#i had a mental health relapse and then got food poisoning

[piebank]

Hello, I hope it's ok to ask:

How would Mirage react to the Autobots, that are on Earth for the first time, acting condescending toward Noah because he is an organic? Cybertron didn't like organics much to the point of their own version of racism.

Would Mirage be sad, protective, uncomfortable or just plain start to fight them for Noah's honor?

its always ok to ask! :v ❤️

idk if it is "in character" for him but in my humble opinion i think mirage would 100% ready to throw down for his boy. or atleast i would like to see it lol

[hollyhomburg]

@jjungcookie Ahhh Im glad that many of my usual readers didn’t really notice it 😭 it was so stressful I still don’t want to think about it! My life is a rotating door of stressors these days.

As I was re-reading and editing I thought people might pick up on the weird vibes from the doctor. I will neither confirm or deny that it feels she was written that way. A couple of the things you’ve written have felt…interesting!

I think her few chapters and relapse are just that, a relapse in her recovery. I’ve always felt it’s strange because like- my mental health can literally go from night to day over the course of a week, which means like I need to know how to medicate myself to make the ups and downs not as terrible, and I think I want to write the m/c’s recovery as similar, because yeah- sitting at home with nothing to do is definitely the only thing she can do at times but it’s not going to help her in the long run, and I think she’s going to realize this!

as for the pasteries and someone watching, please hold onto that thought. Like seriously, you’re going to see that, and it’s a very important moment for SEVERAL reasons. I hope we get to it next chapter but tbh…there might be too much mafia bits to fit it in.

I KNEW people were going to get the vibe that Jimin went murdery when they saw the tags for the chapter! I would honestly love if Jimin would treat the transphobes a lesson. I don’t think he would have actually killed her, but I do think he might have like…found out the skeletons in her closet or snipped her brake lines or something.

Ahhhhh yes, they’re strangers to enemies to best friends to idiots to lovers, it’s quite the ark between the two of them <3 I’ve really enjoyed writing it, I think it might be the slowest ark in the whole universe literally like over 700k to get to their confessions???? What kind of shit am I on???

Thank you for that tip about the cd’s! I’ll have to try it! We’ve got a few suncatchers in my house but none made out of stuff that’s not glass!

I think it’s such a profound part of like- the story the fact that she eats- someone who we’ve seen struggle with that just- eating and horking down poison food like- what a fucking metaphor, even as the writer I’m not sure what it means but!!! Thank you for appreciating it as your favorite part!

Tbh, I think that the don and beta made the decision to mate young because they both realized that they’d tear each other apart if they didn’t (after a very mrs and mr smith kind of romance where they both tried to kill each other a few times), they’re both like, very bad people. Like I don’t think that was the first time the don had felt up a young omega in the presence of his mate. If we’re getting into back back story, I think that the don complained that “alphas have needs” and they decided to bring in a male omega for their triad and actually for the first time, really started to actually love each other, but after a year or two, it was revealed that the omega was planted their by a rival gang and was in essence a spy, the don probably killed him himself and the beta had to swallow her love for him and watched as he died. I don’t think they would have loved each other after that.

Ahhh there is so much good stuff to think about! The backstory! Everything! Thank you for always being a source of inspiration for me! until next time <3

Before I Leave You (Pt.60)

(Omegaverse au, Mafia au, Bts x Reader)

Summary: Life changes come in many many forms; courting gifts, leaving jobs, and...Murder

Tags: Slow burn getting warmer, Angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, Trans! Tae, Transphobia, gender thoughts, workplace discrimination, flashbacks, murder, the word 'r*pe' is used to describe what Geumjae did to her but there are no graphic depictions of it, allusions to physical abuse, graphic violence, there is a brief moment where someone not in the pack touches the m/c's ass without her consent, blood, briefly implied suicidal actions- but it's nothing like what you haven't seen before.

W/c: 12.6k

A/n: i'll be attending my cousin's wedding at the time this is posted so! give me lots of love when you read it cuz i'm so nervous~ i've never been around so many fancy people before <3

Previous part ~ Masterlist

You dab at the skin under your eyes carefully. You know they must look red and puffy. Tae’s careful instruction to treat your skin well as all good baby pups should has somehow stuck.

Even here. Even now.

“Do people like always loose it with you? Like when they walk in, do they all cry?”

Your therapist (yes, your therapist) across the narrow room is the opposite of threatening; soft face, pulled back hair, neutral clothing that might just as well be out of a country living catalog.

You don’t know where Jin found her, what little medical booklet he perused like a take-out menu, or how much her services cost per hour. Those kinds of details were not for delicate little pups like yourself to worry over in his opinion.

Most of the time, you're glad not to have to worry about things like this. But right now you're chomping at the bit. Weighting your odds. The other unknowns hover before you. One sticks out. One you're most concerned about.

Is she trustworthy?

Nothing about Dr. Rima seems outwardly threatening, yet you curl in on yourself. She smiles, scrawling something on the top of her notepad before she answers, and something taught in you ticks tighter.

“You’re correct in assuming that most people I meet cry in the first few minutes when they meet me, but you are the first person to cry on my threshold. Most of the time people wait until they’re at least in the chair.”

That has a smile tugging at your lips, albeit unwillingly. Your smile is like a leashed wild animal, with too many teeth when you feel threatened. Contained for now.

If you got up and walked out right now, would she call someone to restrain you? Will you be committed if you tell the truth? Or are you just misinterpreting the stakes?

You are here of your own volition. Even if it was a condition that Jin and Namjoon weren't willing to budge on after the events of last week. It's not like the pack is having you put in a mental institution or something, although they did come with you today. For moral support.

The waiting room was stuffy and yellow, one of those little waterfall mirrors in the corner that you’d watched in a fog sat between Yoongi and Jimin while Jin filled out the necessary paperwork. His pen hovering over the small boxes every few seconds. He'd taken the afternoon off of work to make sure he was there, just to fill out paperwork.

Are you on any medications? Do you have a history with substance abuse disorders? Do you have any intent to harm yourself or others?

Sending glares to anyone who dared to come too close, Jimin had looked and smelled threatening. You're not sure he’d have let you go into an isolated location with her if she’d been an alpha. Jin too had looked close to snapping.

yoongi was the only one who looked somewhat calm, althoug his hand was tightly laced with yours (and a little sweaty)

It’s a wonder that the rest of your pack had agreed to stay home for this. This was just one of several concessions you’d made after what the pack has politely begun referring to as 'sad pup time' during your more vulnerable moments, and blatantly 'your breakdown' during less fragile ones.

But sweet words or not. The facts remain; You are here in this chair after a nearly tearful departure.

You’d met the therapist in the doorway, shaking in your boots, and upon being separated from your pack with the promise that they’d be just downstairs in the lobby, you’d followed her inside.

Yoongi had made a noise in his throat, making you turn back. Dr.Rima turned to watch as he’d pulled you in for a last-minute hug, ducking down to your level. “One hour, okay? We’ll be just downstairs. Text me if you need me.”

His eyes were heavy-looking at the stranger. Unwilling to let you go just yet. A little stalwart, a little standoffish.

“Take good care of her please. She’s very precious to us.”

Precious.

That much was evident by the nearly three-page document that both your pack alpha and omega sent through once Namjoon and Jin had selected Dr. Rima as your therapist. Dr. Rima has quite a bit of experience dealing with overprotective pack alphas and pack omegas. Let alone a pack alpha and pack omega who have such a clinical background.

Yes, you must be well taken care of. At least on paper.

She’s already itching a little, to get her hands on all the others. Packmates and their names are written out, as a part of all intake files. Large packs aren't so common anymore. Her eyes fix on one name; Min Yoongi (beta, mate) unemployed.

The big windows help it feel not so small, on the second floor, the trees block out most of the view of the park below. A small voice that sounds like Hobi whispers that it’s a shame she doesn’t have any plants in here, they'd do so well with all of this natural light.

Your knees clack together a little, moving listlessly, the anxiety in your body begging to be released somewhere.

“I don’t know where to start.”

“Why don’t we start with why you wanted to come in today.”

You avoid her eye contact, looking instead at the tops of the trees, you don’t know why they haven’t changed color yet, all of the trees on your street are half bare already. She has a smooth inoffensive scent, but you’re mated to a beta so you know what to expect when it comes to the relaxing effects, the subtle haze at the edge of your vision. It must come in handy, having the biological upper hand, when it comes to patients in distress.

If therapists are rare, beta therapists must be even rarer.

You can practically hear Jin, “Nothing but the best for my pup.” There is a part of your brain that won’t ever turn off, appraising everything around you. The designer pumps that she wears. The knickknacks on her desks, there are no photos of any packs that she might call her own, just a pink calendar in the corner.

Your breath goes just a little bit rapid, just a little, hitching when you think of it.

“Did Jin tell you anything?”

“He didn’t. Although my secretary did inform me that he filled out the paperwork for you.” The air in the therapist’s office is cold. Cold enough that it has you wrapping your sweater sleeves over your knuckles.

Your cheeks heat “My pack they- get a bit- protective.” Your fingers circle your wrist. You’re glad that Hobi convinced you to take one of his sweatshirts. He'd had a strange look on his face while he zipped it up, and you'd had to worry and wonder about it the whole morning. You'd worried more once he texted, just after he must have gotten to work.

“I have kind of a history of self-destructive behavior and I- I kind fell into bad habits a few days ago and blew up. It was all kind of triggered by this like- thing that happened with me and my other packmate.” It’s surprisingly easy to tell the truth.

You’re a right side better than you have been the last few weeks, now. A little bit more present, less foggy. The doctor just looks at her screen and not at you. What is it with her asking questions that make you not want to lie? Why does it feel like you should anyway?

Dr. Rima reads between the lines, what you're trying to say without saying it. “Is there a possibility of you hurting yourself again?” She clicks at the screen a little rapidly.

“No.”

The truth is you have no idea. It seems best to lie in this situation. But you consider it; one of your packmates making the call that you are too much to handle, that you need more help than they can offer. You imagine what it would be like to be in inpatient care. Grippy socks and group therapy and probably observed mealtimes. Maybe Iv's and feeding tubes if it came to that. Away from the pack and away from Yoongi.

He’s just downstairs, but that feels too far. There was no way that he was going to let you do this alone, you wouldn't be surprised if he never left the waiting room.

It’s just a therapy session. The very thing that you once refused. But now that you're here you might as well heal, you might as well work to stop this endless train of brief highs and endless lows. you'll give it a go, why not? What do you have to lose?

And yet, the texts from Hobi remain unanswered:

Ho-🐝 (9:48): Hey, I’m really proud of you.

Ho-🐝 (9:48): I’m really happy I get to be your packmate. In case you ever worry.

Ho-🐝 (9:49): And your best friend too &lt;3

Ho-🐝 (9:51): Just so you knowwww

The pack has kept you substantially plied with little solutions since your breakdown last week. They haven’t let you rot like usual. They’ve kept your days full of little activities; nothing too extravagant or tiring. Letting you rest when you need to and encouraging you to get outside of your comfort zone when it’s clear you’re giving in.

It comes down to that more often than not; giving in or not giving in.

Not giving in looks like trips back to the beach with Hobi. Like going to the salon with Tae and shopping with Jimin. Or another workout class with Jungkook where you’d spent more of the time lounging on the yoga mat than actually moving your body. But you'd still tenuously agreed to sign up for more classes under the encouragement of Wonho and Jungkook.

And now twice a week, you’ve got a mat to call your own during any classes, in the back, if you decide you want it. Your callender hasn't felt so full in years, it feels strange, to have something to do during the weeks that isn't just scraping the bottom of the barrel and doing house chores. Strange in a good way.

Not all of the pack's solutions aren’t silly but sometimes, silly is a good way to push out the dark.

The morning after your breakdown; you'd watched your pack work, fighting back a flush. Sitting at the kitchen bar stool while Yoongi applied painter’s tape to the floor, not intent on keeping back paint this time, but marking it off for you.

You’re a little bit more determined this morning although your first night without nightmares in a little over a month had kept you in higher spirits. You feel more well-rested than you have in ages.

“You don’t need to- I promise- I’m not going-“ but your requests had fallen on deaf ears. Worry building until Jungkook stood up fast grinning up at you, pupils wide brown pools from getting scented stupid this morning.

(Scented stupid, you'd been scented by the pack too, had struggled a little against it, too shy as Namjoon dragged his throat along yours, squirming until yoongi held you down a little, checking with you each few seconds that you wanted that, that your squirming was really just needing to feel a firm touch, a dominant one.

You will go nowhere until your pack have had their right to you, scenting you up, making your scent gland tender and swollen under their teeths and tongues.

It felt so much better to be made to handle it, each of the pack, even hobi, hovering over you to scent you with their wrists and throats. until you smelled so claimed by them that you couldn't breathe without smelling it- Pack.

Jungkook had pouted until he'd gotten the same treatment, although the omegaspace haze had lasted longer on him than it had on you.

He stands up so fast that his hair fluffs. Catching himself on your leg with a giggle before he topples over. grinning up at you before pressing a sleepy sloppy kiss to your knee and then another to your lips,

“No pup zone!" Omega Space Jungkook can get a little bit ridiculous even at the best of times. He's got a case of the morning omegaspace zoomies as he giggles and nips at your nose. You playfully push at his chest. He doesn't budge.

"Your whole face is a no-pup zone." The dissatisfied pur-chirp he'd let out had sounded half hurt, half encouraged.

Namjoon had eased your discomfort. Pulling you from the stool to lean back against his chest, fingers drumming out a rhythm on your legs as Jungkook huffes into your throat.

Having this failsafe- this rule, does not mean that they think you’re going to fail, these are guard rails to keep you on track. Namjoon looks down at you, his full bottom lip tucked a little, not a pout but close. “This is the easiest solution, if you don’t go near it then maybe, maybe it helps.”

His fingers drum against your skin again, and you lean back into him. Uneasy but willing to let him soothe you.

So yes, you’ve been banned from the kitchen, banned from crossing that line that runs from the edge of the coffee stand and just in front of Tae's library room, to the island and over to the fridge. Unless there is someone else close by. You are not allowed here without supervision.

It’s a simple solution, limiting you from the place that you use to hurt yourself. Never mind the fact that there are dozens if not hundreds of other possible avenues you could use. Your creativity knows no bounds when it comes to pain, but you quiet that part of yourself when the desire for hurt gets loud.

You can’t say it hasn’t helped. But then again, the pack has kept you so busy since your breakdown that you haven't had any time to think of hurting yourself let alone put any plans into action.

Across from you, Dr. Rima waits expectantly.

"It was kind of triggered by this thing that happened."

The tip of her pen bobs a little as she writes. “Could you describe the event to me? Or is that something you're not ready to talk about?" You nod and she waits patiently. It takes you a breath to answer.

“A little less than a month ago one of my packmates and I found a dead body."

You feel a little vindicated at her inhale of breath. Wide eyes that say yes- that is something traumatic, yes, it's fair that it kinda triggered you into a more fragile state.

"It dredged up a lot of feelings about my past. Before that, I was kind of starting to feel s-safe which I haven't like, ever been able to feel."

“And your packmate?"

There is new treacherous wetness balancing on your waterline. “Hobi’s a lot stronger than me, his past and mine are really similar but he just- handles his better. A lot of the time it feels like I learn from him even though he’d tell you the opposite is true. He’s my best friend." Your voice goes quiet, "I love my mate more than I love anyone else, but sometimes- Hobi just- gets me you know?" You go a little misty-eyed. Hands tightening on Hobi's sweatshirt.

“Yet he’s not the one sitting in my chair right now.”

You close your eyes, "he's not."

“For what it’s worth- you can have more than one best friend.” Dr. Rima writes as quickly as she can, taking it down. “How long have you been romantically involved with him? Who came first, your mate or him?”

You jolt forward, “Oh no- we’re not- Hobi and I aren't-" You take a deep breath to clarify. "Everyone else in the pack is together but Hobi and I are just friends. We all have our like… little units?”

"Primary partners." Dr. Rima offers.

"Yeah, that." But even that doesn't really cover it, because while Jin and Namjoon are JinandNamjoon and Jimin and Tae are JiminandTae. Jungkook is everyone's problem (in the best of ways) and you and Tae are something else too. The pack's girls the rest of them would say.

(You and Hobi are, well, YouandHobi.)

It sounds weird to say it once it comes out of your mouth. It makes an odd choked feeling lodge in your throat. Too much hope and too much shame for hoping blooming in your chest.

“I don’t know if I want to talk about him.”

She folds her hands over her knees, setting her pen down. Dr. Rima has chubby hands, disproportionate to her body. They look like they'd be soft.

She reminds you of your mom a little bit.

“That’s okay, we can talk about whatever you want. What you want and need is going to be the focus of our sessions. You’re the pilot here. I’m just here to help you interpret your thoughts and feelings.”

She folds her hands over themselves, setting her pen aside, “Why don’t we talk about the last time you remember feeling safe.”

"Physically or mentally?"

"Either, you can choose."

The rest of the session passes frightfully quickly. You can’t say that you don’t cry again. When you finally talk about Geumjae, her smile quickly dissipates. You talk and talk and talk until your throat is raw. Until you’ve depleted the whole box of her tissues. She shows you she's got more hidden under her desk when you apologize, her secret stash gets a laugh out of you.

“The fact that your pack omega filled out your paperwork isn’t the most unusual, but his preference for daily meetings or every other day is a little bit on the nose for a pack omega, I’m wondering if you share his preference.”

“He’s just overprotective.” She eyes you like Jin has good reason to be. You don’t blush this time, a little more comfortable with Dr. Rima than you were at the beginning of this. “I think maybe more than once a week but not every day.”

“How does Monday- Friday sound?”

~-~

When you walk to the door with Dr. Rima Yoongi stands abruptly from his chair.

You can tell by the shiny edge to his to his scent that he doesn't want to stay here any longer than necessary. He gets the information about your next appointment and then tugs you out the door.

Jins got his legs crossed, fancy leather shoes glinting in the sunlight by the windows. The lobby is buzzing with people coming and going. This building isn't just a therapy office but a collection of other businesses with a few shops and restaurants on the ground floor as well. He looks up and double-takes when he spots you, not standing from his chair, but he opens his arms and you fold yourself along his side, conscious of the other eyes but this.

This you need.

You press your face along the column of Jin's neck, breathing his cream scent in deep.

“Oh pup.”

Your red-rimmed eyes are too obvious and you sniffle wetly, “It was okay, I like Dr. Rima.” He laces your hands together and resists the urge to pester you with questions. Yoongi's hand is still tangled in the hood of your (Hobi's) sweatshirt. Your therapy sessions should be yours and only yours. Yoongi and Jin do not have Dr. patient confidentiality.

And yet the need to know if that helped burns through them. They won't have to wonder for long.

By the coffee stand, Jimin waves and he returns to you when the barista hands over a bag of sweets and a quad of cups. Jin continues scrawling something out for another second before he’s standing and pulling you in for another chaste scent mark.

“Let’s go home.” It's somewhere between an order and a request. But no one disobeys.

On the drive back (37 minutes total) you're a little quiet. You let the sounds of the others be your buffer. You look down at your phone and stare at Hobi’s texts. You respond with just a little heart emoji when you finally still can’t figure out a good response and you're close to home.

Home is its usual conflagration of moving bits and pieces. Each of your packmates is like a shiny cog in a pretty clock, tick tick tick tocking along. Tae and Namjoon are at the table looking through some of the pack’s bills, the pastries and coffee cups litter the table with little piles of powdered sugar and cinnamon. jimin bought enough for the whole pack.

You look at them a little too long, although not because you don't want to eat them. It’s been a while, a few weeks since you’ve made something like that, but every single one of the pastries is something you know how to make. You don’t know why you keep looking at them.

Tae smiles at you, still in the doorway. and it makes you feel a little less like you want to burst into tears. Her voice speaks of the quiet time you have in the library (the tenderness of having someone else do your makeup, another person combing your hair). You hope you'll get some dedicated one-on-one time with her soon.

"Hey little lovely, How was it?"

"She put me through the wringer but I think she got some suds out."

She and Namjoon giggle and you smile small. and you can tell that Namjoon wants to ask you more but he doesn't after a pointed look from your mate. There are footsteps in the hall and before you can move to take off your shoes Hobi is standing in the archway.

Yoongi efficiently strips you of Hobi's sweatshirt with a frustrated huff. It's Kind of like he’s trying to peel away the sadness (your clothes are soaked with your sour scent, rainy and unhappy. Regardless of Jin’s scent mark, you kind of stink).

You might have overheard their words just before you got into the car. Jin's hissed admonishment. “A lot of people cry during therapy Minnie, she’s not in trouble, can’t you smell it?”

Your scent is mellow underneath the memory of your distress, going sweeter by the second. Yoongi wants all memories of your sad scent banished from the house. Hobi stands at the door to the hallway, shifting back and forth, his eyes a little warmer than usual, hands shaking a little bit.

You’ve caught him looking at you a lot since the night he ran away, in the quiet moments when he thinks you’re not noticing. Eyes a shade warmer than usual, a sweetened franticness to his scent. Nervousness and happiness mix like blueberries and whipped cream.

When he pulls up beside you during movie nights and sits thigh to thigh with you. When his hands intertwine with yours over his knee or sometimes or when he pulls your legs sideways across his lap. He looks at you like that when he's doing the small things and he's looking at you like that right now.

You know how love starts, that it starts with the small things.

Hobi resists the urge to open his arms. would you come to him? Would you fold your body along his front so that he could feel your heartbeat? Pressing again and again to the opposite side of his chest with every thump?

He doesn’t say hey, but he does step a little closer. Fingers reaching out. The pad of his index finger slides down the meat of your pinky till it reaches the ball of your wrist. His own special hello.

Your breath hitches, just barely, almost imperceptible if it wasn’t for how close he stands.

A look behind you says Yoongi hasn’t made himself scarce, instead fussing with the pack's coats. Now that it’s getting colder, they don’t all fit by the door. You look behind Hobi and find Namjoon watching the three of you, he raises a singular eyebrow.

“How was it? Bad?” Hobi asks, breaking the silence and the tension, drawing your attention back to him. The next breath you let out is a lot less heavy, and your eyelashes flutter as he steps closer. Hobi smells good, a little earthy, mellowing out his usual sweetness. Sweet for an alpha.

“It was kind of hard, I kinda wanted to run away for a bit at the beginning." You can't keep meeting his eyes with how intensely he's looking at you and they flutter down to his hands. "I almost did.”

"I'm glad you didn't pup." Jin comments, full of reproach, the mirror to you and Hobi as he leans down to press a kiss to Namjoon's forehead. Shucking off his lapelled jacket and rolling up the sleeves of his button-down shirt.

“If you’d have called me, I’d have picked you up. We could still like- run away, if you're down.”

But the house is starting to heat up, and Jin and Yoongi are starting to cook. The light is still honey-yellow happy. And you tip your cheek into his arm. He finally- finally lets his arms settle around your waist.

“Nah, not yet.” You drag out the syllable all playful, and something forbidden stirs in Hobi’s gut. “Jin’s making my favorite tonight. not until later?”

Hobi goes silent, pulls back, biting his lips, eyes flickering from your eyes down. and-

You laugh and Hobi blushes. “Just spit it out.”

Everyone’s been a little bit touchier with you since that night (a little more overbearing too). You won’t immediately chalk Hobi's touchyness up to what you're all thinking. But the affection makes your scent gland feel tender. Zinging when Yoongi steps up behind you and nuzzles into it, huffing again.

Friends can hug each other after therapy right? Hobi swallows thickly and you feel it against your collar bone as he pulls back and steps away from you. “I ugh- got you a present?”

You brighten up instantly, and Hobi's anxiety increases tenfold. A bit of casual mischievousness on the edge of your lips that always have Hobi feeling like he’s being teased even though he knows he isn’t.

“Oh? A present? You’ve never gotten me a present before!”

He kicks at imaginary dust bunnies, fighting back what he knows is a noticeable flush. “I ugh- still owe you, from the car you know and honestly it's not even like a big gift it's like- so small in comparison and-”

Yoongi huffs and continues to disrobe you. Pulling your sweater over your head when he’s not satisfied that your unhappy scent has dissipated. Muttering something like. “hopeless alpha” under his breath. Your tank top pulls up, inches of your hip and skin on display. It's nothing that Hobi hasn't seen before and yet the blush reignites. The sunshine to your morning glory.

“I guess you're right.” But it doesn’t feel like it. Hobi doesn’t owe you anything for that, not when it was so easy to give. Not when you’ve gotten so many late-night drives from that gift.

Hoseok got the idea for your courting gift, one morning while watching you say goodbye to Namjoon:

The pack alpha has always been a fan of goodbye kisses, good morning, and goodnight kisses too. The particular kiss that morning had ‘I’ll miss you’ written all over it. It was so pretty in the way that you lingered, arms around Namjoon’s neck. His hand is underneath your shirt on the small of your back. Such a small touch and yet so gently possessive that it had Hobi aching to see it.

Hobi is unfortunately prone to jealousy and it turns the back of his neck hot. Makes his hands feel oddly tender. He's distracted by the visual, the task of packing up his work bag forgotten. Hoseok’s shift at the flower shop doesn’t start for another few hours, and he’s waiting, watching, an unhappy voyeur.

You and Namjoon have quite the height difference, if he was in between the two of you he’d be the perfect middle ground. That’s just another stupid thought, another stupid thought in the countless number of stupid thoughts that he’s had. (I like my alphas a little pathetic, and nothing's more pathetic than an alpha pining after an omega.)

He grumbles.

Yoongi prattles on, more awake than all of them as he outlines what you have to do today to make progress on the house- which is to go find a place that sells cheaper tile than the ones you first thought of using in the bathroom on the first floor. And maybe change it up a little.

The bathrooms escaped the renovations somehow, and a few nights ago- Jimin had admitted how much they actually use it even though it’s not the pack's primary bathroom anymore. Now that it’s not in use, they’re more willing to part with it for a few days for some very necessary re-styling. it toes the line from vintage to old a little too hard. The yellow is a little…yellow.

Yoongi wants to go light and airy with the color scheme, like he did with the upstairs bathroom and it's seafoam and brown tones. But like with most of the house, your vote is for colorful. “How about a light blue-” Yoongi continues to argue while you kiss Namjoon a little senseless in the doorway, at least Namjoon seems properly dazed, chasing your lips when you pull apart.

“No- we don’t have a room that’s magenta yet!”

This starts the same argument as always; “We can’t make every room in this house pink for Tae.”

But goodbyes take precedence, and when you turn back and smile at Hobi he flushes, shy to be caught looking. He moves, stepping around you and Namjoon to put his water bottle into his bag when you shout, “Stop, Seokie!”

Seokie is a new nickname, one that Jin only uses in the quietest of moments that you've somehow adopted when you don't want to call him Hobi. Hobi always thought that if you’d use any other nickname with him- you’d use daisy (he might want you and yoongi to share that pet name). But he’s a good pup and stops what he’s doing. Every atom in his body every electron no longer circulates neutrons but circulates you instead. Pulled in by your gravity.

You’ve moved so suddenly that you’ve spilled a bit of your coffee onto the floor. Maybe kissing Namjoon has left you feeling a little dizzy too. Yoongi just sighs fondly and wipes it up. Jimin looks up from his phone, smiling when he sees.

“You’ve got a rainbow on your cheek.”

It’s a trick of the light, early morning sunshine refracted through the mottled window just right to cast a single rainbow on the wall and on Hobi when he steps in front of it.

You cup his cheek, finger skimming across where the rainbow sits.

"Pretty."

Hobi feels hot all over.

At Tae’s call of, “If I have to do my eyeliner one more time I’m going to scream!” You giggle and dart away from him. Going to tend to Tae with a soft reply of "I've got you baby."

Hoseok is left, blushing in the morning light. Staying still like you might come by and cup his cheek again, Like a flower staying still in the hope of pollination.

Hobi is left, wanting to scream and somehow demand you back, both would be fair. His plight isn't missed by his packmates, who lean in like a set of jackals, grinning ear to ear at hobi's flustered predicament.

She's going to send him into rut if she's not careful Jin thinks, but doesn't say. instead he teases, “You’ve got to leave in the next ten-minute Hobi.”

Only then does Hoseok move- released from his spell and finally losing the rainbow on his cheeks though they might as well have stayed with how happy and warm he feels. How absolutely incandescent the love is glowing in his chest. A full spectrum of feelings, longing for you to come back.

He almost trips over noodle, darting after you with his tail raised high, catching himself on the edge of the couch at the last second, one shoe on and one off, his water bottle falling and spilling in the process.

yoongi sighs, and stoops to wipe it up. Jimin giggles and pulls Hobi up by his hips, the alpha's fingers feel hot where they've touched him, scalding. “What’s wrong, omega got your tongue?” yoongi returns to his breakfast, throwing the wad of soggy paper towels into the trash.

Jungkook laughs, “It’s more like he wants an omega to have his tongue in her-“

“You guys are gross,” He pushes at Jimin’s shoulder finally moving right. Yoongi hides his smile in a mouthful of Captain Crunch.

Hobi doesn’t think about the rainbows again until his next afternoon shift. When the low angle of the autumn sun cuts through the windows and catches the suncatchers that they hang in the doorway of the flower shop and cast more rainbows- dozens of them really across him and the flower.

He remembers when you came to visit, how you'd lingered over them, looked at them a second longer than you looked at the plants.

It’s a bit of a kitschy display. Other polished stones and nick nacks sitting on the deep shelf along with some smaller potted plants. A little tray of rose-quartz stones falsely advertises themselves as ‘heat reducers.’

The colors start to blend, and the rainbows sway softly in the light, gentle and pretty. He snaps a photo and thinks about sending it to you, but doesn’t.

The store is blissfully empty of Hobi's coworkers when he selects three of them. It's quiet when he packages them in tissue paper, one with a huge pink stained-glass moon at the top, another with three tiers. Each of them is delicate and pretty in their own right. No one’s bought a single one of them in the last three months anyway. They'll hardly be missed. Hobi gives himself a fat employee discount.

Hobi is unfortunately bad at hiding things, especially when he's nervous. Luckily the pack alpha doesn’t have it in him to tease. Namjoon had in fact been only too encouraging and given him a pep talk just this morning about courting and courting presents.

“The worst that can happen is that she doesn’t like it- and then you just have to try again which you were already planning on doing anyway.” Namjoon is quite simply the best at courting. It doesn't matter which subgender; alphas, beta’s, and omegas have all fallen under his touch. At least Hoseok has the opportunity to learn from a professional. Somehow the thought that you'd compare him to namjoon doesn't cross his mind.

Hoseok isn’t good at the romantic gestures that courting necessitates. He’s more of the ‘there when you need him’ kind of lover. Ready to make the small changes to make his loved ones' lives more manageable. Ready with his car keys for adventures. Those parts are easy, this is out of his depth.

Especially when it comes to you. Even After the love confessions, (are confessions still confessions if they’re so internal?) Hobi feels mostly unmoored. About to shatter upon unknown shores.

God, crushes are so frustrating (in the best kind of way, the way that keeps you sighing and daydreaming, the kind of way that makes you look in the mirror a little longer).

Tae helped him half an hour before she started on the pack's paperwork. They'd spent an hour deciding which places were best to hang them to get the greatest number of rainbows. She had even fussed with his hair a little to make it lie right. Having him hop up on the couch so she could see Hobi's face from your angle.

Hobi wanted to make sure there were at least one or two rainbows when he shows you. But when he leads you to the sunroom, his hands over your eyes (the same position you found yourself in when Namjoon surprised you with the nesting pod) there are more of them than there were when he set them up, whole constellations swaying softly.

The suncatchers are pretty and twinkly sparkly in the golden hour light, and your lips part in a simple show of awe when Hobi tells you you can open your eyes. It's so bright, they send dozens of little rainbows across the walls and your nesting pod. Over the white couch and the fig in the corner.

It’s very very pretty. and when you turn back to look a thim, Hobi once again has a rainbow on his cheek.

Your eyes twinkle, but you don't say anything. you stay quiet for long enough that Hobi gets nervous. his anxiety makes him talk fast. “I hung them here- but you can put them wherever you want- in the kitchen or upstairs or I can get you more for any places you want to put them- or- or- ”

You just about tackle him, arms looping around his neck resting your weight in his arms that instinctively grip around your waist. Hobi teeters, unsteady with such a heavy heart, toppling both of you onto the couch as you cry. "I love it!"

You’re sprawled not lying across him but his hand goes out to support the way you cling and rub your face into his chest, a happy little chirp slipping past your lips.

The wild thing in Hobi’s chest settles, settles, and curls around you. Tight and protective like a vice. You pull back, and your smile is just as bright.

Hobi sags, and rests his neck back against the couch, "Good- thank fucking god- I was so fucking nervous-" You fiddle with the buttons on his flannel, it's one of Yoongi's. It seems fitting that you steal his clothes and he steals Yoongi's.

"What brought all this on?"

Hobi doesn't have a good answer, in the quiet with the rainbows, or at least an answer he's ready for. He doesn't say that this is a courting present, and he doesn't need to because instead of answering your question- he replies with one of his own.

“Wanna go for a drive later?” he asks, voice tremulous like he thinks you might refuse him. You’ve never said no to him before, never said not tonight only not right now. Do you treasure our little talks the same way I do?

“Sure, after dinner? like I said? Just-" You lean back against his chest, and Hobi’s hands go tight tight tight around your waist. Holding you close. Clingy. He does not slip his hand under your shirt to cup the side of your hip the way that Namjoon might, but the thought crosses his mind.

Hobi is a good alpha, he won't cross that line until you tell him it's okay. Until then a thin layer of fabric separates his skin from yours. You're still warm to the couch.

“Sit and watch them with me?” You ask quietly. Almost shy, like you think he’d refuse you. He nods and the two of you sit on the couch to look at the rainbows together.

Eventually, Noodle finds the two of you, meowing and hopping up to stretch out along your thighs. Worming his way between the two of you.

The rainbows don't last forever, but Hobi sits with you until they fade.

~-~

Tae’s library is just like every public library:

Tall windows, wide quiet shelves with room for the stories to breathe. A colorful young adult section and an even more colorful kid’s section. A bit aways from the tables and computers so that any over-excited pups don’t disturb the adults. Big deep beanbags for small children to cuddle up to while they ponder fairy tales and adventures only a plastic-covered book away.

Tae’s long plaid skirt barely makes a whisper along the ground. The colder weather has allowed her to live all of her cottage core fantasies, her dark academia aesthetic truly flourishing. Her shirt is a little translucent today, and the fading summer tan of her skin pokes through it in spots where her tank top doesn't hide. Pretty long earrings dangle and clink in the quiet while she works on her shelving.

Wearing her chosen clothing items at work has been a bit of a work in progress.

Most of Tae’s coworkers approve of her transition in that overly willing-to-be-an-ally way that middle-aged women who generally consider themselves progressive outside of closed doors all do. And the ones that don’t approve have swallowed their words with lingering sour eyes and raised upper lips after the general receptiveness to Tae’s social transition.

It's hard to know who's genuine with it, who just doesn't want to cause a fuss, and who just doesn't give a shit. But most of the time her outfits get one or two compliments and thats it. Tae would rather them say nothing than anything negitive.

Tae likes the quiet of the library at this time of day, the silence gives her enough room to let her imagination wander. Tae likes to file away books in mid-morning, when there are fewer people around and her humming is less likely to disturb any of the library’s patrons. She sings to the stories and they sing back, tempting her with every well-worded title and delicately chaste summary.

But she doesn’t just think about stories or the book she's writing (her book is currently giving her hell on the 30th chapter) No. Today- there is a much more interesting love story blooming in her head, in the pack's den too.

She’s been thinking about you all morning (Tae thinks about you almost every morning) there are even little poems scrawled on the edge of her newspaper. Lines that are you and a bit of Hobi too.

I wished that I might be your hair clip / to know what it feels like / to be pressed against the nape of your neck/ To be your suntan/ perched on the edge/ of what you show everyone and what you show no one/ To be the bearer of every freckle/ like the sky holds the stars/ To hold and never let go/ Like birds hold sunshine / and flowers hold songs.

Everyone had noticed of course, how much time you and Hobi have been spending together.

The pack had even talked about it during a quiet moment without you and Hobi. Yoongi’s lack of communication regarding you and Hobi. “I don’t know anything” he’d unsuccessfully lied, and nearly been heaved up and wrestled to the couch as a result. But Jungkook’s puppy eyes had unsuccessfully endeared him.

Yoongi has kept Hobi's secret, but it's kind of hard not to notice. Tae isn't a fool. Tae is a much better liar than Yoongi is- because when you'd come to her after your late-night drive to gush with her about Hobi and the rainbows over makeup. She hadn't said anything about what she knows.

Tae couldn’t tell you how many times she’d noticed little touches, Hobi’s hand lingering on the small of your back, grabbing your waist when he moved behind you in the bathroom. When he take the greatest care to set out his sweatshirts in the morning and even asks Jungkook to make sure they’re clean. They’re practically not even his sweatshirts anymore with the amount you’ve been wearing them.

Tae isn’t an idiot, she knows that Hobi’s finally realized it. While she doesn’t trust herself to play matchmaker given how poorly the first time she pointed out Hobi’s attraction went. that doesn’t mean she’s not going to park herself firmly on the edge of her fantasy land with a box of popcorn.

If they were gonna get married, would Hobi wear a red tux or black or grey? Her brain is already thinking of wedding dresses. One of these days she’s really going to have to make a Pinterest board. Hobi would probably want to do sunflowers, and that might clash with the red unless it was a fall wedding- ooh, and what about pearl details and daisies? a beach wedding might be a little too on the nose for you.

Tae is so absorbed with her shelving and her daydreaming that she doesn’t notice the sound of small shoes on the carpeted floor. Nor does she notice the light-up flash of tiny iorn man sneakers. Her musings are easily interrupted by a small tug on her skirt, shy almost. She startles a little, looking down at the sudden touch.

The little pup's thumb is wet from where it was clearly placed behind their bucked teeth. He's got wide brown eyes and soft-looking hair, Tae can't stop the smile that comes to her lips.

“I wanted to read a book but I couldn’t reach, can you help me? Please?”

Tae’s heart swells as she leans down to the pup's level. “Of course, I can! Why don’t you show me what one you wanted,” diligently Tae follows the little one a few isles over, tugged along by their insistent pulling as he tells her about the pretty cover.

The little pup turns back, furrowing his bushy brows up at Tae, “are you a princess?” he asks. Tae almost has to laugh, a bright happy gender euphoric feeling filling her chest, that feeling of I could be filling her.

She makes her whisper just a little more hushed, playing along, “Don’t tell anyone okay? It's a secret.” The little pup nods, eyes darting around like there are dragons that would threaten her.

“What gave me away?”

“Princesses wear long skirts!” the pup says cheerfully, like it makes the most sense in the world. He's a little too loud and Tae winces. He finally finds the shelve with the story. The spine glimmers pink and gold and Tae is unsurprised to find the illustrated copy of Cinderella. Not the Disney or PJ version, but the Brothers Grimm version.

Tae cringes at the pair of doves on the cover.

Tae doesn’t say that the little pup is too small to read a book so big, or that there is one with more pictures much more appropriate away from the young adult section. The child can’t be more than 6 years old.

But still, Tae retrieves it and delivers it to their waiting arms. The little one clutches it to his chest, thanks Tae, and then promptly plops themselves onto the carpeted floor right there.

He opens the first page, huffs, and then looks up at her imploringly.

“I just realized I can’t read.”

He pouts and Tae melts. Tae wonders where the pup's mother is, but really, there certainly can't be much harm in this. This isn't the first time Tae has been guilted into reading a story to a pup while their parents work or make use of the library's computers.

"Just the first page.” She intones, caution for the child’s hopes in her voice, she presses her skirt under her knees and sits on the scratchy carpet. The pup curls close to see the pictures. Resting his tiny chubby cheek in the billow of Tae’s big puffy sleeve.

Tae's chest is all tight as she reads. The pup is very well-behaved, he pauses, and asks questions in a soft voice only when Tae gives him space to respond. Tae easily ommits the parts that aren't appropriate. but tae finds herself watching the pup a little bit more as the minutes stretch.

In a few years with your own little ones around, will Tae become the defacto bedtime story reader? Will she do this with the pack's pups one day? Will she be the one to take that bright little light in their eyes that imagines things as greater and more and cultivate it? Her cheeks feel warm at the prospect, heart beating like a hummingbird's wings in excitement.

Your pups and Jin's pups too- they're gonna be so loved. Tae's gonna be the best mom to them, The best alpha too.

One page turns into two and then three. In this quiet corner with only Tae’s voice as ruler and god, the little pup hinges on every word. Until there’s another voice close by. An adult not wishing to be loud, a whispered name.

“Jae?”

Tae smiles up at the woman at the end of the aisle of books. Her smile turns sweeter when Jae hops up and runs to press his face into her jeaned thighs. Tae remembers how that felt, how every scent besides Tae’s own omega mother felt overwhelming and icky.

Tae stands with a crack of her knees and makes to hand over the book, “This makes a great bedtime story until about chapter 8, that one you might want to skip until he’s a little older.”

The woman makes to smile, but it only goes so far. Tae watches in perfect detail, everything in slow motion, as her eyes flicker down to Tae’s Addams apple.

She drags her child close by their wrist quicker than Tae can blink. Tae sees the moment that the child realizes this touch isn’t gentle, wide eyes going fear-stricken as he's tugged behind her back. And then it's all downhill from there.

I'll spare you the more vile bits.

But the saddest moment of the argument that follows (Which involves not one but three of Tae's co-workers to calm down the hysterical woman whose screeches echo around the quiet library) is when the pup tries to get his mother's attention. "Mom, I liked that she was reading to me."

"He" the certified Karen hisses, moving in a way that makes the pup flinch back. "-should know better than to corrupt a pup with such- such-" her eyes dart down and up, and Tae's skin burns. "Disgusting behavior."

The misgendering doesn't even sting. What does hurt is the eyes peering in. She isn't being quiet and it's causing many of the library's patrons' attention is diverted. Tae's coworkers have put themselves between Tae and the woman. But there still aren't enough people (enough packmates) in between her and the verbal tirade.

An hour later, after the woman has left after threatening to call the police, Tae talks with his boss and his boss’s boss. The room behind the front desk is glass, and he knows that the door doesn’t keep the sound of their raised voice out.

“I wasn’t harassing her child; I was just helping him find a book for Christ sake!”

The worst part is that this isn’t the first time that this has happened. No- since Tae came out there have been two other complaints leveled against her from bigoted patrons. Both right at the beginning before she got the hang of presenting how she wanted to.

At least those confrontations weren’t face-to-face. At least those complaints didn’t end with someone threatening to call the police and a pup cowering, tugged along too roughly out the door.

The little pup had glanced back at Tae, mouth in pout, eyes swimming with tears.

Even if the woman felt righteous in her anger, the least she could have done was not yell in front of the pup. Tae promises herself right then and there, that she'll never raise her voice in front of the pack's pups, not in anger.

The book has stayed on the counter at the front. Pink and gold and treacherous. Tae hopes that if anything, the pup finds it and reads the ending one day. Stories have a way of finding us, even when the world makes us let them go.

Now in the back room behind the check-out counter. Tae’s boss levels her with an expectant look, the kind that people give when they don’t want to be transphobic not really- it’s just so hard for them not to, so learned. Tae is the nail that sticks up. It’s bullshit really. Tae can tell it's bullshit before she opens her mouth.

“Really? He asked for Cinderella?”

“Yes.” Tae’s biting tone is an alpha’s tone, not a man’s, and yet she knows how it sounds.

“I find that hard to believe.”

“I’m not lying.” Is Tae supposed to only help some children find the books they want? Is she supposed to look at them and make her best guess if they’ve got homophobic parents and skip them over? It’s not her fault that the sweet sweet pup’s parent was a bigot.

“I can’t help but feel like- you’ve got a personal agenda-“

"Charlie-" the district manager cautions.

Tae can’t stop herself from snapping, alpha anger sparking with the intent to burn. “Little boys should be allowed to read Cinderella if they want to” Rats and all. Her hands are shaking, and it isn’t missed by them. The room smells thick with Tae’s spicy cinnamon anger.

The district manager sets her hand on Tae's shoulder, and her anger ebbs just a little. “I think maybe you should go home a little early today, just to cool off. We can talk about it more tomorrow.”

Tae doesn’t want to go home early, Tae doesn’t want to go home at all as she packs up her books. Her bag lighter than usual, absent of the stories that she wants to take home. For once there aren’t any that she wants to read.

She walks to the train station because Jimin won’t be off work for another 2 hours and that’s when he’d usually pick her up, the last three days he’s gotten her flowers too; white roses the first day, pink the second, and red the third. She sends him a text.

Tae <3 (1:48): I left work early today, you don’t have to pick me up, I’ll get an Uber home.

Mini-alpha (1:49):!!!!!

Mini-alpha (1:49): What happened? Are you sure you don’t want me to pick you up? I can leave now.

Tae sighs, looking down at her phone while she waits for the crosswalk light to come on. Red still, green in a few seconds, she only has to wait. She can practically feel Jimin's nervous energy through the phone. it's a wonder he doesn't immediately call her.

It makes her soft. It isn't in Jimin's nature to give any of his lovers any space but he always makes an effort when it comes to her.

Tae <3 (1:53): No. It’s fine. I’ll talk to you when you get home.

Tae doesn’t want to talk to Jimin about transphobia again. At least not yet. It’s too much energy. It’s not that Tae doesn’t want to make what happened during Namjoon’s rut better. It’s not that she doesn’t want to talk about it- it’s just that there’s nothing to talk about, the explanation of his actions are such a burden for Tae to bear. And Tae trusts that Jimin’s heart is in the right place even if he makes mistakes. And even telling Jimin off, yelling at him, wouldn’t change it.

Either one day Tae will not have to deal with bigoted parents, either one day she’ll pass and won’t have to worry, or she'll always be in this awkward middle ground.

Trans people are like toupees, you only notice them when there’s something off, something a little misplaced about them. Tae fears that most of all. Femininity, as much as she wants it, as much as it's hers to take, what if it won't ever fit right? What if she never passes?

Tae loves her job at the library, it’s the perfect mix of boring and safe and easy even if it doesn’t pay enough. But even as she's gained things like skirts and puffy sleeves, she's exchanged them for days like today. Really, the library was her favorite place before today and now, every step away from it makes her feel a little lighter. She's not even angry anymore, just exhausted mentally.

Tae decides to walk home at least she’s in her most conservative channel flats, they could use a little bit more wear and love and Tae’s thoughts are still too sharp. She dulls them to a palatable edge that all falls apart when she gets home.

You’re there, thank fucking god you’re always there when she gets home. You’ll always be Tae’s comfort person.

Tae opens the door with a creek and push of cold air, you're saying something to Yoongi turning with a toss of your hair, eyes brightening when you see her before you've even said her name.

You look a little healthier today, with a little bit more of a rosy glow to your cheeks and a healthy brightness to your eyes, not all glassy.

"Tae! You're home early!"

Tae will never stop being proud of how hard you try, and will never stop being a bit envious either because Tae-

Tae looks at you and wilts, bag flopping onto the floor, and predictably burst into tears.

"Oh- oh Tae."

"Baby girl-"

You and Yoongi are just about the best security blanket a packmate could ask for. You're so good as you pull her down to your level so you can kiss away her tears, maneuvering her like a perfect team onto the couch. Yoongi's strong hands slide off her shoes. Yoongi's fingers digging into her sore heel as you kiss away her every tear.

A substantial amount of babying and a Sos packmate in distress text later, and Tae is reclining across a freshly fluffed nest, the muscles in her body relaxed. The blisters on the back of her feet are bandaged and kissed. Every inch of her body is too.

You don't talk about it until after the pack's facemasks are finished, and hobi's clear coat has dried over the tiny nail sticker that you left. a small bumblebee.

Your skin smells sweet after a long long bath full of fancy bath bombs. Jinnie had also rubbed oil onto her freshly shaven legs. You helped, dragging it along oh so carefully to not nick her skin. Ending each pass with a kiss to her ankle and then upper thigh.

Tae’s head is in your lap now, cheek pressed against your (slightly chubbier) thighs. Her sniffles the background music as Tae gives her final recap of what happened.

Your nose gets a wrinkle in it when you go cross. "There's so much meanness to the world, I hate how people have to add to it."

Jimin’s anger leaves an undercurrent in the air, dragging the other alphas along, Hobi’s hands are strong where they dig into Tae’s shoulders, belly down in the nest while you play with her hair, braiding it back and forth. The attention makes her feel a little tingly.

“Do you know what her name was? Did you get a look at her car-“ Jimin asks, nearly barking. The library has cameras. Jimin knows it does.

Jin sets a hand on the back of his neck, a scruff threatening. “Down pup. Tae doesn’t need you to track them down.” Jimin’s teeth look particularly sharp in the light. For a face so soft he has quite the mouth on him.

“They made her sad,” he growls, but it's softer, more pointed as he crouches over her.

Namjoon’s quiet voice unlocks the whole world's worries, massaging gently down the column of Tae’s delicate neck, rough hands, worn tender touching her regardless. Namjoon is rarely ever so pointed, but it's logical, from an alpha's perspective, Tae knows what he hints.

"I think that if your bosses aren't going to protect you from people like that, then I want you to leave your job." Jin gives him a look like, 'Now you know where I'm coming from' but Tae's the important packmate right now.

Tae rolls Namjoon's words around her tongue, her hand loosely twined with his. Namjoon has the steadiest hands out of everyone in the pack and a few minutes ago he repurposed his surgery skills to do her nails. Took off the chipped red and re-did them because Namjoon knows she feels best when her claws are polished. He checks them now. Tapping them lightly to not smudge them.

It's a girl's night, the first girl's night you've ever had with the whole pack. Tae's face is still glossy from the face mask.

“I don’t think I want to quit; I don’t think that would help at all that’s not going to like- solve the world and all its issues.”

“No, but- if it’s making you more sad than happy. Then maybe it’s worth considering.”

Tae knows Namjoon’s not saying that she doesn’t make enough to affect the pack's finances, but that's still the truth. Hobi pulls himself along her other side and you watch him with heavy-lidded eyes.

Hobi presses a kiss to Tae's temple, “All you want to do is write every day anyways, and we just want you to be happy,” 6 heads nod their agreement.

Hobi isn't wrong; The last four weekends in a row Tae has woken up several hours earlier than the pack would usually stir from morning cuddles, just to get a few hours of uninterrupted writing done. She’s also spent nearly every night in her library room, staying up late after the pack has retired upstairs until one of you comes down and wrangles her upstairs. The pack's prettiest alpha needs her beauty sleep.

But is it enough to count on? Is it worth quitting her job over?

You duck down low, kissing the same spot Hobi did, your lips touching just a Tae away. a heavy breath wooshes out of her chest. "Yeah why wouldn't we want you to quit? If you're always here then I can always do this."

Your kiss is gentle, and it tastes like belonging more than Tae would ever be able to write, to describe. A love that makes you feel like you belong is a rare thing. And Tae's hand goes up to tangle in your hair, keeping you there for just a shared breath longer.

The next breath tastes a bit like freedom. It's scary to be free.

(But Tae leaves her 2 weeks' notice on her boss’s desk before the end of the next work day, and she doesn't feel bad about it one bit).

~-~

(1 year prior)

Maybe the truth is that the reason why you don’t feel you deserve agency is because you know what your agency looks like. The choices you’re willing to make when it comes down to it.

The secrets you tell and the lies you have buried deep in your pocket like one of Hobi’s found things. Something you can’t get rid of and cast back into the ocean. No matter how hard you try. There is something about murder that sticks, that stays no matter how many times you try to wash your hands of it.

It's not guilt, because you don't feel guilty for what you had to do.

Being backed into a corner can make someone do a whole hell of alot of monstrous things. And back then Life was monotonous. Back then there was Anguish without change.

Your life went like this: Go home. Get beaten. Get hurt. Get Raped. Wake up. Meet up with Hyejin. Make poison. Make pastries. Go to the Don’s house. Feed it to them. Listen to Moonbyul tell you to wait. Go home. Get beaten again and again. Get raped every night. On and on and on.

Clean up your blood from the tiles. Clean it from the carpet. Hydrogen peroxide and not bleach. Cover the bruises up with color corrector first before you put concealer over them.

Smile and tell everyone that your husband and you are perfectly happy. There will be a pup on the way soon enough, I'm so lucky to have someone who supports me, and I'm so lucky to have a love like this.

Go home. Get beaten. Get hurt. Get Raped. Go to sleep and don't cry because then he'll beat you for keeping him awake.

In the darkness that curls around you. Blood going tacky between your legs, you start to dream of wicked sweet things.

What you've been through would be enough to make anyone go crazy, Enough to make anyone consider drastic action. Enough to make anyone consider murder.

Enough for you to slide a pair of small syringes off of Moonbyul’s night desk and a small packet of arsenic too. You know how to make a simple syrup. You know how to mix in arsenic to it, how to make it liquid soluble without breathing it in.

You make it in the fine china and break it after so that you can throw it out without worrying. You get a beating for it but you hardly feel it when Geumjae drags you across the floor by your hair. It hardly breaks your heart when he steps on your ribcage with the intent to break bones because you know what you have to do.

After, with your own blood on your teeth, you make sure to leave it in the bottom of the trash, and ask the cleaning staff not to take it out yet. They're supposed to find it.

You don't care if you die, you just want to make sure the necessary villains are punished. When it comes to blame the person who is most to blame is you anyway. You are simply numb to pain, numb to your own anguish. Numb to the idea of your own death too. Geumjae's already killed you in every way that matters.

Cut off a wolf's head and it still has the power to bite; give a girl an enemy and she'll do dangerous things.

Your meetings with the Don and beta always go the same; gossip, and greetings. Sometimes when you come bearing bruises, they tell you to wait just a little longer.

Go home. Get beaten. Get hurt. Get Raped. Wake up. Just give it time for his temper to settle. Once you're mated it will get better.

Even Moonbyul and Hyejin tell you that planning the perfect crime takes time. That you'll be saved if you only wait. Help is coming.

Bullshit.

You’re tired of waiting for him to kill you, you're tired of waiting to die. You're smarter than all of them because you know exactly how to get everything you want and you're willing to do anything to get it.

The next time Moonbyul and Hyejin take you to the Don and Beta’s house under the guise of afternoon tea, you are prepared for war and dressed with revenge in mind. Your white dress knotted at the shoulders falling in a heavenly sheet, like an avenging angel, neither pious nor sinful.

You are a force of nature and nature does not ask when it takes lives.

What’s worse; the people that enable the abusers or the abusers themselves? Who is more to blame for the pain caused?

You are no longer hiding and you won't let them hide this time. The bruise on your cheek is purple and mottled, the rings of bruises on your wrists from his hands while he held you down.

When you smiled at Geumjae over breakfast this morning, there was only one thought in your mind.

You’re next.

Your agency looks like this; elegantly done hair your skirt a little short for fall. A basket of arsenic-backed goods in a basket as is usual. Fluffy pink cupcakes with the perfect Swiss meringue buttercream in little spirals.

A gentle smile at the beta when she opens her doors for you, letting the monster in, because you’ve been over enough times that she trusts you. You suppose that's your doing too, you've fooled her into thinking you're just another idiot girl who decided to marry rich and didn't bother to consider the strings attached. A wolf in sheep’s clothing, you bare your teeth when you smile.

Hyejin has helped on that front; over the past few months, she has taught you exactly the kind of conversation that the beta likes- the useless conversations about family drama, the small little bits that you let through about your husband’s opinion on which pup is marrying whom, which alpha is good or bad for the packs near dozen omega pups that aren’t mated yet. Which alphas are likely to be a liability? This kind of gossip is all information and strategy.

You might have lied in your call to her and told her you were fearful of one of the younger ones- and a conversation you’d happened to witness on a street corner, a shadowy figure that looked a little too severe not to be the authorities. Of course, these kinds of things have to be handled with discretion and ginseng tea.

The Don does not bother to turn down the TV when you walk in, sitting vulnerable in his recliner with his feet up. It doesn’t appear that he has any sort of inclination or plans to interact with you when you sit here at his kitchen table and talk. Instead, he lounges and watches his sports, loud because his hearing is so bad, nearly deafening.

It’s good. hopefully anyone nearby will not overhear.

You hope that if this goes south before you have a chance to confess that they find the letter you wrote at home; the one that says your husband is the one that put you up to this.

You know that the pack’s retribution will be swift, that any sort of alibi he has will be null and void with the evidence you’ve been leaving. A little trail of breadcrumbs that leads right into a pretty little grave for your husband. Even if you won't be around to see it.

You're already a friend of pain. You already find comfort in it. If they kill you (which they will) then at least it will finally be over.

You wait until the moment you know is coming, when the Don looks over his shoulder at you and comands “Be a dear and bring me one.”

You put one of your artfully created confections on a pretty gold-rimed plate and walk to his side, you lean over to put it in his lap as he indicates. the same way he does every time you come over with sweets.

The lingering hand on your ass is hardly abnormal. behind you the beta's tea cup clinks as she sets her tea down and says nothing. even though you know she notices.

He’s so busy coping a feel he doesn’t notice your other hand, going to the syringe duck taped to your thigh.

It happens quicker than the Don can blink. The most powerful man in the underworld can't be bothered to protect his life for a pretty little piece of ass. You smile down at him, and his hand squeezes the round apple of your behind.

His hand is still on your ass when you whip your arm around with as much force as you can and drive the syringe and plunger into his neck.

You must have hit something in his neck because he barely has a second to splutter before he’s going still and quiet. Mouth falling horrifyingly slack. His breath rattles and his eyes dart as his whole body is paralyzed near instantly, in the time it takes for his blood to circulate.

Two paces, swing, plunge.

The beta barely has a second to scream or stand to attack you. You are so much younger than they are. Your body might be fragile and frail but It’s still stronger than hers. Her brief scream is easily drowned out by the scratch of the TV.

She ends up on the floor, the icing on the cupcakes sticky as she falls into half of them, tossed onto the floor by your brief tussle as you straddle her struggling form. Her pushing gets weaker and weaker and she sobs.

It doesn’t surprise you when you see the black tracery of a dying mating mark itching up her skin.

One thing that the family had always been oh so careful of was to talk only in their mother tongue around you. Secrets are best kept when they’re spoken in foreign tongues. It was a way to isolate you. To make them speak English for you to understand felt like a beholden request. At one point It was a point of insecurity for you, always left out of the loop, always relying on your husband to keep you in the know.

You bend over her as her pushing gets weaker and weaker, the arsenic doing its job, causing numbness and the tingling of extremities before it causes paralysis and then coma and death. Your hair falls in a sheet over the beta’s face.

You’ve studied much over the last few months. Enough that you lean in close over her and speak your words in perfect Korean.

“You look so angry,” you croon softly, dragging a finger down her cheek. Spittle froths at her mouth as she breathes heavily. “You shouldn’t- if you want someone to blame you only need to look in the mirror.”

You lean in close until your lips brush her ear, “it's your fault you see- you're the one who lied" you mimic her voice, making it scratchy, "'just wait a little longer, it will be better for the family if you stay quiet." you laugh, "as if that where true, the only person it benefits is you. You where ready to let him hurt me and kill me if i just stayed quiet."

You wipe away a bit of spit from her lower lip, "You always told me how it was your duty to protect the family- but you only serve yourself. If you'd have done something, if you'd have helped me I wouldn't have had to do this. You just wanted me to shut up and die quietly.”

You switch back to English, “Well now it’s your turn.”

You watch her tongue go numb, paralyzed, but the poison hasn’t advanced far enough for her not to speak.

“Fucking- worthless bitch.”

You laugh and stand brushing some crumbs from your skirt. She’s already too weak to move, to shout, or fight you. You watch the light start to leave her eyes, winking out so slowly, like a dying star. But she still looks so pissed.

“You don’t have a right to be angry, you killed me first. You can’t blame me for fighting back.”

She gives her last breath and the TV plays on. Your shoe ticks her hand, her fingers twitching weakly. You watch as she gasps her last breath, a small smile on your face.

You sit at the table and turn the TV down. You wait a few minutes, but it quickly becomes an hour. You have yourself a nice little treat while you watch, turning the channel to a food network while you eat.

You really are a fantastic cook. The crumb on this batch is so nice you don’t even taste the metallic tang of poison. You eat through one, and then another, until the whole basket is empty.

Before you know it there is a concerned knock at the door. The lock clicks and turns when you answer it.

When Moonbyul opens the door, you laugh at the expression on her face. Licking the frosting from your lips. Even that is delicious.

She takes in their bodies, crumpled on the floor the frosting on your cheeks. The evidence. Both of them dying. A violence you cannot undo.

Her voice is somber. “Oh Pup, what have you done?”

~-~

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Come tell me what you liked about this chapter!

~-~

Notes:

this chapter is a very classic bily chapter, in the fact that there is a fuck ton of fluff and then bang the mafia bits just take you out. we needed to get back into the mafia bits of the story sooner rather than later though 💀

i felt like i was going a little too over the top with certain bits of puptalk in this chapter, but i really wanted to use it to show that like yeah- the pack has been treating her alot more gently since her breakdown, they've been babbying the fuck out of her, even if we don't get to see it :(

Hobi's texts are so???? Fucking cute?? He's so hopeless my god he wants to make her feel loved without actually saying it and i hope you read them and just go "oh, you're an idiot."

I have this whole elaborate backstory to how wonho's gym works with monthly subscriptions to classes where people can decide how many classes they want to take a week, ie gym dues for facilities and then discounted classes on top if they pay for it before hand, with several tiers.

this chapter almost feels clerical- this is definitely more of a set up chapter- where i needed to check off a lot of boxes, like hobi's courting present- before we go any further into the story. things are going to start amping up in terms of stakes pretty quickly.

That one part, where hobi is kinda malfunctioning after the m/c touches his cheek and everyone teases him feels the most representative of the pack as a whole. like that part where they're all replying- feels very real. i struggle a little to capture a sense of domesticity in concise ways, but i think this part is very tidy.

That little touch with hobi- where he touches her wrist and her finger, that touch has so much weight to it, i personally think the whole pack was tasting the sexual tension on the air, can you guys feel it too or is it all in my head?

idk why yoongi calling tae babygirl makes me so flustered but it does 🥵

i really wanted to work calling tae mommy into the chapter someway but tbh this chapter felt complex enough without it.

there is like- one plot hole in this whole story, and that is in the first chapter of the story when yoongi gets a call the person on the other line says "grandfather is dying." implying that his death wasn't instantaneous like this is shown to be. however, in my mind- the injections don't actually kill the don and beta but plunge them into a coma that they never wake up from- is this an actual possibility with arsenic poisoning- NO IT ISN'T lol, you're just going to have to suspend your disbelief for me.

the m/c has always been the person who killed the don and the beta- i've known this since like...maybe the 4th chapter? it wasn't in the og og plan for the story but almost everything in bily has been hammered out since then. and tbh you already knew she killed them just not that it was this violent! does this count as a secret???? idk! maybe!!!

she's a little murder baby just like minnie <3

[mcrcelo]

○○○ —   A Mother’s Betrayal + Truancy Letter   — ○○○

As Marcelo rouse from a heavy slumber, he was first aware of the coolness of the room and its distinctive smell of iodoform. His back was stiff as if he’d slept on a bed of earth and rocks. He gazed down at his mother who remained soundless as her head occupied his lap. She refused to leave the hospital since his Aunt Ava was brought in therefor Marcelo found himself drifting off next to her in the uncomfortable family lounging room chairs since returning from Lake Tahoe. He lifted the hoodie he would drape over her every night to keep Parisa warm and moved the curly black tresses that fell over her face. “Come on mami, we gotta get you cleaned up and something to eat.” He cooed as he gently tapped the side of her face. Upon hearing her son’s raspy voice, Parisa burrowed herself into the warm, soft fabric of his joggers that was coated with her tears; a signal to let her be in which he disregarded as he continued to nudge her awake. A restless yawn released from his mother’s lips as she straightened up in her chair. Giving her a moment to shed the sleep from her brain and allow the visions of the night to provide a way to the day, Marcelo stood and grabbed his mother by the hand,  leading her to a private bathroom.  

"Celly, this isn't your job. You should be enjoying your teenage years like a normal person your age. I don’t want you coddling me, lord knows you and your siblings have been doing that yall whole lives. Go home and get some decent sleep, I’ll be okay. " Parisa weakly spoke which Marcelo only ignored as he collected a few paper towels from the dispenser before turning on the sink. He appreciated his mother’s concern, but Marcelo had seen and done things not the average teenager could comprehend. Held dark secrets that would drive the average teenage insane, thus, he'd given up on the thought of normality. As someone with a Manichean view, he thought that you were either born in a world of good or bad. In Marcelo’s case, the cards weren't stacked in his favor, and while his mother dreamed of a better future for him, he'd accepted his anomalous lifestyle. "Shh mami, I’m where I want to be. I’m a son returning the care of his mother when he was at his lowest." He voiced as he wiped away the dried mascara staining her cheeks. Once Parisa was somewhat presentable, they emerged from the bathroom and made their way to the cafeteria. While she found them a place to sit, Marcelo searched for something to fill their stomachs. He settled on a breakfast sandwich and coffee for the both of them before paying for their food and returning to their table in the dining area. As he sat down across from Parisa, placing her meal down in front of her, Marcelo observed her features, and it made him bite his bottom lip stressfully. The depths of his mother’s grief was starting to tarnish her whether youthful looks. Restive dark bags hung under her eyes and wrinkles seemed to appear on a forehead overnight. He intertwined his fingers with her’s, catching a dazed Parisa attention. “Titi going to be okay.” He tried to reassure though he wasn’t positive himself. She might wake up, but nobody knew what her mental state would be like.  

Parisa lowered her orbs to the wooden surface. “I know, it’s just why didn’t she feel like she could come to me before--.” Her lip quivered as the whimpers she fought to swallow released from her lips. “This is just a lot for me right now, I feel like I’m failing everyone I love. It’s bringing me back to when I almost lost you. How did it take my son ending up on a ventilator for me to realize he had a problem? Now you’ll never be the same because I didn’t get you help in time.”  Once he had been the boy that held her hand on the way to swings, squealing with delight and demanding to be pushed higher. He had been generous with his smiles and free with his hugs. By the age of eleven, the remoteness had begun, and she chalked it up to hormones. That was her first mistake. Soon after that, his grades collapsed, and anger seemed to be the only emotion anyone could get out of him. Preteen years rolled around, and officers would drag him to a detention center with charges like thief, assault, arson, and her heart had felt like it was beating in a tight cage every time. Then the hospital called to inform her that he had overdosed,  the day after his eighteenth birthday, Marcelo was vegetated with a machine breathing for him. Parisa beated herself up for not noticing all the signs of her son’s deteriorating mental health until it was almost too late and she still felt like he was withholding demons from her. "I made my own choices ma, and you can't blame yourself for that. You did the best you could under the circumstances we were living in. You had your own hell you were going through with Eliseo.” Marcelo uttered, giving his mother’s hand a soft squeeze. 

Parisa composure stiffened when her ex-husband’s name was brought up. “Speaking of Eliseo, I uh, I need to tell you something. Your father and I have been talking and-”  Her voice trailed slowly like her words were unwilling to take flight as she glanced up at Marcelo. A burning rage hissed through his body like deathly poison, releasing in the form of unwanted glower in her direction. “You called my father?” She could hear the hurt of betrayal in his voice generating a sigh from her lips. “I’m sorry Celly, but I got a letter from your school, and then you disappeared without telling anyone where you were going, I had to-” 

“You called my father?” He repeated as his hand shrink back from her’s

 "Listen to me baby boy! I was scared you relapsed or got into some type of trouble, I had to call the school and find out you were on some camping trip. You can’t do things like that and expect me not to freak out, I didn’t have much of a choice. Now, me and your father have been talking, and Eliseo thinks you should finish your senior year online with him in Santo Domingo. You can stay in his guest house and he can get you into Universidad Autónoma de Santo Domingo once you get your diploma. I also had a conversation with Mr. Mobission, and it's obvious Beverly Hills High isn't equipped to deal with your situation. They let you get on a bus to the middle of nowhere when they have your medical records stating that you suffer from Intermittent Explosive Disorder and epilepsy. What if you had a seizure? What if someone had pushed you to the point of no return? They put you and the rest of your peers in danger. You’re eighteen going on nineteen so I can’t force you to go to school, but they’re talking about holding you back if you don’t get your attendance up.  I just want to have options, Celo. Plus, it gives you a chance to fix your relationship with your father. He’s been getting help like you are and-- ” Marcelo didn’t let her finish that sentence. His chair screeched across the floors, standing to his feet. “Eliseo doesn’t give options, he makes demands. If he wants me to move to Santo Domingo, I don’t have much of a choice, and you know that! Here I was thinking you had my back, but you really ‘bout to send me to live with a nigga who damn near beat you to death right in front of his kids?.”  It was like a volcano erupted; fury sweeping off him like ferocious waves. His wrath started to swallow him whole and engulf his moralities. “The same nigga who has broken bones of both of your sons while they were trying to protect you! You know what, I shouldn’t be surprised because you always go crawling back to him whenever shit gets tough for you no matter how many times he beats your ass. All it takes is an apology and some half ass lie about him being a changed man. What about Marco?!” Marcelo breath got caught in his lungs, realizing the name that carelessly slithered from his lips. His blinded rage almost exposed the four-year secret he was keeping from his family, but being under father’s watchful eye would make it even harder to see his son than it already was and that had Marcelo panicking. “Look, I-I need some air.” He stumbled back, trotting towards the exit of the cafeteria as Parisa called out to him. 

[thegreenhorseman]

We hear it every year, year after year…”This is going to be the worst year for ticks yet.”  It seems to get worse every year.  If this is unfamiliar to you, you might be fortunate enough to live in an area where the concern is not so prevalent.  In the northeastern United States, however, you’d be hard pressed to find a group that hasn’t expressed concern.

Why ticks?

These tiny vile creatures spread several diseases, most commonly Lyme Disease.  Since May is Lyme Disease Prevention Month let’s work to understand HOW Lyme is transmitted. We’ll also explore some steps we can take to keep ourselves and our animals (horses, dogs, cats) safe.

In 2017 nearly 30,000 cases of Lyme disease were diagnosed and another 13,000 were suspected as “probable.” Most of these cases originated in the northeastern United States as seen in the map below thanks to CDC.gov.  The chart following shows the upward trend of Lyme disease throughout the years.

Cases confirmed in the United States 2017.  Courtesy of CDC.gov

Cases of Lyme Disease in the United States 1997-2017 courtesy of CDC.gov

Ticks are arachnids, or eight-legged creatures, that thrive in deep grass and wooded areas.  Often areas where our horses enjoy, of course.  There are several different species of tick and they all have different life cycles, feeding habits, and habitats.

What is a bit more alarming is a new tick to the United States called the Asian Long-horned tick, which can reproduce without a mate.  The video below talks briefly about it.

Most of the time when we think of ticks we think of the most common threat; the deer tick/black-legged tick.  The deer tick is often the source of Lyme disease along with several other illnesses including Anaplasmosis, Powassan, and Tick-Borne Relapsing Fever.  Blade suffered from anaplasmosis in 2017 (Blade’s Got the Blues and Equine Affaire). 

The deer tick begins its life cycle as an egg laid by the females in springtime.  By summer the larva emerges from its egg and waits for a host.  Hosts are typically birds and small rodents.

Freshly hatched ticks they are free of the bacteria that causes Lyme disease.  Only when they feed on their hosts do they pick up the pathogens.  In the United States the bacteria transmitted is either Borrelia burgdorferi or Borrelia mayonii.  Across the pond in Europe and Asia you are more likely to find Borrelia afzelii and Borrelia garinii.

The birds and rodents that feed tick larva carry these species of bacteria without illness; they are simply hosts.  By fall the tick falls from its host and enters its nymph stage. The nymphs are barely visible to the human eye.  These critters lay dormant through the winter but by April/May they begin to emerge again.  They wait for a host to walk by so they can catch a ride.  Using their barbed mouth parts, the tick digs in for a blood meal.  The pathogen inside the tick enters the salivary glands and can be released through the tick’s saliva.  These hosts include us and our loved ones.  Nymphs are often the cause of Lyme disease since they are small and difficult to spot.

By fall the nymphs become adults looking for new hosts.  At 45°F they seek wooded areas to survive the winter.  When they emerge again in spring they continue to look for hosts and mate.  A single female tick can lay 3000 eggs!  After a two-year life cycle the new batch of larva hatches and begins the cycle again.

As you can see, we can become infected by both the nymphs and the adult ticks. The more hosts carrying the bacteria, the more likely it is to spread to us.

The hallmark sign of Lyme disease is the bullseye, a circular rash around the bite.  Symptoms may appear weeks after the bite.  This appears in a majority of cases…but what of our equine friends?

Horses suffering from Lyme Disease may have subtle symptoms.  They might be off mentally, emotionally, and physically.  They may be sore or lame, lethargic, grumpy, neurological, or have a low-grade fever.  Lyme is known to mimic other issues so a vet is critical in ruling out other problems.  Lyme will also elude testing, as there are many cases of Lyme that appear negative on test results.

I’m even learning that Lyme can be a cause for some headshaking in horses.  Headshaking is not commonly listed as a symptom nor have any of my vets over the past two years suggested the possibility.  This is, however, something I plan on looking into after this research. As you may know from past articles, Blade developed headshaking about 18 months ago (shortly after his run with anaplasmosis). Though our tests were negative it could have been one of those instances with a false negative.

Once Lyme has been diagnosed (or suspected) there are a few treatment options.

The most common treatment is called Doxycycline, an ingestable antibiotic often given in a powdered form with food.  A similar drug is called Naxcel.  Despite their popularity with horse-owners they only happen to be 50% effective.

The most effective treatment is more pricey… a study in 2005 reported 100% effectiveness.  The reoccurrence levels were considerably lower in the study as well.  What’s this treatment you ask?  Daily intravenous oxytetracycline.  My vet once called it the “gold standard.”  The reason most horse-owners don’t opt for this treatment is the administration. Having a vet visit and administer the shot every day for 3-5 days is pricey so most horse owners use the Doxy.

If I remember correctly I paid somewhere around $450 for three daily IVs of Oxytet for Blade.

So what are some ways we can prevent this problem from happening in the first place? As the Benjamin Franklin saying goes, “An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure.”

Lyme vaccines for horses are not available yet.  Studies have shown some effectiveness using canine vaccines on ponies, but it is still far too early.  There are no studies out (yet) showing the safety of this methodology.  Until we have vaccines we are tasked with the footwork that we should be doing anyway.

Checking for ticks often is the first thing you should be doing. Check yourself, check your dogs, check your cats, check your horses.  It takes 24 hours for a biting tick to transmit the disease.  I tend to find most ticks under the cheek, the neck, the chest, and the barrel (especially up behind the back legs).

There are a lot of Facebook experts who have tips, tricks, and endless opinions on tick removal.  The simplest thing you can do is use a good pair of tweezers and pull the tick up slowly and steadily so you remove the whole bug.  Another useful tool can be found in most pharmacies and pet stores.  The tick twister.  This little hooklike tool comes in a couple sizes (at least mine had 3 sizes in the package).  When you find a tick you slide the bug between the openings at the end so it becomes wedged.  From there twist and pull gently.  I have successfully removed many ticks using this tool and I love it. After a tick is removed you may choose to save it in a plastic bag for testing.  Apply alcohol or antibiotic ointment to the affected bite wound to be safe.

Since ticks prefer wooded areas, you can try to stay out of these areas.  That’s easier said than done if you enjoy the outdoors.

Keeping the grass and pasture mowed can be helpful.

Removing piles of leaves and moist ground cover is an excellent way to prevent ticks.  That leftover hay pile?  Let’s get rid of it!

Keeping down the rodent population could be useful.  Non-poison rodent traps, barn cats, and proper food storage go a long way.

Chickens and guinea hens love to eat ticks!

DEET and permethrins are of course some good chemicals that have proven efficacy for the prevention of ticks and other pests.  Some people use them others don’t.  That’s your choice to make.  There are many products on the market including fly sprays, spot-on applications, and even wipes.

I have had mediocre success with feed through pest repellant.  The more I use it the less effective it seems to be (though the first year seemed to make a big difference).

If you are opposed to chemicals more research has been finding useful essential oils that are as effective as the CDC recommended products. The key to the best product is perfecting the volatility ratio of oils.  High volatility essential oils disperse into the air faster.  This helps by preventing ticks from attaching in the first place.  Lower volatility oils will disperse into the air more slowly and have a longer lasting effect.  Check out the Tisserand Institute’s “Tick Talk” (link below) for more information on these oils.  I’ve also shared with you their formulation for DIY tick repellant.

Credit to Tisserand Institute

The thought of ticks and the disease they spread makes my head hurt.  Lyme disease is rarely fatal but it does lead to some frustrating and debilitating complications.

Other diseases like Powassan are rarer but a lot more deadly; this virus is associated with brain swelling.  Here in New York we are already beginning to hear reports of Powassan virus.  One group has found 25-50% of deer in the Adirondacks are positive for the virus and it only takes 15 minutes for the tick to transmit the virus to humans.

Whether Lyme, Anaplasmosis, or Powassan we can take steps to stay healthy and prevent ticks from biting.  It may take some time and effort but it’s completely worth it.

What are some of the methods you use to keep ticks at bay?

REFERENCES AND FURTHER READING

http://ssequineclinic.com/pages/services_lyme.html

https://ker.com/equinews/lyme-disease-horses/

https://equusmagazine.com/management/protect-against-lyme

https://www.vet.cornell.edu/animal-health-diagnostic-center/testing/protocols/lyme-multiplex-horses

https://igenex.com/ticktalk/2018/01/01/a-closer-look-at-the-different-types-of-ticks-and-how-to-identify-each/

https://www.cdc.gov/lyme/stats/graphs.html

http://www.aldf.com/deer-tick-ecology

https://www.cdc.gov/ticks/life_cycle_and_hosts.html

https://www.cdc.gov/lyme/index.html

https://www.lymedisease.org/get-involved/take-action/lyme-awareness-month/

https://tisserandinstitute.org/tick-talk-2/

https://www.adirondackdailyenterprise.com/news/local-news/2019/02/powassan-virus-on-the-up-tick/

What Ticks Me Off We hear it every year, year after year..."This is going to be the worst year for ticks yet."  It seems to get worse every year. 

[everybodyhasabrain]

Is recovery from mental illness possible?

Yes. The answer is an unequivocal, irrefutable yes. We can see this in anecdotal personal experiences and in research. Let’s start with an anecdote and then we’ll explore some research and what it might mean for you on your own journey.

In the past, I struggled with a bunch of different mental illness diagnoses. The symptoms included things like believing people were trying to poison my water bottle, standing in front of the stove to make sure it didn’t turn on after I’d checked that it was off, washing my hands repeatedly under scalding hot water until they felt clean, checking the door lock repeatedly, seeing people get run over by cars, seeing myself smash my teeth out or stab sharp objects through my eyeballs, not picking up knives because I was afraid of stabbing somebody, sinking entire days into online compulsions, not touching raw meat, convincing myself I’d contracted a terrible disease, leaving every relationship I got into, taking hours to write a simple email, changing how I acted in my apartment because I believed I was being watched, and so on and so on. It’s a long list. Struggling with my brain consumed every minute of my life.

The great news is, I don’t deal with any of those symptoms any longer or any of the crushing anxiety or depression that went along with them. After some bouncing around the mental health care system, I was lucky enough to find therapy, I learned skills to cut out all of the compulsions I was engaging in and how to relate differently to the stuff in my head. It was gruelling work, I had to make massive changes in my life, but it’s been more than seven years now since I would have classified as having a diagnosable mental illness. I am not mentally ill. My mental health is better than it has ever been and it would be impossible to go back to struggling with mental illness unless I chose to do it. You can learn more about how I define recovery in this video: “How do you define recovery?”

I am not an anomaly. Let’s start with some of the tough ones because when I bring up recovery, I’m usually met with comments like: “Yeah, but not for serious mental illnesses like schizophrenia,” or “Sure, but not for personality disorders…” The thing is, it’s people with lived experience of those diagnoses that have been leading the recovery movement for decades.

We know people recover from Borderline Personality Disorder. In one 10 year study, they found that 83% of participants experienced at least a four-year remission of symptoms during the study, and 50% achieved full recovery: “Time to Attainment of Recovery From Borderline Personality Disorder and Stability of Recovery: A 10-year Prospective Follow-Up Study,” American Journal of Psychiatry.

For an inspiring anecdote, check out the work of Brandon Marshall, who was at risk of losing his career in football to BPD but got help and is back playing with the New York Giants and started a non-profit to help others get the same chance at recovery he had. He shares more in this article he wrote for The Players’ Tribune: “The Stigma”

With schizophrenia, research shows between 40% to 60% of patients can expect remission of symptoms if they get treatment: “Remission in schizophrenia: validity, frequency, predictors, and patients’ perspective 5 years later,” Dialogues in Clinical Neuroscience. A meta-analysis found around 14% of patients would meet the criteria for full recovery: “A systematic review and meta-analysis of recovery in schizophrenia,” Schizophrenia Bulletin.

A big caveat here is that research studies tend to focus on traditional therapies that generally try to get rid of hallucinations. Recent approaches to recovery emerging from within the schizophrenia community often focus on learning how to experience hallucinations. To learn more about learning how to hear voices, check out the International Hearing Voices Network.

And we could go on through whatever diagnosis you can think up. Eating disorders? 49% of patients recovered during this study: “Recovery and Relapse in Anorexia and Bulimia Nervosa: A 7.5-Year Follow-up Study,” Journal of the American Academy of Child & Adolescent Psychiatry.

And what about Major Depressive Disorder? This meta-analysis of 92 studies encompassing 6937 patients had 62% of participants no longer meeting the criteria for MDD: “The effects of psychotherapies for major depression in adults on remission, recovery and improvement: A meta-analysis,” Journal of Affective Disorders.

Or maybe addiction? A study of 4422 adults with a history of alcoholism found 35.9% in complete recovery and 27.3% in partial recovery. “Recovery from DSM-IV alcohol dependence: United States, 2001–2002”, Addiction.

I’m going to stop things there because it’s weird we even need to have this conversation. Of course recovery from mental illness is possible. The real conversation to have is this: What makes it possible for some and not others? How can we support more people through recovery? How can we make changes in the context surrounding people to help them succeed with recovery? How can we remove systemic barriers and challenges that fuel relapse?

You might look at those recovery numbers and say they’re not very high. For most of those illnesses, less than half of people receiving treatment found recovery. But the most effective treatments for mental illness all involve the patient taking action on their own every day. Any therapist can tell you how to change your relationship with your thoughts or how to cut out a compulsion, but you still have to do it and keep doing it. So what we’re looking at with mental health is more like physical fitness. 

Those recovery rates I cited are probably no different than what you’d expect to see with any other behavioral change, like somebody getting into great physical shape. How many people can make the changes to improve their physical fitness level each year? Figures on gym membership drop-outs are tough to come by but by six-months into the year, around 40% of new members have dropped out. That doesn’t mean the remaining 60% all become Olympic athletes. And those are the people who can at least access a gym. If you’re working two jobs and struggling to buy food for your family, how could you have time and money for a gym membership or weekly therapy sessions? Humans struggle with change even when they’re oozing privilege. Throw in socioeconomic barriers and the difficulty swells.

Numerous studies have demonstrated the effectiveness of Exposure and Response Prevention therapy for recovery from OCD. It’s challenging, but it’s worth it. The key though is actually following through on it. A 2005 study on ERP found that 86% of participants improved significantly after a 12 week course of therapy if they stuck with the therapy. Of the group that dropped out before the end of the 12 weeks, only 62% saw improvement. “Randomized, placebo-controlled trial of exposure and ritual prevention, clomipramine, and their combination in the treatment of obsessive-compulsive disorder,” American Journal of Psychiatry.

That study wasn’t about long-term recovery but that gap between the group that completed the study and those who didn’t illustrates the problem we’re dealing with here: your chances of improving your mental health drop significantly if you can’t do the work to improve your mental health. Expecting recovery without the support to make the changes involved with recovery is like expecting to develop the endurance and strength to run a marathon without doing any training. It’s just not possible. We need to look at the contextual factors around a person struggling with mental illness. We need to look at barriers getting in the way of making and sustaining changes. We need to look at support.

If you or somebody you know is dealing with mental illness, expect recovery. Seek out professional help that believes in recovery. But most importantly, take action. What supports need to be in place to succeed with recovery? What barriers do you need to remove? What baggage can you throw out to lighten the journey ahead?

[findingmarlins-blog]

Marlin Brooks - Character Sheet

"Still I’m pinned under the weight/Of what I believed would keep me safe/So show me where my armor ends/Show me where my skin begins/Like a final puzzle piece/It all makes perfect sense to me/The heaviness that I hold in my heart belongs to gravity/The heaviness that I hold in my heart’s been crushing me.”

tw for some discussion of post-traumatic stress disorder and general management of mental health

Basic Information

Full Name: Marlin Brooks

Nickname(s): Mr. Grumpy Gills, (jk but someone please call him this) “Clownfish” back in college

Age: 40

Date of Birth: March 14th (Pi Day baby)

Hometown: Durham, England 

Current Location: Swynlake, England

Ethnicity: Black

Nationality: English

Gender: Male

Pronouns: He/Him

Orientation: Bisexual

Religion: Christian (Anglican)

Political Affiliation: Ok I really don’t know a lot about UK politics and I was trying to research but I know I’m gonna get something wrong so I’ll just say that his political leanings are more conservative but he’s the type that will examine literally everything for how it will affect his family and vote based on that.

Occupation: Freelance web developer

Living Arrangements: Alone currently, renting an apartment in Benbow Apartment complex

Language(s) Spoken: English

Accent: Northeast?

Physical Appearance

Face Claim: Sterling K. Brown

Hair Colour: Black

Eye Colour: Brown

Height: 6′0

Weight: 160 lbs

Build: Average, kind of tall

Tattoos: A fan of coral very small on the back of his left shoulder with the initials of his deceased wife and two kids underneath

Piercings: None

Clothing Style: Polos and jeans or khakis, always wears a suit when he has a meeting or is teaching a class

Usual Expression:

Health

Physical Ailments: Family history of high blood pressure that occasionally spikes (though he does his best to manage it)

Neurological Conditions: /tw PTSD/ For a few years after the death of his wife and two of his children, Marlin was being treated for post-traumatic stress disorder, but as Nemo got older he didn’t keep up with therapy appointments as well as before and eventually stopped going. He also worried about Nemo not trusting him because of this and never told him. For many years, Marlin could mostly cope with his mental health difficulties through things he had learned and trying out different strategies he found in books, but he is under more stress now due to Nemo’s reappearance and may require more help now if he experiences a partial or full relapse.

Allergies: Pollen

Sleeping Habits: Tries to sleep eight hours a night, but sleeps as little as 3-4 when extremely stressed.

Eating Habits: Tries to eat healthy and usually cooks for himself.

Exercise Habits: Used to run every day on a treadmill in his house, now goes to Olympus Gym to do it because of the physical and mental health benefits.

Emotional Stability: Maybe a 4/5.

Sociability: Hasn’t done a lot of socializing over the past twenty years so he is nowhere near as friendly or comfortable as he used to be. He has a sometimes awkward sense of humor and is easily discouraged. 

Addictions: None

Drug Use: None (except for like prescribed stuff of course) Marlin is all about that health

Alcohol Use: Really only socially-- again for health reasons

Personality

Positive Traits: wisecracking, devoted, determined, organized, courageous at heart

Negative Traits: overprotective, judgmental, assumptive, neurotic, one-track-minded

Goals/Desires: to find his son, repair their relationship, and keep Nemo safe

Fears: Loneliness, that he will never see Nemo again, crowded places, large/quickly moving vehicles, highways, heart attacks, flash floods, poisonous animals, magic to a degree tbh

Hobbies: Running indoors, walking outdoors, listening to music

Habits: over-organizing, worrying, judging

Favourites

Weather: sun and warm weather

Colour: orange

Music: jazz and swing

Movies: mystery

Sport: running; likes to watch golf and soccer (football for u brits)

Beverage: ginger ale and coffee

Food: a nice steak

Animal: He generally doesn’t like animals but fish are harmless

Family

Father: Charles “Charlie” Brooks

Mother: Esme Brooks

Sibling(s): Younger brothers Harold “Harry” Brooks and William “Bill” Brooks, younger sister Corrine Brooks (not very close with them; he is much older and does not get along with them well (no huge issue just personalities clash))

Children: Marlin Brooks Jr. (deceased), would be 19 years old; Sadie Brooks (deceased), would be 19 years old; Nemo Brooks, between 15-18 years old

Pet(s): None :( He had a goldfish once like ten years ago probably

Family’s Financial Status: Middle class 

Extra

Zodiac Sign: Pisces

MBTI: ISFJ

Enneagram: 4, the individualist 

Hogwarts House: Gryffindor/Slytherin

Moral Alignment: Lawful Neutral

Element: Water

[ericfuentes]

I wrote this in response to a newcomer stating he was merely an observer of the facebook sobriety group I belong to and is now ready to reach out and admit he needs help.

“Day 47 here. I had 12 years before relapsing from resentments I was too proud to work through. In my relapse I dug myself into some pretty shitty holes that I’m currently working myself out of - with help. The day I got clean this time I let go of rage and I swear I could feel hope enter me once again. I know that sounds weird but that’s my experience. A week after I got clean I had emergency gallbladder surgery. I managed to keep my job despite my lack of attendance due to my addiction and that meant I kept my benefits but had no money for rent or food. That week in-between getting clean and the surgery I had no way to know what was to come. I had complications from surgery because when i use I don’t take care of my health. I had no immune system so even just having surgery was dangerous for me. I have HIV & HEP-C - my liver was not happy about the surgery and responded by over producing some mystery fluid the medical field likes to call ascites. I stayed in the hospital and underwent two painful procedures called paracentesis - basically tapping my abdomen to release my now pregnant looking gut from 6.4 liters of ascites and then again of 3.4 liters. Then a second surgery to see if maybe they can locate a leak (before admitting they don’t really have an explanation as to why my body is producing this fluid & ultimately blaming my liver disease). I share this with you not because I want praise for remaining clean throughout this, nor am I seeking sympathy from ANYONE - shit, even I don’t feel sorry for myself. I share this publicly to illustrate the power of choice. You see, while I am a slave to addiction I have no choice. It’s only when I’m not using drugs (alcohol is a drug & literally poison to our bodies), I have choice. Choice to wake up each day and take responsibility for my happiness. I’m not (fortunately) chemically imbalanced that I have depression so really, just like most of this worlds population, I am free to decide wether im going to be happy or not. That happiness is MY responsibility and no one else’s; besides, no one else (even doctors) are qualified to create my true happiness. It is really all within ourselves. (I speak of us not medically diagnosed as depressed or manic or possessing any real emotional and mental challenges - so for those of you reading this that do deal with said ailments I’m cannot speak on your behalf) It’s so much more easy to get to this spot with certain tools like gratitude or a shift in perspective from a near-death or near-losing-everything experience (we like to call that “hitting rock bottom”), and I do admit ever since allowing people in again, this journey waaaaaay less lonely but, it doesn’t have to take almost losing everything to change. I’m able to taste foods again, see colors other than “apocalypse yellow” (which is how I see the world when I’m using) & I’m able to feel again. Feelings are what most people run from but actually feelings are tools for us to survive. Take it from someone who lived free from the obsession to use and is currently incredibly happy every day since I made the decision to not use - YES, EVEN THROUGHOUT MY MEDICAL ORDEAL - and having reached that same happiness in previous times during that 12 year hiatus from addiction (I’ll say it plainly here: IT IS A POSSIBILITY, NOT EXCLUSIVE TO ANY ONE PERSON, TO WAKE UP EACH DAY AND END EACH DAY BY FALLING ASLEEP HAPPY EVERY DAY, DAY-AFTER-DAY FOR ANY GIVEN TIME) I know this to be true because I achieved that the first time I was clean and I’m living that now. I’d wish you good luck but eventually luck runs out so instead I’ll invite you to a life that you’re worthy of, one with so many possibilities and experiences you will eventually concede never having imagined. I hope you’re in pain now so that this bottom is your last and you may never forget it - but mostly I hope you are ready.”

*i want to make it clear for any trigger-happy reader that in no way am I discrediting mental illness nor am I discounting medical professionals, their practices nor their treatments of said illnesses and those not listed to be beneficial and critically imperative to any person who may prosper from the above mentioned treatments. I am only speaking from MY experience as it is all I have to offer with any real truth as I see it.

[pitz182]

How Addiction Stigma Prevents People from Getting Help

My name is Sara and I am 28 years old. I grew up in a two-parent household with a loving family, had excellent grades in high school, and graduated from college. I currently work full time. I love children, nature, animals, family, and my many friends.Self-Medicating with OpioidsI have also struggled with depression, anxiety, and OCD since I was in my early teens. At age 18, my life was changed forever when I was prescribed an opiate painkiller after the removal of my wisdom teeth. I discovered, with that one prescription, that opioids made me feel normal. And yet, opioids are what put me through a roller coaster of hell for the next eight years. They also introduced me to my good friend “Heroin.”From early on in my addiction, I wanted help but was too ashamed to ask for it. I also figured I could beat this thing myself, but I couldn’t. I needed help. My parents encouraged me to contact a rehab facility, which I did immediately. The nurse who did the intake was very kind and said I could come the next day to be admitted for detox, but she first needed to get approval from the insurance company.I, and my family, were so relieved that I would begin a journey of recovery. This is when I experienced the stigma of addiction for the first time. The nurse from the rehab center called me back and said that my insurance company would not approve me to go to detox and rehab because I had not yet been incarcerated.Several months later, I was finally approved for rehab, but only after I possessed a misdemeanor charge.“Sneaky Drug Addicts”: Doctors Perpetuate StigmaAfter detox, rehab, and a six-month stay at a sober living facility, I came home and began looking for work. I found a job quickly, but I needed paperwork completed for a physical. Although the job did not require a drug test and there was nothing on the form requesting drug testing, my primary care provider refused to give me a physical or sign the form unless I agreed to a drug test. It didn’t matter that I was in recovery and was also attending outpatient rehab which routinely drug-tested me.Even now, with two years in recovery from addiction, I still experience prejudice and stigma in health care settings. Recently a bout of severe food poisoning and dehydration sent me to the emergency room. There, I was accused of going through withdrawal. I provided the nurse with the list of my medications, which included Vivitrol—an opioid blocker. I was also honest and told her that I used marijuana occasionally to help with anxiety. After I was sent for testing in Radiology, the doctor told my mother that he was quite sure that I was going through withdrawal and that he wanted a urine screen. My mother told him that she was sure I wasn’t going through withdrawal because I had always been upfront and honest with her when I relapsed in the past.“Well, you know how sneaky drug addicts can be,” the doctor said.When I returned and the doctor told me his suspicions, I agreed to the urine test but told him that I expected an apology after he got the results and I only tested positive for marijuana. I watched as two nurses outside the room laughed and looked toward my room. I knew they were laughing at me—the drug addict.Half an hour later, the doctor walked in and said, “Well, I guess you were right, you aren’t going through withdrawal. We only found a small trace of marijuana in your system. But, you understand why I had to test you, don’t you?”He never did apologize to me.In Recovery and Denied TherapyPart of my recovery is getting a monthly injection of Vivitrol which is an opioid blocker that also helps reduce my cravings. The provider that gives me the Vivitrol requires that I also go to a counselor, which I was more than willing to do. But at my intake interview at the local mental health agency, I was honest about my occasional marijuana use for anxiety and as a result I was denied counseling services. I even appealed it to the medical director, but that didn’t help. It didn’t matter to them that the anxiety, depression, and OCD—which is relieved by the marijuana—may have been partly responsible for my addiction to opioids in the first place.That ER doctor held the belief that people with addictions are sneaky and dishonest, and maybe this is why. My treatment has repeatedly been delayed or denied because I've been honest. Do other people have to lie to get medical care? If someone is sent to a counselor for emotional eating, are they refused counseling if they have given up everything but potato chips? And even if the providers believe smoking marijuana is a condition of addiction, wouldn’t that be all the more reason to offer me care and a provider? To this day, I have been unable to find a counselor who will take me.My wish is that every person who has substance use disorder is treated with respect and compassion. When you are addicted, you already beat yourself up every day. Every time you look in the mirror, you see an addict. We certainly don’t need to be reminded by the people that chose a sacred profession and took an oath to help people that we aren’t worth it. That only puts us deeper in the depths of destruction rather than building us up for a path to recovery.Healing: Compassionate Health Care ProvidersMy experience isn’t unusual, but I have also encountered many health care workers who were compassionate. Those were the people who gave me a reason to keep fighting for my life. There was a nurse in the emergency department (the one time I was there to get help for withdrawal after I had relapsed) who gave me a big hug when I was leaving and said, “Don’t give up. Keep trying. You are worth it.” And then I watched as she hugged my mother as she sobbed on her shoulder.“I know it’s scary, Mom, but she will get through this. The good thing is, she wants to get help,” she said.Another nurse told me how proud she was at how far I’ve come and not to take other people’s biases to heart. And then there was my Health Home Nurse -- she just works her magic and does whatever’s needed to help you stay in recovery. She is nothing short of amazing and I owe my life to her. Those are the people who make me want to continue my recovery and the ones I will be thankful to for the rest of my life.I am Sara. I am a survivor who is recovering from substance use disorder. I could be your daughter, your niece, your granddaughter, your next door neighbor, or your co-workers daughter. I am worthy of being treated with respect and compassion just as much as every human being struggling with this disease is worth it. With the right kind of support, people can and do recover.Note: My mother, who has worked in the healthcare industry for over 30 years, has been frustrated witnessing firsthand the stigma I’ve faced when trying to obtain care and services. She's often had to advocate on my behalf. She currently volunteers with an organization called Truth Pharm, which works with local providers to reduce stigma in healthcare settings. She asked if I would be willing to share my story, and that’s why I wrote this.

[emlydunstan]

How Addiction Stigma Prevents People from Getting Help

My name is Sara and I am 28 years old. I grew up in a two-parent household with a loving family, had excellent grades in high school, and graduated from college. I currently work full time. I love children, nature, animals, family, and my many friends.Self-Medicating with OpioidsI have also struggled with depression, anxiety, and OCD since I was in my early teens. At age 18, my life was changed forever when I was prescribed an opiate painkiller after the removal of my wisdom teeth. I discovered, with that one prescription, that opioids made me feel normal. And yet, opioids are what put me through a roller coaster of hell for the next eight years. They also introduced me to my good friend “Heroin.”From early on in my addiction, I wanted help but was too ashamed to ask for it. I also figured I could beat this thing myself, but I couldn’t. I needed help. My parents encouraged me to contact a rehab facility, which I did immediately. The nurse who did the intake was very kind and said I could come the next day to be admitted for detox, but she first needed to get approval from the insurance company.I, and my family, were so relieved that I would begin a journey of recovery. This is when I experienced the stigma of addiction for the first time. The nurse from the rehab center called me back and said that my insurance company would not approve me to go to detox and rehab because I had not yet been incarcerated.Several months later, I was finally approved for rehab, but only after I possessed a misdemeanor charge.“Sneaky Drug Addicts”: Doctors Perpetuate StigmaAfter detox, rehab, and a six-month stay at a sober living facility, I came home and began looking for work. I found a job quickly, but I needed paperwork completed for a physical. Although the job did not require a drug test and there was nothing on the form requesting drug testing, my primary care provider refused to give me a physical or sign the form unless I agreed to a drug test. It didn’t matter that I was in recovery and was also attending outpatient rehab which routinely drug-tested me.Even now, with two years in recovery from addiction, I still experience prejudice and stigma in health care settings. Recently a bout of severe food poisoning and dehydration sent me to the emergency room. There, I was accused of going through withdrawal. I provided the nurse with the list of my medications, which included Vivitrol—an opioid blocker. I was also honest and told her that I used marijuana occasionally to help with anxiety. After I was sent for testing in Radiology, the doctor told my mother that he was quite sure that I was going through withdrawal and that he wanted a urine screen. My mother told him that she was sure I wasn’t going through withdrawal because I had always been upfront and honest with her when I relapsed in the past.“Well, you know how sneaky drug addicts can be,” the doctor said.When I returned and the doctor told me his suspicions, I agreed to the urine test but told him that I expected an apology after he got the results and I only tested positive for marijuana. I watched as two nurses outside the room laughed and looked toward my room. I knew they were laughing at me—the drug addict.Half an hour later, the doctor walked in and said, “Well, I guess you were right, you aren’t going through withdrawal. We only found a small trace of marijuana in your system. But, you understand why I had to test you, don’t you?”He never did apologize to me.In Recovery and Denied TherapyPart of my recovery is getting a monthly injection of Vivitrol which is an opioid blocker that also helps reduce my cravings. The provider that gives me the Vivitrol requires that I also go to a counselor, which I was more than willing to do. But at my intake interview at the local mental health agency, I was honest about my occasional marijuana use for anxiety and as a result I was denied counseling services. I even appealed it to the medical director, but that didn’t help. It didn’t matter to them that the anxiety, depression, and OCD—which is relieved by the marijuana—may have been partly responsible for my addiction to opioids in the first place.That ER doctor held the belief that people with addictions are sneaky and dishonest, and maybe this is why. My treatment has repeatedly been delayed or denied because I've been honest. Do other people have to lie to get medical care? If someone is sent to a counselor for emotional eating, are they refused counseling if they have given up everything but potato chips? And even if the providers believe smoking marijuana is a condition of addiction, wouldn’t that be all the more reason to offer me care and a provider? To this day, I have been unable to find a counselor who will take me.My wish is that every person who has substance use disorder is treated with respect and compassion. When you are addicted, you already beat yourself up every day. Every time you look in the mirror, you see an addict. We certainly don’t need to be reminded by the people that chose a sacred profession and took an oath to help people that we aren’t worth it. That only puts us deeper in the depths of destruction rather than building us up for a path to recovery.Healing: Compassionate Health Care ProvidersMy experience isn’t unusual, but I have also encountered many health care workers who were compassionate. Those were the people who gave me a reason to keep fighting for my life. There was a nurse in the emergency department (the one time I was there to get help for withdrawal after I had relapsed) who gave me a big hug when I was leaving and said, “Don’t give up. Keep trying. You are worth it.” And then I watched as she hugged my mother as she sobbed on her shoulder.“I know it’s scary, Mom, but she will get through this. The good thing is, she wants to get help,” she said.Another nurse told me how proud she was at how far I’ve come and not to take other people’s biases to heart. And then there was my Health Home Nurse -- she just works her magic and does whatever’s needed to help you stay in recovery. She is nothing short of amazing and I owe my life to her. Those are the people who make me want to continue my recovery and the ones I will be thankful to for the rest of my life.I am Sara. I am a survivor who is recovering from substance use disorder. I could be your daughter, your niece, your granddaughter, your next door neighbor, or your co-workers daughter. I am worthy of being treated with respect and compassion just as much as every human being struggling with this disease is worth it. With the right kind of support, people can and do recover.Note: My mother, who has worked in the healthcare industry for over 30 years, has been frustrated witnessing firsthand the stigma I’ve faced when trying to obtain care and services. She's often had to advocate on my behalf. She currently volunteers with an organization called Truth Pharm, which works with local providers to reduce stigma in healthcare settings. She asked if I would be willing to share my story, and that’s why I wrote this.

from RSSMix.com Mix ID 8241841 https://www.thefix.com/how-addiction-stigma-prevents-people-getting-help

[alexdmorgan30]

How Addiction Stigma Prevents People from Getting Help

My name is Sara and I am 28 years old. I grew up in a two-parent household with a loving family, had excellent grades in high school, and graduated from college. I currently work full time. I love children, nature, animals, family, and my many friends.Self-Medicating with OpioidsI have also struggled with depression, anxiety, and OCD since I was in my early teens. At age 18, my life was changed forever when I was prescribed an opiate painkiller after the removal of my wisdom teeth. I discovered, with that one prescription, that opioids made me feel normal. And yet, opioids are what put me through a roller coaster of hell for the next eight years. They also introduced me to my good friend “Heroin.”From early on in my addiction, I wanted help but was too ashamed to ask for it. I also figured I could beat this thing myself, but I couldn’t. I needed help. My parents encouraged me to contact a rehab facility, which I did immediately. The nurse who did the intake was very kind and said I could come the next day to be admitted for detox, but she first needed to get approval from the insurance company.I, and my family, were so relieved that I would begin a journey of recovery. This is when I experienced the stigma of addiction for the first time. The nurse from the rehab center called me back and said that my insurance company would not approve me to go to detox and rehab because I had not yet been incarcerated.Several months later, I was finally approved for rehab, but only after I possessed a misdemeanor charge.“Sneaky Drug Addicts”: Doctors Perpetuate StigmaAfter detox, rehab, and a six-month stay at a sober living facility, I came home and began looking for work. I found a job quickly, but I needed paperwork completed for a physical. Although the job did not require a drug test and there was nothing on the form requesting drug testing, my primary care provider refused to give me a physical or sign the form unless I agreed to a drug test. It didn’t matter that I was in recovery and was also attending outpatient rehab which routinely drug-tested me.Even now, with two years in recovery from addiction, I still experience prejudice and stigma in health care settings. Recently a bout of severe food poisoning and dehydration sent me to the emergency room. There, I was accused of going through withdrawal. I provided the nurse with the list of my medications, which included Vivitrol—an opioid blocker. I was also honest and told her that I used marijuana occasionally to help with anxiety. After I was sent for testing in Radiology, the doctor told my mother that he was quite sure that I was going through withdrawal and that he wanted a urine screen. My mother told him that she was sure I wasn’t going through withdrawal because I had always been upfront and honest with her when I relapsed in the past.“Well, you know how sneaky drug addicts can be,” the doctor said.When I returned and the doctor told me his suspicions, I agreed to the urine test but told him that I expected an apology after he got the results and I only tested positive for marijuana. I watched as two nurses outside the room laughed and looked toward my room. I knew they were laughing at me—the drug addict.Half an hour later, the doctor walked in and said, “Well, I guess you were right, you aren’t going through withdrawal. We only found a small trace of marijuana in your system. But, you understand why I had to test you, don’t you?”He never did apologize to me.In Recovery and Denied TherapyPart of my recovery is getting a monthly injection of Vivitrol which is an opioid blocker that also helps reduce my cravings. The provider that gives me the Vivitrol requires that I also go to a counselor, which I was more than willing to do. But at my intake interview at the local mental health agency, I was honest about my occasional marijuana use for anxiety and as a result I was denied counseling services. I even appealed it to the medical director, but that didn’t help. It didn’t matter to them that the anxiety, depression, and OCD—which is relieved by the marijuana—may have been partly responsible for my addiction to opioids in the first place.That ER doctor held the belief that people with addictions are sneaky and dishonest, and maybe this is why. My treatment has repeatedly been delayed or denied because I've been honest. Do other people have to lie to get medical care? If someone is sent to a counselor for emotional eating, are they refused counseling if they have given up everything but potato chips? And even if the providers believe smoking marijuana is a condition of addiction, wouldn’t that be all the more reason to offer me care and a provider? To this day, I have been unable to find a counselor who will take me.My wish is that every person who has substance use disorder is treated with respect and compassion. When you are addicted, you already beat yourself up every day. Every time you look in the mirror, you see an addict. We certainly don’t need to be reminded by the people that chose a sacred profession and took an oath to help people that we aren’t worth it. That only puts us deeper in the depths of destruction rather than building us up for a path to recovery.Healing: Compassionate Health Care ProvidersMy experience isn’t unusual, but I have also encountered many health care workers who were compassionate. Those were the people who gave me a reason to keep fighting for my life. There was a nurse in the emergency department (the one time I was there to get help for withdrawal after I had relapsed) who gave me a big hug when I was leaving and said, “Don’t give up. Keep trying. You are worth it.” And then I watched as she hugged my mother as she sobbed on her shoulder.“I know it’s scary, Mom, but she will get through this. The good thing is, she wants to get help,” she said.Another nurse told me how proud she was at how far I’ve come and not to take other people’s biases to heart. And then there was my Health Home Nurse -- she just works her magic and does whatever’s needed to help you stay in recovery. She is nothing short of amazing and I owe my life to her. Those are the people who make me want to continue my recovery and the ones I will be thankful to for the rest of my life.I am Sara. I am a survivor who is recovering from substance use disorder. I could be your daughter, your niece, your granddaughter, your next door neighbor, or your co-workers daughter. I am worthy of being treated with respect and compassion just as much as every human being struggling with this disease is worth it. With the right kind of support, people can and do recover.Note: My mother, who has worked in the healthcare industry for over 30 years, has been frustrated witnessing firsthand the stigma I’ve faced when trying to obtain care and services. She's often had to advocate on my behalf. She currently volunteers with an organization called Truth Pharm, which works with local providers to reduce stigma in healthcare settings. She asked if I would be willing to share my story, and that’s why I wrote this.

from RSSMix.com Mix ID 8241841 http://bit.ly/2T2j7x1

[colorfultriumphtragedy-blog]

modalert

Cleansing chakras

Chakras are very receptive, they know how to absorb negative energy. This energy changes the color of the chakras (they become dark) and their size. Chakras of a healthy person are the same in size (balanced) and clean (they do not have negative energy). The source of the negative can be an unpleasant situation or a negative person in the company of which you are, as well as your own thoughts. Another chakra can shrivel. This happens when a person is afraid of something related to what this chakra knows. If there is some obsession in the head, then the corresponding chakra swells. One of the simplest ways to develop spiritual abilities is to keep your chakras clean and balanced. Yoga and meditation are two powerful ways to cleanse and balance the chakras; I have an audiocassette (and a CD) "Purifying the Chakras"; This is a very effective tool for those who prefer to hear the tutor's voice during meditation. In the third part of this book, the reader will find a description of several techniques for cleaning doctor chakras and eliminating imbalances.

Etheric chains

If fear is intertwined in human relationships, painful attachments arise between people. You seem to put on a leash on a man who constantly says: "Do not change!", "Do not leave me!", "Do not hurt me!" These attachments are quite visible and tangible - you just have to notice them. I call them "ether chains", and most of all they remind me of surgical hoses stretched from one person to another (sometimes such a hose is stretched from a person to some thing that he is afraid of losing). Ethereal chains indicate serious violations of normal human activity. Listen to your inner sensations - and it will be easier for you to notice them. The ether chains create an energy corridor between the two people. A person on the other side of the chain will pump out energy from you, and it will not come to your mind. And maybe, along the corridor you will be sent negative energy, which will cause you severe pain - for no apparent reason. Those who often help other people are usually connected with them by a large number of ethereal chains. And it does not matter if he gets money for his help or not. Chains appear when the one who receives, falls into dependence on who gives this help. So if your best friend constantly turns to you for advice, you may be already connected to her by the etheric chain. Etheric chains often prove to be the real cause of chronic pain in the shoulders, neck and back - these are the parts of the body that are attached to those who suffer from frequent pain. The longer the relationship lasts, the more massive the chain. And massive chains spend a lot of energy. I often had to see thick chains stretching to the relatives of a person suffering from chronic pain. One day a woman named Samantha, a student of my courses in Melbourne, asked me to break the massive chains that, as I saw, were attached to her back. I asked Samantha if she had a backache, and she answered: "Constantly. Because of these pains, I even have insomnia. " I guessed that Samantha's chains lead to her ex-husband. They have uneasy relations, both have equal rights to raise children. Samantha immediately recognized that the former husband is her "sore spot". I called the archangel Michael and asked him to break the chains. But the chains resisted! This is a sure sign that a person is angry, does not want to forgive the offender or even dreams of revenge. I asked modalert Samantha to take more air into her lungs. Then I asked a question; "Do you want to finally get rid of the pain that is associated with your back and ex-husband? Do you want to find peace instead of pain? " She exhaled and said "Yes, I want to." After that, it was not difficult for me and Mikhail to cut her chains. The next day, during classes, Samantha told the students and me that on the previous night she had slept as hard as she had never before, and she had no backache. For the first time after the divorce, the thought of her husband was not overwhelmed by a wave of rage. In addition to physical pain, etheric chains sometimes cause chronic fatigue syndrome with the exhaustion of physical and spiritual forces. This happens when too many chains are attached to a person, through which people needing help pump out energy. If this has happened to you, you may have been frightened by the thought that all these poor people really depend on you completely and completely. Whatever it was, if their needs deprive you of the ability to act freely, then you yourself have fallen to the level of these people. They undermined your strength, which is always bad. To do away with this, mentally refer to these unhappy people: "The Lord will always listen carefully to you - as I am. You are strong, full of energy and health - and so do I. " Then ask the angels to give you the strength to say "no" and sufficient self-esteem to take breaks from work from time to time. Regularly cleanse your throat chakra - then you will have the courage to speak frankly with those who draw energy out of you. In the third part of the book you will read about some specific ways that help to break off the ethereal threads and "throw out" the accumulated debris accumulated in the chakras. Trying to break the etheric chains of Jennine Prolux forced despair; the woman was in a very unpleasant situation. Her fiance, a former drug addict, sat on the needle again. Doctors ordered him inpatient treatment in a special dispensary. This greatly shaken the financial situation of the young couple, and Jennine had to move to the groom's parents. When the young man returned home, his mother took up arms against Jennine: it was supposedly her fault that his son was addicted to drugs and that he had a relapse. The groom's mother was so furious that the girl had no choice but to move to her brother's house for a few days. Just at that time, Jennine was reading my book, "The Lightworker's Way" ("The Way of Ministers of Light"). On the way to her brother, she thought about the way she described the rupture of the ethereal chains, and Jennine really wanted to look at what connected her with her mother-in-law. Before the eyes of the girl there was a picture: a thick, slimey rope comes out of Jennine's abdomen and goes somewhere in the sky, then descends to the ground and connects with the mother of the groom. The vision was so naturalistic that Jennyn was frightened: before she did not notice the gift of clairvoyance. She imagined how she cut this rope ... The ether saw is easily cut with fringe of mucus, but under the rags a twisted steel cable was hidden, and to destroy it, Jennine visualized the chain saw. The fibers of the cable fell with a characteristic steel clank! Jennine was scary, but she believed that this was the path to freedom. She stopped when the last harness fell on the ground - it was the thickest and resisted the saw longer than anyone else. Then Jennyn pulled the steel scraps sticking out of her stomach and felt a strong pain: there was a hole in her stomach. Then the girl filled the hole with love and light, and the pain subsided. Here's what Jenna said: "The day I got rid of the chains that connected me to the mother of my fiancé and her fears, I gained true freedom. This improbably strengthened my ability to self-heal (I never dreamed of such), helped to detach myself from other people's fears and to establish myself in my own strength. Now that Jennaine and her mother-in-law are free from steel chains, respectful relationships have been established between them. Emancipation from the etheric chains and cleansing of the chakras are so effective that their beneficial effects reach past lives. Discussions around reincarnation still continue, however the fact that memories of a past life help to heal seem convincing enough. It is worthwhile modafinil for a person to understand the reasons for his fears, anxieties and bad habits (often most of them come from past lives), as all this baggage of negativity disappears. It does not matter whether you believe in a past life, whether it is someone's personal spiritual experience or just a metaphor - the therapeutic effect of such memories is still amazing. Cordelia Brabbs attended my one-day seminar on healing with the help of angels, in Edinburgh (Scotland). It was a deep intensive course of lectures on how to cut the chains and clean the chakras, calling to help the archangels Raphael and Michael. "From my chakras, it seemed as if they were drawing out a whole sea of ​​muck," recalls Cordelia. - Emotions just go off scale - in the end I burst into tears. After five days, she suddenly felt ill - the symptoms were like with food poisoning. But Cordelia is a vegetarian, she does not drink alcohol, never complained about her health. Therefore, she realized that this disease is not of physical origin: after the cleansing session, the stage of energy detoxification has come. Gradually, she felt better, and Cordelia was able to fall asleep. The next morning it seemed to her that with a soul like a stone fell. It was easy and joyful, although it is unclear what actually happened. Burning with curiosity, Cordelia turned to her friend-medium.

[journeydb]

September 13 2016 Arles

If you know me pretty well, you know that I LOVE carousels!  I photograph them wherever I find them during our travels and have been known to ride on a fair amount, even as an adult.  The one I saw next to our hotel when we left to explore Arles some more today was lovely, bigger than many, and the paintings on the top depicted scenes of life, landmarks, and people in this fascinating city’s history.

After viewing these paintings it was cool to walk by the exact places in the paintings!  The painting above is of the Place de la Republique and, below that, the Roman theater, the ruins of which  appear in the photo below the painting.

Then we walked by the cafe (photo below) in Van Gogh’s painting which is on the t-shirt I bought yesterday, just one of the landmarks on this tour of inspirational landmarks.

Vincent van Gogh has been one of my favorite artists of the Post-Impressionist period (which is one of my favorite periods, along with the Impressionist Period) for as long as I can remember appreciating art, which I think was in second grade when my painting was displayed in a local store window.  (That was the first and only time I was recognized for a painting, but it inspired me to love art!)  The tragic story of Van Gogh’s life is both inspiring and sad at the same time.  Wikipedia’s version of the part of the story is below:

“Vincent Willem van Gogh (30 March 1853 – 29 July 1890) was a Dutch Post-Impressionist painter who is among the most famous and influential figures in the history of Western art. In just over a decade he created about 2,100 artworks, including around 860 oil paintings, most of them in the last two years of his life in France, where he died. They include landscapes, still lifes, portraits and self-portraits, and are characterized by bold colors and dramatic, impulsive and expressive brushwork that contributed to the foundations of modern art. His suicide at 37 followed years of mental illness and poverty.

Born into an upper-middle-class family, Van Gogh drew as a child and was serious, quiet and thoughtful. As a young man he worked as an art dealer, often traveling, but became depressed after he was transferred to London. He turned to religion, and spent time as a Protestant missionary in southern Belgium. He drifted in ill health and solitude before taking up painting in 1881, having moved back home with his parents.

Van Gogh’s younger brother, Theo, supported him financially, and the two kept up a long correspondence by letter. His early works, mostly still life paintings and depictions of peasant laborers, contain few signs of the vivid color that distinguished his later work. In 1886, he moved to Paris, where he met members of the avant-garde, including Émile Bernard and Paul Gauguin, who were reacting against the Impressionist sensibility. As his work developed he created a new approach to still life and local landscapes. His paintings grew brighter in color as he developed a style that became fully realized during his stay in Arles in the south of France in 1888. During this period he broadened his subject matter to include olive trees, cypresses, wheat fields and sunflowers.”

On our quest to find Van Gogh  landmarks we also found a photographic exhibition which beckoned us to take a detour for a peek into another world of art expression.  The first exhibit in the exhibition was somewhat whimsical.

The next exhibit was quite different, as it had black and white images of Indonesia, an island nation that fascinates us, and which we’d like to explore more some day, since we loved our short trip to Bali in 1990 for my fortieth birthday.

The next exhibition was about Sudan and South Sudan, the civil war, and fight for independence by South Sudan.  The photos were sobering and the story even more so, because, even after independence, fighting continues and the government of South Sudan turned out to be corrupt and it is far from a democracy, since the president cancelled elections in 2016 and remains in power.  The same story that continues all over the world and which many hoped would not be repeated in South Sudan.  It’s very worth the read if the photos prompt an interest.

The last exhibit we saw on solar energy providing electricity to the inhabitants of remote areas resonated with me, since I am a staunch advocate of solar and other renewable energies and very interested in any work being done to help marginalized communities.  The story  about the photographer, Ruben Salgado Escudero, also interested me because he is Spanish, lived in the United States for many years, and quit a good job to follow his passion in photography by moving to Myanmar ten years ago.  I admire his commitment and courage, as well as his talent.

After such a busy morning we were hungry and ready for lunch so we went to this little cafe at the end of the block, right across from the cafe in Van Gogh’s painting, which, unfortunately, we were told didn’t have very good food, so we have been avoiding it.  The pizzeria had good salads and Bruce even had a fish dish, so we were happy, since pizza, while it is really delicious, isn’t very healthy, and we try to not be tempted to eat it very much.

What a surprise to see Christian Lacroix’s store on one of the little side streets we took to find the hospital where Van Gogh was admitted after he cut off his ear lobe, as represented by a self-portrait of him just after the episode (below).  The paintings of the hospital are juxtaposed with photos we took at the hospital.

Wikipedia’s version of Van Gogh’s life continues:

“Van Gogh suffered from psychotic episodes and delusions and though he worried about his mental stability, he often neglected his physical health, did not eat properly and drank heavily.

His friendship with Gauguin, who had come to visit him in Arles while he was there, ended after a confrontation with a razor, when in a rage, and which he then used to sever part of his own left ear. Later he spent time in psychiatric hospitals, including a period at Saint-Rémy. After he discharged himself and moved to the Auberge Ravoux in Auvers-sur-Oise near Paris, he came under the care of the homeopathic doctor, Paul Gachet. His depression continued and on 27 July 1890, Van Gogh shot himself in the chest with a revolver. He died from his injuries two days later.”

Van Gogh was unsuccessful during his lifetime, and was considered a madman and a failure. He became famous after his suicide, and exists in the public imagination as the quintessential misunderstood genius, the artist "where discourses on madness and creativity converge".  His reputation began to grow in the early 20th century as elements of his painting style came to be incorporated by the Fauves and German Expressionists. He attained widespread critical, commercial and popular success over the ensuing decades, and is remembered as an important but tragic painter, whose troubled personality typifies the romantic ideal of the tortured artist. “

One of my absolute favorites of Van Gogh’s paintings, “Starry. Starry Night” above, captures the mood of the painter during that tumultuous period of his life. A wonderful song was written by Don McLean about Vincent van Gogh with the same title.  You can hear it at this website:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KLvzF981Fiw

According to another website:

“There have been numerous suggested diagnoses of Van Gogh’s mental illness, but none is without flaw. Psychosis, bi-polar disorder, borderline-personality disorder, neurosyphilis, Meniere’s disease, poisoning and other suggestions have been put forward.

Van Gogh never painted during his nervous attacks, but his illness and his (voluntary) confinement did influence his choice of artistic subjects and even his materials. During phases when he was considered at risk of relapse, he had no access to oil paint and was only allowed ink and watercolor,( because he often ate the oil paint when he had his attacks). His attachment to religious subjects and the themes of family life and the life of prisoners were direct comments on his situation. “

Vincent Van Gogh has inspired many modern day works of art, including the movie “Lust for Life”, starring Kirk Douglas, as Van Gogh.

After all that walking today, these tired feet needed a rest so I went to the hotel’s pool, had a cool swim, and fell asleep nearly immediately!

What a pretty garden next to the pool!  Because I had it pretty much to myself, I enjoyed the privacy, peace, and quiet and meditated until I fell asleep again!  I’m not good at meditating, for that reason, but I keep trying!

The hotel’s restaurant was the perfect place for us all to gather to share stories of our adventures of the day and the food was remarkably good, too.  Sorry Bruce got cut off in this picture, because he looked VERY handsome tonight.  Next to me are Howard and Tracy, other friends from Boulder who joined us yesterday, and next to them you already have met Robyn, Carolyn, Marc, Karen, and Jim.  That’s our group and we are REALLY happy to be together and embarking on this exciting bike trip tomorrow!