#i mean fair but i never thought id hear a doctor tell me to eat potatoes every day ya know

[kindasleepycryptid]

Alright so my psych is witholding my renewal of prescription stimulants until i gain weight (i can still take them ill just run out of refills soon) so ive been eating more

But i find it so funny how she tried in every way possible to tell me "i dont care if its straight sugar, right now you need the CALORIES" without actually saying it

[beyoncesdragon]

title: tongue tip trip

➳ pairing: harry styles x reader, best friends to lovers trope but a bit different. 

➳ summary: Harry eats edibles and you come to the rescue...despite almost four months of no talking and zero communication. 

➳ warnings: Harry eats edibles, swearing and some fluff, it’s also fan fiction so its ✨unrealistic✨ okay, also its 1AM I wanna sleep 

➳ a/n: I love this one tbh. but please don’t do drugs children 

Jeff hardly ever called you. Even when Harry and you had still be close, him calling you was a rarity. But when he then did, you couldn't help but feel a bit worried at the sign of his user ID flashing up on your phone. This time was no exception, but besides worry there was also surprise and a whole bunch of uncomfortable memories and unsaid words. You hadn't heard from him (or Harry) in weeks. Sure, Jeff and you still sometimes texted a bit, you also were still in good contact with Claire and especially Mitch and you still got along. Harry and you...well, that was a different and longer story.

Harry and you used to be very close friends. Means, helping him what socks to choose before performing-close friends. You had met a year in Harry going solo, you a simple assistant engineer and him the highly praised Popstar. The two of you had quickly bonded over a few glasses of chilled white wine in the humid air of Jamaica and soon your friendship blossomed in the most beautiful ways. Well it did until you, obviously, started to feel a bit more for the singer. Now, that alone wasn't a problem itself, the fact that Harry knew (you had told him after a few weeks of awkward suffering) wasn't either. The problem was that Harry acted like a dick to anyone you brought around, up to the point where you seemingly couldn't ever date again. Of course Harry wasn't a straight up asshole to them, he still had a reputation to maintain, but he knew how to get under their skin. Just toying with their self-confidence and subtly making them feel like the biggest losers. Oh and, the absolute worst part, all whilst having a girlfriend himself. Which eliminated the possibility of him having feeling for you as a reason why he acted like a jerk. And that angered you more and more and it all escalated in a big, nasty and hurtful fight, around four - five months ago. Since then you hadn't talked, texted or seen each other.

It had been a big change of habit not to get up and first check the phone for messages of him, or simply FaceTime him to check up on his schedule. No spending time at cafes or at the studios with him and the rest of the team. Lucky thing you had other jobs running, on other albums and in other studios around Malibu than his.

He was currently recording music at the Shangri-La studios in Malibu, maybe ten minutes from your flat by car. Which had been described as a "lucky and obviously unplanned extra" by Harry himself, followed by a cheeky grin. You had just rolled your eyes, but secretly happy that he had cared about you being near during his writing process. But now it only left a sour aftertaste in your mouth.

With a sigh you pulled the key out of the ignition and picked up the phone. You figured you could also wait in the parking lot for a few more minutes.

"Hello?"

"Sweetheart? Jeff's here..." you hummed softly, leaning back. 

"Hello there Jeff. Everything alright?" you could hear him cough slightly, before he answered with a weird lilt to his tone. He sounded somewhat stressed out. "Yeah, everything's fine...how have you been?" you shrugged lightly, inspecting your nails. 

"Fine. Working and stuff. I guess same for you?" he was quick to agree, again with that weird cough. 

"Everything okay Jeff? Something happened?" you finally asked, tired of his obvious tip toeing around the real issue. He knew that you weren't so stupid to believe that Jeff had just called you to check up on you at five in the afternoon.

"Well not...quite. I - uh...it's because of Harry. Now, listen, I know the two of you did not part in like, the best ways but..." you couldn't help but close your eyes with a slight wince, "...but you've got to believe me, it's an emergency, kinda." You just sighed. 

"Kinda?" he hummed, saying nothing for a few seconds. "Do I need to talk to him?" you asked into the silence. Jeff was quick to say no however. "Uh...rather not, actually." You blinked surprised. 

"Rather not? Is he drunk?" not that this would be a first, Harry being drunk caller by nature. If he was lucky he then would find himself calling someone like Paul, his old bodyguard, few months ago maybe you, just not one of his exes or someone else you probably shouldn't call anyways – especially not drunk. But this time it didn't seemed to be like that, since Jeff answered hesitantly. "Not exactly, no." your frown deepened at his words, feeling slight annoyance creeping up. "Jeffrey! What's the matter? Is he hurt? In an accident? Called his ex? Called Zayn? What is it? Just tell me already!"

Jeff sighed deeply. "He's high." A relieved huff left your lips. That wasn't half as bad, wasn't it? "That's it? Little weed hurts no body, besides I would've been more concerned if he would've drank. Besides, he almost never does weed..." Jeff interrupted you quickly. "Not exactly weed sweetheart. You remember the uh, edibles I told you about, the ones we stored in the fridge..." A deep groan escaped your lips.

"Are you kidding me?" you groaned, shaking your head. "Well no. However, he accidentally bit of his tongue tip, few minutes ago." Your hand dropped from the steering wheel and smashed down and you accidentally honked, immediately getting confused and outraged looks from the cars passing by.

"He did WHAT?" you meant to hear a smile in Jeff's voice, underneath all the layers of just mild concern. "Yeah's a little unfortunate." you just huffed. A little unfortunate, if that's what they decided to call it, then fine. Nonetheless, Harry should probably visit a doctor. "Can he still sing?" you asked, somewhat defeated. The noise behind Jeff increased, you assumed that he was entering the studio again. "Hold on a sec...can you hear him?" And oh how you could hear him.

He was singing, no yelling on top of his voice, trying to outmatch the speakers that were thumping Paul McCartney's "Too Many People", though unmistakably mumbling a little. Just the sound of his voice made your heart clench in pain a little.

"Yeah I can." You mumbled, wishing for Jeff to talk over Harry's voice again. "So his career isn't in danger right? Means I can just..." Jeff sighed deeply, pleadingly. 

"Y/N, please...he needs medical care." You pouted displeased, spinning the car keys in your fingers. "And you cant drive him because...?" this time he definitely laughed. "What do you think? Harry being the only one on drugs?" you shrugged. "You don't sound like you would bite your tongue off..." he just huffed. "That's because I only had a glass of white wine, but never drink and drive..." you let out a loud laugh, starting your car. "Oh sure! And don't mix drugs with alcohol, right?" he chuckled softly. "Course not. We're that responsible, you know." you just hummed unconvinced, sighing again.

"Okay fine. I'll pick him up." Jeff released a long breath before thanking you warmly. "Thank you so much, angel...how long will you take, you think?" your eyes darted from the rear-view mirror to the road behind the parking lot, before you shifted the reverse gear again to leave the parking.

"About 10 minutes? Maybe?" you guessed, eyeing the traffic suspiciously. It wasn't rush-hour just yet, but there were still plenty of cars on the road. "Okay...oh hi Harry." You immediately tensed up, swallowing hard when you heard Harrys deep voice again.

"Who y'takin to?" Harry spoke as if he had a full mouth, trying not spit out its content. "Oh just...Y/N." Jeff answered truthfully. Harry then said something you couldn't quite understand before Jeff ushered him to go away again with the words; "She'll come in a few minutes anyways." It made you swallow heavily; had Harry asked to talk to you? You stopped the thoughts and focused on the road again. "I'll see you in five." And with that you hung up.

❦

Harry and Jeff were already waiting in front of the studio when you pulled up, Harry having a bloody cloth pressed to his mouth. They looked like father and son, right off the principal's office for starting a fight on campus. It almost made you laugh. Then your eyes met and the amusement left your body as quickly as it came. You were not ready to face him again, even after all those months.

"Thank you so much Y/N, I owe you...you good H?" Jeff asked as he opened the passenger door. "Yeh, m'fine, fanks." Harry mumbled, eyes darting up to meet yours, just to look away immediately. "We'll be back soon." You sighed, not yet ready to properly greet Harry. Or look at him, for starters. To be fair, he wasn't doing any better. "Sure. I hope he doesn't bleed on your seats." Jeff joked, well aware of the weird tension. You just shrugged, waving him goodbye. "See you in a few Jeff." Or not, but you didn't know that yet.

The ride was almost completely silent expect for the time where you asked if he was okay and he mumbled a "yeh". The radio was filling the silence and you were glad for it. The songs weren't that good at the moment, you just wanted something to be loud and talking, even if it was just the obnoxious radio host who kept cutting off the songs. That was until "Change" by RM and Wale started to play and you perked up immediately. A happy smile crept on your face as you recognised the tune. You yourself had helped with the song and you proudly acknowledged the credit they gave you. You hadn't expected it to be played over here in America, but you were happy it was. Harry had obviously noticed your change of behaviour and carefully peaked over.

"Y'know tha'shong?" you nodded, momentarily forgetting that Harry and you hadn't interacted the last ten minutes. "Helped write it. With Namjoon, aka. RM and Wale." Harry nodded slowly. "Ish Namjhoon f'om...?" he tried and you nodded. "BTS? Yeah." He just nodded again. The next second Wale already mentioned BTS in his verse and Harry huffed. "Oh."

"I've sheen - seen the pictures of you n'him." you quirked an eyebrow. "Yeah? Well, he was nice." Harry nodded again, another stolen glance into your direction. "Lishten..." he started but you cut him off. You already knew what he was about to say anyways.

"Let's not have this conversation now Harry. Please. Let's talk when there isn't blood gushing from your mouth." He nodded, but his shoulders relaxed a little bit. After all, he was glad you were up to talk, even if it wasn't just right now, but a bit later on. He had time anyways. He peaked over again, taking in the sight of you. Your hair was now longer than last time and your face somehow sharper – maybe you had lost weight. Also, there was a soft frown etched in between your brows, and there wasn't this soft glow you've always carried in your eyes. Long story short: You looked worn out and stressed, and Harry couldn't really tell if it was because you were sat in the same car as he was, or if it had to do with something else that was going on.

"How're ya?" it slowly got painful to speak, the edible was definitely wearing off now, but Harry still tried. He had missed your voice after all, it didn't matter how cold your tone had become. Just at the mentioning of that Namjoon you had sounded more like the Y/N he knew.

"I've been okay. Had lots of work...different countries and continents. S'been a busy few months." You felt unsure as how to talk to him, of you were fully honest. Should you say that you had absolutely hated working in Malibu since the fight? Should you say that you hadn't slept properly because you hated having fights with friends? Especially close friends? He probably knew anyways. Harry always knew somehow.

"I wont ask you about yourself until your tongue is patched up again, though. So you better shut up Styles." He chuckled softly, and the hint of the old Harry and Y/N relationship seemed to spark up again. The last five or so minutes were spent in silence again, but comfortable this time.

❦

Luckily Harry did not go recognised by anyone else than the Doctor. And the doctor probably only realised fully, because she asked for the name. Harry, still not fully functionable, had then looked over to you, expecting you to do the talking. Which made sense, of course, but truth behold, he had just forgotten his middle and last name. And the address of the place he was staying at (the studios) was completely wiped from his memory. He was lucky you were with him. It also turned out that he had completely bit off a few millimetres of tongue, a clean bite. You had almost gaged at those words and Harry had supressed a grin. It meant that Harry needed no stitches (apparently it was sort of possible to stitch a tongue back together), but daily check-ups and cleaning or cleansing of the mouth was mandatory.

"Check the injurie daily for changes in appearance or feel. Wounds in the mouth that are clean and healthy may appear light pink to white." She had started to almost exclusively talk to you, aware of Harry's partly delirious state, giving you all the information you needed to patch him up a bit. You nodded slowly.

"Alright. Just...how do you cleanse the mouth?" The Doctor gave you a kind smile. "Very easy. Rinse the mouth with a saltwater solution after eating to ease pain and keep the wound clean. That is very important, so the wound doesn't infect. The saltwater solution is just one teaspoon of non-iodized salt mixed in one cup of warm water." You nodded slowly. "One last thing: if the colour of the wound changes, starts bleeding again, swells up or you notice a visible deformity, immediately come back. Also, if the pain intensifies and does not improve within two hours of taking over-the-counter pain medication, such as ibuprofen or acetaminophen, have somebody call us, or better come around. That is all we can do right now."

You were almost happy when you could leave the hospital with him, especially because Harry now grew tired and needy. You weren't sure if the disappearing edible had that effect or if you had just forgotten how clingy Harry could get, but you had troubles getting him to let go of your arm and sit into the car. And your deeply hidden and buried feelings for him slowly made an unwanted comeback, and you were not quite excited for that. You should've known that they would come again, after all, you never really got over him in the first place.

Harry insisted on you staying the night. He blabbed something about risk of getting kidnapped and abused at night alone (not entirely wrong, sadly) and him not letting his friend leave at hours that late and also he apparently needed you if something happened again. He just wouldn't admit that he couldn't let you walk out the door because he feared you wouldn't come back. as if you could just do that after today. But whatever it was, you did stay. In one of the three bedrooms of the Studio you had claimed a bed, and even got some spare clothes for sleep from Claire herself. You had called her, asking for them, as they had all already left.

Just when you thought you were done for the day, teeth brushed and dressed in Claires 1975 shirt size XL, you hear a knock on your door. "Come in?" You knew it was Harry, that wasn't the part that surprised you. the part that surprised you, was that it was Harry with a tray and on that tray were cups and kettle and it smelled like camomile tea and honey. And cookies, with chocolate chips even and some grapes.

"Hi." He just whispered, embarrassment written all over his face. "Hi?" you weren't sure how to react to this but quickly patted on the bed next to you. "Wanna sit down? Or wait, sHit down, as you would say it." He giggled softly, before he nodded and carefully sat down opposite of you, balancing the tray carefully between the two of you.

"I figured it would be better to talk now in peace? If you're up to, f'course." You couldn't help the small smile that crept onto your face. "Shure." You mocked his lisp and he huffed at that, swatting his hand into your direction. "Shtop it really hurt." You just rolled your eyes at him, motioning towards the tray between the two of you. "That's very cute by the way. I love camomile tea with honey." He grinned smugly. "I know." The tea steamed softly when he poured it into the cups, his brows furrowed in concentration to not spill it on the sheets. You watched him with a fond look in your eyes. You hadn't been fully aware of how much you had really missed him in all these months. Right now it felt like the feeling was overwhelming and would crush you out of a sudden.

"Everything a'ight?" Harry's concerned voice ripped you from your thoughts and you blinked quickly. Your eyes had started to water and you looked away embarrassed. "Yeah...guess I just missed you." his eyes immediately went soft, and he set the cups down on the tray. 

"I missed ye too." He said, sounding a bit helpless. You cleared your throat, shaking your head quickly. 

"Okay so what happened that day; Harry I want to sincerely apologise. What I said went too far." He just smiled softly. "I should've went first. S'my fault after all, let's not beat around the bushes. I am sh-sorry. I shouldn't've said all those things, it was truly horrible. You're not clingy, you don't ever bothered me and also, the men you brought around weren't all dicks. And yes I did ruin it purposely." He couldn't even look at you anymore, shame so obvious in his face and voice and body language. "It's fine...I could've dated anyone anyways that time." You tried softly, swallowing down the "Still can't, believe me, I tried." He just shook his head. "No, really Y/N, that was extremely hurtful and inappropriate and I was the biggest...dick to do all that. I am so sorry. You had all right on earth to walk out like that. and to call me a heartless, self-absorbed douche, I guess I deserved that...that and all the other things you called me." that did make you laugh a bit.

"Arrogant son of a bitch? That one?" he grinned softly. "Exactly that one. I uh, used that, by the way. In a song, I hope you don't mind." Your eyebrows shot up at that. "You called yourself an arrogant son of a bitch?" He nodded sheepishly. "An arrogant shon of a bitch who can't admit that he is shorry, and I quoted that." you laughed now, loudly. "Bit harsh, innit?" he shrugged, coquettishly raising the tea cup to his lips. "Heard it from shomewhere." You just hummed softly, lifting your cup as well.

A deep sigh rose your chest as you looked at him again, that bright flicker in his eyes again, that lopsided smirk he wore so well. You knew that your crush was back on fully, but right now you didn't even minded it. Harry gave you a small smile, the mischief slowly draining from his green eyes. he seemed to catch on to that shift of your emotions and carefully placed his cup down on the tray, before then carefully placing the tray on the floor and opening his arms. 

"C'mere?" you did, immediately.

And for the first time in months you could fully relax. Surrounded by Harry's scent in Harry's arm and listening to Harry's heartbeat. Completely absorbed and surrounded by everything you loved. "Sorry." You mumbled into the fabric of his shirt, feeling how his arms tightened around you. "Me too. I fucking misshed you." you chuckled softly. "Misshed you too, shon of a bitch." His laughter sent vibrations through your body.

"About that Korean dude..." Harry suddenly asked, making your peak up to him. "Namjoon? What about him?" he cleared his throat. "Just...did you like, date or something?" you grinned softly. 

"Pretty sure he had something going on with a girl the time I was over there. Maybe he still has. Why? You wanna scare him off again?" he just laughed. "I don't do that anymore. I was just...curious you know. You've always had a thing for these Korean men." You grinned softly.

"Are you now talking Stray Kids or Bangtan or EXO or GOT7..." Harry groaned, "so what. You got something to say about that?" he shook his head. "Course not." You hummed. "And what do you mean, I don't do that anymore? Why did you even do it, like in the first place?" Harry sighed very deeply at that.

"I guess because...okay, promise you listen to the end and don't get upset with me too much, yeah?" you frowned, a bit mentally preparing yourself for whatever was about to follow. 

"Okay? Promised."

"Alright, now...I think I couldn't just...let you be and date who you want because I am a very selfish person? I know I know, you probably think: but selfish about what and I can only confess...probably you? No, not probably, I am sure." The words were bubbling out of him as if someone flipped a switch and now he couldn't stop anymore. "I couldn't see you date someone else and...give them all of your attention. And I know, I myself was in a relationship during that time, I know, but I just...I can't describe it." Your eyes grew wider and wider with every hasty rambled sentence and your lips were slightly parted. "It was as if was...jealous, which is weird because I wasn't into you then, no offense please, I mean I had a girlfriend..." 

"Hold on, what do you mean, wasn't into you then?" you cut him off and Harry literally froze. His eyes went wide with realisation and his mouth opened, as if he would try to reply something; but there was no sound. All he could think of, was one word, all in capital letters and blinking red: fuck.

"I uh, did I say then?" you clicked with your tongue, an amused grin flitting over your face. 

"You did." A blush now covered his cheeks and he cleared his throat eagerly. You moved away from his embrace to get a better look at the man sitting in front of you. 

"You did say then. Something changed?" your tone was joking but hidden beneath the layers of sarcasm there was a flicker of something else...hope.

"I...I mean I don't...would it be like...do you still feel the same?" you didn't immediately answered, trying to process what you were hearing. After weeks of pinning and then months of not talking at all, he was confessing – or somewhat confessing – that there was a chance that he now actually liked you back? How was that even possible?

Harry however read your silence as something else than confusion and being overwhelmed with the situation. His face fell from nervous to disappointed and hurt, though he tried to mask those emotions quickly. "Which is of course fine and like, obviously you don't, I mean..." he spoke, and it wasn't entirely clear if he was talking to you or himself.

"I didn't even answer H." you mumbled, tilting your head. "Of course you di- wait what do you mean?" there was this same spark of hope in his voice as there had been in your voice. "If I told you, that nothing changed, what would that mean?" you breathed after a second of hesitation and staring into his wide eyes, filled with fear, nervousness, hope and...vulnerability. At your words there was a small smile that started to tug on his lips, like a light igniting his eyes. 

"It would mean that I...uhm, I would then shoot my shot?" you couldn't help it.

"Was that hard to say?" he blinked confused. "Shoot your shot..." you teased and he groaned loudly. "Oh hush, you are unbearable." You giggled, winking obnoxiously. "You decided to eat those edibles. Also, I am worth a shot, no?" he huffed, leaping forwards to pull you back into his arms. "Oh definitely..." you grinned up at him before your breath hitched in your throat at the realisation of his sudden closeness. Eyes flickering to his lips you just waited. But when he leaned in you cleared you throat softly, making him halt. "Before you do that...just please tell me why now." He never moved back just pressed his lips together for a second, thinking of the right choice of words. "In those month where we didn't talk, I had a lot, and I mean a lot of time to think and reflect about the whole situation. About you, about how I felt about you and your partners, how your confession had changed the way I saw or felt certain things...also, Jeff's talked a lot with me about it. The fight and stuff. And then when I saw you again I just...knew? I don't know..." you cut him off with a short nod. 

"Okay that's good, now kiss me please." He just laughed before finally, finally closing the gap between the two of you.

And your lips on his made him feel better, lighter and higher than any fucking edible could've ever made him feel.

here are flowers for u, if u rly read this ily 💐💐💐

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[leiascully]

5 Conversations Between Maggie and Mulder

By @agirlcalledNarelle - I think Maggie and Mulder had a complicated relationship. Here’s my take on a few shared moments between them….

4,7k words. Here on AO3. 

1. 1995

The Glasgow room, otherwise known as events room B, is empty and cavernous when he arrives. Sound bounces off the walls from the other early guests and is presented back to them in an awkward offering.  Helium balloons dance timidly from their weights along the outskirt of the room. Mulder slinks in like a cat and nurses a beer as he watches the room fill. He did not go to the graveyard.

Thankfully the event grows into the space, and the hum of conversation encourages more of the same. There is laughter. Recent friends wear brightly coloured outfits, paisley shirts and ethereal skirts. The family wear black, but wicked humour sparkles through their sad smiles. Scully and Maggie arrive, accompanied by a smattering of aunts, uncles, cousins. It’s strange to see Scully with a support network which excludes him. He doesn’t feel like he can approach her; he will wait for her. They make eye contact briefly, and she moves towards him before being intercepted by someone. Maggie smiles as she speaks, but he sees her glance frequently around the room for her remaining daughter as if proving to herself that she is still here, that she hasn’t lost Dana too. 

There is never enough food at events like this. Out of some misguided sense of chivalry which no one witnesses, he is late to the buffet and picks at the remaining trays. Having made small talk with some cousins from Wisconsin, he sits furtively at a table for two, hoping his vibes deter anyone from making any further effort.

‘Fox.’ He looks up, mid-room temperature shrimp half-way to his mouth, to see Maggie standing at his elbow with Scully behind her. Mulder can see foundation gathering in the creases around her eyes. Her cheeks have has sunk, no longer blooming from happy memories. Mulder stands and wipes his mouth on a napkin.

‘Mrs Scully,’ he kisses Maggie on the cheek. ‘I’m so very sorry about Melissa.’

‘Thank you.’ Her eyes are shiny pebbles from the bottom of a stream, clear and hard. Mulder gulps, his mouth dry, and wipes his hands on his napkin, frustrated he has nothing of value to offer when she suddenly speaks, low and forcefully. ‘Tell me, Fox. Was it worth it? Was what you found worth it?’

‘Come on, Mom, let’s go say hi to the Denman’s. I see them over there.’ Scully puts her hand on her mother’s arm and pushes her gently away. He watches them, relieved to avoid further interrogation, and considers making a quiet exit when Scully turns and mouths ‘don’t go.’ Damn. Suddenly no longer hungry, he pushes his plate to the opposite place setting and waits. He watches.

Scully and Maggie work the room, sometimes together, sometimes apart. They are the only members of the immediate Scully family representing Melissa to her mourners. The extended family, comprising of short women and tall men, make sure that Scully’s wine glass never fully empties. Maggie favours brandy. She remembers the names of Melissa’s childhood friends and greets her adult friends with generous hugs. Laughter abounds as family reacquaints and friends rediscover commonalities.  Each table hosts a framed photo of Melissa, and on this table, there is a photo of the Scully children in front of a big fish that Bill Junior has caught. Melissa is tall, beautiful with early-teen self-consciousness, smiling without teeth. Dana is at least 6 inches smaller, her face chubby and framed with bangs, and excitedly pointing at the fish with her two index fingers, her mouth open in a perfect ‘o’.

The sun takes polite grief with it as it sets, and the mood of the room shifts towards a more frantic, unrestrained celebration. Ties are loosened, music starts to play, and voices grow louder as the guests realise their hours for remembering Melissa together will soon draw to a close. Scully sits opposite him, pushing aside the remaining plate of food. Her eyes are glassy, her cheeks pink. A tissue peeks out of her cardigan sleeve, and her mascara is slightly smudged under her left eye. She smiles languidly and rests her chin in her hand. They hear Maggie laugh across the room with the cousins from Wisconsin. They are both taller than her, and one wraps her into a bear hug. She has the effusiveness of a dinner party host, eager to inform everyone where the food is and to help themselves to drinks. In the gap between conversation, Mulder sees Maggie staring into the middle distance, steeling herself to share the next anecdote.

‘I don’t know how she does it,’ Mulder remarks.

‘This is the fun part,’ Scully says, her s’s slightly stretched. ‘Remembering Missy with all her favourite people. And some of her not-so-favourite people.’ They watch Maggie take another brandy from the waitress. ‘She’ll crash later once we’re in the cab. I’m staying with her tonight.’

‘Can I take you both home?’ Mulder asks, suddenly wanting to do at least this for Scully and her mother.

‘Thank you, but that’s not necessary, Mulder.’

‘Please, I’d like to.

Scully appraises him, draining her wine. ‘She’s not herself today, you know. Don’t give it another thought.’

No apology, Mulder notes.

‘I know. She was right to ask. She has the right to ask, I mean. She should ask.’

‘She does. She should.’ Scully gazes lovingly at her mom, eyes misting with tears before someone else catches her eye, causing her to giggle into her hand like a schoolgirl. ‘Oh no. Missy would be devastated to know that Sam Charleston is here. She had the biggest crush on him when she started her first job, and he kept her well and truly in the friend zone.’

‘Go say hi. Go mingle.’

She leans on her knuckles to steady herself as she stands. ‘If that offer is still open…. That would be nice. We would love a lift back.’

‘Of course.’

‘Oh, and Mulder,’ she says as she starts to totter away. ‘We’re Irish. This is going to be a late one.’

‘I’ll be here.’

2. 1997

Mulder wakes to the shadow of someone standing over him. Blinking, his back burns as he sits up in his plastic chair.

‘Go home, Fox,’ Maggie says. ‘You should get some rest. In a proper bed.’

Her eyes are bright, too wide, like a child who has eaten all their Halloween candy in one sitting, twitchy and hyper. The hall is quiet, the bustle of the day replaced with a cloak of calm inevitability as some patients gather their strength for another day, and some succumb to the everlasting sleep which floats through these rooms like a genie, offering to grant the most desperate wishes.

‘Uh, I can’t seem to leave.’ He rubs his neck. ‘Is Scully ok?’

‘She’s just fallen asleep.’ Maggie sits beside him. She rubs her hands over her face and reaches for his hand. It’s an intimate move, but a hospital at 3am is an intimate, almost holy place and those who witness it are bound by their understanding of this. He covers her hand with his, a silent gesture of solidarity.

Maggie, Bill and Mulder haven’t slept properly in days; Scully sleeps too much for all of them. She can’t smell, can’t taste, doesn’t eat. Her headaches are sudden and vicious, the only respite being ever-stronger painkillers and sleep. Suddenly her teeth start to grind. She loses track of conversation, eyes, fingers and face all clenched, and Mulder presses her painkiller button in frustration that this is all he can do. All the road signs are pointing towards morphine. No one mentions it explicitly, knowing it will likely be the last landmark for Scully.

‘Where’s Bill?’

‘He’s gone back. To pick up some clothes, pick up my copy of Little Women for Dana.’ Maggie rests her head against the wall and closes her eyes. ‘When she’s awake I’m worried that she’s not getting enough rest, and when she’s asleep I just want to wake her. It’s like she’s 2 weeks old all over again.’

Mulder stays quiet.

‘She’s stopped arguing with me, have you noticed? She doesn’t have the energy. I just want to see her eyes flash at me again, I want that ‘here we go again’ feeling one more time. I’m trying to remember the last time we did that. I’m trying to remember.’

‘Mrs Scully, you can’t give up hope, not yet.’ Mulder teeters of the edge of acceptance but hasn’t fallen into that hole just yet: its depth is too deep, too dark, and he’s not sure he would recognise the man who comes out the other side. He needs his anger to stay on track for Scully, to keep going, and more importantly in this moment now, to stay awake.

‘Fox, I haven’t given up hope, far from it,’ Maggie’s voice is tired and resigned. ‘But you can’t deny what we’re seeing. We can’t expect things from Dana that she can’t give us. Then it’s not fair on her.’

Mulder feels this new perspective like a splash of cold water on his face. He hadn’t considered the impact of his unending fight on Scully. Did she feel like she had to perform for him? Did she gather her strength every time he entered the room to protect him from what was happening, to allow him his little charade? Does the energy needed for his visits mean more frequent headaches, more pain? His shoulders slump further as more guilt settles across them.

Maggie’s head suddenly brushes his shoulder, and she looks up in surprise, blinking. A microsleep.

‘Mrs Scully, you should take your own advice.’ He squeezes her hand where it still rests in his. ‘Get some proper rest.’

Maggie shakes her head. ‘There’s the meeting with Dana’s doctor first thing. And then the Priest is stopping by.’

The meeting is to learn the consultant recommendation after examining the chip that Mulder had offered him like frankincense. They had scanned it, taken photos, made notes, but the chip itself remained in Mulder’s pocket at his insistence.

‘I hope you know I respect the work of the priest.’ Mulder clears his throat, not sure of his next words. ‘I’m not exactly what you’d call a good disciple, but I’m willing to try anything at this point. And I know what it means to Dana.’

‘I won’t lie, I don’t like the idea of this chip, Fox. But you’ve earned the right to an opinion here. And anyway, Dana will do what she thinks is best: she won’t have anyone else make this choice for her.’

‘I know. I just wanted you to know that … I just want to make sure we’ve tried everything.’

Maggie stands and puts a hand to his cheek, her hand soft against his stubble. It’s a move he’s done to Scully before, but he had underestimated how much comfort it brings. He wants to nuzzle into her hand, to close his eyes and rest in the warmth.

‘I know you love her, Fox. You love her as she deserves to be loved. I do wish you might show it with roses instead of computer chips,’ she smiles ruefully. ‘But there aren’t words to convey how grateful I’ve been to see your love for my daughter over these past few weeks.’

He watches her go back into Scully’s dark room. They both wait, in different rooms, for the sun to rise on the day when Scully’s holy trinity of faith, family and work will entwine around her like the roots of a tree in a final attempt to nourish her back to health.

3. 1998

It is still dark when they pull up outside the house, but someone has clocked their arrival and the front door flings open. Maggie waves, wrapping her cardigan around her, and gestures inwards.

‘You have to come in now, you realise,’ Scully says as she unbuckles her belt.

‘Oh, no, Scully, I don’t want to do that. You be with your family. It’s 6:30am.’

‘Come on, you’ll offend her. You don’t want to offend my mother on Christmas morning, do you Mulder?’ Scully teases. ‘Or do you? Is that what you want?’

He sighs and walks with her towards the house. Modest fairy lights twinkle on the porch, and the Christmas tree glows from the front window. Mulder can see tasteful, coordinated ornaments and the outline of people in the front room. Already the Scully Christmas is in stark contrast to Christmas at his mother’s house: a quiet affair with two lonely presents under a tree that never seems to stand straight, decorated with all Fox and Samantha’s homemade decorations from over the years. A roast chicken that would invariably burn as Teena became engrossed in a Christmas movie and Mulder slept on the couch. They would end the day with a quiet game of Scrabble. He feels a protective pang in his chest: it’s not much of a Christmas, but it’s their Christmas. Teena is never outwardly demonstrative, but he knows he is loved. She has saved all his crafts, every homemade Mother’s Day and Christmas card. I’ll call her later, he promises to himself as he walks to the porch, swallowing the bitter taste of treachery as he crosses another mother’s threshold on Christmas morning.

‘Come in, come in! Merry Christmas!’ Maggie exclaims as they stamp the snow from their shoes. They are her first gifts of the day as she unwraps their coats and scarves. ‘Fox, what an unexpected surprise.’

‘Uh, Scully’s car didn’t start, so I gave her a lift,’ he said lamely, hoping the explanation doesn’t lead to more questions.

‘Well, you can at least stay for breakfast.’ She stands on tiptoes to kiss his cheek. He is uncomfortable, unused to meeting Maggie outside of a crisis. He doesn’t have anything to offer her, not even a Christmas card, and he almost regrets offering Scully a lift this morning. He had been high on infatuation, waking after their late-night ghost hunt to find Scully snuffling under the covers next to him like a grumpy guinea pig, her scruffy red hair poking out from under the covers.

‘Thank you, Mrs Scully, that would be great. I’m sorry I didn’t bring anything.’

‘Please, Fox, it’s a last-minute invite. It’s enough that you’re here.’ Mulder smiles, and sends a thought remembering his mother at the Vineyard on her own. It might be called a prayer, if he was a man of any sort of religious faith.

‘Sorry we’re late, Mom.’

‘Don’t be silly, Dana, I don’t know why we have to meet at such an ungodly time anyway.’ She ushers them into the living room. Bill sits in front of the tree wearing a Santa hat, his son perched in his lap lifting and shaking any gift in his proximity. Scully hugs her sister-in-law affectionately, and Mulder notes that something has thawed between them since San Diego.

‘What’s he doing here?’ Bill asks in surprise, quickly removing his Santa hat.

‘Hush now, Bill,’ Maggie says easily, entering with a tray of mugs and a cafetière full of coffee. ‘It’s too early to be so contrary.’

‘I just think it’s odd that her work colleague is in our living room at 6:30am.‘

‘Bill, please. Fox is Dana’s partner, and they get to decide the context of that. Not us.’

Mulder glances at Scully. He’s not sure what Maggie has just insinuated, or what Scully has been saying to make Maggie to make her think that way. They’re still walking this path cautiously, and yet Mulder feels like Maggie has just confirmed something fundamental that neither had fully acknowledged yet.  Scully reflects his surprise, raising an eyebrow before looking back at her brother.

‘Admit it, Bill,’ Scully says, ‘you’re just embarrassed that Mulder’s seen you in your jimmy jams.’

There is a pause in the room before Bill spreads his hands and laughs.

‘Guilty. Grab a seat, Mulder, let’s see if there’s a lump of coal under here somewhere for you.’ Scully squeezes his arm in solidarity. Mulder sees the steel under Bill’s smile and nods, accepting the tentative olive branch.

‘Excellent.’ Maggie sits beside the tree and pulls Matthew onto her lap, who desperately reaches towards the tree. ‘My grandson has been patient enough. Now that we’re all here, and caffeinated, how about we open some presents?’

4. 2001

Mulder stares through the nursery glass at the eight babies wriggling in their little beds. It’s like a very small and very strange zoo exhibition. I’m sorry guys, he thinks, visiting hours have just started for you. His baby is back row left, wearing a blue hat and sleeping with his mouth slightly open, oblivious to all the motion and emotion surrounding him.

Scully needed stitches. The doctors were not happy with her delivery in general, and Mulder felt them glance suspiciously in his direction when he wasn’t looking. They had also given Scully a sedative: she had been shaking with shock and exhaustion, having had no sleep during the 16 hours since the delivery. In the helicopter she had gripped her son with a haunted look in her eyes, only reluctantly handing him to the nurse when the desire to have him checked over outweighed her instinct to hold tight. Go with him, she’d begged, the force of his hand squashing his fingers, don’t leave him alone. Make sure he’s ok. Please, Mulder. He’d wanted to stay until she slept, but his continued presence only made her more anxious. He had left her, weak and weepy with her legs in stirrups, as exposed and vulnerable as a person could find themselves. The nurse had offered to bring the baby to Mulder to hold, but without Scully it feels like a betrayal somehow. He is satisfied just peering through the window, admiring his perfect lips and nose.

‘Fox,’ he turns to see Maggie standing at his shoulder. Her face is tight, her clenched teeth barely restraining her anger. His stomach drops as he feels himself ride over the crest of a rollercoaster.

‘Mrs Scully. Did you just arrive?’

‘I tried to visit Dana but they said she’s sleeping.’ Maggie has yet to put her overnight bag down, her knuckles white as she grips the handles. ‘Do you mind telling me what happened? How my daughter got to Georgia?’

‘Scully, uh, she was in danger and so we thought it safest if she left DC.’ Maggie purses her lips. Mulder’s palms are sweaty. What had made perfect sense at the time was now sounding reckless and stupid.

‘I see. And why Georgia?’

‘We needed somewhere unexpected, somewhere that no one would know.’

‘How exactly did she get here?’

‘One of her colleagues drove her. Special Agent Reyes, you may have met her, she’s been working with Scully for the last, well really for the last 6 months now.’ Mulder felt with each answer Maggie was coiling tighter and tighter, preparing to strike.  ‘Scully likes her, trusts her, so it seemed like the best choice.’

‘I see. Where were you?’

‘I was trying to make sure that the people who were trying to get Scully didn’t. Couldn’t.

‘And did you succeed?’

‘No, no I didn’t. But they didn’t get her, thank god.’

‘You didn’t succeed,’ Maggie says, shaking her head slowly. ‘You sent my little girl to some abandoned town in the middle of nowhere, with no electricity, running water, or even any antibacterial spray, to give birth on her own with only a colleague she’s known for 6 months for support. Is any of this inaccurate?’

‘No, it’s not.’ Mulder’s voice is quiet in contrast to Maggie’s increasing volume.

‘Do you mind telling me what on earth you were thinking?’ Maggie finally shouts, throwing her jacket at him. He catches it clumsily. ‘How could you do this, Fox? In what possible way was this the best solution?’

The tiredness, anxiety and fear which Mulder had been suppressing for the last 72 hours bursts forth, and he is suddenly possessed by rage.

‘Excuse me, Maggie, can I call you Maggie? I think it’s about time, don’t you?’ His voice is quiet but violent. Maggie blinks in surprise and takes a step back. ‘This is my son we’re talking about here. My –‘ he falters as he thinks of Scully in the third room down the corridor, sleeping while her injuries are stitched. His chest hurts with the ferocity of his love for her. ‘This is my whole world. I didn’t just send them away for a jaunt down South. It wasn’t for the fun of it. If we hadn’t have sent them away, in all likelihood we wouldn’t have either of them right now.’

Maggie presses her fingers to her lips as tears slide down her cheeks. Mulder immediately hates himself for shouting at her, she who has already lost so much as a result of Scully’s dogged insistence to stay by his side. He too blinks away tears as he realises what is about to happen next: Scully isn’t going to see her mother meet her grandchild, Scully’s miracle son. She will miss their introduction.

‘I daresay you’re right,’ Maggie mutters. ‘Everything you’ve said matches what Mr Skinner told me. I know you had no choice. But, my god Fox, another phone call, another panicked rush to a hospital, this time in Georgia. I don’t know how many more times I can do this.’

‘I know, Mrs Scully,’ Mulder rubs her shoulder tentatively, taking her bag from her.

‘Please, you’re right, you should call me Maggie,’ she huffs, wiping her eyes. ‘I know you did what you thought was best. But I can’t pretend I understand or agree with it. I think I have to ask you for a little more time before we’re in the same room together.’

Mulder nods. ‘I understand, Maggie. I want to check on Scully anyway, make sure she’s ok. Before I go, let me show you your grandson. There he is: he’s the champ in the top left. See him?’

Mulder sees her face soften, and she places her fingers lightly on the glass window, drinking in every detail of the baby.

‘Oh Fox…’, she murmurs, ‘he’s beautiful. Look at him. He looks like you, you know.’

‘You think?’

‘That bottom lip, there’s no doubt.’ She sighs. ‘He’s wonderful.’

‘Do you want to hold him?’

‘Can I? Have you?’

‘No… no. I’m going to wait for Scully… But you really should. You know how angry she’ll be if she wakes up to learn that neither of us held him this whole time. She would want you to.’

Maggie nods. Without speaking, without eye contact, she holds his hand briefly in thanks. Mulder recognises her resolve; he knows Maggie is happier now she has something practical to focus on. Her face betrays her excitement as she flags down a nurse. He carries her bag with him and opens the third door down the corridor where he is greeted by Scully’s pale face, her anxiety having vanished in sleep.

5. 2005

Mulder hears the gravel crunch under the car as Scully pulls up into the drive. He turns on the grill but stubbornly keeps his back turned as Scully and her mother enter the house. This is Maggie’s first visit to their unremarkable house, their little haven. For the last six months, Scully has met her in the city, at neutral settings or at Maggie’s place. They told each other it was for safety, that it was better for both Mulder and Maggie that they didn’t put Maggie in a position of consorting with a fugitive, but they both knew the truth: they were scared of what Maggie might say. Of how she might react to seeing Mulder again, after so many years on the run.

Scully arrived home from her first meeting with Maggie with red eyes and a stuffy nose.

How was it? Mulder had asked.

It was great. Amazing. It was so good to see her again. Her replies were short, and Mulder heard her unspoken words. They had gone to bed without speaking any further that night.

After six months, Maggie had finally asked to see where Dana and her outlaw partner were living. A Fourth of July barbeque seemed like a good occasion, the external focus distracting from any tension. Scully bought fireworks and s’mores ingredients; Mulder built a bonfire ready for the evening.

He hears footsteps on the deck and turns to see Maggie. They study each other quietly: her white hair, wrists tightly covered by crepe-paper skin, his lined face and wider jaw. He’s been waiting for this moment since Scully floated the idea with him. Now it had arrived, he realised how many lost years sat between them. Maggie stands a metre away, but the distance is a metal spring that stretches wider and wider and wider.

‘Hello Fox,’ she says, and her voice takes him back to hospitals, to phone calls, to missing people and conversations haunted by death.

‘Hi Maggie.’ He doesn’t move, and neither does she. He wants to tell her he’s sorry, but he doesn’t want to accept sole responsibility. He wants to ask for forgiveness, but he isn’t afraid of defending his choices. He wants to ask how she’s been, what their absence felt like for her, but surely the hole they left in her life is too great for him to think about patching up now. Behind him, the barbeque hisses as the fat drips from the meat.

‘Dana tells me you built this deck.’

‘I did, yes. It was my first project when we moved in. Where is Scully?’

‘She’s getting the potato salad ready.’ Mulder looks towards the house and cringes inwardly when he sees no sign of her. ‘It’s lovely out here.’

‘It is.’ Suddenly he’s sick of this dance. ‘Maggie, I want you to know –‘

‘Fox, I think we’ve had enough.’ Her assertiveness catches him unawares and he stops. ‘Don’t you agree? Enough anger, enough apologies, enough guilt.’

He nods cautiously.

‘What did Scully say about our time away?’ He asks. Maggie sighs and looks at her hands.

‘She didn’t say a lot. She mentioned motels, some kitchen work. You know how she is. She stopped talking before she got in over her head.’

‘Are you…. Mad?’

‘Oh, I’ve been mad alright. Father McCue can attest to that.’ Mulder turns back to the meat, and Maggie stands beside him. She looks so like her daughter out of the corner of his eye; there’s a familiarity between Mulder and Maggie that he’d forgotten about. All the fear they’ve shared together sits within a current of energy between them. ‘But I don’t want to be mad anymore.’

The spring suddenly snaps back into shape.

‘That’s good to hear,’ Mulder turns the meat. ‘I was afraid I was going to get my ass kicked.’

Maggie chuckles and Mulder suddenly sees that their bonfire, fireworks and s’mores will be genuinely delightful.

‘Just stay, though, please?’ She asks tentatively. He realises that their détente is quick but delicate, in need of nurture. ‘Stay here. Let me visit occasionally. Maybe there’s a room that I might one day come to think of as being mine. Just let me see you both.’

‘Maggie… Of course we will. You’re welcome here any time. At any time.’

‘What are you two talking about?’ They both turn to see Scully approaching with a tray of salad and iced tea. Her small smile is cautious and there’s apprehension in her eyes.

‘I was just about to ask Fox why the deck slants to the left.’ Maggie takes the tray from Scully and kisses her cheek.

‘Maggie, I’ll have you know this is excellent craftsmanship. It slants so the water can drain off effectively.’ They sit at the table together, with Scully looking from her mother and her partner. Her face glows in a way he hasn’t seen for years, and he squeezes her hand under the table. He is pleased to have brought her back, happy to have given her a home. She is starting to thrive. She looks at him, her eyes shiny with tears.

‘Look at me, I’m being ridiculous,’ she laughs, wiping her eyes.  ‘I’m just so glad we’re all here together.’

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Kissing Dead Pearls (Part 22)

They have trouble getting him to eat, anything they feed him seems to come back up again until they settle for giving him liquid food in small amounts; apple sauces and oatmeals with a fair amount of tube feeding. She doesn’t like the sight of it.

They tell her that she doesn’t need to be here, that she is well enough to go back to the hotel so long as she takes it easy. But she remains at the hospital, at least during visiting hours.

“No one has claimed him yet?” She hears one nurse ask.

“No, not yet.” Says the other.

“And no ID?”

“All of his IDs and paperwork are probably on the ocean floor with his boat.”

The pair enter, a stout man with a clean shaven beard and a fleshy face and a woman, just as stout but rather petite. The man checks over the feeding tubes while the nurse checks over the patient himself.

“Has he woken up at all?” The woman asks.

“Not while I’ve been here.” Azula replies.

Deciding that everything is in order, the doctors step out once more. She looks at the time, she ought to be heading out herself. She waits another few moments before pulling out her phone, it rings several times before Zuzu answers. “Why are you answering father’s phone?”

“He and Jet went for a swim.” Zuko replies. “Do you need me to tell him something?”

She hears the boy stir in his bed. She lowers the phone for a moment before replying. “Just tell him that the sailor is waking up, so I might be here for a little while longer.” She doesn’t wait for a reply before she stuffs her phone back into her purse.

She wanders over to the bed. The boy squeezes his eyes tighter before opening them. They are tired and gentle and a very vivid blue. Azula swallows, they are a very familiar vivid blue. She takes his hand, wondering how it had taken her this long to recognize him.

“Gee…” he speaks, his voice hoarse and weak. “Guess the town motto is true, ‘all waves lead to Port Tui-La.’” He tries to laugh but his mouth is too dry.

She hands him a cup of water and waits for him to swallow before saying, “we’re not at Port Tui-La.” She wants to hug him with a tightness that will assure her that he won’t leave again. Even if she had both of her arms free to use, she worries about pressing on his sores the wrong way.

“Then where are we?”

“A small resort island called, Su Oku.”

“You think that I could get a pina colada with this hospital banquet.” He gestures to the oatmeal.

“I think that you couldn’t keep a pina colada down if they gave one to you.” She replies. It is unfathomably amazing to hear his voice again. To hear those stupid and poorly timed jokes.

“What happened to your arm?” He asks.

“It happened while I was saving you. You ass.”

“Now that’s no way to treat a guy in a hospital bed. That’s not how you…” he pauses for another drink. “Greet someone that you haven’t seen in months either.”

“It’s a perfect way to treat an imbecile who promised to take you out for a birthday dinner and stood you up for months.”

He makes a gesture as if to slap his forehead but thinks better of it at the last moment, “Ah shit, I forgot your birthday.”

Azula could slap him. “We thought that you were dead, Sokka.” She whispers after the humor fades. And suddenly it is overwhelming. The notion that she is going to have to speak with Jet crosses her mind and mixes strangely with joy and relief.

She feels his hand brush against her cheek, a rough and calloused hand. “Why are you crying?”

“I’m not.” She wipes at her eyes.

“Of course not.” He chuckles.

How is she going to tell him about Jet? How is she going to tell Jet about him? But he’s alive, goodness he’s alive. She carefully cups her hand over his. “What happened to your ship and how did you survive?”

“It’s a long story.” He replies, she can tell that he is going to fade out again. “Visit tomorrow and you might get to hear it.”

“Might?!”

He is already out again. She finds herself laughing. Of course he will leave her unanswered. It dawns upon her, as the nurse enters that she probably should have let them know that he was awake.

.oOo.

She finds herself terribly anxious the closer they draw to the hotel. The walk from the hospital isn’t terribly long, she almost wishes that it could be longer. It is a nice day, in the storm’s wake there is a cooler edge to the day. For once her skin isn’t slick with sweat from the walk and jasmine dances within the breeze. “You’re quiet.” Zuko remarks.

“Enjoy your break.” Azula mutters.

“Did something happen to the sailor?”

She shakes her head. “Nothing bad.”

“But something happened.”

“He woke up.”

“And.”

She bunches her hands in her pockets. She isn’t sure why she is so hesitant to tell him. Perhaps it is because she doesn’t want him to slip and tell Jet before she can. “It’s Sokka.”

Zuko comes to a full halt. “What? How?”

She shrugs. She had imagined it time and time again, a reunion, telling Katara that her brother is alive. And perhaps it is because she had truly expected it to be anything but a reality, that it is so hard for her to process that her daydreams have become truth. Truth be told, she isn’t quite ready. “I don’t know, Zuzu. I didn’t that we would actually find him.”

“Well aren’t you, I don’t know, elated?”

She knows that she should be. She should be happy, excited, grateful. And she is, but she is also nervous. It has been so long. He doesn’t know about father, he doesn’t know about Jet, about...she traces the length of the scar on her arm, rather she traces the parts of it that aren’t tucked into the sling. “I am.” She says. “I’m just trying to figure out what to tell Jet.”

“Fuck off, is a good option.”

She elbows him. “I know that you don’t like him but he treats me well.” They pass a merchant selling bundles of hibiscus and bamboos sticks. With the storm well and past, the island is lively again. She spies several bikers and a couple with a picnic basket. There is a child with an armful of shells and a missing sandal, an exasperated woman holds that sandal. Colorful umbrellas are propped open all along the beach that runs parallel with the road. A road that is scattered with palm fronds, branches, clusters of flowers, and other things that the storm had thrown about. She can hear the hum of cicadas and the chatter of birds, mostly seagulls. “I suppose that I should just tell him outright.” That is how she would have wanted it if Jet had fallen for someone else.

“That’s what I meant when I said tell him to fuck off.”

Azula rolls her eyes. “I’m sure it is.” But that doesn’t make it any less daunting, knowing that she has so much to fill Sokka in on. Though she supposes it is, at the end of the day, fair. He has a long story for her and she has a rather long one for him. If he will hear the rest of it after finding out about her fling with Jet. She decides that she will get to that part after talking about how increasingly difficult and lonely things had gotten. She will answer the why’s before sharing what they had led to.

She enters the hotel and holds the door open just long enough for Zuko to get his hopes up before letting it slam in his face. He cusses and she chuckles. It has been a while since she’d got him like that.

“See if I hold it open for you next time!”

She fixes him with a faux pout. “You mean you’d slam the door on your handicapped little sister?”

“I sure would.” He replies.

They reach the hotel room at the same time as her father and Jet. She watches Jet rub his hair with his towel.

“They left you by yourself?” Azula asks.

Katara shrugs. “I could use the quiet time. How was your visit?”

“It was…” she can’t keep the smile from her face. “Surreal.”

“Surreal?”

“He’s alive, Katara. That sailor is…”

“Sokka?” She asks softly.

Azula nods. She has made Katara cry several times throughout childhood, and once as a pre-teen when she’d decided that she was too cool to hang out with the girl anymore. But she had never made her cry with joy and relief.

“You sure that it’s him?”

“He asked me for a pina colada.”

“That’s him alright.” Ozai grumbles. He slings his towel onto one of the racks and makes his way into the bathroom.

“Hey!” Jet calls. “We agreed that I get the first shower!”

“You have things to discuss with my daughter.” Ozai shrugs. “I’ll take an extra long one to make sure that she can cover all of the details.”  With that, the door closes and she hears the lock pop into place.

“He’s alive, Zuko!” Katara springs up and throws her arms around him. “My brother is alive!” She lets go of Zuko and turns to Azula. “You saved him…”

Azula nods. “He better treat me extra special or I’ll throw him right back out there.” She folds her good arm against the other.

“Do you need us to…?” Zuko gestures towards the door.

Azula nods. She waits for the door to shut once more before taking a seat on the bed.

Jet sighs and rubs the back of his head. “I take it, there’s nothing I can do to make you choose me.”

She hesitates before shaking her head. “There’s nothing.”

He blows out through his lips, “the ride home is going to be mighty awkward.”

“It doesn’t have to be.” She answers despite being well aware that she has a solid track record for being awkward as hell.

“Does he know yet?”

“No.” She says. “He will tomorrow.” She just hopes that that will go well.

“Were you using me as a rebound?”  Jet asks.

“No.” She says again. “I was trying to move on…”

“Which is why you went out on a sailing trip to find your boyfriend?”

“I didn’t anticipate anything coming from it.”  

He nods, clasps his hands together and presses them to his lips. “Then why do I feel like I got used.”

“I didn’t use you.” She insists. “If I had I would have asked for a lot more cash.”

This elicits a humored snort. “I’m going to go back to the pool.” He stands. She doesn’t stop him. The soft slam of a door, shut slightly too hard, rebounds around the room. She supposes that he needs to process things. She needs to process things. Good news or not, her head still spins and she finds herself feeling notably drained. She falls back onto the mattress and stares at the ceiling.

[theyrealllegends]

Careful (Roger Taylor x Reader)

Chapter Summary: You’re not the only one who’s developing feelings but Roger is too, trying to have you close to him at first, but then he’s trying to forget you over way too much scotch. This is how both of you get sick and he takes care of you again. 

Author’s Note: It’s Roger’s POV in this chapter, yeeet! (Please don’t @ me I can’t tell you why and if you don’t like it I’ll never attempt it again, I promise)

Words: ~2k

Warnings: I’d rate this mature because (and this is a spoiler) someone’s masturbating aaand there’s drinking again and eventually someone has to throw up

Chapter 4

Previous Parts: Ch. 1, Ch. 2, Ch. 3

I couldn’t fall asleep that night because Tiffany never left my head: her reddish-blonde curls, her incredibly green eyes, her lips for fucks sake - I needed that. I craved being close to her, to feel her, to hear her breath like I’d never wanted anything else. The boys had noticed that I was hitting my drums harder than I usually did while messing up their rhythms and I knew that they knew that something was off but they wouldn’t mention it if I got myself under control before our next gig tomorrow night. I just didn’t see how that was possible, when I was now here, lying awake and only the thought of Tiffany’s voice made my whole stomach feel light, in the best way possible. I had no idea how long I’d been staring in the dark but I was seriously contemplating to go out and either get drunk or find some girl to do whatever it took to distract myself. I just couldn’t let myself think about what I’d do to her if she hadn’t been this innocent little princess I saw, every time I looked at her. Even though only my refusal to think of that was enough to give me a hard one, already. I swallowed hard as I carefully touched myself and I stopped trying to shake the thought of her because I knew I couldn’t while I was masturbating - what would it feel like to bury myself in her body, feel her skinny, yet strong legs wrap around me and see her losing herself in my thrusts. God, I just wanted her to feel as good as she made me feel when I got into the kitchen to a prepared breakfast, when I didn’t feel like a dumbass because she’d make me study and when I managed to make her laugh. I gripped on my own hair at the thought of her laugh, trying to imagine it were her tiny hand and her skinny fingers pulling on the strands while I held back a moan. Tiffany Abberforth was the most precious human being on this planet and I’d have to protect her with my whole life, I knew that for a fact. 

*-*-*-*-*-*-*

“You wanna join me tonight?”, I asked her, when I met her in the kitchen the next morning. Probably I was being selfish to try and get her out of the comfort of our flat, but I wanted her to be closer to me anytime. She was reading some book like the smart girl she was but she put it away as soon as I tried to talk to her. 

“Where are you going?”

“The boys and I have a gig and I thought - since you’re freed now - you might like…?”

“Are you trying to make me drunk two out of three nights in a row?”, she called me out in a joking tune and it made me smile to see her that relaxed. 

“Of course not, but I’d like you around me two out of three nights in a row.” Damn, she had no idea what she did to me when she blushed. She looked down at her hands, seemingly battling herself to a decision. “No pressure, Tiffy, if you’re there, you’re there and if not I’ll still play for you.”

“You know it’s not because I don’t want to hear you play, right, Rog?”

“Do I?”, I asked and leaned my head to the side a little too let her know I wasn’t completely serious. 

“I can’t see myself enjoying your show in a huge crowd at all, it scares me, especially since I wouldn’t know anyone watching you, too and I - “

“You can join us for our rehearsal on Friday, if you prefer that.”

“That’s perfect”, she immediately agreed and I felt great about it. It relieved the thought of being rejected, at least. 

“We can have dinner after, if you’d like.”

“We always have dinner, Rog.”

“No, I mean, you and me - and the boys if we can’t get rid of them - having dinner in a restaurant, if you’d like.” Now I was the one blushing, I feared, as she looked at me in surprise. 

“Yeah, I think I’d like that”, she said after a moment and I smiled at her. 

“Me too, Tiffy.”

*-*-*-*-*-*-*

I knew I shouldn’t really - even though there wasn’t anything exclusive about Tiffany and me, there wasn’t a “we” if it came to anything else than talking about our shared flat situation, but I still felt guilty and like I wasn’t supposed to let all the girls approach me after our gig. 

“Hey there, sweet boy”, one of them purred, “How you doing, love?”, the other one said and “You did so amazing!”, I heard a third one while they really gave me a hard time to move forward, just trying to get to the bar behind Brian. Their hands were all over me and I was glad I didn’t wear something too showing or open, even, and it wasn’t that I didn’t like it, I just felt like it wasn’t fair. I wasn’t looking for anything they had to give me, instead I was trying to figure out which of them reminded me the most of Tiffany, really, and I knew that was just wrong. 

“Thanks, girls, but let me have a drink first, would you?”

Of course I ended up buying the three of them drinks and I hated to admit it, but it was kind of a given that I went outside “to smoke”, only to make out with one of them, finally letting go of the thought of Tiffany’s emerald green eyes. I didn’t enjoy the night at the girl’s place - as if the universe wanted to punish me, really, for drinking myself into a state where I didn’t only forget about the girl’s - or Tiffany’s - name but also about my own, to a state where I didn’t care about anything anymore, trying to find relieve in it. I couldn’t even remember the sex for the love of god, only assuming it was good, by how the girl was cuddled against me, how our clothes were all over the floor. But the mattress woke me up, squeaking and poking into my back, which didn’t make the pain in my head any better. I just stumbled to grab my clothes and left, unable to look back at the girl or respond when she called for me, only heading for the door. I didn’t know if it was the alcohol or the hole situation getting the best of me, but I didn’t make it really far without throwing up and horribly cursing myself. I’d done dumb things but they didn’t really compare to last night. 

Also, when I got home, there was light in the kitchen. It was an early morning and I knew, Tiffany was one to get up before sunrise but couldn’t that girl let herself get some rest once? She was reaching for the medicine cabinet, when I stepped into the kitchen, feeling her eyes on me and suddenly realising that I could easily be covered in my own vomit, if I was as unlucky as I felt that moment. 

“You need help?”, I asked nonetheless and the worry in her eyes got wilder as she heard my hoarse voice. 

“Where have you been?”

“I couldn’t tell you her name, even if I wanted to and I really shouldn’t have gone”, I tried to explain, unable to lie to her, or stand her quizzing look another second. “I feel sick, man, I had way too much scotch last night.” What would I do next, call her “mate”? This is really a great way to safe your ass out of this situation, seriously, keep going, Taylor, you’re doing great. 

“Makes two of us, though”, Tiffany murmured and stepped away, acknowledging that she was a bit too tiny to reach the pain killers. I reached up, to hand them to her, unable to look her way - mostly because I was really aware of the bad taste in my mouth and I didn’t want her to smell me in the end. 

“What’s wrong, love?”, I still asked, scared that she wasn’t alright. 

“I get sick after every exam period, really and here I am, coming down with a fever.”

“Then, hush, to bed!”, I said, grabbing her to make her move and tug her in, before I could escape into the bathroom. “I’ll make you tea and get you soup, you just stay there, you hear me?”, I rambled in the process of getting her into her bed. I started brushing my teeth, while I went into the kitchen to put some tea water to a boil and looked through the cabinets for soup, realising I’d have to pick some up at the store. That wasn’t half bad in the end, because it forced to make myself look somewhat decent and I could get new cigarettes, cheese and toast at the store too, so I could at least eat some terrible breakfast when I came back to find Tiffany asleep. 

I prepared the soup as it said on the pack and carefully carried it to her night stand, before I sat down next to Tiffany and softly ran my fingers over her face to make her wake up. Her skin was really clean and soft, but it felt hot to a point that I wished I knew a doctor, a better one than myself, for sure. 

“Wake up, sweet girl, you need to get your soup down, so you’ll get better.” She smiled at me weakly and tried to move to a sitting position, so she could cuddle against her bed’s headboard and slowly eat the soup I held for her. I watched her eat in silence while I sat next to her, my legs crossed on her mattress, realising I should turn her heater up for a start. The tea water had gotten cold while I was gone so I reheated it, to finally make the tea she needed and I looked at her in her bed critically, while she sipped it. “Tiffy, do you want me to get you more pillows?”, I asked because it was kind of impossible that I had more pillows than she did, right? She giggled at me and moved her head for me to come closer. 

“Rog, you’re acting like my mom - worse, actually, because she doesn’t consider you sick as long as your bones aren’t broken.”

“But -“

“I just need to rest, don’t worry”, she didn’t let me interrupt her. “You should go, so I don’t infect you.”

“I won’t leave you alone, unless that was your attempt to kick me out.”

“No, it wasn’t”, she explained and I felt relieved. She didn’t seem to be angry at me or the way I’d spent my night and that made me feel a little less sick. 

“Good, then��, I said and slipped under her covers. Her eyes were on me, looking a little shocked, otherwise just intensely focused on me, as I moved towards her to rest her head on one of my arms and spoon her. “You fine, love?”

“Yes, but you don’t have to -“

“But I want to”, I whispered into the back of her neck. 

“Thank you”, she murmured, shifting around a little to get the most comfortable.

“I was worried, when you didn’t come home.”

“I’m so sorry, Tiff”, I told her again, honestly. “I really shouldn’t have gone.”

“Glad you realised that”, she mumbled and it made me chuckle a little. Her breathing became slower and deeper when she feel asleep and I hummed one of the songs, the boys and I were working on, to fasten up the process, until I eventually fell asleep as well. 

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[monsterloveday]

Your grief is depressing me.

I have no idea how people will feel reading this, but ultimately I want to because  death is such a taboo subject - its avoided so much that I don't think we do ourselves any favours by avoiding it. After all, if you haven't already been through it, you will at some point. (You know what they say, you can never avoid death or taxes).

Although nothing will ever prepare you for it, I do believe we should give lee way for the people who do want to speak out on it, as it was from going through grief myself, I noticed how so many people tried to silence me due to their own fear / awkwardness / attitude towards it - this is not fair nor is it healthy. Its also a really shitty treatment towards grieving people. I feel that it is such a painful subject that we seem to fear the thought of it (and rightly so), but, I feel we do need to speak on it more - whether you have been through it or not.  This isn't to say that death should be spoken of all the time as that of course would be draining, but I do fear there are many ‘unwritten rules’ on this, one example being that you are ‘bringing people down’ or that people wont want to hear it or know what to say and you can understand that and appreciate that to a point.

But really, pretending death doesn't happen or locking those thoughts away probably don't help individuals when a loved one does actually pass away. I feel it is something us humans have to try and learn to be more open about, to not be afraid to bring it up, accept and perhaps educate ourselves on. When dad was having his last days (as horrendous as they were), I almost feel like I can say that the aftermath of death is actually worse (or maybe just as bad), that it is probably worse for the people who witness the death, over the person who is actually dying. People think that even with death ‘Time is a healer’, I even remember thinking to myself that at the year mark point, I would probably be so much better.

How naive I was. Grief has no expiry date. There is no ‘getting over it’. I feel just as bad now as I did then, and I wonder just how long this will be with me, I then fret that I will always carry this, as like I mention before, there is no ‘Light at the end of the tunnel’ with death. That person has gone, that theyre absence is so loud, it is a constant reminder, its massive, dark and noticable, and that the fact they have died will always, always, always be shit and nothing will change that. Im just telling it like it is.  Since then I look at the rest of my family, friends, and even my dog and worry about how bad it will be WHEN (not if) WHEN other loved ones die. That I have to do this again, and again, many more times. It makes me want to vomit. It makes me want to die first to avoid it. It makes me not like life at all. The world has become a very scary place now, how it snatches anyone it wants, and you are left to deal with that, and live a life knowing that that hangs over you all the time, yet you are expected to just ‘carry on’. At the time I remember seeing a gif of a monster hovering over a man walking up the stairs  - he knew it was there, lurking, waiting for the right moment, an extended version of waiting for the axe to fall. This is exactly how I felt. It. is. Awful. I remember being at dads side all day, at every minute looking at him and my heart pounding, checking if he was still breathing, wondering “is he dead?!”. Seeing my once strong dad now with all sorts of shit in his arms, his face, and everywhere else, not even able to open his eyes, the sounds of the machines trying to help him breathe - gah. Fuck that memory. And then going home to an empty house. My sister was with her other half, my brother his, my mum staying with dad (and rightly so). I had to walk past dads room, his belongings became SO noticeable, that even the sight of them scared me. How different this house was now. I was alone in a house that used to be my family home, now it was a house filled with horrors that reminded you of what was about to be taken away, how just a few weeks before he was in this house - not about to die. I remember wondering what I had done to deserve this, to watch my dad slowly die all day and night and have to come home alone. I wanted to be held. I wanted to be held so tight that it knocked me out. I kept all the lights on and I rang my friend who has also lost her dad and stayed on the phone to her until I fell asleep. I never forget friends like that. It was the worst. It was hell - but it wasn't a case of I was owed bad karma, its that life can be cruel, and it can be cruel to ANYONE. Not just me. And that ultimately - death is a part of life. When he died, after 10 long days of waiting for it to happen, I couldn't deal how people looked at me awkwardly, that I was the elephant in the room, that it is said that talking about things will help but yet when you try and open up peoples body language scream “I DONT KNOW WHAT TO SAY TO YOU”, the looks on their faces, the silence. Not only that most of the people around me hadn't lost anyone, so they didn't get it, but that my grief was actually making THEM feel awkward or that they didnt really want to speak to me. Some friends didn't even bother to contact me and said “ I didn't think you would want to come out”. It all added to my isolation. To this day I still don't talk to close friends or even my family about it, how death has taken such a massive characteristic from me - expression. Its taken so much of me. And people don't know what to say. That is not an attack or criticism, because its not a popular topic, and people avoid it like the plague. And rightly so, because its depressing. But this is why I wanted to write about it, I feel that if talking of death wasn't so taboo, It would help people for when they are actually going through it, or even in the smallest way, help them accept or prepare for an inevitable death, theres no ‘How To’ on death and for me personally, not having addressed death before - it really kicked my ass (and still is to this day) when it did arrive - after all, everyone goes through it at some point in their lives. Soon people see it as old news’ (especially after the funeral - how ghastly funerals are) and assume you must be ‘better’ now. It really doesn't work like that. Its ongoing. The heart specialist that saw dad through his last days told us himself that life is much harder after the funeral - this made me dread and dread and dread the funeral so much. But he was so right. Every day was so scary, dreadful and just black. It really does feel like you are in a out of body experience, that your mind just cant handle what is going on, so it shuts itself down and blocks things out whichever way it can, for some its denial, shock, its like your in a never ending nightmare and you just want to wake up. Soon after, my sister announced her pregnancy and I freaked.the.hell.out. I couldn't deal with all this massive change in my family in a tiny amount of time, what If I never see her now?, she will have her own family and we will be forgotten?!, that dad just missed it! what if what if what if?!!?. I ate and ate my way through these situations, I couldn't control or be disciplined at such a bad time in my life, the weight piled on and so did the depression - but this decision to eat has made things so much worse - but I still wouldn't have been able to do it any other way. I had a breakdown and that very morning took myself to the doctor. I couldn't deal and I wanted pills to take me out of this, at any cost. I wanted to be drugged at the highest level. Just take it away. Pills. They were not my friend. This in itself will be another blog as I want to stay focused on this topic. But in short, my health went to shit. My confidence was dropping and dropping and dropping. I stopped sculpting, I stopped art, I stopped ukulele, I stopped cooking. I stopped dating. I stopped singing, I stopped trying. My labido completely vanished. I didn't feel like a human anymore, I couldn't give love and I couldn't receive it. I was just a thing with skin. I didn't like boys, boys wouldn't like me - not at this weight and my belly. I hated how I looked, I hated my hair, I hated my whole appearance, I hated my now unfitting clothes, I hated how depressing clothes shopping had become, so I stopped. Everything I once took pleasure in, didn't please me anymore. Not even if I tried. I think I could have done the most amazing things and it still wouldn't budge this thing inside of me, taking over. I was turning into the worst version of me, a version of me I never knew existed. Mornings became a demon.  Im sure theres loads of you that relate to this and know what I mean by this. Id be in bed and suddenly my heart raced and it felt like that feeling you get when your about to do something that scares the shit our of you or makes you so nervous you need to puke, that the tiniest tasks became mountains - “Oh my actual god I have to get out of bed today and face people and do things”?!?!  I was so nervous and scared all the time and didn't know why.

I become so so tired having to work throughout the week, yet hated the weekends because of feeling unproductive or lonely. I felt so tired doing too much but felt like I had to be doing something as soon as I stopped, its like you are in a constant battle with yourself. My life went from grief, to anxiety and depression all in one hit. And I had to try and live with it every single day. Its so hard. And I still have to keep fighting through all this crap that life throws at me, Im still not at the ‘other side’ of all this and when I think I've had my dose of it, it gives me some more. But life does this to everyone and thats why I think its important to not be afraid of being open about feeling shit, because we can be there for each other. Yet we all seem to stay quiet and get annoyed when people express themselves if they are feeling sad, they are given the “you are so negative / moaning label - this isn't the case. I hate that people turn a blind eye because people express their negative emotions, really, what is wrong with that? I think ultimately I want to say to anyone that has lost someone, or is about to, or maybe people that just battle with their inner demons... Its annoying as hell but you have to fight back. And I know its so frustrating to have to fight for things that other people get so freely. Like - just being ok. Know that I am with you. I. Am. With. You. Know that this terror, too shall pass and you will get stronger. You will.

And you'll be surprised by how many people feel the way you do, but we just don't speak of it, so we think its unique to us - its not, we are a massive bunch of humans who suffer but not together!. I learned that life isn't always on my side and admitting that life is hard, we just have to get harder, and we do. I think sometimes we don't realise it though. You don't have to be fearless to be brave, being scared all the time is brave, because you have to force yourself through the fear all the time! I wont ever be the same person I was before my dad died, but maybe I need to stop trying to be, maybe its ok that I will always be a little bit broken. Death is so life changing for the people still remaining, so don't expect to stay the same person. And that is also OK. I would like to hope that at some time, life will be brighter for us once more, I think good and bad times pass by like waves, we cant have one without the other. What a beautiful cunt life is, ay? =p. One difference I have noticed in myself is how much more appreciative I am of small things. Just being with people, taking photos, hearing the birds sing, Knowing that life isn't forever, but its now, and now is all we have. So go get that tattoo, go on that trip you have always wanted too, tell that person how deeply in love with them you are, go and get your life and chase those goals, its scary, but its worth it. We wont be here forever! There is no “Im over it” now, as mentioned before, after losing someone, a gap is there that will never be filled.  But. Although it seems so very unlikely, you will feel love again You will laugh so hard again You will be able to think of that person and a smile come onto your face, instead of a tear and sometimes it will just be tears Sometimes you will miss them so much it hurts Sometimes you will feel lucky you had them in your life Sometimes you will feel cheated that they were taken away. There will be days where you can face things and days where you cant. You will never feel just one way, but you really do learn to live with it, and I promise you, although you will miss them so much - you're going to be OK. You become better at always being sad about it, and it will always be there, but it wont destroy you like it does in the early days / months / years. I was watching a film last night, about a man who died and was saying to his still alive wife beyond the grave, “I still exist”. This filled my heart will sheer comfort - the thought that death doesn't mean they are gone, that they really are still alive - just somewhere else. Dad please be up there, I really want to see your face again! and the hope that I could gives me me such a lift!. And maybe if we try to think, that maybe death isn't the worst thing, because hopefully our loved ones have gone somewhere BETTER! where they are the happiest they could ever be, no suffering, no pain and that they are having a ball up there! its like I've said, I think its worse for the people left behind and maybe if we start accepting that death happens, maybe we wont fight against it so much by knowing that death isn't the end! Im trying to hard to feel this way! Involve only good people in your life, be true to yourself, express yourself no matter how you feel and most importantly... They still exist. Jay

[gray-autumn-sky]

Sleepless in Seattle, Chapter 9

March 6, 1993- Seattle, Washington:

Belle carries a bologna and cheese sandwich that’s cut up in quarters over to Roland, grinning as he grins up at her to accept it.

“So, she begins, sitting down across from him. “Your dad said you were having a friend over today after school. Did something happen?”

“No,” Roland says easily as he bites into the sandwich. “I ride the bus, but Gus doesn't, so his mom had to pick him up like she always does and bring him over.”

“Oh—“

“He said he had to make a stop.”

“He did,” Belle says, her brow arching. “Not his mum?”

“Nope. Him.”

“Ah—“

Roland nods as he chews  the bread’s crust. “We have a project we need to work on and we needed paper.”

“I’m sure you have paper here. You’ve got a whole bin of construction paper and—“

“No,” Roland says, cutting in and shaking his head. “We need nice paper for this.”

“Oh. Okay then.”

Roland grins and nods, then takes a bigger bite of the danish. “It’s really important that we have nice paper.”

“Oh…” Belle shifts and straws in a breath. “So your dad has been seeing my friend, Emma.”

“Emma is your friend?”

“Yes, mine and Ruby’s.”

“Oh, I… I didn’t know that.”

“Your dad says you don't like her.”

Roland shrugs. “I don’t really know her.”

“That’s fair,” Belle says slowly. “I just… I just want you to understand that just because they go on dates sometimes, that… that doesn't mean he’s going to marry her.”

Roland’s brow furrows as he looks back at her. “Then, what's the point of dating her?”

“Well, to… get out and get back in the swing of things and…”

“I don’t have a problem with my dad dating.”

“So, it’s...just Emma you don’t like?”

“I just don't think she’s right for him.”

“That’s why people date. To find someone who is right for them, and that’s a decision that no one else can make for another person.”

Roland nods, considering it. “Then why did you and Aunt Ruby set him up with Emma?”

“Because he’s a really good guy and she's nice and… we thought they might be good together.”

“I like Regina better.”

“Who?”

“Regina,” he says, as if she should know. “The lady who wrote the letter on the pretty paper.” He grins. “She likes Hemingway just like dad does, she has a son who is in Boy Scouts and I’ll be in Boy Scouts next year, and she makes great lasagna, dad’s favorite.” Roland grins as he considers it, and then his grin fades away. “Emma makes Shepherd’s pie. It was not good.”

“Not everyone is gifted in the kitchen.”

“I know, that’s why dad needs someone who is.”

At that, Belle laughs. “So where is this Regina person from?”

“Connecticut.”

“Roland, that’s really far away. It’s all the way on the other side of the country.”

“I know where Connecticut is. I looked it up on the big map at school.” He pauses and takes another bite of the sandwich. “But Gus says a long distance relationship can be a good thing because abstinence makes the heart grow fonder.”

“Um, I think you mean absence, Roland.”

“Yeah. That. That’s what Gus said.”

Belle’s eyes narrow. “Gus as in the little boy that’s coming over to play?”

“To work on a project.”

“Oh, are you not friends with Gus that way?”

“He’s my best friend.”

“Oh, I just…” Belle stops. “Never mind.”

“Well, that may or may not be true, but who am I to argue with the sage advice of a six year old?”

“Gus is seven. He had a late birthday, so he could have been in second grade.”

A grin twists on to Belle’s lips. “That explains it then.”

“Yeah…”

The doorbell rings just as Roland is finishing his sandwich, and as soon as it does, he stuffs the rest of the sandwich into his mouth and runs to the door. And Belle can’t help but laugh as he pulls open the front door, grabs a hold of his friend’s wrist and drags him up the stairs without a word…

“You should see this letter,” Roland says, closing the door behind him.

“Is the paper nice? My mom says that’s how you know someone cares—when they send you something nice.” Gus nods with a serious expression on his round face. “It’s all about the effort, ya know.?”

Roland nods in agreement. “It’s very nice.”

“Then she really likes your dad.”

“Yeah,” Roland says, grabbing the letter from his night stand. “And she included so many of the things my dad likes, without even knowing it.”

“Wow.”

“I know,” Roland says handing his friend the letter. “Look.”

He watches as Gus looks at the envelope, examining it carefully as if looking for clues, then he unfolds the letter, his eyes slowly moving over the words. “You read this?”

“Well… not.. not all of it,” Roland admits. “Just the words I know. But I can tell it’s a really good letter.” He grins. “She quoted Hemingway, and one of the quotes she uses, my dad has a journal that says that same thing on the front.”

“Cool.”

“Right? She is a good cook, too.”

“My dad says that’s super important.”

“Her best meals are my dad’s favorite which is lasagna and then my favorite, apple pie.”

“That’s amazing,” Gus says, his eyes widening a little. “Why did your dad say?”

Roland frowns. “He didn’t read it.”

“Why not?”

“He’s got a girlfriend.”

“Does she make apple pie?”

“No, she makes Shepherd's pie.”

“Ew.”

Roland nods. “It had peas in it.”

“Gross. She’s gotta go.”

“Yeah,” Roland frowns. “She’s… not that bad, really. She rollerblades, I guess.”

“Has she taken you?”

“No.”

“Oh. Then what good is that?”

“I don't know,” Roland admits, “Maybe she will someday.”

“But maybe your Dad’ll dump her before that.”

“I hope so,” Roland says, a little grin pulling onto his lip. “That’s why I invited you over, actually.”

“Need me to throw a fire and scare her of? My dad says I’m ‘specially skilled at making people wanna leave when I get upset about stuff.” He giggles. “Have you ever seen Parent Trap?”

“No. “What’s that?”

“Only the best movie ever. Twins scare off their dad’s terrible girlfriend.”

“Well, I’m not a twin, so I don’t think that would work,” Roland says, considering it as he shifts a bit uncomfortably. “Plus, not actually terrible. I don’t want to scare her,” he says. “I just want her to break up with my dad ‘cause there’s someone better for him.”

“That’s the point,” Gus says. “To make Emma go away.”

“I have a better idea, though,” Roland says, sitting up a little straighter and smiling at his own cleverness. “We are going to write her.”

“Her—“

“Regina,” Roland says. “We are going to write back to her.”

“We’re in first grade, Roland.”

“But we’re the best writers in our class. Our teacher is always saying that.”

Gus nods. “That’s true.”

“So, together, I think we could probably write a pretty good one.”

For a moment, Gus considers it. “We did get an A on that Halloween story was wrote together.”

“Exactly.” Taking a breath, Gus looks down at the letter. “I have some ideas. I started yesterday.”

“Let’s see.”

Reaching back into the nightstand, Roland pulls a lined piece of paper from the drawer. “It’s, just a draft, obviously.” He says, handing the paper over to Gus, watching as Gus reads it to himself then clears his throat to read aloud.

“Dear Regina,” he begins.”You sound really neat—“ Gus grins up at him. “That's a good line.”

“I thought so,” Roland beams.

“You should tell her how much you like lasagna next.”

“Yeah! And why!”

“Good,” Gus nods, looking down at the rest of the letter. “That's good. She is going to love this!”

_____

March 6, 1993- Greenwich, Connecticut:

That evening she and Daniel went out on a date—dinner while Henry was at a friend’s working on a project for school. Daniel suggested the little place in Hartford where they’d gone on their first date, and she’d easily agreed—Henry didn't have to be picked up until nearly eight that evening and it’d have nice to eat in a restaurant that didn’t have children’s section on the menu.

They took her car and when they got into the freeway, Daniel flicked on the radio, and almost immediately her cheeks flushed at the sound of Doctor Hopper’s voice.

“Isn’t this that show you like so much?”

Regina shrugs. “I’m, um… I’m actually doing a story for work on this show.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, it’s... it’s about its emotional appeal.”

“Ohh, that's… that’s actually really interesting. I’d like to hear about it sometime,” Daniel tells her, offering a quick little grin. “When did you start this?”

“Um, a couple of weeks ago.”

“Is it—“

“Can we… not talk about it right now? I’ve spent the whole day thinking about the angle I wasn’t to take for this story and what my argument is going to be, and I just… I just want to focus on something else.”

“Yeah, sure,” Daniel says easily, not seeming to pick up any any of her discomfort over this particular topic. “Do you want to change the station?”

“No,” she murmurs. “I do like this show. It’s… it’s oddly calming.”

“Alright then,” Daniel says, grinning as he looks over at her. “We’ll listen, but not discuss.”

“Perfect,” she says, grinning back.

Daniel tuns up the sound just as Doctor Hopper comes back informing listeners  that he’s talking to couples who are sure they’ve found the key to a long-lasting and healthy marriage. And then, they listen to a string of callers explain to Doctor Hopper and his listeners how they married someone they felt was their best friend.

When they arrive at the restaurant, the host leads them to the same table they’d ate at on their first date and she and Daniel had both laugh at the coincidence—and then something glitters in Daniel’s eyes.

And again, she found herself with an uneasy feeling that has become commonplace whenever she thinks he might be considering a proposal.

They get through an appetizer and dinner—and then, after their desert arrives, she watches Daniel reach into the breast pocket of his jacket and pull out a ring box.

She masks her discomfort with surprise and suddenly when the box opens, revealing to her a gorgeous antique ring that he tells her was his mother’s, the entire restaurant is staring that them.

She’s not even sure what he says when he asks because she can’t hear him over the beating of her heart and the voice in her head that tells her this is too soon—but he smiles and the crowded restaurant aww’s and she finds herself nodding, reminding herself that Daniel is, by far, the sweetest, kindest man she’s ever met, that he loves her son and that he loves her, and she reminds herself that she would be a complete fool not to want to marry him.

And as she stares at him with a hundred conflicting thoughts going through her head, she couldn’t help but think there were far worse things than marrying a man like Daniel Colter; and while she and Daniel might not have had passion, but perhaps they had something better.

She comfort and ease, understanding and trust and the sort of love that came from what seemed to be rekindled friendship.

So, she says yes.

The restaurant claps and Daniel pulls her into a warm hug—and she sort of melts into him as she feels a burst of contentment that lasts for the rest of the evening.

And then, she gets home.

Mal is there, curled up one he armchair with a glass of wine, her brow arched skeptically.

“Thank you, for, um,... for picking Henry up.”

“He’s never any trouble.”

Regina smiles. “Is he already asleep.”

“Yeah, He went to bed about a half an hour ago. You just—“ Mal stops and sits up a little straighter as her eyes fall to Regina’s hand. “Oh, so that’s why you were detained.”

Smiling Regina nods. “We… um… we had some unexpected celebrating to do.”

“I’ll say, Mal says, getting up and cross the room toward her. “He finally did it.”

“He finally did.”

“And, you obviously said yes.”

I did,” Regina says smiling a bit shyly. “I… wasn’t sure, but then there he was with the ring and—“

“Regina—“

“I love him. I do. And what we have might not be perfect, but it’s incredible and I’m happy and I’ve never been as happy as I am with him.”

“What about Sleepless in Seattle?”

“Sleepless in Seattle doesn't even know that I exist.”

Mal nods, biting down on her lip. “What happened to not being able to get him out of your head?”

“He’s a fantasy Mal. He’s not real… not… not to me anyway.” She shakes her head. “And Daniel is very real and when I’m with him I feel—“

“Magic?”

“Mal—“

“Please don’t do this, Mal,” Regina says, pressing her eyes closed as she sighs. “Please just let me have this.”

“What about your story?”

“What’s about it? Regina asks, stepping away from Mal. “I can still write it.”

“Really? Because I got the impression the story was an excuse.”

“The story isn’t an excuse. It’s… it’s just something I’m interested in.” She shakes her head. “I… I think I was going down a really unhealthy road, and… and tonight sort of… snapped me back and put me down a different path.”

“A better one?”

“A healthier one. One that’s based on something real, not… not some obsession.” Something about that makes Mal soften. “For so long I was so unhappy, and I spent years building up this idea of what love is supposed to be.”

“You deserve a fairytale.”

“Fairytales aren't real, Mal. They’re not and what I have with Daniel is very real.”

“Do you love him?”

“Yes, of course I do.”

“Are you in love with him?”

“I love him, Mal, and when I envision what our life together would be like, I really like what I see.” She smiles gently. “We’ll be happy.”

“You don’t seem excited.”

“I am, and for the first time in my life, I feel like… like I’m finally in a good place. Please, Just… let me have that.”

Mal sighs and nods,m and then a warm smile pulls onto her lips. “Okay, fine,” Mal says, take a few steps in and pulling her into a hug. “If you're happy, then I’m happy.”

“Thank you,” Regina murmurs as Mal pulls back.

“Okay, so I want you to tell me everything, Mal says, her smile brightening as she takes Regina by the hand. “Don’t leave anything out!”

[redgillan]

Breaking the Rules - part 4

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary:  Modern!AU You hate James Barnes with a burning passion and the feeling is entirely mutual. Just when you think things can’t get any worse, you are tricked into attending his sister’s wedding as his girlfriend. Stuck with a bunch of strangers, you come up with a set of rules that are not going to last long.

Word Count:1,835

Warnings: the usual more or less

A/N: Fluff! I hope you guys enjoy this chapter :)

Breaking the Rules - Masterpage

You closed the bedroom door behind you, your eyes roaming the room for your bag. Once you saw it, you made a beeline for the small walk-in wardrobe near the window and squatted down. You fished down at the bottom of your bag and pulled out Bucky’s book. Skimming through the pages, you found the page where he mentioned Dot.

I met Dot in high school. We broke up six years ago.

“Okay, not helpful,” you mumbled to yourself.

Huffing out a frustrated breath, you put the book back in your bag when voices caught your attention. The window was slightly open and you could hear Bucky and Henry talking in the garden. When you heard your name, you tried to peek through the window.

As you did, you noticed a telescope mounted on a tripod in the corner of the room. You briefly wondered if he ever used it to spy on his neighbours. You dragged it to the window and aimed the telescope at Bucky.

It took you a moment to adjust the focus to your eyesight, but it was worth the wait. You had a great view of Bucky’s muscular back. Sweat glistened on his sun-kissed skin and you audibly gasped. You knew what you were doing was wrong, but you were unable to look away.

You nearly screamed when your phone vibrated in your back pocket. You dug it out of your pocket and looked at the caller ID before you put it to your ear.

“You scared the crap outta me,” you told her in a hushed whisper.

“Why?”

“Never mind. How are you?”

“I’m okay. How are things between you and Bucky?”

“Um, okay, I guess. We’ve argued, but we haven’t yelled at each other,” you replied while shamelessly gawking at Bucky’s clenching abs.

You paid no attention to Natasha as she went on with her stories. At first, you made some humming noises over the phone, pretending to listen, but after a while you stopped. Bucky, with his broad shoulders and strong thighs, was a sight to behold.

Natasha’s worried voice pulled you out of your thoughts.

“What?” you asked, frustration lacing your voice.

“Why are you breathing so hard?”

“I wasn’t,” you quickly moved away from the telescope as if someone had caught you staring at Bucky.

“Yes, you were. What are you doing?”

“Nothing!”

You tried to keep your cool, but Natasha was a human lie detector. You sat at Bucky’s desk and tried to change the subject because Natasha wasn't going to let the subject drop, as least not until she'd got an answer.

“Do you want to hear something weird? Bucky’s a nerd,” you said, without waiting for her response. “There’s a star chart hung above his bed. A star chart, Nat!”

You smiled as you spun around in the swivel chair. Bucky’s history books were lined up on a shelf above the desk and his board games were collecting dust on top of the dresser.

“You call him by his first name? That’s new.”

“It’s easier. I’m not going to call him Barnes in front of everyone.”

“Huh-uh,” she replied, not convinced. You didn’t want to keep talking about Bucky, you didn’t even want to think about him.

“Anyway, I gotta go, bye!” You hurriedly ended the call.

You didn’t like her tone. Yes, you called Bucky by his first name, but that didn’t mean you suddenly liked him. That didn’t mean anything. Yes, you had observed him from his bedroom window, but you were not checking him out.

Okay, maybe a little.

You threw yourself face down on the bed and groaned. What was going on? Why did you feel so warm and fuzzy inside? You were getting sick, yeah, that was the only rational explanation. You had a stomach bug.

“Why are you groaning?”

Bucky’s voice startled you and you ended up rolling out of bed. You landed on the floor with a loud thump and whined softly. Bucky rushed to your side and snickered when he saw that you were not hurt.

“I’m gonna take a shower,” he said, squatting down next to you. “My dad ordered pizza, try to save me a slice or two.”

He reached down and wrapped his arm around your waist as he helped you to your feet. You mumbled a quiet ‘thank you’ and you both pulled away. You stared at each other in uncomfortable silence until you left the room.

When he came downstairs after his shower, Bucky searched through the pizza boxes, but they were completely empty. Laughter filled his ears and his body tensed when he recognized your laugh.

A strange tingly sensation took root in his belly. It wasn’t a fake laugh, it was a full-out belly laugh. He knew it because he often heard you laughing with Natasha in the kitchen.

You were having fun with his parents and sisters. It surprised him a little, but not as much as the flutter in his chest. Dot never got along with his family and every time she laughed it felt forced, fake.

“Is that Bucky?”

His brows furrowed when he heard you choke back a laugh. He turned around and saw everyone gathered around the sofas. Mary was munching on a slice of pizza, laughing heartily as Becca passed her a photo album.

His eyes widened in horror and he rushed toward his mother, who was sitting beside you.

“I think he was seven. He still took his teddy bear with him everywhere he went,” Winnie answered your question, then turned to her youngest. “Don’t touch the photos with your dirty fingers!”

“Oh, look! The science fair!” Lizzie gave you a picture of a thirteen-year old Bucky holding a blue ribbon with a proud smile.

He was really cute, a little chubbier with slightly crooked teeth and long, dangly limbs. He smiled in every picture; when he won the fifth grade spelling bee, when he stood next to a much smaller Steve, when he took whom you could only assume was Dot to prom –her face had been neatly cut out of the photo.

“What the hell are you doing?” He snatched the album from your hands.

“Taking a walk down memory lane,” Becca replied. “Cheer up, it was mom’s idea. She did it to Henry the first time I brought him here. It’s cute.”

“It’s embarrassing!” Bucky complained.

You awed at loud when Mary handed you a picture of a three-year old Bucky striking a pose, butt naked. Bucky’s neck and ears turned a dark reddish colour. He complained to his mother, but she was having the time of her life.

“Here,” you said, handing him a plate with three slices of pizza you had kept for him. “Eat something.”

He took the plate and stared at you with a disbelieving look. You rolled your eyes, a smile tugging at your lips as you turned your attention to his sisters. Grinning, he stuffed a slice of pizza in his mouth and let out a content groan.

“Woah, guys! Look!” Mary turned a photo toward the crowd. “I got Bucky’s first full-frontal picture!”

He nearly spat out his mouthful and threw himself towards her, trying to snatch the photo from her hand. Lizzie cheered for her sister while you doubled over with peals of laughter.

“I was a child!” Bucky shouted. “Mom! Make them stop!”

His sisters repeated his words in a funny, whiny voice. He finally took the photo and pressed it against his chest. He straightened himself, his chest rising and falling with gasping breaths.

“You all suck!” he said before he bolted out of the room.

Later, when his father went to bed and everyone had calmed down, you were worried that you had angered him. No one knew where he was, but they didn’t seem worried. Winnie guessed he was sulking somewhere.

You found him outside, sitting on the porch swing. He quickly hid his hand, then relaxed when he saw you. You walked over and took a seat beside him.

“I didn’t know you smoked.”

“Don’t tell my mom,” he panicked.

You rolled your eyes. “We’re not children, Bucky. I’m not going to say anything.”

“Thanks.” He took a long, slow drag on his cigarette.

You would never admit it, not even under torture, but it made him look good. The way his long, slender fingers held the cigarette. The way the planes of his jaw and cheekbones seemed sharp enough to cut through skin.

“I quit three years ago. I found these in an old hiding place, they’re stale, but...” He finished with a casual shrug.

“It’s bad for you.”

“Thanks, doctor, you’re very wise.”

That made you laugh and he seemed a little surprised. “You’re dumb,” you replied, a smile on your lips.

He looked at you for a moment and you pretended not to notice the way his eyes were lingering. “Yes, I am.”

He put out his cigarette and an awkward silence settled between you. Bucky pushed his feet against the wooden porch floor, moving the swing slowly.

“I’ll do my best tomorrow,” you broke the silence. “Your sisters told me what Dot did to you.”

Bucky sighed, annoyed.

“They meant well,” you cut him off before he could say anything. “And you literally wrote nothing about Dot in your book. You did, however, wrote five pages about pizza.”

“What can I say? I love pizza.”

“Dork.”

There was another beat of silence, not that awkward this time.

“Thank you,” Bucky said. He sounded a bit weird, as if he was trying to sound sincere, but didn’t know how to do it without embarrassing himself. “I know you had better things to do this weekend and being stuck with me is a nightmare, but I appreciate what you’re doing.”

“Natasha kinda forced me, but I’m having fun. It’s nice to get out of the city. I haven’t seen a tree in a while,” you joked, then softened your voice. “It’s going to be okay. We can do this.”

You held out your closed fist and waited for Bucky’s bigger one to bump it. He did it and shook his head at your antics.

“Okay, I’m gonna go to bed. I need my beauty sleep.”

You glared at him when he opened his mouth, most likely to throw another clever comeback at you. You gave a satisfied nod when he pretended to zip his mouth shut.

“You coming?”

“Not yet.”

You twisted your mouth into a small pout. “I thought I had managed to cheer you up.”

“I’m okay,” he assured you. “It’s just... I don’t want to run into my mom, I smell like smoke.”

You laughed. “Good luck, then.”

You were fast asleep when Bucky returned to his bedroom. He lay down on his sleeping bag and tried to get some sleep. He couldn’t, he was twitchy. All night long his mind had raced with a flood of memories of his relationship with Dot.

He wasn’t ready.

Part 5

[sorrybutnotashamed]

I wrote another little thing.

I just want to ensure you understand that all I’m looking for is hugging. Cas typed, hesitated, typed. This is strictly platonic. Clicked send.

While he waited for a reply, he took another expensive sip of wine. He was doing his best not to chug the glass, but this conversation required liquid courage.

 Yeah, buddy, I hear you. You cuddle, then you help me with my Accounting class. We have a deal?

A huge gulp of wine preceded his reply text. Yes, we have a deal. I’ll see you tomorrow at 6. I’ll text you my address.

* * *

His little rented house was always pretty tidy, but Cas still ran the vacuum and wiped down the coffee table with Lysol before his cuddle buddy’s arrival. He was drying his hands on a dishtowel when someone knocked firmly on the door.

Cas slung a mask on his face and swung the door open. “Hi, I’m –“ His brain stuttered to a stop. The man on his porch was extremely well-built with light brown hair and crinkles around his striking green eyes. Undoubtedly his grey-and-black mask covered a smile. Dammit. Charlie hadn’t said anything about his looks. But then again, why would she? She probably never noticed.

“Cas, right?” His voice was muffled by the mask, but it was pleasantly deep.

Cas blinked and rebooted. “Yes, I’m Cas. You’re Dean? Please come in.”

Dean stepped through the doorway, dropping a messenger bag off his shoulder and toeing off his boots. “All right, cuddle first or study first?” He rubbed his hands together and moved into the living room, taking in the second-hand couch and the view from the patio doors into the small backyard.

Cas quickly turned to shut the front door. Get a grip, Castiel. Oxytocin. Remember the oxytocin. “I’d prefer to cuddle first, if you don’t have a preference,” he said. Dean quirked his eyebrow as Cas used air quotes around “cuddle”.

“Um, sure, buddy. Whatever floats your boat. Here on the couch, I guess?” He swung his arms back and forth, like he was stretching for a workout. Cas emphatically did not eye the strip of taut abdomen revealed as Dean’s t-shirt rode up. This is platonic hugging. It doesn’t matter how good looking he is.

Brow furrowed, Cas stepped hesitantly around the couch to face Dean. “I thought we’d do it standing up?”

Dean ducked his head, and looked up at Cas through his lashes, his eyes twinkling. “You wanna do it standing up?”

“Hugging!” Cas blurted, flustered. “Hugging is usually done standing up!”

Dean’s mask clearly hid a grin, but he spread his arms wide. “It’s your party. Bring it on in, man.”

Firming his shoulders, looking anywhere but at Dean’s face, Cas stepped into Dean’s orbit. Immediately Dean’s arms tightened around him, drawing Cas’s head in to his shoulder as his hands splayed across his back. “There we go, that’s not too bad.” Cas felt the rumble of Dean’s words through his chest and shivered.

He didn’t feel calm at all. His breath sped up and he felt uncomfortable in his clothes. Maybe hugging a stranger was worse than hugging nobody. There’s no way he’d be able to relax enough to get the good vibes flowing. Or maybe you’re not giving it a chance, his brain supplied helpfully. Hesitantly, he wrapped his arms around Dean’s waist and leaned against him. Dean had an inch or two on him; they slotted together like puzzle pieces, hip to shoulder.

A few minutes passed, the two men standing awkwardly together in the middle of the room. Dean said nothing, and Cas wasn’t sure what to say. This was a bad idea. A dumb idea. Did I remember to put on deodorant? Cas’s shoulders stayed ramrod straight and he did his best not to breathe damply on Dean’s neck, which was hard to do, with the way Dean had pressed his face into his shoulder.

Another minute passed in silence. Dean shifted his weight slightly. “Um, Cas? Is this working the way you want?”

“Yes, exactly as I pictured it,” Cas lied. He moved his hands hesitantly up Dean’s back to grasp his shoulders. He tried valiantly to relax into the hug, while Dean shifted his weight again.

“Could we, ah, talk? As we … hug?”

“Yes, of course. Just not about politics, or school, or –“

Dean huffed a laugh. “I get it. Nothing stressful. Right.” One of his hands rubbed soothing circles into Cas’ back. If possible, Cas tensed even further. Dean sighed. “Why don’t you tell me why we’re huggin’?”  The soothing circles continued.

Clearing his throat, Cas shifted his weight back onto his heels. “The pandemic has been here for a year. I find myself stressed out most days. My schedule only allows for so many runs per week and I’m already eating very healthily. My rental agreement doesn’t allow for a pet,” Cas recited. “Touching another human releases oxytocin, which reduces stress.”

Dean hummed, his hands moving to knead along Cas’ spine. “Don’t you have someone local that you’re close to? Family? A girlfriend? A boyfriend?”

“No, my family’s out West. I’m finishing my fourth year of a demanding program. I tutor students over Zoom and I live alone. My social bubble is very small. Charlie said your bubble is small, as well.” His shoulders relaxed infinitesimally as Dean’s hands continued to rove over his back. Talking distracted him from the weirdness of the situation, and let him enjoy the feeling of touch again.

Dean cleared his throat and swept his hands down Cas’ sides. “Yeah, I was working at Rocky’s before the pandemic but they aren’t open now. Who woulda thought I’d miss checking freshman IDs, right? Or cleaning up a pukey bathroom?”

Huffing a laugh, Cas rested his head more comfortably on Dean’s shoulder. Even through the mask, he could smell Dean’s cologne, and he was positive it would permeate his own clothing. Dean’s presence would linger long after the man himself had left.

“So no special someone?” Dean asked. His hands continued to move, smoothing subtle patterns into Cas’ back and sides.

Cas shook his head. “No. The man I was seeing was doing a term in Scotland, and he decided to stay when the pandemic hit. Long distance didn’t work for us.”

He realized how much of his weight he was resting on Dean when Dean shifted his feet yet again.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to –“

“No, Cas, it’s fine, that’s why I’m here, right? Lean on in.”

“Um, this is probably enough, it’s, we – we can move on to your homework if you want.” Cas stepped back reluctantly.

“We’ve only been standing here for like fifteen minutes, Cas, and I’m going to take up way more than that with my Accounting questions. I’m fine. It’s fine.” Dean hauled him back in, tightening his arms and shifting his feet on the carpet.

“What if we sit down?” Cas asked hesitantly, fully aware that Dean had suggested that in the first place. His traitorous arms just weren’t ready to let go of the first person he’d touched in months.

“Sure, no problem. Let’s do this.” Dean’s voice lacked judgement, and when Cas glanced into his eyes, expecting to see I-told-you-so humour, he saw nothing but kindness.

Within moments, the couch springs squeaked angrily as Dean sat down and hauled Cas onto his lap. Cas also squeaked, flailing his arms and trying to move off Dean. Dean grabbed his arms and pulled him against his broad chest. He trapped one arm between their bodies and grasped Cas’ free wrist in his left hand. The right resumed it’s meandering path over Cas’ spine.

“There we go. Relax. I figure an hour for an hour, okay? Fair’s fair,” Dean’s voice brooked no argument.

“This isn’t exactly what I had in mind,” Cas squirmed on Dean’s lap.

“Human touch, you said. Oxy-something? This is the best way for you to get as much touch as possible unless you wanna get horizontal.”

Cas immediately stopped squirming. “No, this is good. This is fine.”

Dean settled back into the couch, stroking from Cas’ nape to his waist. “Do you have an Alexa or something?”

“Yes, over on the table,” Cas responded. “Music?”

“Yeah, music.”

“Alexa, play my favourites list.”

“Playing your favourites list on Spotify.”

A soothing jazz instrumental bled into the living room, making the silence between the two men less awkward. Cas drifted slightly, the gentle motion of Dean’s hand on his back lulling him into a stupor. He jerked slightly when Dean’s fingers splayed across his scalp.

“This ok?” Dean rumbled. He’d dropped his own head to rest against Cas’ crown, but his fingers stilled, awaiting Cas’ response.

“Yeah… yes, that’s fine. It’s quite relaxing. There are –“ Cas swallowed a groan of pleasure behind his mask as Dean’s fingers kneaded his scalp – “there are special sensory neurons at the base of our hair follicles.”

“That so? I thought you were an Accounting major, not Pre-Med.”

“My mother’s a doctor,” Cas slurred. “Dermatology. Skin’s the biggest organ, blah blah,” he muttered. He closed his eyes and splayed his legs out along the length of the couch, settling in more closely against Dean’s chest.

Dean snorted a laugh. “Right. Blah blah.” He squeezed Cas’s thigh and sighed lightly. His other hand slipped almost lazily through Cas’s pandemically-long hair.

It could’ve been minutes or it could’ve been hours later when Cas jerked awake, head still pillowed on Dean’s shoulder.

“Good evening, Sunshine.”

Cas froze, dread filling him. “Oh God, Dean, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep.” He reflexively tried to wipe his mouth, running into his mask. At least he hadn’t drooled on that broad shoulder.

“It’s okay. I guess you really needed some human touch. I don’t mind, but I think my ass is numb and I have to pee.”

Cas blushed furiously and scrambled off Dean’s lap. “Of course, I’m so sorry. The bathroom is just around the corner.”

Dean groaned as he stood, stretching his arms to the ceiling. Various parts of his back cracked and popped. “Be right back.”

Cas ripped off his mask and chugged a glass of water in the kitchen. His hands shook slightly, anxiety pounding his chest. He put his mask back on and dropped his head, leaning against the counter and taking deep breaths.

“Hey, whoa, what’s going on? You okay?” Dean walked right up to him and crowded into his personal space, stroking down Cas’ arms.

“I have Anxiety. I guess that’s probably not a big surprise. I’m sorry I fell asleep on you, that really was not my intent. I don’t even know what time it is, I’m so sorry.” Cas’ hands shook slightly as he gripped the counter.

“Cas, buddy, it’s fine. I fell asleep a bit, too. And I could’ve woken you up. I guess maybe touch therapy worked both ways today, huh?” Dean bent down, trying to catch Cas’ eyes with his own.

Blue met green, and Cas took in another deep breath through damp cotton. “I’m sorry, my Anxiety is acting up more lately, with the lockdowns.”

“It’s fine. No need to apologize for being you. As long as you’re fine. Do you need another hug?” Dean opened his arms and wiggled his eyebrows encouragingly.

Feeling sheepish, Cas closed the distance and hugged Dean back. It did make him feel better, but he stepped back a few moments later.

“Should we get to your homework? What do you need to work on?” He turned towards his dining room table, where he had his own textbooks spread out.

“Nah, Cas. It’s late, I’m gonna head home.” Dean headed for the front door a few steps away.

“It’s what?” Cas looked at the clock, and Dean was right, it was almost ten o’clock. He’d slept, snuggled on Dean’s chest, for three hours!

“I can feel you freaking out from here, Cas. I told you I didn’t mind.” Dean finished lacing his boots and threw his bag over his shoulder. Sure enough, his green eyes were crinkled when he glanced at Cas.

“Next time, we’ll start with the homework though, and then the cuddling, okay? And maybe we’ll get a pizza.”

Cas’ eyes widened. “Next time? You’ll come back?”

Dean laughed. “Yeah, buddy. Cuddles for tutoring, that’s what we agreed. Let’s just consider this one a freebie. I’ll see you around, Cas.” He saluted with two fingers, and closed the door quietly behind himself.

“’til next time,” Cas said softly to an empty room that did, indeed, still smell like Dean.

Chapter 2 is posted on AO3.

[tales-from-exo-planet]

EDINBURGH || PATHCODES VOL. II

ACT I. - “Spookxhibit” 

Length - 2,131 

Mood - Apprehensive 

Pairing - Sehun x Reader 

“Tell me honestly (just as it’s in your heart,) coffee bitter than sweet candy (that’s what I want) things that are pleasant to hear (that’s only fleeting) I need honesty that will wake me up I need you” 

“Whiplash” by NCT127-  

-------------------------- 

October 

 For the past couple of weeks you’d been having your worst bout of fights. 

 Not weeks...months. 

 Yo-yoing between patching things up before tearing things at the messy seams once again. 

 At first it wasn't anything consequential But at this point it had blown out of proportion. 

 Each little thing built up until the foundation of your true grievance and worry had teeth. 

 And began to nibble away at what had once seemed so secure. 

 Suddenly you were snapping at each other about forgetting to feed Vivi and Rena. 

 For forgetting to pick them up from the sitter. 

 For not being available for each other outside of Pathcodes business. 

 For not having dinner together. For staying out in the living room instead of coming to bed like you said you would two hours ago. 

 “Bubby...you said that two hours ago...I have to head in earlier tomorrow. I said that I was sorry for missing dinner tonight. I wanted to get here as fast as I can...but I’m here now bubby. I want to sleep. Let’s sleep now...please,” a full unadulterated whine in his bedroom voice. 

You could hear his drowsy irritation. 

 How can you sleep? 

 And you were grumbling back, “I need space to think Sehun. I can't sleep right now. I can't,” as you scrolled through your list of to-do’s to avoid thinking about what you wanted to say but couldn’t say, and what you needed to do but couldn’t. 

 “Then you could tell me what's bothering you. I'm right here ______. You're always asking me where I am and what I'm doing now as if you suspect me of cheating on you. Where is this coming from?!” He demanded, his voice cracking as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes and shuffled closer to where you sat on your couch, curled around your phone. 

 “I don't suspect you of cheating on me...but I am worried about what else you're doing…” 

 “And what could that possibly mean? Why are you being so cryptic?! Talk to me_____!” 

 “I can't be around you right now ok….I’m not comfortable being around you. I need space…” 

 “Why do you need space? I don't understand what that means…” he frowned as he shuffled closer to you. 

 But you stood from your couch and moved to the door and just as he caught your hand you snatched yourself from his grasp. 

 “But why is it that when I ask you where you are...you don't tell me. You ask me to pick up Vivi and Rena from the sitter after I’m done with my class but then I come to find out that you're in town but you won’t tell me where you're going… don't ever pretend to be someone or somewhere that you aren't...don't you ever lie to me…” you glared at him. 

 “I never lied to you…” he whispered, his eyes shifting from your gaze as he stood before you. 

 “But omitting the truth and hiding it is just as bad…” you said, pushing past him to head to bed. 

 “Should I even stay here with you tonight?” He asked from behind you as you gathered an extra pillow and blanket from your bedroom. 

 “It's too late for you to go back to your place. I'll sleep on my couch. Good night,” you attempted to settle down on your couch but he stopped you, gently pulling you up. 

 “Sehun stop,” you said pushing him away but he moved to hold you. 

 “Stop!!” You said louder and he backed off. 

 “What did I do?!” He asked, terror in his worried almond brown eyes and his voice. 

 His hands were shaking as were your knees.

“Sehun please give me some space...I don't feel good…” you said but he tried again to hold you, to pull you into his chest as he always did when you weren't feeling well. 

 “Sehun. Stop,” you began to cry pushing weakly against his chest and he reluctantly let you go. 

 “I don't know what I did...and whatever I did I'm sorry but I don't think it's fair to not know how I've hurt you. You can't be angry at me and not tell me why...that isn't right..” 

 “I don't even know if I can trust you to tell me the truth...I'm afraid you would tell me what I want to hear instead of telling me the truth…” 

 “The least you could do is trust me….I would never hurt you bubby. Never…” he cried taking stuttering steps away from you and hurrying into your bedroom to pick up Vivi. 

 Vivi whimpered and whined at being woken so early but Sehun hurtled out the door nonetheless. 

 “I don't know what I did…” he said in his voice message once he made it home. 

“But I'll give you space...and I hope we can make this right between us.” 

 That deafening space pressed your mouth closed, and fouled the air around you distorting your sense of sight and smell. 

 You couldn't eat. 

 But you found relief in dreamless sleep. 

 Until you woke and found the bed still empty. 

—————————————- 

 Sehun stayed busy as did you. 

 He was in and out of town for shoots but he kept in touch. 

 He'd send you a photo, and as if as part of a jigsaw puzzle, a portion of him would be removed and a piece of the scenery around him would be there. 

 In true Sehun fashion there was always a caption, a quote, the time of day, the name of a restaurant nearby or the landmark he was at. 

 And you found yourself putting together a little collage of him out of what he sent to you. 

 Was this how he wanted you to see him? 

 Or was he once again trying to show you who he truly was and asking you to believe him? 

 To trust him? 

 But what could you trust? 

 You trusted yourself. 

 You trusted your gut instinct. 

 You trusted your camera, your editing equipment, your sister, your parents, Rena…. 

 And you trusted Sehun. 

But you also believed that that video wasn't doctored. 

 You knew good and well that there was a possibility that someone was trying to blackmail Sehun and destroy the trajectory of the Pathcodes.

   _____________ (Minseok’s VP/Berlin Reader) had warned you of that and it almost reminded you of a movie. 

 How ridiculous. 

 And it angered you that a 45 second video could put a 45 degree chill on what had been a budding relationship of hope and real…love? 

 It was infuriating that it silenced you. 

 It robbed you of the joy you had felt just hearing his name. 

It immobilized you. 

Until you couldn't bear it any longer. 

 —————————————- 

Two weeks prior 

 “So have we not secured the venue?”_____ (Lyon Reader) asked, cocking an eyebrow up at you once you arrived on the scene of the projected Spookxhibit, the National Library of Scotland. 

 She had flown in especially when you kept apologizing through text and avoiding her phone calls about deadlines for Spookxhibit, your and Sehun’s extension of the Pathcodes that was still not as solid as you initially desired. 

You knew it was out of concern and to prevent _______ (Minseok’s VP/Berlin Reader) from resorting to flying in herself instead of calling, emailing, and texting you. 

 You were embarrassed that she was here in the cold waiting when you knew she wanted to go back home. 

 Poor Yun Hee. 

 Poor Baekhyun. 

 She had stood waiting for you at the locked doors that were supposed to be open upon your arrival, and wherein should have been waiting…. 

 You let out the longest sigh, bringing your hands to prayer pose. 

 You pinched the bridge of your nose as you exhaled sharply before responding.  

“That was Sehun’s responsibility...he told me he had it secured. I am sorry. I will fix this…” you said, whipping through your purse quickly as _____ (Lyon Reader) opened her mouth to speak. 

 But if she meant to say anything, she dismissed it at the sound of your voice when Sehun answered the phone after the first ring. 

 “Did you or did you not secure the venue for our exhibit Sehun?” 

 “Bubby…?” He seemed uncertain that he was talking to who he thought had came up on his caller ID. 

 “Sehun...you promised me that everything was squared away for this...why am I looking at a locked door..?” You asked, turning from _____ (Lyon Reader) to walk to the side of the building. 

 He was silent for awhile. 

 You tried to discern his breathing from nonexistent background noise to gain some insight into where he could be. 

“Sehun…?” You asked, the humid fog of anxiety rising as the seconds ticked by. 

 “Bubby…I’m in the middle of something right now…but I will check. I thought I had it secured. I called earlier to confirm the time and date. Perhaps they’re running late? I can text you the number after…” 

 “Sehun where are you?” You asked without giving him another moment. 

 “I’m at an event bubby...I told you before I left for my flight…?” Everything in his tone sounded as though you were the one who had been missing in action and he was delicately trying to let you know that you needed to come back to reality. 

 “Are you actually at an event? It’s pretty quiet for there to be an event going on...” you couldn’t help the snideness of your suspicion. 

 Not with 45 seconds of footage dancing within your peripherals. 

 “....what are you trying to say?” 

 Don’t avoid it. Sehun please just come out with it… 

 “Sehun where are you?!” ______ (Lyon Reader)’s heels clicked as she stepped closer. 

 “Honey, I’ll give them a call. Let’s just call it for today. You had classes to teach earlier and it’s late. I’ll arrange dinner ok?” She whispered to you as she fielded passerby trying to look at you without you noticing. 

 Your ears burned at her motherly tone. 

 And though you knew she meant the best, it infuriated you. 

I have every right to know! What if he’s hurting himself?! And he won’t tell me! He isn’t...it isn’t what it seems. 

“Sehun...please-” 

 “I’m booking a vacation for us...ok? I wanted to surprise you. You’ve been working so hard lately and my gigs have been picking up...we haven’t had time together and Pathcodes is picking up...I just thought...I’m sorry,” but more than sorry Sehun also sounded as angry as the hardening knot of tears welling up in your throat. 

“Well I’m sorry it seems like simply asking you where you were seems like something I shouldn’t be doing...it’s not like you’re just working so much now or the Pathcodes has picked up…” 

“What are you trying to say-” 

“Honey, don’t do this out here,” ____ (Lyon Reader) whispered to you. 

 “We can talk when I-” 

 “We’ll talk now or else when else would we talk...you’ve been avoiding me haven’t you? It’s not just work is it?” 

 “Bubby-” “_____,” ____ (Lyon Reader) now had her hand on yours that gripped your purse. 

 But her attempts to smooth out your mounting anxiety only pushed you closer to the edge. 

 You took the phone from your ear, looking at her as if to say back the hell off but the look in her eyes… 

 She took the phone from your hands. 

 “Sehun, she will call you back. Yes. Yes...I’ll be flying out later tonight. Mhm I’ll tell her. Ok. We’ll talk soon...good night,” she pushed your phone back into your purse as she hung up with him and she took your hand without another word and led you to her car. 

 You had a mind to resist getting in and to call him back. 

 But the fear of pushing him away… 

 No that wasn’t it. 

 You were afraid that you would find a reason to stay away. 

 You would find a reason to fall out of step. 

 Again. 

 To go back on your word. 

 Again. 

 To question him again. 

 To consider the risk too great to just wait. 

 That you wouldn’t be gentle with him and understanding. 

 That you wouldn’t hold out for fear that the truth would be too heartbreaking to consume. 

 Could you approach his truth? 

 Could you look at this other side of him? 

 Could you do it? 

 Or would you leave and never come back?

[nancydhooper]

After a Lifetime Apart, COVID-19 Prison Release Reunites Mother and Daughter

“You’re on the list.” It took a few seconds for Chalana McFarland to grasp what was happening. Her name was one of just a few on the list of people who would be released from prison early due to COVID-19. Behind her stood a line of dozens of other women waiting to see if they made it. Only some of them had. But as Chalana received the news, they started cheering, and caused such an uproar that the correctional staff had to reprimand them. That’s when it finally clicked for Chalana — after 15 years in prison, she was finally going home.  Chalana immediately contacted her daughter. “I was watching a movie with my roommate when I got the news,” says Nia, who is 19 and lives in Tallahassee, Florida, where she attends university. “At first I was like, ‘What?’ I didn’t think it was real. Then I just fell over crying. I couldn’t even talk. Later, when we talked on the phone, I could hear the happiness in my mom’s voice that this was all finally going to be over.”

A number of prisons and jails across the country have begun to release people who are vulnerable to COVID-19 due to age or underlying health conditions, or people who are incarcerated while awaiting trial. This is the result of pressure from public health officials, advocates, and corrections officials. But the coronavirus poses a threat to all incarcerated people. It can spread rapidly in jails and prisons, where social distancing is impossible, access to hygiene is lacking, and medical care is inadequate. If even one person becomes infected, the potential outbreak could be devastating. There are already more than 10,000 confirmed cases of COVID-19 in state and federal prisons and jails combined, and this is despite the fact that testing is impossible in most facilities. Facilities including Rikers Island jail in New York, Oakdale federal prison in Louisiana, and many others have already seen deadly outbreaks.

Chalana knew that as a Black woman with asthma, high blood pressure, and sickle cell trait, she was at a higher risk. She feared that her 30-year sentence in federal prison for mortgage fraud would become a death sentence if she remained in prison.

“My greatest fear is to die in here,” she told the ACLU by phone from the prison. “We try to stay away from each other so as to not pass it,” but there is only so much they can do.

The FCI Coleman facility in Florida houses roughly 400 women. Chalana describes their quarters as tightly-packed cubicles with three walls and no ceiling — about the size of a walk-in closet. Each cubicle contains a bunk bed, but because many of the women are elderly or have medical conditions that impede mobility, the bunks are often cut in half and laid side-to-side, taking up almost all of the floorspace.

“Only one person can move around at a time,” says Chalana. “You can look over the wall and see the person next to you. So if someone gets COVID-19, they’re going to give it to the next person and probably the person on the other side of the wall as well.”

The women at Coleman have already suffered other infectious outbreaks this year. In the winter, flu and Legionnaires spread throughout the facility, hospitalizing several women and overwhelming the prison’s already-overstretched medical staff.

“Sometimes you had to wait if you had to vomit or had diarrhea, because all the toilets were full,” remembers Chalana. “All night long it sounded like a TV war because people were just coughing, coughing, coughing. It was horrible.”

Approximately 40 percent of people in jails and prisons suffer from at least one chronic health condition, and jails and prisons tend to have substandard health care, even on a good day. Often, there are simply not enough medical staff to treat the hundreds or thousands of people living in the facilities.

“It’s not humanly possible to treat the number of people they have,” says Chalana. She says that if someone feels they are sick, they need to fill out a slip and give it to the prison’s medical staff, who then determine whether they need to see a doctor — without examination. Those who are selected can wait up to two weeks to actually see the doctor. The procedure is no different for people with COVID-19 symptoms, who are sent back to the dorms while they await care. “It’s like Russian roulette,” says Chalana. (The Bureau of Prisons did not respond to a request for comment on the care provided at Coleman.)

“The longer you’re here, the more you realize that you have to take care of yourself and the others around you as much as possible, which means that when someone’s sick, we all pull together to see what kind of over-the-counter medicines we have to help the person,” she says. “We make tea. We make chicken soup. We do what we can to try to help each other, but when it’s something that’s viral like the coronavirus, there’s nothing we can do about it.”

The threat of COVID-19 came to light gradually at Coleman. Most of the women learned about the virus from friends and family members on visits or phone calls. “Once we saw the news about the county jails, and what was happening at Oakdale, that’s when the alarm went off that we were really in danger,” says Chalana, referring to the federal prison in Louisiana where the COVID-19-related death toll is rising.

“You feel helpless,” Nia tells the ACLU. “There’s someone that you love and care about so much, and it seems like no one else really cares about them. So I was just praying, hoping, and waiting because there was nothing I could do.” Inside Coleman, Chalana was concerned about her family’s safety, too. “We worry about them just as much as they worry about us,” she says. “My parents are both 76 years old, and I worry every day that they’re going to go to the market and contract COVID, and I won’t get to see them while they’re still alive.”

Nia was only four years old when her mother, then an attorney, was sentenced to 30 years in prison for mortgage fraud, a first-time offense. The average sentence for mortgage fraud is 22 months.

“I came to understand that justice and fairness can be incongruent,” she says. “As an attorney, wife, and mother of a 4-year-old, my life as I knew it came to an end.”

Nia was too young to remember. “I don’t have a lot of memory of my mom not being behind bars,” she says. “My whole life I’ve always imagined what it would be like to have my mom actively present in my life. I didn’t expect that to happen until I was in my 30s.”

For the last 15 years, they have stayed connected as much as they could through letters, video calls, and regular visits. Chalana would mail Nia items she made in prison, like bags she knitted for her to take to dance class and folders she decorated for school.

“It was like cool, customized stuff that nobody else had,” says Nia. “And it made me feel like she was there, even though she couldn’t physically be there.”

Still, there were always significant barriers between them. They have never been able to spend more than a few hours together at a time, and that time is always shared with others. Chalana has never seen Nia dance or play basketball, and she missed her baptism. She’s missed every graduation since kindergarten, including Nia’s high school graduation, where she delivered a speech as senior class president.

Nia’s speech was about her mother.  “It was about not letting your circumstances define your destiny,” she tells the ACLU. “Just because you’ve been dealt certain cards in life doesn’t mean you can’t change and be a successful person on your own.” She wrote the speech with Chalana’s help and read it to her over the phone for practice. 

Now Chalana hopes to see Nia’s college graduation. But most of all, she looks forward to spending time with her daughter without any barriers between them.

“I’ll finally get a chance to know who my daughter is,” says Chalana. “To just snuggle on the couch with her and find out whether she’s as much of a Star Trek fan as I am, or if she doesn’t like asparagus or something like that.”

The upcoming release — any day now — is hard for Chalana to talk about without getting emotional. Her reunion with her family was always going to be momentous, but amid the COVID-19 pandemic, there is an added element that perhaps wouldn’t have been top of mind under different circumstances: their health. Chalana knows she is also lucky to be able to reunite with her family while they are all still healthy.

Though Chalana made the list of releases, her fight to get out of prison isn’t over. Today, she’s sifting through a mountain of paperwork to leave Coleman — which is much harder than getting in, she’s realized. She still doesn’t have a release date and the thought of it is still surreal: “It’s sort of like, ‘Okay, God, please let this all be real.’”

The world Chalana returns to will also be far different from the one she left behind 15 years ago. She’s returning to a pandemic-stricken world where people are staying six feet apart and wearing masks in the street, where stores and restaurants are shuttered and whole cities and states are required to shelter in place. But she’s not worried about what life will be like under quarantine.

“Every day people are saying how frustrated they are being quarantined and how they’re going stir crazy inside,” says Chalana. “Well, that’s our lives every day. Just imagine what you’re going through now on quarantine, but you can’t control what time you go to bed, eat, or shower. You can’t watch TV, you have no internet, you have no computers. That’s a small taste of what our life is like in prison.”

Chalana knows there are some people who will say “you did the crime now do the time.” “I get that,” she says. “But at the same time, we’re people too. We’re your mothers, your daughters, your neighbors, your friends … I don’t deserve to die in here, and none of these ladies do.”

from RSSMix.com Mix ID 8247012 https://www.aclu.org/news/smart-justice/after-a-lifetime-apart-covid-19-prison-release-reunites-mother-and-daughter via http://www.rssmix.com/

[queermequeeryou]

Chapter 3

Nevada has not seen Christina for three days and like always, she did not give her any sign that she is even alive. Also as usual, Nevada refused to seek contact. Maybe she felt a little bit ashamed of her emotional message to Christina because they were never that open with feelings before. When a week passed, Frankie was having doubts if she will ever see the woman of her life again. She was trying to focus on her doctorate but it was barely possible to even attend already postponed meetings with tutors. When she went for the meeting with professor Dellayune, she decided that she has to speak with somebody.  “I know that you prefer to stay on a professional side but I don’t know with whom should I talk about it” she started in a worried tone and Ellen immediately realised that Frances really needs her. “What’s going on?” she interlocked her own hands and looked towards Frankie. “It’s about Christina. That brunette woman that...” “I know which one, I remember her” Ellen stopped her because she was feeling indifferent to hear about it again at the university. “I love her. I could do anything for her and I mean, for years we’re like lovers with a strange bond that none of us can explain. Neither her husband who knows about it all but pretends like everything is okay, he even tries to be nice for me but sometimes he tries to show me his advantage... Okay, doesn't matter. The point is that she disappeared for a week now and she used to do this, right. She was nowhere to be found for few days but not that long and also. Well.. I sent her a message. I told that I need to talk with her. We were never like this. Emotions is our border topic. A no topic. I think I could scare her away and I can’t stand the thought of not seeing her again.” Ellen sighed. “Have you called her or messaged?” her tone was very serious and caring but it was not all that. There was something else. “No. We have this unwritten rule that none of us is pressuring. When we want each other, we go to each other”. “But you want her now and you can’t go to her. How come? I mean, have you gone to her house or something?” Ellen could not take her eyes off Frankie. Nevada felt something strong and sharp in her heart that gave her some bitter taste somewhere around that area. “No and I don’t wanna. You see, Ellen, I am afraid that she is maybe with her husband now at home” she looked down on the floor trying to avoid Ellen’s look. “My god, but you would now something. Wouldn’t you like to know if that’s even worth waiting?” asked Ellen emotionally but not impatiently nor irritated.  “I don’t know. Maybe, I’m just avoiding the truth and I should move on. She’s hurting me. I can't be in this fucking throuple or threesome or whatever with her and her husband forever. I need to be appreciated and loved and exclusive.” Frankie almost cried, she was shaken. Ellen took her hair back and stroked her cheek.  “You are a wonderful woman and you deserve the best” said Ellen and kissed her. “Now, let’s get back to your thesis. We have to do something done.  She smiled to Frankie and she stroked Ellen’s hand. They got back to working.

~*~

After the doctorate meeting, Frankie asked Ellen if they maybe can grab a coffee and chat a little more because he did not want to stay alone with her thoughts again. They were just talking and enjoying time together until a message notification came to Nevada. She excused herself and looked at her phone. It was from Christina. 

~*~

Ellen’s upset face remained with Frankie for a while when she was driving her old vintage car towards Sachs mansion. She was trying not to overthink. Christina was not contacting with her for ten days and just after one message saying that she is waiting for Frankie, the younger girl stopped what she was doing and get into the car. She knew she should not let herself be trapped in this but she could not resist. She was in love and nothing could stop her at this time from being vain. Well, maybe there was one thing but she did not let it mislead her this time. She parked her car in the lot and went inside. Christina was bringing the food on the table. She turned herself towards Frankie. “Hey” she said simply in her always flirty tone and this same sight that was able to get one knocked off one’s feet.  Frankie did not say a thing, she just kissed Christina with rage and passion at the same time. “I see you’re angry” realised Christina without a care in her voice. “What’s going on?” “I was worried”. “Oh my goodness, we are sleeping together for what... five years now? Or six. I thought that you know me. Why were you worried?” every word was hurting Frankie more and more. Nevada held Christina’s face gently and put her hair behind her ear. They have never done it. It was emotional and Frankie saw scare in her lover’s eyes but then her facial expression changed and she finally assured herself that there was more than physical attraction from Christinea’s side. Nevada was always thinking it is but right now, she realised that all her thought about Christina being scared of love were true. The older woman held her hand and let herself and kissed her. Differently. It was finally what Frankie has always wanted to feel when Christina was putting her lips on hers.  “I need to tell you something, baby.” started Christina and Nevada realised her heart was beating stronger and louder. “My husband will be joining as for dinner tonight. “I need to use the toilet” replied Frankie and went there. She was crying inaudibly. The tears were just coming down with all the bitterness she was overwhelmed by.  Christina leaned on the table and closed her eyes for a while. She was not ready but she hated herself for hurting Frankie. They will never be together on the terms Nevada deserved but Christina could not live without her but it was to hard to digest for her. It was too much expression anyway. Brunette took a tiny package with white powder from the drawer and prepared some on the plate. She took one sniff to each nose hole and now she was not crying, just her eyes were bloody red and watering. She went upstairs to her garderobe and fixed that with make up.

~*~

Henry Sachs came home around 8 and they all sat at the table to eat. Henry was in a great mood, being nice without any rivalry in his voice. Maybe his transactions went well and he made lots of money. That would be an explanation fitting him the most.  “This salad is perfect, my dear.” he complemented her wife and she smiled a bit peculiarly.  “May we have some wine now?” he asked after the dish and Christina brought one. Frankie stood up to help Christina and Henry as well but he just laughed politely.  “Go on, Frankie.” said Henry putting his hand on Frankie’s shoulder. It was quite ridiculous but Nevada was too tired to complain. They started drinking and went to the salon to sit on the sofa as Henry suggested. “I think you’re a great woman Frankie. I don’t know how Chris would go on without your help. And I also think you would be great at business. You’re doing your PhD now, aren’t you?”  “Well, yes. I mean, I’d doing a doctorate on economics but I was never a leader of a company. I bet it’s different.” replied Frankie feeling the sparkle already as everybody else. “Frankie but you know I’ve been the CEO for like 20 years now and I don’t have even master’s degree. So, you should be really appreciated”. said Henry and clapped his hands. “I think she is appreciated.” broke suddenly Christina and took Frankie’s hand.  She started to massage it. “I think you both appreciate each other properly and for that I’m very happy, so to speak”. said Henry and sipped some more wine.  “Your wife is an incredible woman, it couldn’t be fair any other way” said Frankie looking into Christina’s eyes. She finally understood what brunette was up to. It made her feel disgusted but she also wanted it for her. Frankie kissed Christina’s hand and then looked briefly towards Henry. He loosened his tie and drank more wine. Christina moved on towards Frankie, sad on her knees facing the younger woman and kissed her passionately on the lips. Then she moved her hand closer to her husband and rubbed his arm. He rubbed it back. Christina turned her face towards Henry and kissed him while Frankie was having her on the knees still also trying to figure out what kind of the kiss was that. It was quite blind and strange or so she hoped. Christina moved her hand under Frankie’s shirt while kissing her now. Henry stood up and unzip his wife’s dress. Frankie took off his tie with one expressive movement. Henry looked suggestively towards the stairs. They went to the bedroom. Frankie was only thinking about avoiding this fucked up man putting anything into her but it was still as bad as it could be. Looking at Henry inside Christina made her wanna vomit so she was drinking during that moments. Anyway, she came into a strange realisation that felt like Christina’s strange way of saying something. When Henry was fucking her, it looked like blindness was in their eyes and that was just not right. Nevada has always thought that their sex is just a passion without not much feelings but she realised that she might be wrong and that Christina probably gives something more into that. It was still the strangest night of Frankie’s life. Even stranger were Henry’s eyes when he asked her to stay with them tonight. He hugged her like a child. On the other side of the bed was Christina who was kissing her on the neck for a little while before she fell asleep. Nothing could be more peculiar than this night. 

[voyagritar]

this is where i am right now.

so i guess I’m going to make this shorter than i originally planned. i was going to take the timeline back to last spring but ultimately this would be way too long. some of it probably wont make sense, as I’m not all that great at explaining my feelings. i don’t expect anyone to read it in full, regardless. 2017 has been rough, and it doesn’t appear to be letting up. 2016 wasn’t great but it did have some pure moments. I’m going through some difficult situations which have made me feel the way, currently. I’m not sure if I’m going to make it but i want everyone to know I’m trying. i decided to be transparent about what has been going on, well transparent regarding what I’m comfortable saying. Regarding some stuff I’m not quiet there yet there yet. so some pieces will be pieces and my memory isn’t the best, so some is lost to time. my group therapy thought it might be a good idea to vent in this way. also : these aren’t the facts, just the facts as i see them. I’ve been venturing through both the state and county funded mental health care system and this is what i’ve been though.

again, I’m sort of fast forwarding to this year and a lot came before it but ill just sort of give the cliff notes. over the last year I’ve struggled to find proper mental healthcare because of the lack of insurance (or the lack of insurance that i couldn’t qualify for). last october i openly said out loud for the first time that i believed my illness was becoming scizorpheric. that was never proven true or false. i had a lot of trouble sleeping, id often stay up in my bed worrying about everything under the sun. i worried about my mother, who has cancer. i worried about my sister who was trying to her best to get well from a car accident. i worried about the mental health of my then partner. i worried about my mental health. i worried about my living situation. (my living situation : i could probably write an entire other thing on it. my landlord was basically kicking me out of my place because i was unable to find roommates to share the rent with BUT the people i was finding, she was declining because ultimately she was racist. she was verbally abusive towards me and she would remain that way all the way even up until now) i worried about money. i worried about my future. i worried about people that i loved, in general. into the winter i felt a disconnection from my partner, a lot i would not blame them for but a lot would hurt me and put me into fight or flight and those moments were certainly not my best. i became super paranoid about them fully disconnecting from me, which hurt, so i found ways to hurt back. one a particular night in mid february, i was again awake, i woke up my partner and basically started a conversation regarding “us” and what was going on. they confirmed what i was feeling. they wanted out. they weren’t down for tolerating me anymore. i asked if there was anyone else and they said “no.” they kissed me on the head and left. it felt like it was 7am at that point, but I’m not 100%. there was a lot i wanted to say but i couldn’t find the words and i also wanted to respect their decision. i didn’t chase. i cried.

the next few days were a bit of a blur and i wasn’t really sure what was going to happen. it was apparent now that i had nothing to hide behind, which was what i was doing, which wasn’t a fair thing. it all mentally now came at me at once. i felt a tremendous loss, so i did what i thought i should, i wrote them a letter just saying my peace. awhile before we sat down in a cemetery discussing some issues i felt were going on. we forgave. in the fall we had broken up briefly and we reconciled. maybe this was that? but then it was clear that everything sort became mentally out of my hands, which was scary and unfortunate. i was in contact with a friend who lives out of state and their dealings with mental healthcare facilities. they mentioned they’d attempt to help me find mental health treatment, which i had been lacking, and some good contact numbers to different hotlines and clinics, incase i needed them. welp, i needed them. i wasn’t full comfortable talking out loud in my house because i felt judged. so i went to my car, closed the door and called a crisis hotline. after i emptied my thought palette to them, they recommended i come down to their center. my friend and i talked about a specific crisis center (same one as i called - different department) and my ability to stay there and hopefully i could be assisted in obtaining healthcare. I’d be able to talk to someone, in person. I’d ultimately have an eye kept on me etc. the issue was if i would go to the center, i would probably have to stay there for some days. i was still attempting to find roommates for the house i was living in, because i didn’t want to lose it. it meant a lot to me that i sustained some “real life”. it was the last thing i sort of had to bank on is what i mentally felt. that was my home.

i wasnt eating or sleeping or feeling very safe around myself. with my friend on the phone i decided it was best for me to drive to the crisis center, that i called, and admit myself and see what would then be my next step. at this point i wanted to alert my sister of what was going on, but i didn’t want her telling my mom because i feared how it would make me look. with my mom battling cancer, she didn’t need to know her “healthy” kid was manic and weird, right now. i remember getting off the phone with my friend as i pulled into the parking lot. i told them i was there and i was going to go in. i went into the crisis center, was searched and went through a metal detector. i was officially checked in. i met with the first of many individuals that i would have to “tell my tale too” in order for them to take notes, observe, pass on the notes, help me continue through the process, etc. i would have to explain my story over and over and over again, which i found out over the course of the next following weeks (months) in a nutshell, these were my cliff notes :

** I’ve had issues with depression since i was young. adhd since my early 20s. no insurance to get meds to assist in the process. My relationship ended. My mom has cancer. My is sister recovering from an accident. I hate myself for not being stronger. I’m a bad person who has done bad things I feel a lot of guilt. I may have nowhere to live. My job sucks. This stuff sucks but its my own mental health that has cause all of these to be worse. I want to be better than all of this.

…or like some form of that

(here is when the pictures start)

My first room i stayed in, at the center, was small and very sterile. the center itself was filled with displaced individuals who had what appeared to be a slew of different of issues. the main room was sort of shaped like a circle. in the middle there were case workers in front of their computers, behind a giant desk that that went around the room. outside that main circle was the common area. unless you were in your room, thats where you hung out. there some tables as well, some chairs too. i guess it was a busy thursday and a lot of people were being checked in. there wasn’t room for the people coming in after me, so they were told they had to sleep on the floor. ill be honest, i was scared. i was really scared. i didn’t know who to talk to and sure, wrongfully so i was looking for immediate help and/or resolution to where my life had mentally gone. i didn’t want to stay in my room because i felt really unsafe and lonely in there. i asked the case workers probably 3-4 times if a doctor was going to be in this evening and i wanted to talk to one. they told me i had to wait until the morning. something a lot of people did, including me, was just meander around the main circle with their headphones in. you would just do laps in that little area because there wasn’t anything else to do. i attempted to sit by an older woman who seemed alone and i thought maybe talking to her would calm my nerves. she said it was her first time at something like this as well. she noted she had issues with alcohol but i didn’t pry. i think she was having problems at home with a spouse and needed to get out of there. I’m not positive. i also met a girl who kept a scarf wrapped around her face, you could only see her eyes. she was pretty mean. i think her thing was OCD, though I’m not positive. the kid who paced around even more than i paced was a tough cookie to crack. i heard a rumor that he saved up all the crackers he got from lunch, for like a week, then in one shower smashed the crackers up and threw them into the air, all over his room. he kept the door to this room open and there were tons of socks everywhere too. i have no idea why. as the evening went on i think i was still asking to see a doctor. it was then i got a text i didn’t want to get/hear/read and at that point, i sank. i was feeling unsafe, my head was spinning. this all was very real. i remember walking out of my room, as calmly as possible and getting the attention of one of the social workers on their computers, behind the big desk. i remember i said “i need out of here, I’m sorry”. they asked if i felt safe and i said i didn’t. they asked if i was going to hurt myself and i believe i responded i didn’t know or maybe. i can’t remember. they sort of locked eyes with me and i felt like they cared but also that they hoped they wouldn’t have to deal with this tonight, and yet there we were. they said they’d call an ambulance to take me to the psychiatric hospital, “Western Psych”. i called my friend who had been assisting me and i told them what was happening and that i was going to hurt myself. for a moment, i was very paranoid of them and their intentions. i thought they knew more then they were saying and i didn’t know their intentions. i felt like everyone was against me, including them. they reassured me they didn’t know what i was talking about and they were there to help. i may have apologized? i told them when i got to the hospital id call them to let them know what was going on. that is if i could call them, presumably they’d take my phone at western psych. i began disassociating from my body. its sort of hard to explain. i began seeing myself, watch myself. it sucked. i called my sister upset and told her it was time to tell my mom whats going on with me. i told her she knew how i’ve felt and how i’ve been carrying this type of sadness forever. i may have told her how i thought it still followed me. i told her to tell my mom i was so sorry that i was being an idiot. i believe thats when my mom got on the phone. she said in a calm, yet imperative tone “what’s wrong, toddy?” i felt comforted, yet ashamed. it was a weird feeling but a feeling she deserved to know. i was so sorry to bring this type of worry to my family. i talked to her briefly. my sister then got back on the line and calmly talked to me and said to call her back when i got to the hospital, if i could. she said my aunt would be down if needed.

I’m not sure if i waited 5 minutes or 45 minutes but i do remember asking the same case worker when the ambulance was getting there and he kept saying it was coming soon. eventually i asked them if the ambulance wasn’t a real thing, if it was just a stopgap, in theory, just so i would calm down. he said it was not and it was on its way. the ambulance was on the other side of the city right now. eventually two EMTs came in, one girl and one guy. i said i was the boy they were looking for. i felt like the biggest idiot in the entire world. they escorted me out of the crisis center. the guy said i could sit on the stretcher in the back. the girl sort of whispered to me that the dude was a dick and he drives even worse, so she told me to strap in. so while i was lying on that stretcher at point i realized it was probably the worst night of life, give or take. i remember looking out the back windows of the ambulance fully aware of what i was doing to myself (or the reality of the situation? hard to know) the girl attempted to keep me comfortable and asked me some questions about what was going on, i defaulted to what i mentioned above **. she said she was happy to talk to someone who wasn’t that dude, because he was truly awful. we got to western psych. i was handed my bag i brought with me. i wished the young lady well and i had hoped her night improved, she did the same to me. it was a weird but self centering interaction.

western psych’s emergency room was called the D.E.C. (or the deck) i still don’t know what it stands for. i had to give up my phone at check in. the deck’s ER waiting room was kinda bizarre. there was a man lying face down on the floor, with no shoes on, with an empty juice box next to his head. there was also a woman in a wheelchair watching TV right by him. there was a super old telephone to make outbound calls on, so at this point i called my friend who had been talking me through this event or my sister, can’t remember which. i wrote down their numbers on a piece of paper i was allowed to keep. i felt awful at the deck. i can’t describe the feeling. i was aware of my circumstances but anxious, sick and exhausted all at the same time. a nurse looked over me, eventually. they said that i was lucky it wasn’t a busy night and that sometimes people wait 8 hours just to be evaluated. again, i was asked why i was there and again i defaulted to what i said above ** . about a half hour after that i was called back to meet with a doctor (or psychiatrist, still not sure) and told them what i told the nurse. it was sort of a weird back and forth that i don’t fully blame on them, but it was disconcerting at best. after our conversations they said i should be admitted and they’ll see if there is a room. i told them i was unsure of what i wanted to do, ultimately, because i said i was still attempting to find roommates for my home and i couldn’t do that if i was stuck in a room for a week, unable to get out. they asked what was more important to me : me being here or being seeing potential roommates. i told them i understood their point but without a place to live, i would even more so not want to live, so it wasn’t wise that i abandoned that responsibility. they said my options were A. I got back to the crisis center or B. stay there. i couldn’t decide and told them i didn’t want to do either as i just came back from the crisis center..and we all see how well that worked? i wanted an immediate relief which couldn’t happen. option b was bad because not only would i not have the opportunity to find myself roommates but also i felt a tremendous guilt to my family and my loved ones. i felt like i let everyone down who i cared about it. (and honestly, i still feel that way) so as push came to shove arrangements were being made for me to be taken back to the crisis center. at that point i knew i was so exhausted that id probably just nod off anyway. so i called my sister before i left and said there wasn’t really anything that could be done and i was headed back to the crisis center. the guy who was on the floor when i came in was still on the floor but it appeared that he had moved at some point because there was now a half eaten sandwich on the floor next to him. i also got a referral to an outpatient therapy group. (the outpatient group that I’m currently in, and why I’m writing. information on that group will come later in this thing)

i arrived back at the crisis center around 4am. i forget the gentleman’s name but he was one of my favorites. he always called me by name and asked how i was doing. that night he asked if i was hungry, too. the guy always showed a lot of respect for me. i went through another check in, said my default statements again ** and then i was off to my room for the night.

the next morning i didn’t want to wake up. someone knocked on my door a few times and i ignored it. finally i was forced awake and out of the room. the common quarters (the circle room) was bumping and there were case workers and “patients” everywhere. i think that was the day i was introduced to (i believe her name was) case worker amy. amy was real cool. when amy and i were working together, i felt like we got the must done. i felt like she gave proper attention and listened to when i spoke. (a lot of conversations i had with social workers, doctors, EMTs, etc weren’t great and made me feel frustrated and even more sad, at times) amy said that after i ate something she would see what we could do about getting me health insurance. i told her i attempted prior and i made a little too much to qualify for medicaid and ACA wouldnt cover me, especially for mental health reasons. i didn’t eat the meal provided. (the meals were wild and bad but most didn’t complain, i didn’t either) because i had no appetite. id give my meals away but quickly realized what a crap shoot that was because there were cliques and ins and outs to the center. there were people who played spades. there were people who attempted to use you for their benefit. there were the smokers. there were just a lot of different people from different walks of life that wouldnt mind starting garbage with you if you wanted to start garbage. a lot of my time spent at the center, as i mentioned before, was just roaming around the circle over and over. i kept asking to see the doctor as i did the night previous but they kept reassuring me id see him. i can’t remember if it was that day or the next, but it certainly felt like forever before i saw someone who could prescribe me medication. it was the worst. one of the must frustrating things, was attempting to find the right person to talk to in regards to that. i finally saw the doctor and gave my standard speech ** when asked of my issues. i told him that when i had insurance i was on Concerta for ADHD and Xanax for Anxiety. he prescribed me Vistarill for Anxiety and Remeron for depression. he told me the remeron would take awhile before it took effect. for the time being i would take my meds from their stash. it was a little obtuse being on different medications because the medications i was on previous did help me a good bit. the problem now was to find health insurance so i could pay for them.

i believe it was the next day, i worked with a mess of a social worker. probably my least favorite. everyday, you were assigned to work with two. one in the morning, then one in the evening. so it was a common practice to get up and wonder to the main room and asked who you were working with. tho social worker sat me down in front of a computer and told me to “apply for healthcare” and i told her what amy and i had discussed and reassured her that i had no idea how to get health care and I’ve been trying..for a long time. she brought up a website that i never saw before and told me to fill out the boxes, which i did, submitted the form, and multiple errors popped up. you could tell she didn’t want to deal with this or me, so she was detaching herself by working on other stuff that morning. finally i called her out on it and she said she was frustrated it wasn’t going through and we’d revisit the situation later. so i went back to pacing. i think that was the night i started to talk to the people who played cards. i played spades with them.

(side note : the people who would play spades and i got a bit friendly. i learned some things about them. there was an older woman who through interesting enough circumstances sold heroine and got her son addicted to it as well. she got caught and put in jail. while in jail, her husband died, so when she was released she had nowhere to go. so she came to the crisis center. there was george, he became good friends with the woman and i was never too sure of his deal. there were rumors around that george and the woman had hooked up or something but there wasn’t any tangible evidence. there was also this kid landon, i also wasn’t too sure of his deal either but he did note that he had issues with depression and anxiety. landon and i sort of checked in on one another. he was always nice to me and well spoken. i still think about him. those three people and the dude who threw the crackers in the air, who paced around with me, were the spades players.

there was also someone who went by “the NWO Snake”. he would meander around and tell everyone he was the one who truly owned the WWE, not vince mcmahon. he was offering anyone who would talk to him a job. the social workers were patient with him. he would sleep in the main room. he’s the one in the chair across from me above. i liked him)

a couple days passed, i do believe, and next the social worker i was assigned to had this idea of attempting to get me on county prescriptions so my meds would be free. he was a pretty okay guy. he wasn’t as communicative as i would have liked but thats my whole thing, i think. i don’t work well with people who are not up front about what they are doing because it gives me anxiety and my thoughts spiral to the point in which i think “welp they don’t care about you todd.” self fulfilling but yep, thats what happens. they no longer care about me. but anyway, he had really kind eyes. i still remember them. i wasn’t sure what he was working on but at the end of that day he said he got me county prescriptions and the doctor would just have to sign off on them. it took him five hours to get everything done, i appreciated his hard work in the end. he said to get them i would have to go to the south side of pittsburgh to this free clinic. explain my situation and go from there. not only that but i was going to get out of the center to keep interviewing roommates (even though my landlord was still shooting everyone down). it was the first time i was actively out in the daytime and that alone made me cry. I’m not 100% sure why but i do feel like it had to do with the fact that i was at the point that i felt so disconnected from the world, just being in it was a trigger. i called my friend on the phone while i was driving to the free clinic, they helped me through some triggering neighborhoods and then i got to the free clinic.

the free clinic was interesting. it felt super punk rock to me, it was like DIY healthcare. it was staffed by people who were mostly volunteers but that also cared a lot for their patients. no matter if you had a broken arm, a rash, eye sight problems, issues with your mental health (or anything in between) you were seen by the same staff. it was first come first serve, so you had to wait in a line to be treated. i did another intake there with a nurse (or physicians assistant - not sure) and i said my normal opening and circumstances again, as i was use to. i got a really good vibe by the nurse. i felt cared for. she seemed generally moved but what all was going on and she said it was no wonder i was feeling such a way. through my time going through the system i remember our conversation a lot. she was so super nice and understanding, someone i still think about. she also asked how i was eating and it was clear i was not. she asked about weight loss etc and what to do to sort of get back into the swing of things, regarding nourishment. i then met with the doctor who, just basically did another questioning and intake on what all was going on. when the doctor was called out the nurse (or physician’s assistant) sat with me. We talked about her going to Pitt for Grad school to be a nurse and she enjoyed working at the clinic. I took a picture of some weird box on the ground that seemed to be soiled at the bottom and i wasn’t sure what was in it. (its one of the pictures i posted)

i’m not totally sure exactly the timeline but at some point i met up with another roommate candidate back at the house. so during this time i was checking in and out of the crisis center, to do “normal stuff” which in itself was wild. i would be working with case workers and attempting to get myself help, feeling very very bad and then id just leave to go out in public and do “regular” stuff as if nothing was going on. i got an angry call from my landlord again yelling at me that who i found needed birth certificates and she didn’t trust them. she’s racist. thats all it was, just flat our racism. i never told her, of course, what i was up too or what exactly it took for me to meet up with these people to keep my house. at this point i believe i was in contact with not only my friend to help me through the times but now her mom was also talking to me. there was a group message between the three of us in which i would update both of them on my experiences. their mom was a case worker and knew the mental healthcare system. she told me to tell my sister to call in every once in awhile because those cause would alert the social workers to keep tabs on me and make sure everything was getting taken care of in a timely manner. it helped. that group message between the three of us would be a good resource and outlet for how i felt.

i started to get into the swing of things at the clinic and what eating was all about. the meals, as mentioned before, were what they were. (i posted some pictures of them as well) i was taking meds via the clinic’s stash but at some point i was able to get my prescriptions filled via my new county funded prescriptions. i met up a psychiatrist at the free clinic at some point, that week as well. it was another intake and i again said what i was saying above, but got into a little bit more detail. i told them my interests and somehow got on the subject of the my brother, my brother and me podcast. i told them to listen to it. they said with it being a free clinic and its first come first serve it was going to be hard for us to meet up again but they schedule an appointment with me a month or so out, i can’t remember. i never did remember and never went.

at this point i believe i was attempting to get back to some friends that had since messaged me on Facebook but i hadn’t responded to. i wanted to go to new york, as it seemingly has always been the place to meet up with my friends. for those unaware of my friend group, its tough to try to explain. we live in different cities, talk on the internet, then meet up from time to time. its a different type of social, that has done me a lot of good but sure it also has limited how much i get out in my own city, at times. so, at that point it was time for me to check out of the crisis center. i talked with a few social workers that i liked and they told me to come back if i felt the need. it was a scary thing to do, to leave there. i figured i would be back but who knows?

i thought about jumping in front of a subway car in new york. yeah, it was a scary thought for me too. i headed to new york on a megabus with a lot on my mind. it was time to get out and be in fresh air and see what that was like. during my stay in new york i got a phone call from my uncle who i hadn’t talked to in months. he asked me if i heard about my dad and of course i said no. he said my dad was in a head on collision. it was sort of touch and go. he was in surgery and they weren’t sure exactly what happened. it was getting even worse, i guess. my life, i guess. a friend was with me at the time and the two of us strolled around the block, just so i could vent a little plus digest what news i just heard. i told them about my thoughts of the subway thing. i said i wasn’t going to do it but i just wanted someone to know. i gathered myself, we ate lunch and saw see a movie. they rubbed my head during the movie and it was the most comforting thing. later on that evening i went to a wrestling show and saw some other friends i hadn’t seen in awhile. i was memorized by the subway coming back from the show. i didn’t have a plan to jump but i imagined what it would be like if i did. in such a strange and comforting way, as i was looking onto the tracks a friend who was with us hugged me from behind. I’m not sure if they knew or what had happened but they certainly hugged me. it was awesome.

upon my return back to pittsburgh i checked myself back into the crisis center. i believe it was my first night back in which i decided i wanted to text my ex partner and tell them my feelings again. they were dismissive to my gestures and explained i had done too much wrong to really formulate anything with them. they offered their hand as a friend and re-invited me to an event we were going to do together i could tell they felt i wasn’t worth it and it really hurt. it was rough but again i respected them and i understood. i still respect them. i also noted to them that id be blocking their number because it would help me not think about hitting them up and it would also give my mind an excuse as to why they weren’t hitting me up. both of us needed space, it was clear. the rest of my stay second stay at the crisis center is sort of blurry for whatever reason. i got woken up by a fight at one point but it wasn’t all that fun. there is a lot during this stint of me just pacing around the circle, listening to music via my cellphone. a friend of mine had texted me that they thought i was inspiring and they hoped i would not hurt myself. that meant a lot, because though i hated myself i knew this was a hard thing for this person to text, so i kept it mentally as a nice gesture. i still think about it. there is a lot more to expand on but its either blurry or not something I’m comfortable mentioning as of yet. another week in the crisis center and it was time for me to go to my intake appointment at the outpatient therapy, that i was referred to the night i was at the d.e.c.

my intake that morning i again had to say my default **. it was becoming difficult to talk, i remember. i was getting very quiet. internally i was feeling like i was hitting every step while rolling down the longest flight of stairs I’ve ever fallen from. after awhile you know you are falling and no longer are afraid to fall, because you see the bottom, and though the bottom is the worst, at least you don’t have to keep spinning. the lady who did my intake i didn’t really get a good vibe about. she was talking to me as if i was unfamiliar of my feelings and that “suicide is a permanent answer to a temporary problem”. like, the most basic of phrases in the entire mental health conversations. i knew these feelings, I’ve had these feelings. this isn’t something i just came upon, mentally. she had very 1990’s wicker baskets in her office. i wish i got a picture of her house, it was very trippy. i was told that the group therapy was filled but they would call me in a few weeks when a space opened up. for services at that facility, including the outpatient therapy, it would be $145 a month. thats not counting the medications i was now on, those would roughly be $90 a month. the county prescriptions i got for my medications were only got for the first filling, i had found out. all refills would be have to be out of pocket.

after that i returned home to where i lived at the time. my roommates had moved out, my house was no longer a home. it was basically empty. i got into one last fight with my landlord and i told her i would be leaving. it was so so tough to pack my things. i was alone and all my stuff had to be moved and i had to begin the process of being a “regular” person. those couple weeks in which i didn’t have internet or cable, just alcohol and my island of a bed were the roughest times. i re-unpacked my nintendo 64 and played old video games. my good friend came over a few times and we sat and did that together. i drank so much those weeks.

welp, I’m going to fast forward over some stuff to where i am now. i’ll skip a month or so for now. i’m living somewhere else in pittsburgh now. i started the outpatient group therapy. i go three days a week. i meet with a therapist once a week, a psychiatrist once a week. i didn’t show up today to therapy, it was real hard getting up. but overall my attendance has been good. i keep track of my mental thought patterns and read a lot. there are a few pictures of my daily goals / tasks sheets that i have. one of my tasks was to write this. it took me 3 or 4 days. i’d like to write another thing like this, just for myself. there are some things i left our or maybe misunderstood at the time, maybe i can understand a little better in the future. plus, i do want to write about my group i do therapy with. but it wouldn’t be fair to make assumptions about the process I’m going through now, until I’m through. i’m attempting to be more mindful.

i didn’t re-read most of this and I’m not sure what it sounds like. but this is what i wrote.

there is where i am right now.

-toddy