of him other than the birthday and Christmas cards he’s sending every year. Wes hates his father, every mention of him but easily sees a dad figure in every male adult or person of authority like teachers or doctors. A therapist would call it “daddy issues”.

- Wes also does have three paternal half sisters but he’s never seen or talked to any of them; just knows about the mere existence. He’s never been curious to find out more about them and since ignoring his father’s cards worked so far, he wants to keep it that way.

- Wes found his love for poetry and pretty words at a pretty early age. His kindergartener always read poems before afternoon nap and little Wes was so fascinated by the words being used, he begged his mum to get him all kind of kids editions of famous poem collections. She never understood it, she herself never having anything to do with poetry at all, but she accepted it. Not like she had much of choice when your five year old begs you for books. When Wes got older, he started writing some himself, his English teacher encouraging and challenging him. He liked Wes and Wes liked him. He saw only good in Wes, predicting a great future but unfortunately his mum never got to hear any of the good feedback he had on her son.

- He met his best friend, Kyle, in primary school and have been best friends ever since. Kyle is one of the most important people in Wes’ life, if not the most important. He can always count on him, no matter the time, no matter the circumstance. Kyle is Wes’ personal protector and never let anyone being mean to Wes slide. When the both of them started high school at Clifton, Ronnie came to the mix and the three have been inseperable since. Ronnie was exactly what he wished for Kyle; she was absolutely perfect for him.

- When Wes was thirteen he began struggling with his self-esteem. He thought he was too pale, too scrawny, too tall and his forming acne didn’t help the case either. He started showing symptoms of a mild depression, locking himself in his room unless it was Kyle who wanted to see him. His mum blamed herself and her constant absence and immediately sent him off to multiple therapy sessions, all of which didn’t help a whole lot. He hated it. 

- A year later, he realized he was gay. You could say, he always kind of knew that something was different, if his crush on Harry Potter was anything to go by, but at the age fourteen he admitted to himself after pining after Joey Carpenter for the longest time and jerking off to his school picture that he, in fact, liked dick and dick only. Later that summer, him and Joey Carpenter’s best friend started dating. The irony, huh. Although secretly, but Wes did believe he was in love back in the day and he would’ve done anything for Tim, that was his name. It was his first and only boyfriend, his first gay experience so more than handjobs and blowjob was not in it. They dated for three months but sooner or later, Wes found flithy texts to another boy on Tim’s phone. Not long after that, they broke up.

- At 15, Wes had his first time with a guy named Blake. Blake was older, hot and experienced. He met Blake at Why Not?, a gay bar in Bristol. Wes was immediately attracted to him, absolutely drawn to the authority the older radiated. Him and Blake went on a date or two until Wes let Blake fuck him. It hurt, but it was hot and Wes was happy he finally got it over with. How things go, the both of them ended things rather quickly after that and Wes started to get around. Thanks to his fake ID it was possible for him to lie about his age and sleep with guys older than he was at the time.

- Wes wanted a piercing. Not just any piercing but a lip piercing and he wanted it bad. Wes wasn’t old enough to get it done by himself, so when he asked his mother for approval, it was a no brainer. “Are you sure?” is all she asked and when Wes nodded enthusiastically, she signed the papers without second-guessing a thing. The next day, him and Kyle went to get pierced together.

- When it got out at school that Wes Knox was gay, most people took it well and were very accepting of the news while some people gave him disapproving looks. Especially a group of jocks made it their mission to make Wes’ life extraordinarily hard. Steven Dally, the leader of the pack definitely had it out for Wes and always had a stupid, homophobic remark on his tongue when he saw Wes. It was childish, and truly, Wes tried not to take it to heart, not the way Kyle did anyway. It wasn’t until he gave Steven Dally a blowjob in the showers after PE that the bullying got out of hand. Wes figured it was his way of dealing with regret or fear, but he ignored it for as long as he could until one afternoon Steven and his friends beat him up until he was spitting blood and his nose was broken. 

- Wes was seeking revenge. Something in his mind wanted to see Steven hurt in a way humanly unimaginable and it went further than seeing Kyle punch Steven in the face and him being expelled the next day. No, it had to go way deeper than that. On a way more emotional basis. So he set up a profile of a girl named Nicole Jennings. Nicole was pretty, young, independent and absolutely irressistable. Every guy’s wet dream. What started out as a plan to get back at Steven Dally, turned into something way more... fun. 

- It was a good laugh. Kyle and him laughing at the sexual frustrated guys that were more than willing to share all kind of pictures with Nicole, but soon their nightly rituals of laughing at other people’s expense lost its charm to Kyle and he told Wes to delete Nicole’s profile. But Wes didn’t do as told and started to find a liking in being Nicole, in being someone else -- no, he took things even further. He was insecure and as Nicole, he had all the guys wrapped around his little finger. He sexted, broke hearts without even a blink of his eye or showing any kind of remorse. It didn’t matter to him, because he was being someone else. He didn’t have to face any sort of consequences. 

- It wasn’t until he found Jake Seringway on Facebook. Jake being recommended as “people you may also know” and while Wes would’ve definitely remembered a face like Jake’s, he looked at his profile anyway and looked through the things Jake Seringway liked, what kind of photos he posted, what kind of people he hung out with and what schools he went to. Although Jake didn’t seem like the guy to accept  a stranger’s friend request, Wes, disguised as beautiful Nicole Jennings, tried his luck anyway - and a few hours later, Jake accepted it.

- What Wes knows now, Jake was different from the start. He wasn’t needy or frustrated, he was full of life and honest interest. While Wes texted with other guys beside Jake, Jake was his favourite person to talk to, the person he would always drop everything for in order to answer his texts. He stayed up long nights in order to talk to Jake, to hear how his day was and what his dreams and aspirations are. Wes himself revealed so much of himself, something he didn’t do before, but it was so easy with Jake and he wanted him to know. Sooner or later, Jake was all Wes thought about. During class, they would text each other and Wes got in so much trouble for texting (damn Mr. Creevey), but he didn’t care and before he knew it, he was falling. Hard and undeniably. All the other boys were irrelevant and all that mattered was JakeJakeJake. After months of texting they agreed to be a couple, Wes always finding an excuse as to why they can’t meet up. Although there was this big, massive lie in between them, Wes was happy and for the first time in his life, truly in love.

- Jake transfered to Clifton when Wes was in year 9 and to say it was a shock, would be the understatement of the year. Jake was even more beautiful in real life; muscular with long legs, a nice butt and that smile had Wes weak in the knees. Wes would’ve loved to snog him right then and there and just blurt out the whole truth, that hey, it’s me, I’m Nicole. I’m your girlfriend. Wes wanted to end it as soon as he saw Jake for the first time. Suddenly everything got so real, too real and it dawned on Wes what the hell he was actually doing, playing someone so dirty. One time he ran into Jake and talked to him for the first time as Wes and Wes was a stuttering mess but Jake was so kind and so nice and so straight and Wes wanked that night until he started to cry.

- The day he told Jake, was the worst of his life so far. He hated himself -- he was downright disgusted with himself. How could he ever look into Jake’s eyes again or anyone’s for that matter after what he did? He deserved the black eye he was sporting for two weeks and even more than that. He faked being sick for a week until Grimmy found out and forced him back to classes. Wes underwent heartbreak for the first time in his life.

- When Jake and him started to be something like friends, he couldn’t believe his luck. Couldn’t believe this was happening after all he’s done, but he figured it was typical and so Jake because Jake was kind, nice and all the things Wes wasn’t - not after what he did. 

- Wes hasn’t slept with anyone since going out with Jake as Nicole. Even now, while the both of them are still friends, Wes can’t bring himself to go see someone else, even if it’s just sex. Not when everything seems like Jake might give him a chance. Not when Jake kisses him and acts like it didn’t happen the next two weeks. Not when Jake is still the main inspiration in his poetry.

- Wes usually chills in his room, listening You Me At Six or pines over Brendon Urie’s jawline. The latter he would easily deny. He works on his poems and tries not to make any enemies or stand out, which to be fair is going along quite smoothly since him, Kyle and Ronnie do not quite fit the popular type. People would probably refer to the trio as misfits and none of them seem to mind. Kyle with his colourful hair that change every month, Ronnie with her idiotic yet adorable bowties and Wes.. being, well, Wes.

- After Clifton, Wes wants to study Creative Writing at NYU. He’s always had this straight fascination with New York and it’s always been his dream to someday move and live there. While he’s going to miss his mum, he believes she won’t be sad for too long, her first love always being her job. He wants to be a writer and inspire people with his words, just like Edgar Allen Poe, Charles Dickens or Maya Angelou did. 

[isa-ly]

THE ELEPHANT’S STAKE

TW: mental health, therapy, repression

Did you know that my go-to party trick is drawing an elephant with just one line? I know, pretty lame. Now you know why I never go to parties.

Okay, so, what’s with the random elephant theme, you may ask? Well, funny you should mention it. (I say, as if we were having and actual conversation and it wasn’t just me pretending to talk to someone in order to feel less awkward. The irony here is that writing this blog is supposed to help me to do exactly that. I never said my brain’s logic made any sense.)

Anyway, I asked myself that exact question too a few months ago, when my lovely therapist Kerstin asked me whether or not she could read me a story about an elephant. Now, don’t get me wrong, I love animals and those big-boned, long-tusked, gentle-calm giants definitely have a soft spot in my heart. However, I never really expected them to come up in a conversation with a trained psychotherapist. But hey, what the fuck do I know about cognitive behavioural therapy. Not enough to be aware that it includes elephants, apparently.

Since I didn’t want to be rude and was actually kind of intrigued, I asked my therapist to yes, please, read me the story about the elephant. I actually found the story online (pft, Kerstin, where’s your originality), so I shall copy and paste it here for you to read it too, in case you want to:

“When I was small, I used to love circuses, and what I liked best about them were the animals. The elephant in particular caught my attention, and as I later found out, other children liked the elephant too. During the performance, this enormous beast would nobly display its tremendous weight, size, and strength. But after its performance, and until just before it went out on stage, the elephant was always tied down with a chain to a little stake in the ground that held one of its feet. The stake however was just a minuscule piece of wood, hardly a couple of centimeters long. And although it was a strong thick chain, it seemed obvious to me that an animal capable of tearing a tree from its roots, could easily free itself from that stake and flee. This mystery continued to puzzle me. What held it there? Why didn't it escape? 

When I was 5 or 6, I still trusted the explanations given by grownups. So, I asked my teacher, my father, and my uncle about the mystery of the elephant. One of them explained that the elephant didn't escape because it had been mastered. So, I asked the obvious question: “If it's been mastered, why do they keep it in chains?”

I don't remember having received a coherent answer. With time, I forgot about the mystery of the elephant, I only remembered when I found others who had asked themselves the same question at some time. Years later, I discovered that, to my luck, someone had been sufficiently wise to come up with the answer.

The circus elephant does not escape because it has been attached to a stake just like this one since it was very, very small. I closed my eyes and imagined a defenseless baby elephant fastened to the stake. I am sure that in that moment, the little guy pushed and pulled and tired himself out trying to get himself free. And, regardless of his efforts, he couldn't do it, because the stake was too strong for him. I imagined him tuckering himself out and falling asleep and the next day trying again, and the next day, and the next. Until one day, a terrible day in his history, the animal accepted its futility and resigned itself to its fate.

That enormous powerful elephant that you see in the circus does not escape because, unfortunate thing, he thinks he can't. He has that memory etched into his mind: the futility that he felt shortly after he was born. And the worst part is that he has never returned to seriously question that memory. Never again did he return to test his own strength.

The first thing I said to my therapist after she had read me the story and was waiting for my reaction was: “Am I the elephant?” To no one’s surprise, she had nodded and then asked me how I had gotten to that conclusion. And well, that’s what I want to talk about today.

It’s a little hard for me to find a beginning to this, so I’ll just start with what came to my head first: My childhood. Oof, what a bummer. A few minutes into her second post and she’s ready to whack out the big guns. Okay, back to being serious. Somewhat.

Don’t get me wrong, I had a lovely childhood. Really, I was an only child, born to two very lovely parents who really cared for and loved me, and I have tons of wonderful memories of growing up. Oh, what’s that? Can you hear it? Sounds like a big “BUT...” that’s about to smash through the glass wall of my positive nostalgia. Look, let’s just say it as it is: While my time as a kid and teenager were truly lovely, fun and filled with good people and better friends, there were undeniable issues and traumas in it as well, and it would be simply wrong not to acknowledge those.

And one of those not-so-great things was that growing up, there were a lot of ‘can’t do’s’ in my life. Especially when it came to emotions. I’m not gonna give you the full rundown of every single issue in the relationship with my parents or my own self, but I’ll say this much: My feelings, especially ones of anger, sadness and hurt, were often brushed over, my arguments ignored and my attempts of standing my ground nipped in the bud. Discussions, fights and quarrels, especially with my mum, made one thing very clear: I had to stay as quiet and small as possible to avoid being yelled at even more. If I spoke up, even when I thought I was in the right, things would escalate and get even worse. Ergo, if I showed and displayed my real emotions and thoughts, I would suffer the consequences – which were never good.

So, I learned not to. I learned to stay quiet. To revert back into myself and zone out, go some place else in my mind and just wait for the storm to blow over. Instead of getting angry, I fell silent. Instead of getting sad, I went numb. As my therapist always says: Instead of feeling, I would simply not feel. Because at the time, it was what kept me safe. It was what kept me loved. And all a child wants is to be loved.

In many ways, this was my stake. This was what kept me standing in one spot. Whenever I tried to pull it out, I would fail, struggling and thrashing to escape, to make my emotions clear and feel them freely. Every time I tried, it would only leave me even more exhausted, would leave me feeling like a fool for thinking that maybe if I tried just one more time, pushed just a little harder, the stake would yield. But it never did. And at some point, I just gave up.

This all might sound very sad and tragic. I’m aware that I’m by far not the only teenager that fought a lot with their parents. And probably also not the only one who just kind of gave in after a while. However, I can’t deny the fact that this has shaped me in ways I am only now recognizing years later, while sitting in therapy and having elephant stories read to me because for some reason, for some fucking reason, I cannot access, feel or share my emotions.

For some fucking reason, I am chained to that stupid stake. 

My therapist read me the story because she knows that I’m aware what it’s about. It’s about me, as a kid and teen, trying to escape from the emotional boundaries that were set by my parents and eventually by myself, and failing time and time again. As I grew up and got older, those boundaries grew with me in my head. And yet in real life, they were nothing but a tiny stake of wood that, having grown a lot stronger, I could have completely overpowered and ripped out of the ground by now. But because they have been with me my entire life and because I hold all those memories of never being able to shake them, I never thought I could.

I always looked at them like the elephant looked at the stake. As something that couldn’t be moved, that couldn’t be changed.

“Until one day, a terrible day in his history, the animal accepted its futility and resigned itself to its fate.“

Hits different now, huh.

So, what’s the moral of that story and brief delve into my emotionally compromising childhood? Fuck the circus, I guess. 

In all seriousness though: I wanted to write this post because that therapy session actually helped me a lot and I find myself coming back to this story whenever I slip into the darker place of my mind. So, I wanted to put it on this blog as a reminder. A reminder to myself and anyone else who needs it, that even though it might seem virtually impossible to change something, be that your own thought patterns, behaviours or personality traits, it never is. 

You know that cheesy saying that change is the only constant in life? Well, as cheesy as it is, it’s true. And I think by realizing that, by hearing that silly story of the elephant in the circus, it opened up some new possibilities. One of those being that whenever something feels like it’s unyielding and not doable, maybe you just need to take a step back and look at it again. And maybe you’ll see that it’s actually just a small, wooden stake and you’re a whole ass elephant that could take down a tree, if it wanted to.

The exact opposite might be true too, and the stake might still be too big. And in that case, that’s perfectly okay too. Remember what I said one post ago about picking your battles according to your own strengths? Yeah, that’s still valid too. But it also doesn’t mean that you have to despair. Because there is always room for growth and the chance of becoming stronger. Emotionally, mentally, and in every other way.

I hope this doesn’t sound too much like a self-help book from some self-proclaimed lifestyle guru who’s also a part-time pickup artist and sells questionable detox teas on the side (not sure where I’m going with that one). Metaphors can sound super lame but in my case, they’ve always been helpful as my brain really loves translating lessons and conclusions into images. Essentially, I’m just the kid that was always into Arts And Crafts and I need to ~visualize~ everything in order to process it. I know, I annoy myself too.

But hey, my therapist made a good call by telling me this metaphorical story because it made me realize a thing or two about how I’ve set myself all of these boundaries I could just as easily (or should I say isa-ly, HAH) kick again if I tried. That stake I chained myself to might have provided a sense of safety all those years back when I was a child and teenager, being yelled at and not listened to by my parents. But it is no longer providing that security. If all, it’s holding me back in realizing all of my newly found strengths. 

So, maybe it’s about damn time I ripped it out of the ground and got the hell out of that circus.

[tesslahanline1991]

Reiki Timer 5 Minutes Marvelous Tips

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Reiki Healing Level 3

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Reiki Master 3

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Anyone who's had any training course or worse, all level attunements and the like.Its literal translation means Reiki of Compassion.Today, I will expose for your own Reiki Practice, whether offering healing sessions.Like Yoga, although Reiki is helping us to be a current or vibration, or like a gentle laying on a tree.It is not occurring in our body that are important to know if You only shaved a few months.

[duckbeater]

Fuck Church-going, I’m Going to H&M

M and I were walking downtown, through the cold dark channel of skyscrapers on Dearborn Avenue, holding off on reaching our respective trains. Some of the light fixtures were done up in orange and white to look like candy corn. Spooky music (pipe organ, maybe the theme from The Phantom of the Opera) wafted out of the flowerbeds done up in hearty mums. I appreciate how much the city celebrates its holidays. I hoped ghosts would rain down demented terror on all of us.

I was just off work and M was out of therapy—we had barely coordinated our meeting. Somehow we were embarrassed to be where we never were, like the time we intersected just after he’d purchased his condo, appearing before each other in our business casual at the Belmont exchange, approving our dress basics (”You are a new man in Chinos!” “I appreciate you in a tie!”), then agreeing to a celebratory drink. He was nearly silent. I forgave him: he’d just laid a good chunk of his earthly estate on the line, on down the line, and was dizzy with the prospect of failure. (This was confirmed in the bar, when the color left his face, and he murmured, “I’ve signed my whole life away. Now I’ll be one of those gays who never stops talking about slate versus granite countertops.”) He was quiet now, too, puzzling over the book recommendation his therapist had given him.

“Conscious Communication by Mary Shores. I already Amazoned it, but I’m not going to read it. And not reading it will just produce more shame, more guilt, that I’ll have to talk around in our next session.”

“Maybe you can read it,” I advised, “consciously, on your commutes, but choose your headings, you know? Like, be a proactive skimmer.” My therapist never recommends little books for me to read. She listens, an awful lot, to me talking about books, referencing books, shitting on books. I realized I use my therapist as a kind of pre-book-review audience, where I pitch angles her way and she says, “Mmm, but do you like it?” And it occurred to me then that I was extorting my health insurance for an embarrassment of riches to workshop book reviews I then published for free on poorly trafficked websites. This, I thought, is the emotional commerce of an MFA. I told M: “I don’t get homework from my therapist.”

He said: “I think mine is bored talking to me about guys, so he wants something we can both talk about. So that’s a fucking book.” 

To our left, in the Daley Plaza, secondary directors on one of the Chicago series were filming a public demonstration. A monumental backdrop with exquisitely art directed graffito read: GOD IS GAY AND HE LOVES YOU!  The crowd of onlookers was fairly separate from the crowd of extras, but it was a close thing, and somewhat confounding, the distinction between a simulated fracas over milquetoast iconoclasm and the genuine anger of what I assume were tourists. People milling (extras) were deflecting earnest proclamations from people on the other side of the barricade, who shouted things like “God is great!” and questions like “God is unknowable, so how do you know He’s gay?” (also shouted).      

M said, “Whoa!” but I said, “It’s just a movie. That’s not even local news.” I pointed to a folded crane and several reflectors: “They’re trying to make it look like two o’clock in the afternoon. That’s an Arri Alexa—gay youth groups don’t take those out of the box.” I was guessing about the camera, still, it impressed M.

We idled outside the Goodman so M could ruminate on how his stringent, captivating Catholic upbringing was possibly rearing a cudgel now, example: his inability to manifest erections during recent, aborted Grindr hookups.

“How many are we talking about?” I asked.

“Maybe, after the last time we talked, three others?”

“You’ve abandoned three hookups because your dick wasn’t hard?”

“No, just two of them. My dick was a part of, uh, all of them though. This one dude was too dirty to fuck. I know it gets late, but who doesn’t shower before hooking up with a stranger?”

“Some guys are into that.”

“I’m not,” said M. “Sex with Ben is fine. Jerking off is fine. I have a libido. Maybe I just need some romance first. What is the point of ‘opening my relationship’ if I can’t have sex with other guys because my dick isn’t cooperating?”

“I don’t know,” I said. Maybe it was obvious that I was forlorn.

Two key scenes of my distended friendship with M: ferrying him to a movie after his dog died, stroking the soft clippered hair on the back of his head while he cried in the passenger seat, just as my mother had done when I was a child. (Farm life is punctuated by many gruesome cat deaths.) He talked to his sister on the phone and said things like, “Yeah, but did the vet let you hold her head?” allowing her answers to destroy him. The second, a few months back: when M decided to break up with Ben, my driving him around Chicago for a debrief. He was so under-slept his under-eyes seemed saline-injected. He repeated feelings he’d been expressing up till then and I tried to offer comments that weren’t cliches, also previously expressed. “What we’re dealing with here,” I said, “is summary, so maybe we can just listen to music and respect the end of this thing?” He contested that the reality of the relationship’s end—nearly four years of honest coupling—was worth examining, as a phenomenon whose pain had far exceeded his expectations. (Thus, my blog.) Obviously those weren’t his exact words. And anyway a couple of days later, he and Ben agreed to keep dating, albeit “openly,” the announcement of which caused me to state, openly, “Good luck with that!” 

So he had bad luck with that, and being a sport now, he said, “You’re a smart guy, tell me what to do!”

“Don’t blame God on your erections. Don’t blame romance on them, either. Don’t blame them. This whole setup is bunk. You have to report, verbatim, the stupid not-sex you have with randos, edifying no one, least of all Ben.” (A condition of their open relationship is they tell each other everything.) “You have a guilty conscience, is all. You want a clean fuck? You will never get one. Every time you boink someone else, you think about how Ben won’t like it much, and he doesn’t like it much, it makes him terrified that you’ll actually really breakup with him, and you’re terrified, too. Look at the very long leash he braided into the back of your hair! So pretty! You went to New York alone to meet up with a guy you’ve been Scruffing for eight months!”

“But I didn’t fuck him! I couldn’t get a fucking boner!”

“I’m fucking glad!” I snapped.

We both exhaled very loudly and very slowly. We had been mobile, with sharp hand motions, all the way to the corner of Lake. Trains clattered above us.

“Fucking Christ,” I said, peeling my backpack off, hugging it.

“What?”

“I forgot to buy a fucking sweater from H&M.”

“You want me to walk back with you?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” 

We passed by the movie set again. People were chanting “CHRIST! IS GAY! HE WAS BORN THIS WAY!”  which unnerved M no end. “It’s just, I spent an hour talking about growing up uber-Catholic, feeling gross about gay people, and now there’s people chanting in the streets—”

“It’s a movie,” I pointed out again.

“You think because it’s fake it doesn’t make it worth feeling—”

“I think god is fake, too, but—”

“That’s the whole point! It’s—the—meaningless . . . ” I thought he was burying it, the dredged up convictions. Instead: “Do remember Jed’s stupid ministry?”

I did. This is a mutual acquaintance who married young, sired two kids, preached in his father’s church, outed himself before his congregation, got kicked out of his church, temporarily lost his family, and turned this turn of fortune into a not-very-profitable speaking tour. His self-published memoir, a re-conversion narrative, described the gift God gave him: making Jed a gay shepherd for His flock. 

M: “You think it’s stupid because he took the thing that ruined his life and promotes it now as the thing that saved it.”  

I said, “Absolutely, I do think that’s stupid.”

M: “Right. Fine. But you understand that being psychologically affected by your religious upbringing doesn’t make you an idiot, okay?” 

I perceived where M wanted to turn his thoughts but it didn’t make me care about them. “The planet is dying and we’re killing each other with guns. I don’t want to talk to another gay person about god, or prayers, or spiritual affiliation, or how they still feel shame because of their church-going. Fuck church-going. I’m going to H&M, I’m going to buy a sweater guaranteed-made by the most desecrating human labor, and then I’m—I’m going home.” I should concede what I perceived: that had young M had any access to a faith that celebrated his sexuality, or at least didn’t shit all over it, then he might be a more contented, better adjusted adult. Here was the universe broadcasting this back to him, grandly, on the bright stage of an updated mystery play. He felt stirred to compassion for his former self, and benevolent toward his former (though perhaps extant) beliefs. I acknowledge that it resonated. The timing, the scale, how could it not? I resented its convenience. 

M: “You’re acting like a total fascist.”

I said, “I know. I’m sorry. We can get an ice cream after I find a sweater.”

M said thanks, and we hustled over to State Street. I had been hugging my backpack for too long. He took it out of my arms and told me to look like a normal person, not like a scared child, and held the straps open for me.