#i talked 2 my doctor and therapist about it and they were both like. hm. sounds like ur just weird and strange! and they never brought

[spacelesscowboy]

did u guys know that i am diagnosed with adhd. and no one ever. told me.

[eideticmemory]

FINE LINE 3 | SPENCER REID

Two decades of history and two kids later, you and your ex-husband learn to navigate the world of co-parenting. Part 3! Read Part 2 Here!

If you saw typos, no you didn’t ❤️

Word Count: 3,165.

Warning: Daddy issues, mommy issues, angst, romance, drama, yay!

PART 3: EDEN

Eden Penelope Reid was conceived on the twenty-sixth of September, on a ugly, yellow couch in the BAU briefing room. Not two feet from the roundtable! You didn’t mean for it to happen. The sex . . . or the baby. But they were both the result of a dark, disturbing case, sleep deprivation, a long plane ride back to DC, and an encounter in a dark room after everyone had gone home. 

Spencer placed a long and slimy kiss to your lips, almost like he had been holding it from you for days. You stepped back, jolted, and you would’ve fallen backwards had Spencer not had his arms around you. 

“What on earth are you doing?” you whispered, your voice still laced with shock and surprise. 

“Wha — what do you mean . . . ?” Spencer asked, genuine confusion plastered over that pretty face of his. “I thought that’s why we came in here?” 

“Oh, my goodness, I came in here to grab my things and go home, Hugh Hefner, where is your mind?”

“My mind’s on you,” he murmured, nuzzling your body into his, pressing his lips to your cheek. “Always.”

“Hm,” you hummed, your eyes fluttering closed as he gave you a dreamy kiss. “You’ve always had that verbal thing . . . quick mind, soft lips. You could talk your way into anything, Spencer Reid.”

“Yeah?” he mumbled, his lips pressed feverishly  to yours. “Anything?”

“Yeah . . . anything.” 

Stepping out of the shower and drying off, surrounded by the scent of fresh lavender, you wrapped yourself in a cotton towel. Your outfit was laid across the bed, from the top to the pants to the black flats. It felt a little morbid, as if you were staring at a dress made for a funeral. But, God, let’s face it, you’re just being dramatic. 

You tied your hair up, and dropped the towel to your toes, warmth caught under the surface. As you took your shirt between your fingers, your bedroom door swung open with an intense creak, and you jumped out of your skin. 

“Ah!” You screamed, hugging the fabric against your body, crouching down to hide any and every inch of your figure. “Spencer!”

“Whoa!” He crowed, immediately backing out of the room. “Sorry!”

“What the hell?” You shouted. You hugged the shirt, pressing it to your chest, your torso, one arm outstretched to cover your legs. 

“I’m sorry, [y/n], I thought you were dressed!”

“Yeah, right . . . pervert. What are you doing here? I’m meeting you at the office in an hour.”

“I told you I was dropping by in the morning.”

“So?”

“So . . . here I am.”

“Sorry, I’m just not used to you being somewhere when you say you are, my mistake.” 

He shook his head to himself, chin ducked down to avert his eyes, “I came to ask if you’d like a ride this morning? After we drop the kids off?”

“A ride?” You responded, quickly dressing yourself to maneuver an icky, uncomfortable situation. “We’re carpooling to therapy?”

“If you want,” he shrugged. “Thought we could get breakfast, maybe.”

You scoffed, and rolled your eyes as you marched towards the door. Prepared to confront Spencer with a bit of sass and sarcasm, you were taken aback by the sight of him. Early in the morning, hair perfectly curled around his face, and he was dressed in a wrinkle-free, perfectly pressed black suit. Like the ones you used to buy for him, just to see the way he moved in them. 

“I think I’ll pass,” you told him. “I told the kids I’d take them to school today, and they’ve already got their hearts set on getting Dunkin’ this morning, so . . .”

“So, I’ll see you at the office,” he nodded, solemnly. 

You returned the nod with a gentle motion of your head, and as you turned to walk off, Spencer aligned beside you, ultimately following you through the hall. “You look good,” he said. You didn’t respond, just released a silent exhale while focusing your attention forward. “It’s nice to know that . . . some things are still as nice as I remember.”

You laughed -- head thrown back, mouth open, the sound erupting like a volcano. “It’s not,” you explained, looking him in the eye as you approached the stairs. “It’s better.”

Four weeks after Eden Penelope Reid was conceived, you were in Texas, a small town outside of Austin haunted by a head of murders throughout the area. You can’t remember specifically what the town was called because you were so, fucking, sick. You woke up with a headache, nausea threatening to spill by the second, and a stomach ache that wouldn’t kick it. It was bad. 

But you know how to put on a Brave Face. You pushed through, even with your husband’s voice echoing in your ear, close to your ear, his worried hand on your back. 

“[y/n],” he pleaded. “You’re sick, just — please.”

“Spencer, I’m fine. I’m up, I’m walking, that’s a good sign. I’m okay.” 

You visited a crime scene not fifteen minutes later. It was hot, very hot, suffocatingly hot, and you felt yourself. You felt yourself wobble on your heels. Felt the life just fall out of you, like gravity had sucked it into the Earth. Spencer called your name as your body fell. 

“Mom?” E called, the sound of the traffic blending in with her voice. “Is everything okay?” 

“Yeah, hun,” you glanced at her, balancing your attention between E and the road. “Why?”

“You’ve been hitting your juul more than usual lately,” she explained. 

“What?” you gasped. “No, I haven’t.”

“Yes, you have. You’re driving with it in your hand right now!”

“On average, mom hits the juul 16 times an hour, but she’s just hit it seven times in the last five minutes,” Em added from the backseat.

“There. Statistics to back me up,” E gloated. 

“I’m fine!” you laughed. “Really. I’m more than fine.” 

“Really? So the sudden nicotine uptake has nothing to do with your super secret meeting with dad this morning?” E asked. 

“It is not a super secret meeting, it’s two parents, meeting for a discussion.” 

“Right . . . not secret at all.” She nodded. 

You sighed, “A secret is an awful thing to keep. You can ask your Aunt Emily about that one, but, you know I’d never keep a secret from you,” you smiled. 

“Right,” she nodded, suspicious at your sudden change in tone. “You sure you’re not keeping a secret, mom?”

“Are you profiling me?”

“Okay, enough with the profiling jokes.” 

“No. Why? Are you keeping a secret from me?” you piqued. It’s been buried. For almost a week now. E, and the boy, as you call him. For a few days, you just needed solitude, time to process and understand. After that, came the confrontational period, well, as confrontational as you get with Eden. Which means you dropped subtle hints until she just thought you were being weirded than usual. But now, she had reason to be suspicious that you were suspicious, and two suspicious Reid women don’t make a mix.

“No?” She responded, slowly, her eyebrow raising at you. “Why?”

“No?” You paused to take a breath. “Okay.” “What does that mean?” “Nothing.”

“Do you know something I don’t?” E asked, her arms now crossed over her chest. Not good. She’s defensive. E’s never defensive.

“See, that’s just the same as the secret thing we had going earlier,” you joked.

“Ugh,” E groaned. 

“What?”

“You always get like this,” she shook her head.

“Like what?” “Like this when dad comes around!”

You stopped the car, the brakes skidding to a halt at the school entrance. “Are you -- E, this isn’t about your dad, this is . . . about that boy. That boy that kissed you at your party. The boy who kissed my sixteen year old daughter on the cheek.” “What?” E snapped, sitting up in her seat.

Em slid out of the car, ran to class.

“I mean,” you rambled. “ I have an eidetic memory, E, I can’t unsee that!”

“See that . . . ?“ she whispered to herself. You could see the wires clicking in your head.  Her eyes widened, “You saw that? You saw --” She began to pack up her stuff, scrambling really, grabbing her iced coffee. 

“E --” you stuttered. “What are you doing? Hey, hey, talk to me.” “I’m late for school, mom, I’ll text you.”

“E --”

“Bye.” you were cut off by the sound of the  car door slamming in your face. If ‘what the fuck?’ could be a facial expression, you were wearing it right now. 

You had a concussion when the doctor told you about Eden Penelope Reid. You had fallen on the concrete, and couldn’t really see straight. You felt Spencer though. He was holding your arm and supporting your wobbling body with his since you’d hoped straight out of the hospital bed. 

“Congratulations, Mrs. Reid,” The doctor smiled at you.

“Huh? What? Congratulations?” You slurred, tired and confused and looking to your husband. 

“Oh, I’m . . . sorry, I thought of you . . .” After exchanging glances with Spencer, she sighed and beared another grin. “You’re . . . pregnant. About five weeks along.”

You fainted. Again. 

“Hey,” Spencer greeted you, following your fast footsteps with his eyes. 

You rounded the edge of the couch and took a seat beside him, huffing as you plopped down, only to give him a glance of acknowledgement.

“You’re late, I thought you got lost,” he said.

“Nope, just took the scenic route,” you grumbled. “Hi, I’m [y/n],” you directed at the therapist sitting across from you. She wore dark red lipstick and a matching blouse, her nails a deep purple over her slacks. Okay. Cool.

“Olivia Oliphant,” she nodded kindly. “Nice to meet you, Dr. Reid.” “Oh, just [y/n], please,” you told her. 

“Well, [y/n], Spencer here was just telling me about your kids.”

“Oh?” You looked at Spencer. “He was?”

“Yep, Eden and Emerson, beautiful names. How did you guys pick them?” 

When you were approximately five weeks pregnant with Eden Penelope Reid, you felt the most excruciating pain of your life. That’s including two rounds of childbirth, some beatings, a bullet wound.  You clamp down on your lower stomach, grasping for air as you collapsed to the floor, in the middle of a crowded police station. Penelope rushed to your side, calling your name, “Oh, my goodness, [y/n], what’s wrong? What’s wrong?” “I don’t --” you whimpered. “Something’s not -- ow! -- something’s not right!” Local PD helped you to your feet, a worried Garcia following behind them. “C--call Spencer!” You pleaded, although the phone was already to her ear.

Spencer had just been shot in the neck. 

They didn’t think he was going to make it. They didn’t think he was going to make it. You beat Derek, pounding your fists into his chest for not telling you sooner, broke down in the center of the waiting room.

But he did make it.

He made it, and he was right here. He was right here, and you were right here, and E was at school, mad at you, and it was eating you alive. Did you completely undo your ‘cool mom’ reputation with one meltdown? No, how could you? 

“[y/n]?” Dr. Oliphant called. 

You zoned back into reality, both Spencer’s and her concerned faces focused in on you. 

“Yes,” you cleared your throat. “Well, Eden is named after East of Eden by John Steinback, and . . . Emerson is named after Ralph Waldo Emerson.” 

“And,” she began. “Would you say your kids are your main reason for being in therapy?”

“Oh, wow, okay, just jumping into it, got it,” you huffed. 

Spencer was still eyeing you, worried and troubled. He knows you. He knows when you’re upset, and stressed, and he couldn’t stop staring at your nails. “Uh . . .” you hummed. “Hm? . . . hm? Would I say that there’s any other reason I’m in therapy for sixty minutes with my ex-husband? No.”

“[y/n].” Spencer spoke, turning his body full to you. “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing, nothing,” you shook your head. 

“Yeah,” he scoffed. “ I haven’t heard that one before.”

“Yes, yes, yes, you’d ask what’s wrong, and I nothing’ed my way through our marriage and we got divorced. I know.” 

“Jesus,” he sighed, exasperated, pressing his palm to his forehead. 

An awkward silence floated throughout the room for what felt like hours. You stared at your shoes, and huffed. Lifting your head up to smile at Dr. Oliphant, you said, “And that’s just the tip of the iceberg.”

There was an earthquake in California the day Eden Penelope Reid was born. A magnitude of four. This would not have mattered in the slightest -- due to the fact that you were on the other side of the country -- but Spencer was there. In California, sitting in the dark, surrounded by broken glass when Eden was born. 

She came at night, after your water broke at the BAU headquarters. You spent hours of the day stumbling around a hospital room, waiting for Spencer to show. Penelope’s quick with a phone, she knew hours before you finally asked her.

“Penelope?” You whimpered, curled up in the bed with your hand pressed to your back. 

“Yes?” She pipped.

“Spencer’s not coming . . .” you turned to her. “Is he?”

“We’ve got to talk.”

You glanced over your shoulder, rolling your eyes, “Spencer, please.”

“[y/n], come on,” he pleaded. 

You looked him in the eye, sighing as you leaned back in your seat. You could hear the kids shuffling around upstairs, having just been dropped off by Spencer, who was stern and pressed. It was kind of funny. 

“I was in a bad mood,” you told him.

“Bad mood? [y/n], you sat there for forty-five minutes sipping your coffee every time Dr. Oliphant asked you a question so you couldn’t talk with a full mouth.”

“Bad mood . . .” you repeated, this time quieter, softer, to yourself. 

Spencer’s expression softened, almost instantly. “[y/n]?” he called. “What happened? You’ve been biting your nails, I know something’s wrong.”

You crumbled. You ran yours hands over your face and sobbed. From that moment Spencer and you saw E with that boy, you’ve been reliving it over and over. Trying to recognize his face, and it wasn’t until just last night that you realized it’s . . . Spencer. This boy looks just like Spencer, and you can’t even figure out how you feel about Spencer, -- who you didn’t meet until you were 23, by the way -- let alone this kid.

So how is E doing? How is she already so comfortable around him? And kissing. Have they kissed before? You don’t want to know. No. You do want to know. It’s all you want. You want the most important girl in your life to talk to you, to confide in you the way she did when she was seven years old. But now she’s sixteen and she won’t even look at you. 

“And of course, I found a way to blame it on you,” you paused to breath after a long rant. “Because, well, you’re here, which is still weird to me, but hey,” you shrugged, inhaling a hit from your juul. 

Spencer nodded his head understandingly, biting down on his to contain a smile. “Now, that . . . is how you should’ve spoken in therapy this morning.” He laughed. 

You chuckled, for the first time all day, and rolled your eyes, “Next time.”

“Next time?” He grinned. After connecting his eyes to yours, and seeing a glimmer of confirmation, he sat up, “Well, okay, cool. Then, next time I’ll tell you that you are the best mother on the planet. Raising the kids the way you did . . . you made Eden who she is. You made that incredible girl, and you shaped her into the slightly . . . stubborn girl she is today. She is her mother’s daughter, she just needs someone to push past the hardhead every once in a while.”

You exhaled, a slow, steady breath.

Spencer.

He stayed until Sunday afternoon. Just like he said he would. A whole day after you wandered into E’s room, full of fresh courage and love. You asked her if she was hungry, and she said no. By the time you left, you had a name. Sullivan.

“Sullivan?” You repeated. “Does he go by Sully?” You cackled.

“When he was six!” She shouted, a fit of giggles dribbling from her lips. “He goes by Van now.” “Oh, my goodness,” you feigned as though you were collapsing on the bed. “Van?”

“Yes! Hey, don’t judge! You married a guy named Spencer.”

“[y/n]! [y/n]? [y/n] --” Spencer’s voice lowered to immediately silence the moment he stepped into the room. Under the hospital lights, you laid on a bed, a tiny baby in your arms and a soft smile on your face.

“Don’t be shy now,” you giggled. “Come in.”

He stepped into the room, slowly, his breath shaky from running down the halls. “I--is, is this her?”

“No, I misplaced the actual baby, so they gave me a very life-like doll,” you smirked.

“Oh, baby,” he cooed, placing a million and one kisses to your forehead. “You’re incredible, you did -- incredible,” he held you close, looking down at the infant against your chest. “So, what’s her name? You did remember to pick one, didn’t you?”

“Yep, UnSub --”

“[y/n] . . .” he smiled.

You laughed, holding your child up to her father. “This . . . is Eden Penelope Reid.”

Spencer didn’t come out of his room for hours before he was set to leave on Sunday. As worried as you were, you kept to entertaining the kids in the living room. The two of them were snacking on some popcorn, watching a movie on netflix. Em was tucked underneath your arm, and you did your very, very best to focus in on the TV. But the moment you heard the hinge of his bedroom door, you sat up in your seat. 

He came down the steps in a stomping rage. Didn’t even come in to join you all, just called for you, “[y/n] . . . [y/n], can you come here, please?”

You furrowed your eyebrows, and stood to your feet, nervously eyeing the kids. “Be right back,” you told them, before walking out into the foyet. 

“Okay . . .” Spencer said, just above a quiet whisper. “Okay, okay . . .” He was trying to calm himself down. Pacing, muttering, hands on his hips.

“Spencer?” You walked up to him. “Hey, what’s the matter? Hey . . .”

“I’ve had . . . some time to process, some time to fully understand the information, but I know that you, haven’t, so I’m going to get to it . . . Catherine Adams is being injected tomorrow.”

Crickets. Silence. No sobs, no boo-hoos, nothing. “And?” You replied. “Are we throwing a party? Because that can be arranged.”

“And in exchange for her cooperation in multiple homicide investigations . . .” Spencer sighed, his head ducked down, hands in his pockets. “She gets a final request.”

You scoffed, rolled your eyes, “What does she want now? A night with you at the Ritz? Just give it to her at this point so she’ll kick the bucket.” 

“She wants to see Eden.”

“Wha --” The sound slipped out before you could catch it. Thoughts. Thoughts. Thoughts. So many. And all you could say was, “No. Absolutely-fucking-not . . . fuck!”

“[y/n] --”

“The psycho who had my daughter kidnapped wants to . . . meet her? She can go straight to hell, and suffer on the way there.” 

And that was the moment, Eden Penelope Reid stepped into the doorway, her hands stern at her side, her face brazen with courage and strength, “I want to do it.”

[krsnbgirl]

Fly High! || Kageyama x Fem!Reader || Part 7

Summary: The first day of training camp has come to an end and the night is still young. After thinking about the boys’ current status at the camp, you spend some times with the rest of the managers. The topic of boys come up and you can’t help but spill your secret to them. As the night goes on, you end up at the gym and try to get in some personal training in when Kageyama shows up. You finally get to have a moment with the one person who has recently been taking up all of your thoughts. 

Pairing: Kageyama Tobio x Fem!Reader

Genre: Rom-Com, Slice of Life, Sports

Warnings: None

Word Count: ~2.5k

Author’s Note: As promised, here is part 7! I appreciate any interaction with this story, but it really does help if there is some feedback on it! Also, for anyone who is curious, the tag list is still open! And as always, this will be cross-posted on AO3 <3

Taglist: @misnmatchedsox​ @monviemoo​ @love-beyond-words​ 

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5 || Part 5.5 || Part 6 || Part 7 || Part 8 || Masterlist

You bit your lip as you walked out of the girl’s bathroom with a towel wrapped around your neck. Your wet hair cascaded down as you mindlessly began to dry it. Your mind was elsewhere as flashbacks of the boys during their last match took up your attention. You were mentally going through your observations of the rest of their practice matches and compared it to how they were then to their current status. You knew that their loss against Seijoh was heavy on their minds and seeing how the other teams were really strong, it would obviously take a toll on your boys. Of course, that meant using this camp to their advantage to better themselves. You just winced every time that they had to do diving drills as punishment, which was basically the whole day for them. You wished there was something more that you could do and the boys always reassured you that it’s just a part of the process. But with Kageyama and Hinata in the mix, it gives you some relief to know that they could get some wins under their belt. Hinata’s change in attitude was worrying you as you remembered noticing that his head wasn’t in it as much as usual. You had followed his gaze at some point during their Nekoma match to find that Lev had caught everyone’s attention. He was a new power to reckon with on the team of cats, but you hoped that it wouldn’t stump your friend as much as he let on. Sighing, You gripped your towel in worry, wondering to see if the change of pace would ruin the boys’ team dynamics. Thankfully, the first day had come to an end and everyone was winding down for the night. You pushed away your worries and mentally reminded yourself to wake up earlier than the call time to work on some new strategies for the team.

“Welcome back, (Y/N)-chan!” One of the managers from Shinzen High greeted you. 

“How was your shower?” Shimizu asked as you put back your things into your bag. 

“It was good, haha. What have you guys been up to while I was gone?” 

“We were talking about the boys!” Suzumeda Kaori, one of the managers from Fukurodani, grinned as she hugged her pillow. 

The other girls in the room giggled as you raised an eyebrow at them. “Oh? So we’re starting now, huh?” 

“I mean why not? It means we have more time to gossip about them as the camp continues.” The manager from Ubugawa added. 

“They aren’t wrong, (Y/N)-chan, so let’s enjoy, hm?” Shimizu smiled at you. 

“I guess…” you grinned and got comfy in your futon. 

“(Y/N)-chan, do you have a thing for Kuroo or Bokuto? We saw you playing with them earlier!” one of the girls asked. 

You laughed so hard you had to clutch your sides. You frantically waved your hands and shook your head as they looked at you with questioning looks. “Nah, they’re like my brothers! Just like Nishinoya, I grew up with them.” 

“Eh? So that means they’re free to flirt with!” one of the girls cheered.

You shrugged and said, “Tetsuro can be a tease with girls but Koutaro is very oblivious, it’s like the only thing that goes on in his mind is volleyball.” 

“What about you, Kiyoko-chan? (Y.N)-chan? It could be from another school or even your own, but has anyone caught your eye?” Shirofuku Yukie, the other manager of Fukurodani, asked with a cheeky glint in her eyes. 

Shimizu shrugged and readjusted her glasses. “Not really, not at the moment anyways. They all share one brain cell so none has appealed to me in that way.” 

“Eh~ you’re just trying to act cool like always Kiyoko-chan!” 

The girls giggled and the attention was turned back towards you. You awkwardly glanced down at your hands and pursed your lips in contemplation to share what’s been on your mind. 

“Oh? I think she does like someone!” 

Shimizu grinned to herself as she had noticed you interacting more with a certain setter during practices. You sighed before looking down at your pillow and muttered his name underneath your breath. 

“What was that? We can’t hear you~�� Kaori teased. 

“...K-Kageyama-kun…” you muttered just loud enough for them to hear. 

The girls shrieked as you hid your face behind your pillow and Shimizu comfortingly patted her shoulders. You felt your entire face warm up and groaned when you heard all of the comments from the girls. 

“That’s so cute!” 

“Aw and they’re both first years.”

“Wouldn’t that be hard though?” 

You shrugged and smiled to yourself, setting your pillow on your lap. “I know it’s still pretty early...but I’m okay with just being friends with him because I know how much volleyball means to him. I can just continue rooting for him as a manager and fan.” 

“That’s so romantic!” the girls said together and you laughed. 

The night continued on as the girls continued to talk about the boys and tips were shared on how to keep all their rowdiness at bay. Soon enough and one by one, the girls began to fall asleep. You sighed as you got up to turn off the lights after stuffing your phone in your pocket. You were the last one awake and still didn’t feel like going to sleep. Even after a long day like today, if your mind wouldn’t let you sleep, there was no way to relax. 

Slipping on a pullover hoodie, you quietly made your way out of the classroom and figured you might as well continue to work on your knee. You leisurely headed towards one of the gyms and turned on its light. ‘Thank goodness no one is awake…’ Grinning to the thought of finally having the entire gym to yourself, you went into its supply room and grabbed a jump rope and resistance band. Getting back onto the floor, you set the resistance band on the ground as well as the water bottle you brought with you. With a tap on your phone, you let music play and began to do some reps with the jump rope to warm up in the middle of the court.

“Um…” you heard someone say behind you. 

You stopped jumping and turned around in surprise to find Kageyama looking back at you. He was wearing grey sweats and a black hoodie with his hood on. You smiled as he looked at her set up and you shrugged. 

“I couldn’t sleep.” 

“Me neither.” He replied and slid his hood off, stepping into the gym. 

“Are you going to practice your serves?” 

He nodded silently and quickly made his way towards the basket that held the volleyballs. A comfortable silence fell upon you two as you each got into your zones. You had moved on to using the resistance band for some squats and stretching. Kageyama couldn’t help but keep an eye on you as he served, making sure that the balls never hit your corner. Once he had settled in with the basket, you had walked off and settled in the corner closest to the door so he would have to space. While doing his own practice, Kageyama couldn’t get over the fact that he missed seeing you in action today all because he failed his exam the first time. With a sigh he focused on the ball that was in his hands and began to serve as usual. He watched as it went towards the other side of the court, but was surprised to see you receiving the ball. 

“Shouldn’t you be stretching out your leg?” he asked in surprise. 

You shrugged and said, “I’m basically in the final phases. Ever since I became manager, I’ve been taking my treatment a lot more seriously. My therapist and doctor gave me the okay to slowly get back on to the court, just not as intense as I was before.” 

Kageyama nodded and you met his gaze before smiling at him. He watched as you walked towards the serving line and he unconsciously began to analyze your movements and positioned himself ready to receive the ball. But before he could fully register your serve, the ball had already flown right past him. You cheekily laughed at his reaction when he looked at you then at the ball in surprise. 

‘What speed and control…’  He thought to himself as he blinked back at you.

“Surprised?” you asked. 

Kageyama cleared his throat while he picked up the ball. Taking a deep breath, the setter readied for his turn as his gaze changed. He picked up on the challenging tone you gave him and if anyone knew him, they knew that he enjoyed being put up to a challenge. You smirked while silently watching his whole demeanor changed before your eyes. This was one of the sides of Kageyama you enjoyed because this was when he shone the brightest in your eyes.

“First to three?” he asked. 

Your eyes glinted in confidence as you stretched out your arms. You smirked and quickly braided your hair so it could stay out of the way while shaking out your legs. Finally with a determined smirk, you nodded. “You’re on, Kageyama-kun.” 

You gave it your all against each other as each served then hit the ball to try and beat their opponent. You managed to gain the first point as Kageyama missed to hit the ball he dove for. He tried to not let it affect him and playfully rolled his eyes. You gave him the peace sign and he shook his head in amusement. 

“I hope you’re not going easy on me.” You snickered.

He clicked his tongue and in the midst of your gloating, served the ball and aced it. Your jaw dropped and he smirked. “As if, shorty.” 

“Shorty?! And you cheated!” you huffed before jogging to grab the ball. 

“Remember to always stay alert on the court.” 

You rolled your eyes and shook your head with an amused smile on your face, “You will certainly be the death of me, Kageyama Tobio.” 

He simply shrugged and readied himself as he watched you close your eyes and walked up to the serving line. He doesn’t remember the last time he felt so relaxed yet challenged at the same time. It’s been so long since he was able to play against someone that lived and breathed the game just as much as he did. Of course there was Hinata, but the kid still had so much to learn. With the girl in front of him who smiled with calculated eyes as he ran and tried to spike the ball to score, Kageyama couldn’t help but crack the smallest smile as she ran towards it. The ball had bounced back over to his side and as he ran to hit it, he couldn’t believe he was actually having fun for once. 

You continued to play and eventually, Kageyama arose as the victor. Before he could stop himself, he pumped his fist with a bright smile on his face. A small ‘yes’ escaped his lips and you smiled to yourself as you watched him enjoy his little moment. Walking off to the side, you grabbed your water bottle and yawned. Kageyama approached you with a warm expression on his face after putting away the ball and said, “Good game, (L/N)-san.” 

You huffed as you checked the time on the wall and said, “It’s only because my knee started to act up that I couldn’t get the last one.” 

“Well we were tied for a while.” he muttered and looked down to see if her knee had swollen up. He lifted up the edge of his shirt to wipe away the sweat on his forehead and when you noticed, you immediately looked away and hoped he didn’t notice the light tinge of pink on your cheeks.

You passed your water bottle to him without saying anything and he wordlessly grabbed some water for himself while you busied yourself with your belongings. After straightening up from gathering the workout equipment, your eyes widened as you watched Kageyama drink some more water. 

‘Does he know that we just had an indi-y’know what, let’s not get ahead of ourselves, shall we?’ Shaking your head rapidly, you put on your hood and quickly muttered that you were going to put away the stuff you brought out.

Kageyama gave you a confused look before picking up your phone for you and decided to wait for you by the entrance. You had returned with your hands in the pocket of your hoodie and you gave him a grateful smile for holding your things. 

“Thanks Kageyama-kun.” you muttered and grabbed it from him before you guys walked towards the building where the girls were sleeping in. 

“I didn’t know you could play like that.” he said after walking for a bit. 

You looked up at the sky as the moon shone brightly and he matched your pace. It felt so refreshing to be able to almost play as how you did before. Your game with Kageyama surprised you since you didn’t even remember when was the last time you had a one on one with someone. Shrugging, you smiled and said, “I didn’t know I could either until my body moved on its own.” 

“...I’m glad we got to play together.” 

“You are a formidable opponent, Kageyama-kun. I hope to someday play against you and Shoyo-kun and receive that quick myself at my best potential.” 

He had the smallest smirk on his face as he imagined that scenario. A two versus two match with the annoying tangerine against you and whoever you pick at your best? Now that was something he could look forward to. Kageyama wanted to see you in action because you were better than most players he’s come across. You also had the same look he has on the court while he reads the players and tries to figure out what’s next. During the small game, he felt like you were both playing a game of chess to see who could outsmart the other. It was also probably why he found himself becoming more comfortable around you. You were both very similar on the court when it came to decision making. You chuckled as you looked up to find Kageyama lost in his own thoughts. A new spark could be seen in his eyes as you slowly approached the entrance of your building.

Kageyama stuffed his hands in his pockets and watched as you made your way up the stairs and you turned around to smile at him. Tucking a few strands of your hair behind your ear, you bit your lip before bowing. 

“Thanks for tonight, Kageyama-kun. It was fun getting to play with you.” 

“...Tobio.” 

You tilted your head to the side as Kageyama looked to the side, his hand rubbing his neck as he blushed. 

“...Call me Tobio.” he said a little louder. 

You couldn’t hide the wide smile that had managed to break out behind your hands as you tried to hide your burning cheeks. Kageyama met your warm gaze and relaxed as he looked into your eyes. He sighed and gave you a small smirk. 

“I don’t want to lose that small tangerine.” 

You giggled and nodded as you gripped the bottom of her hoodie. Rocking on your heels, you smiled at him once more.

“Alright then...goodnight Tobio. Sleep well.” 

He waited for you to open the door before saying, “...Goodnight (Y/N).” 

[my-brothers-corrupted]

Chapter Four - Part 2

Blue and Henrik try to take care of each other after the difficult night Anti caused them before returning to their twins.

Tws for discussions of abuse between brothers, threats of stabbing, and mind control.

Part 2 - okay i really want to title this chapter 'I'm a healer, but...'

Part 2 - In the Silence Between

Anonymous asked: Henrik? Was a camera left with you?

By the time the sun rises the next day, there is enough light for you to make him out again.

It takes him a long time to stir, curled up like a worm on the sidewalk though he may be. He is still concussed. You know from the first moment he squints his eyes up at you, blinking as a mole blinks. He sneezes and it makes him cry for pain, curling back down around his aching head.

The chains on the door clink. He sits up fast and only worsens the pounding in his head, letting out a low groan and shrinking away from Blue’s body as the door fall open wide.

“Dok,” whispers Blue, faltering to his knees beside him. “It’s me.”

“Liar,” hisses Henrik, shoving his shoulders. “Get away from me, you fuck.”

Blue reaches gently out for his hand and intertwines their fingers like a pinkie promise. I’m here. I’m with you.

Dok breathes out a terrified sigh and draws in relieved air, wiping at his aching head.

“You hot?” murmurs Blue.

“So hot,” he whimpers. “I am melting.”

“Let’s get you in the shower.”

“Blue… thank you.”

“Come on, darling. Blue’s here. It’s still my job to take care of you, little brother.”

Anonymous asked: Blue, are you doing okay? I know Henrik is priority but I imagine Anti just disentangled himself from you, right?

“You’re pale,” whispers Henrik. “You feel alright?”

“I’ll be okay, Dok. I think I’m getting used to it.”

“I don’t want you to get used to it,” answers Dok, distressed.

Blue leads him towards the other bathroom on the second floor, his arm wrapped around Dok’s waist. His eyes wear darkness.

“We share dreams in the same head,” he says, helping Dok sit down at the bottom of a bathtub. “Sometimes, in the night, I hear him talking to me, but I try not to answer, and he tries to make himself stop.”

Anonymous asked: Henrik, how hurt are you, if you know? I hope not too badly. You don't have to answer, though, your brain might be a little foggy right now.

“I would need a CT to know for sure,” he mumbles, gasping as Blue turns the showerhead right on him. “Fuck, Blau, I’m still dressed!”

“Your clothes are a mess, bud. I think you threw up.”

“We have a washing machine now.”

“Want to risk Trick seeing that in the wash and asking questions?”

Henrik winces, closing his eyes.

“Dok, Anti told me what he’d do to Trick if you let him know. But maybe it would just be better to tell him. He’s going to find out eventually anyway, and it could turn him to our side - ”

“Stop!” snaps Dok, whirling on him with fear in his eyes. This makes him groan again, clutching at the dent in his forehead. “I won’t risk his skin for my own…”

Blue doesn’t press it. Dok’s having a hard enough day as it is. He rolls up his pants and sits on the side of the tub besides his little brother, covering the dent as he massages shampoo into his hair.

“Is that nice?” he asks with a soft laugh, seeing Dok relax.

Henrik nods quietly, wiping at tears in his eyes.

“I’m sorry, my love.”

“It’s not your fault,” whispers Dok.

“Do you think your head will be okay?”

“Tell me if you notice me losing any skills or awareness. Most likely the damage won’t set in until we’re much older.”

“Like an American football player.”

“They say every concussion takes six months off your life,” agrees Dok morbidly. Blue leans down to hug his soapy head to his chest for a second.

“You can have six of mine,” he offers gently, opening the body wash.

Anonymous asked: Hm I guess when he's in control he takes the split consciousness and completely submerges you in it so it's basically just him but when you're both unconscious, it's more even between you? Like if he's in a state of rest, he's not completely taking you down, but since your body is pretty much resting for two people it's not enough to completely hand control back to you since you're the one who has to deal with the effects? Am I reading into that correctly?

“Maybe.” Blue tries to wrap his head around it all at once, his eyes flickering. “I… don’t know. But sometimes when he’s awake I feel something between us too. It was like that day where the magician came to our home in Singapore, when Anti and I were both trying to protect Trick. Like… we’re almost working together. But then we pull away again. It makes me a little afraid.”

Blue cleans Dok’s stained beard with a washcloth, letting him rest against the side of the tub, his shadowed eyes closed. “It makes me wonder if I’m not more like him than I want to be, for us to be able to see each other like that. Your chest and face are clean, do you want help with the rest?”

Dok makes himself wake up again and takes the washcloth. Blue steps back to give him some privacy. He catches sight of himself in the mirror on the wall.

Pain and grief flood his features. He turns away from the image of himself. Supposedly himself, anyway.

That is not a person he recognizes.

sophiness asked: My favourite thing is the fact that we can only see what's rly going on in Anti's head is when he's having an existential crisis.

Blue gives a low chuckle. “What, do you have the tea? I hope he’s having a fucking breakdown. Maybe if I can learn a little bit more about how he thinks there will be a benefit to this possession shit after all.”

Anonymous asked: Oh that's.. interesting. If that's not too personal, what are your shared dreams like? Is it coherent at all?

“I think there were snippets?” says Blue. “Snippets that I understood. Like Dap’s eyes, and Trick just staring at us, but his throat was bleeding the way Anti’s does. And then there was this really weird, like, figure at the door, with the forest around it. And they frightened me, but it made Anti move towards it, and he was talking, but I couldn’t hear what he said to it. And then the figure turned and walked away from him while he was trying to reach it, and he woke up upset, and laid with Dapper for a long time. But then, I don’t even remember all of our waking moments. I think he can shut me down when he has the energy and thinks to do it.”

“Well, you’ve got one thing right, at least.”

Blue yelps and turns to see Anti standing inside the bathroom. The door is closed and they didn’t hear it open. Blue bites down the urge to swear at him, the memories of last night still too fresh in his mind. He sits down on the side of the tub to shield Dok, turning his eyes away from Anti’s.

“That’s what I thought,“ snipes Anti, advancing on them both. Ignoring Dok’s nakedness, hidden to you by the side of the tub, Anti pushes back his hair and examines the dent in his head, pulling his hand away after a moment and staring down at the two of them.

“Can we go back to our twins now, Anti?” asks Dok. “Please?”

“Now that’s a more polite way to ask than all that screaming and thrashing you two got up to last night,” sneers Anti. “Yes, you can. On one condition.”

“What?” asks Blue, knowing he’s waiting for a reply.

“Blue’s body is a fucking wreck. You two make sure it gets fed and watered and whatever. And Dok, I want you to make him exercise.”

“To make him exercise? Your idea of exercise is play-fighting… or just real fighting. He can barely walk.”

“I’m not an idiot, Arzt. Aren’t you supposed to be a doctor? Make him stronger again. Use the pool. That’s easier on humans. Good for you.”

“I’m not a physical therapist, Anti, I’m a heart surgeon.”

“Are you arguing with me?” asks Anti in a sickly sweet voice. “Would you like an up-close view of a heart that needs fixing right now?”

Dok flinches away from him, shaking his head.

“Just don’t let it fucking die or something stupid. I need it functional. Got it?”

Blue wraps his arms uncomfortably around his stomach. Dok looks up at him.

“Got it,” they both say.

“There’s my good pets,” says Anti, his face contorted with derision, and, mercifully, he leaves them alone again. If you’re watching your cameras, you’ve seen that he has not left Dapper’s side for the past hour, the two of them having a lie-in in the great big bed, wrapped warmly around each other.

Anonymous asked: Regardless of morals and standards, everyone has hopes, dreams, fears, and values. Anti's are crooked but it's not impossible for his to align with yours at times. honestly your want for control is probably growing since it's been stripped away from you. That doesn't make you Anti, that makes you human. However I certainly don't trust the magical connection between you two, it's clear that it's not just skin-deep (pun intended, fuck you) so if you say things are creeping too far, it's too far.

Blue sighs through his nose. The day has just begun and already he’s so tired. He doesn’t want to go downstairs. He doesn’t want to swim. He just wants to go back to bed.

But he’s got them to look after, no matter what the doubts in his head, no matter the growing connection between himself and the creature that’s been putting him on for pajamas at night.

And, he thinks, as he towels Dok’s fluffy brown hair between one of the thick bathroom towels in the cabinet and wraps it like a blanket around his thin shoulders, it’s not really so bad when there are moments like these. Dok looks at him like he’s in awe of him, dazed and trusting, clinging to Blue’s shirt.

“Let’s go take you to your little brother,” he says, leading Dok towards the stairs.

“Airplane,” mumbles Dok, rubbing at his head.

“What?”

“Airplane.” He points to the top stairs. “De flugzeug.”

A small paper airplane is waiting for them. Blue picks it up cautiously, waiting for tricks.

But it’s just the poem his twin sent him as a present, the one he tore out of the book. And if you saw only the beginning last night, the morose ramblings of a reflective man, here is the finish:

And yet I still am half in love with pain, With what is imperfect, with both tears and mirth, With things that have an end, with life and earth, And this moon that leaves me dark within the door.

You see Blue’s mouth curve into a small smile that is entirely his own. And there, at the bottom of the banister, fast asleep against the stairs, waits an imperfection for whom he would suffer all things: Ro, waiting for him.

Anti can do what he wants to him in the night. Daytime is for daylight, and the sun shines off his brothers.

.

“Hey,” murmurs Trick, sitting up in bed. “Hey, stop. What’s that? Where’d you get that?”

Dok turns away from the fingers approaching the purple dent in his head.

Trick stands up and forces him to look at him, his eyes wide and worried. “Don’t look away from me. Where’d you get that? Fuck, your pupils are totally fucked up. Sit down, bro, hey, I’m here. Noodle, come sit on your uncle’s lap. I’ll go get you an icepack, Dok, just - ”

“No,” says Dok, reaching out for his wrist. “No, Trick, just stay.”

Trick is supposed to be giving orders these days, but even if he were a commanding personality in the slightest, he would still do what Dok asked of him. He sits down beside his brother on the bed they are not allowed to share, staring at that wound in his head like God put it there and now it’s Trick’s job to crash down St. Peter’s gates and enact a swift revenge.

“Tell me who,” says Trick, pointing at the wound. “Who did that to you. Red, huh? You did something he didn’t like and he grabbed you again? Or Dapper?”

“Stop,” says Dok, more afraid by the guesses than he would have been if Trick had begun to guess his secret. “Don’t - how can you say that?”

“Red’s done things like this to us before,” says Trick bitterly, getting to his feet again. “I’ll fucking show him to lay his hands on you.”

“It wasn’t Red! I hit my head on the bathroom counter. Slipped on my clothes as I was changing. It was stupid.”

Trick sits down, distraught. “Dok, you never lie to me. That’s supposed to be why we’re twins. You and I, we got each other’s secrets. Even the really secret secrets. You have to trust me.”

Dok’s eyes water. He turns away, hiding the bruise beneath his palm.

Trick sits miserably beside him, staring at the floor. Noodle watches them with concern, sitting on Trick’s feet. “Mrr,” he prompts them, butting Henrik’s calf.

“I just got you back,” whispers Trick. “I wish we could sleep together again. Then I would know you were safe from everybody and everything. And that no one was going to take you from me again.”

He glances over and his hands reach out. For a second, Dok thinks he’s going to touch his shoulder and draw him in to hug him - but instead, Trick reaches out and wraps his hand around one of the raven necklaces on Dok’s breast.

Henrik feels a stone in his throat. He can hardly breathe. Trick glares at the necklaces. He hates them. He hates that they’re there. He hates that the magicians put dangerous thoughts into Dok’s head so he has to stay upstairs with Anti. He hates that his twin just lied to him.

“What if I said it was Anti?” croaks Dok, his voice shaking.

“Who was keeping you safe instead of me?”

“Who hit my head.”

Trick looks up, surprised.

And if Dok’s concussed, well - Trick’s eyes are more glazed over still.

“Anti’s never hit you,” says the person in the world who’s been with Dok every time Anti has made him bleed, bruise, and cry. They used to commiserate in whispers under the covers of their nest, reassuring each other through every pain that came with hands clutched together and secret, distant hopes to live a better life someday, together. Now, Trick’s familiar voice is thick and sleepy, and not from the cozy comfort of their brotherhood - he sounds drugged more than tired. Noodle leaves his feet and hides away under the bed soundlessly. “He would never.”

It’s Dok’s turn to stare at the floor. He wants to cry or scream or protest, but in the end he just feels dead.

Trick drops his hand from the necklaces. He reaches for Dok’s face and rubs his brother’s beard against his knuckles, setting his head down on his shoulder.

“Did you miss me?” asks Dok softly. “While I was away?”

“I think I tried to,” answers Trick, sounding confused. “But it was hard to remember, I guess. I just knew I was lonely without you next to me. And last night, I was lonely again like that.”

“You should stay closer to Red,” murmurs Dok, ready for a change of subject.

“I hate him,” whispers Trick. “I hate everybody but you and Anti.”

“Don’t say that, Trick. I know it’s not true.”

Trick snuggles closer to his shoulder, closing his eyes. In the morning light, they are hand-in-hand.

Dok doesn’t know why he feels his brother is being taken farther and farther away from him every time they speak.

“I love you,” says Dok. “More than anything.”

“I love you too,” says Trick, sharing a rare kiss with him, pressing his mouth to Dok’s cheek. “Lie down and rest. Your head has to be killing you. I’ll make you breakfast. This house, this place - it’s everything we need, man. Months and months we’ve been hoping for a place like this and now, finally, I actually get to take care of you the way I’ve always wanted to.”

“With food?” asks Dok, trying to smile weakly at him.

Trick smiles back. “Yes,” he says. “With food.”

He isn’t often himself, lately.

But his love language is bacon and orange juice and sweet summer watermelon, and he still loves Dok.

Anonymous asked: What do you remember of the marketplace, Trick, when everyone was reunited again? Everything? Pieces? Did Anti take you aside to "fix" things for you afterward?

“Ahhh.” Trick tilts his head back and forth as he cuts up sourdough bread for toast. “The marketplace recently? We… were coming to get Dok and Red back cause Dok got away from the magicians and Blue was feeling well enough to travel. But Anti was wearing him because he knocked me out to try to protect me.”

Trick’s mouth thins irritably for a moment, but he’s trying to stay positive.

“But then there was some guy with Red, and apparently he got really attached to him, because he wouldn’t come with us when we said we needed to go! And Red is like, wanted for murder and a ton of other shit in Peru. And England. And kind of everywhere? So I don’t know how he was planning to stay hidden without Anti. I think he was just being emotional. But anyway I convinced Dok to come with me and Anti left Dap while he went to go get Red and convince him to stop being dumb. By the time he came back, Dap had gotten out, and that was how we ended up… yeah.”

Trick stares down at the knife in his hand like he’s acknowledging its power for a moment, his eyes afraid.

“I think after that it was just a blur of trying to deal with the fact that Dapper almost… did that. And Anti and Blue were both sick, and Dok was all shaken up, and everybody was losing it. I was just glad to get out of the fucking country at that point. Anti and I were together on the plane. But we talk a lot these days. I’ve wanted us to be able to get along for months. Some days he spoils me like he usually does Dapper and it’s wild. I’ve been good! I’m proud to get rewarded for that cause I really have worked hard for us, I think. Is that too much to say? I’m happy we’re all together again and that I finally convinced Anti I’m worth having.”

He smiles, searching the cabinets of the dead man for dishes. “He’s been helping me whenever I get freaked out. I haven’t felt depressed in ages. Having Blue possessed and Dapper suicidal, I think I would have flipped out, but Anti just makes everything… calm, inside my head. I really fucking need that. I’m scared to be alone with myself sometimes. I’ve had more than one attempt in my life, you know. Dok shouldn’t have to handle me alone, so it’s really good that Anti’s helping now too.

“But… Dok’s acting weird. Anti says he needs to correct what the magicians did to him. I hate that they changed him. I should have been there with him to watch him. Now Anti’s starting to dislike him because he won’t take those necklaces off. I don’t want him to get in trouble. Anti might give him to Dapper or Red or something instead of me.”

Trick’s face fills with distress for a second, wiping at his eyes. But - breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in -

Five seconds.

He feels okay again.

Humming distantly to himself, he picks up Dok’s plate and carries it back towards the bedroom, his eyes wide and cloudy and calm.

Anonymous asked: he can't take the necklaces off, trick. anti's just worried over it because he doesn't know what will happen, i think.

“That’s probably true,” says Trick. “Secretly I think Anti’s scared of more things than he lets on, but he’s tough for the rest of us. I don’t think he wants to see Dok hurt and we don’t know what those necklaces do. He said some weird shit when he tried to explain them to me. I’m worried he might be delusional. Dapper’s had some weird delusions, stuff like being one hundred years old, and he can get really, really stressed if you try to contradict him while he’s psychotic. So I’m just trying to meet Dok where he’s at until he kind of settles in again. I think it’ll be okay, though. I feel… fuck, I feel safe, you know? Safe mentally, safe in this house, safe with my family. Like no one’s going to hurt me, including me. And it’s been a really, really long time since I felt that way. So I’m just - I can take anything anybody throws at me right now. I’m just happy things turned out so well for us, even with some lasting problems we gotta fix. But we will fix them. Everything’s going to be okay.”

Anonymous asked: Well you're right about things going to be okay. Sooner rather than later I hope. I think it might be good for you to approach all of your brothers when you can Trick, talk with them. Not just Anti and Dok. I think opening a dialogue between the others may help clear the air a bit, yeah?

Trick deflates a little, looking back at the rest of the house as Dok sits up and tries to eat despite his nausea, not wanting Trick to feel like he’s not grateful or become more worried. Trick crosses his arms over his chest, his eyes narrowing down into a familiar look - the same way he stares out the window when he’s keeping watch.

“It was really scary when we were up on that mountain,” he murmurs. “And I would never want Dap to get hurt or be unhappy. I love Blue, but how am I supposed to trust him after what he did? And Red, well.”

Trick closes his eyes and shakes his head.

“I don’t know. We’ve never gotten along. Probably better to just leave things as are.”

“Not sure that will be an option,” Dok tells him from the bed. “You and Ro will be spending a lot of time together whether you like it or not, seems like.”

“He can keep sleeping on the stairs,” mutters Trick, guarding the door to Dok. Red won’t hurt them anymore. You have been with Red throughout the last few weeks, but Trick has not seen him since New Year, when he was being so ferocious and bitter with them, chained by the leg to his room. He doesn’t trust his brother not to strike his head as he passes. But if Red tries now, oh - Trick will show him. Trick will show him.

Anonymous asked: Don't you think you're being a tad abrasive? You guys do a lot of improv when it comes to keeping yourselves and each other safe. It's not always as simple as just following the rules, and not everyone is on the same page on how to handle themselves.

“Red can’t slap us,” snaps Trick. “There’s a hard and fast rule. Nobody should be hitting each other around here. Nobody should be dragging us or hurting us. We don’t have to excuse that sort of behavior. Anyway, I don’t have to talk to you!”

“Since when do you dislike the cameras so much?” asks Dok.

Trick frowns, turning to him. “Dok, come on… half of them are assholes anyway.”

“We used to have fun with the cameras,” grumbles Dok, turning away from him. “These days you are always annoyed. Well, I still like the camera people, so please don’t be so mean.”

Trick is abashed beneath his twin’s disapproval, wringing his hands anxiously in the doorway. “Dok, come on,” he whines, but his brother doesn’t look back at him. Trick paces, distressed.

Anonymous asked: C'mon Trick, you can't hate Red that much. I mean, yeah did some horrible things but it was mostly all on Anti's order. And he's also been through some real tough stuff while he was away with Dapper. Cant you give him a chance, just a little bit?

“We’ve all been through tough stuff, fuck! But I never grabbed Red by the hair and made him cry or anything like that! Fuck!”

Trick kicks the door, tears welling in his eyes.

“Hey,” snaps Dok. “Just take a deep breath. You don’t have to go beg to be Red’s friend right now.”

“I don’t care about anyone but you and Anti,” repeats Trick vehemently, circling like a caged dog. “I don’t care, it’s better just to stay home in your nest, don’t gotta go out and meet anybody. Don’t have to worry about how nobody likes me if you and Anti like me, don’t have to. Don’t have to let anybody hurt you again!”

“Why don’t you feed Noodle?” suggests Dok. “He’s probably hungry.”

Honestly, he’s not so perturbed by his brother’s anger. Trick was at the bottom of the hierarchy for a long time and his hatred for Red was simmering the whole time, not just because of the hitting, but because of the favoritism. This isn’t the first time Trick’s vented to him about it. Dok’s just glad Trick hasn’t been retaliatory yet - but he fears Trick’s lingering fear of his big brother is the only thing stopping him from putting Red in his place the same way Anti always put Trick and Dok in their places at their oldest brother’s feet.

And hey, Dok has his own grudges with Red, but at least he has some perspective on the situation. He knows Red’s been trying to survive just like the rest of them. He’s kept food in their stomachs too, sometimes at the cost of his own dinner. He can forgive him if he’s trying to be better to them.

Anonymous asked: It's fair to hate him after what he's done, even if it was under Anti's orders. But he's gotten back to himself a bit, the person he was before Anti. The Red he is right now is kinder than the one you remember, Trick.

Trick rubs at his eyes unhappily and shrugs, trying to stop himself from really crying. He’s embarrassed. Red still scares him no matter how mopey and sad and hollow he seems these days. He just wants to go away with Dok and Anti and maybe Dapper, and, well, Blue could come too… but he’d be sad without Red…

Trick lets out a short, unhappy sigh, sitting down beside Dok, who rubs his back almost instinctively, recalling to them both long nights on the watch at the window with only Dok’s hands to keep Trick’s muscles from straining.

“Red is your family,” says Dok. “I think really we all love each other, it’s just not that easy. Try not to be so angry with him. He’s really unhappy, you know.”

“Yeah,” says Trick. “All he did all of last night was sit in that library and look out at the sun as it went down.”

“Red has always kept us as full and as safe as he could,” says Dok, handing his brother a half of his toast. Trick nibbles unenthusiastically on the bread, leaning against Dok. “Do the same for him if Anti gives you a choice. Yes? For me? For Blue?”

“I’m not going to hurt Red,” mumbles Trick. “I’m just man-scaping.”

Dok snorts hard and Trick laughs wearily at his own joke, pulling Noodle onto his lap to pet his golden cat’s warm head.

Anonymous asked: Why do you trust Anti over Dok all of a sudden? You've been with Dok through years of torture and pain and heartache at the hands of Anti, you've been forcibly removed from him, you've been forced to run a 40 minutes walk and break into a store as punishment for not doing something you weren't even told to do while Anti threatened to torture Dok. Look at the burn scar on your hand. Remember that? And you say Anti would never hurt you two? BS.

“Break into a store as punishment?”

Trick stares at you, blinking. “I don’t think we’ve… no, or… that was for… medicine?”

He stops short, furrowing his brows at the floor. “Torture Dok. And the burn scar on my - ”

He opens his palm and falls silent.

The welded spiderweb of his hand stares back at him in pink and white, glistening under the lights. His stomach flips; he stares. He remembers the warmth of Dok’s body beside him growing colder, colder.

“I’ll make you a fire.”

“Anti said to stay hidden.”

“I’ll make you a fire.”

He curls his fingers into a fist.

Anti did do this to him. For making a fire for Dok.

Anti did this to him because he was angry, and he was violent, and he decided he wanted to hurt Trick, and that was the only reason.

“Shit, shit,” whispers Trick, clutching his hand to his chest. “Oh, no. No, no.”

“Trick?” Dok gets up on his unsteady feet, tottering over to his brother to hold him. “Hey, hey, I’m here. What’s - ”

“Anti hurt me, he hurt me,” whimpers Trick, eyes wide, his green hair falling into his eyes. “He still hurts me, he slapped me, he slapped me for kissing a girl and I fell and hit my head.”

“Trick, hey, look at me.”

“He used to lock us in that room with the blood on the walls,” sobs Trick, reaching out for his brother’s shirt, and Dok draws him in, clutching tightly to his elbows. “Because I would tell him he couldn’t make you torture anybody else, that he was making you lose your mind, and you would be in that dead-space for hours, just staring at the wall, whispering about surgeries and tumors beneath your skin.”

“Trick!” cries Dok, shaking him. “You’re making yourself upset, stop! You don’t have to think about it right now, okay? You don’t have to - ”

“Think about what?” Trick blinks, looking up again. “What… were we talking about?”

Dok stares at him, his head drawing slightly back in confusion. “Um. How we used to get locked in the bloody room after my… surgeries.”

Trick watches him, frowning.

“Trick?”

“What bloody room?”

“With the chairs, like, the rocking chairs? Do you remember? In a house he stole from someone. There were pictures of their kids on the walls.”

“What are you talking about?” laughs Trick, confused, touching his cheek. “Hey, whoa… who did that to you?”

He points at the bruise on Dok’s head. Dok’s whole face is drawn back with fear, staring at his brother’s blank eyes.

“Dok, tell me,” murmurs Trick, alarmed. “Who did that to you?”

“What if I said it was Anti?”

“It wasn’t Anti,” whispers Trick, touching his own head like it aches and letting his eyes slide shut. “He doesn’t hurt us.”

Dok has gone very still.

“Have the rest of my eggs, please,” he says, pushing Trick gently towards the bed. “Before Noodle eats them. I’m not that hungry.”

“Are you sure?”

“Promise,” answers Dok. “I’ll be right back. I need to handle something.”

Trick drifts towards the bed, looking sleepy.

“What is he doing to you, what is he doing,” you hear Dok whispering as he moves, over and over and over again. “What has he done in your head, what is he making you think, what is he doing to you, my heart, my heart.”

He is still whispering it when he steps into the kitchen and picks up the knife Trick used to cut fruit for his breakfast - a big, stern, silver cutting knife.

“He’s not going to be able to think like himself til he’s dead,” hisses Dok, unsteady on his feet, his mouth trembling with terrified worry. “He’s stuck in his own head. What is he doing to you, what has he done…”

nikkilbook asked: ....Doc. I’m gonna need you to clarify which “him” is which. And then I’m gonna need you to take like twelve deep breaths and find your whole chill.

Dok is breathing hard and miserably, his eyes beginning to get red again. He tries to breathe deep and sobs instead, pulling his hand through his hair.

“I want Anti to stop hurting him,” he says, his whole face scrunched up like a child’s as they try not to cry. “I want to take him somewhere safe and not have to keep watching this happen.”

Anonymous asked: Hen, what are you doing, love? Do you have a plan for this? You need to make a plan before you do something like this, just in case it backfires.

“I don’t want to make a plan, I can’t think, I just want, want… I want…”

He tries to take a step forward and stumbles, losing his balance and crashing to the floor with a yelp. The knife scatters away from his grip and he yelps as he lands hard on his wrist, curling up on himself.

Footsteps come rattling towards him, heavy and thunderous, and he recognizes them for who they belong to before Red is even barking his name and kneeling down beside him, laying a hand on his shoulder.

“Dok! What happened? Did you trip? Hey, did you know you have a bump on your head?”

Anonymous asked: Whoa whoa whoa! What are you doing? You're gonna go kill Anti? With a knife that'll probably be knocked out of your grasp effortlessly and then dug into you?? Dok, be smart about this. You're in no shape to be rebellious right now

“Hey!” cries Red, alarmed. “Fuck, don’t say those things, you’re going to get him in so much fucking trouble. Dok, tell me right now you weren’t going to hurt Anti.”

“Maybe I was,” cries Dok. “What then?”

Red grabs his chin, pulling him up to sitting despite a low yelp of protest.

“Dok,” he says, leaning in close. “It’s really important that I hear you say right now that you weren’t planning to go hurt Anti.”

Dok stares at him, eyes watering.

“I’m sick of living like this,” he says.

“Take that back,” says Red, low and dangerous. “Right now, before Anti punishes you for it. Right now, Dok.”

pine-storm-season asked: Deep breaths, buddy. I know, you want something to change. But we can't do anything just now, and so you have to wait, okay? Things will get better than they are now, I promise.

Dok works on deep breaths, miserable in Red’s hands. It’s the thought of this - Red’s hands, the realization that Red is so sincere about what he’s saying that he’s willing to touch Dok’s skin with his own despite his hatred for the sensation - that gives Dok a breath of clarity. He tries to calm down again, pawing at Red’s hand on his chin.

Dok whimpers, clutching at Red’s hand on his chin. “You’re holding me too tight.”

Red’s expression changes, a flash of alarm cutting through him. He drops Dok immediately. “Shit. I’m sorry, Dok.”

Dok wipes at his eyes, sniffling. “Can you help me walk to Blue?”

“I need to hear you say that you weren’t planning to hurt Anti,” murmurs Red.

Dok stares up at him, finding himself in a sudden, concussed sort of wonder for him. Red’s long been Anti’s, but he’s always been like this too - protecting them. If you’re going to say bad things about Anti, say them where his cameras don’t hear. If you’re going to break Anti’s rules, do it where the cameras aren’t looking. If you’re going to entertain faint dreams of rebellion, keep them in your sleep where they belong.

Trick pretends Anti doesn’t hurt them. Dapper drifts into fantasies. Dok used to hope that one day Anti would be better to all of them. Red has never done any of that. Red minimizes pain wherever he can and takes whatever comes their way, and he keeps living. Most of the year he’s been with Anti, he’s done it without even a twin.

“How have you been doing this, Red?” sighs Dok. “Aren’t you just hopeless?”

“I got things that keep me going,” says Red, but there’s a grief in his face that wasn’t there before Peru. “Long as you’re all alive, that’s all that matters.”

“No,” croaks Dok. “Don’t you see? That isn’t all that matters.”

Red doesn’t answer. He sits looking at Dok, ready to catch him if he falls again.

“I wasn’t planning to hurt Anti,” lies Dok.

Red nods. Deniability - even a shred - is the most important thing. It means that if Anti reacts, Red can defend him. He was concussed, anyway. He wasn’t thinking clearly, Anti! He can already plan the conversation he’ll have if Anti comes down the stairs to hurt him.

nikkilbook asked: Red, keep Dok away from sharp knives for the immediate future, cuz I still can tell if he was planning to murderize Anti or mercy-kill Trick.

“Yes, I’m going to pick this up and put it in the sink,” says Red tentatively, stepping away from Dok to get the knife and move it. “Might be better just to get rid of all the knives in the house, honestly, or at least lock them up somewhere. I got too many brothers with some dangerous habits. Did you think there was something beneath your skin again, Dok?”

“No, I’m okay.”

“Okay.”

Anonymous asked: Dok, I don't think trick is too far gone for us to snap him back to reality like that with just a memory. The downside here is that the snapback is basically a factory-reset. I think we need to relieve the pressure on his mind over time so he doesn't have a full mental collapse. It's not just his memories being repressed but the emotions too. Maybe a breakdown is inevitable, but we have to coax him through it not just shut it down or he'll just snap back into Anti's blissful ignorance again.

“Hey, what happened?” asks Blue softly, limping into the room. It took him a couple minutes to follow after Red. “Why are you sad?”

“We’re okay,” says Red. “Not a safe thing to talk about.”

Dok doesn’t even look up at Blue, fixated miserably on the floor.

“There are many things not safe to talk about,” answers Blue cagily, turning his gaze towards you just for a moment before looking away again. “Wise though they may be.”

“I want Trick to be Trick again,” mumbles Dok. “That’s all.”

“Get off the floor,” Blue prompts him gently. “Let’s go hang out on the couch and see if the cable still works.”

“I need to keep him thinking,” says Dok, trying to mull over your words in his spinning heads. “Remind him who he is little by little.”

“Shh, Dok,” pleads Blue, Red watching uncertainly from the kitchen.

Anonymous asked: Are you doing okay, Dok? Well... considering everything probably not but uh... how's the head?

“I’ll get an icepack,” offers Red, turning towards the freezer. “If I can find one.”

Blue sits Dok down on the couch, kneeling down in front of him to look up.

“You’re concussed,” he whispers. “You didn’t have a real plan or anything, just anger and fear. If you let your emotions drive you Anti will destroy you every time, Dok. You have to be patient. I know it’s impossible, but you have to do it.”

But Dok -

Henrik.

Henrik is shaking his head slowly, biting down hard on his lip. Blood trickles from between his teeth in reply.

“I will not be passive again,” he says. “I will never be passive again. I refuse. Besides, we don’t have much time. We will lose our fight if we don’t act on it. Or worse - we could lose our brothers. Blue.”

He leans in close, pushing you slightly away. When he speaks, you catch only the barest whisper, pressed into Blue’s ear.

“No long waits. Today, we begin planning. Let us make this chapter of our lives short and scarlet.”

Blue looks at Dok, and then to Red, turned towards the kitchen. From here, Blue can hear him humming dreamily - love songs for his fiance. Love songs for his broken heart.

Blue’s own reflection looks back at him from Dok’s eyes, and he sees Anti.

He will destroy every trace of him if that’s what it takes to keep the others safe. If that’s what it takes to give them a chance at happiness. If that’s what it takes to see his own eyes in the mirror again. He doesn’t need magic. He has Henrik, and Henrik has him.

Blue nods once. Dok touches his hand.

In the silence between them, a revolt.

[beanie-beebo-writes]

Call for Action

Chapter 6

You rolled over at around 2 AM for what seemed like the millionth time. Despite having no nightmares, you were plagued with hourly panic attacks that tore you from sleep. You didn’t even know what could have caused them; you had been doing so well since your last incident weeks ago. You felt so hopeless, and wondered if it was even worth the effort to sleep. Yet every time you tried to stay awake, your eyes drifted on their own accord. Without thinking too much of the consequences, you reached over and grabbed your phone and called Jensen. You were met with a series of grumbled responses. Before you knew it, he was at your door.

“Jensen, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking and didn’t know what else to do.” You said, half crying at your possible mistake.

“(Y/N), never be sorry for needing someone. C’mon, let’s lay down.” He said, putting an arm around you.

“Could we go on the couch for a bit instead? I kind of need to get away from my bed.” You asked.

“Sure.” Jensen said.

And there the two of you sat for several hours, until the sun broke across the horizon and the birds began to sing. You had both ended up falling asleep in what had looked like not the most comfortable positions, but it couldn’t compare to the restful sleep you had gotten. Your alarm in your bedroom woke you up around 5 AM, causing you to half stumble off the couch as you were intertwined between Jensen’s limbs. The small struggle caused Jensen to come around, waking up a little more when he saw you return from your room. You rubbed at your eyes and let out a large yawn.

“I know you’re gonna protest, but I think you should take the day off. You look like you could use it.” Jensen said, still on the couch.

“I don’t think I can afford that, Jensen. I just started working here.” You said.

“Well, maybe I could pull some strings for you. I could talk to Bob for you. I think he’d understand if I explained it to him briefly.” Jensen said.

“That’s the last thing I need is him knowing what I’m going through. He’ll probably let me go when he finds out.” You said, crossing your arms.

“Alright, I can spare the details. You just need a break, that’s all.” Jensen said. 

After some thinking, you realized he was right. The past few weeks had been rough on you. You were basically running nonstop, and it had finally caught up to you. And boy did you feel it.

“You don’t have to call Bob, I’ll do it myself.” You said. “You’re right, I’ve been running myself ragged. I just know as an adult, I have a responsibility to myself and my coworkers. I can’t afford to take time off etcetera etcetera.”

“That may be true but as Jared has told me, you can’t put an oxygen mask on everyone else if you don’t put one on yourself first.” Jensen said.

You sighed. “Damn, you guys are like Buddha.”

“It comes with experience, trust me.” He said.

After you called off for the day, you and Jensen spent the day watching whatever was on daytime TV, Netflix, and napping in between. If you could do this every once in a while, you wouldn’t complain. The refresher was nice and you even got some bonus time with Jensen. The two of you fit together like puzzle pieces; always comfortable around each others’ presence. It was something you hadn’t felt in a while with someone.

Around noon, Jared stopped by with some fresh lunch. You had been snoozing at the time so Jensen took it upon himself to answer the door for you. The two of them had been talking for a little bit before you finally woke up to the steaming aroma and the sound of talking.

“Remember when this was happening with you a long while back? It’s all I can think of.” You heard Jensen say.

“Yeah. She’ll pull through though, just like I did. I haven’t known her for that long, and I can already tell she’s one to reckon with.” Jared said.

You groggily opened your eyes and looked over to Jensen and Jared standing in your kitchen. The TV had still been playing quietly in the background, playing some infomercial on jewelry. You inhaled deeply and sat up, letting out a loud and satisfying stretch. Doing so caused the guys to look over. You clicked off the TV and stood up slowly, your joints cracking as you stiffened them.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” Jared asked, still holding a large paper bag.

“Honestly? Like I could still use another nap.” You said humorlessly, still chuckling lightly.

“I bet. I brought you guys some food; figured you could use a nice hot meal.” Jared said while holding up the bag slightly.

“Thank you, maybe you could join us?” You asked, walking over to where he stood.

“Well, I didn’t bring enough for three.. But that’s okay, I just had lunch not long ago. Sure, why not?” He said.

He held the bag out for you to take, and you gladly accepted it. You set it on the counter and looked inside. Inside were two fancy grilled ham and cheese sandwiches, the ones held together with a toothpick and an olive. You smiled up at Jared, grateful to have found another good friend to confide in. Or at least, you hoped.

“Well Jensen, I say we dig in before it gets cold.” You said.

“Sounds like a plan to me.” Jensen said.

The three of you sat at your small kitchenette (Jared had to pull up an extra folding chair from whoever knows where you had it stashed), just happy to be in each other’s presence. You giggled as you observed Jared’s large stature cramped to the confines of the small-ish chair.

“Oh like you’ve never seen a giant man sit in a chair half his size before.” Jared snarked playfully.

“Actually no, I haven’t.” You said in between chuckles.

Jared smiled at you alongside Jensen. “It’s good to see you smile.” Jared said.

“I tend to agree.” Jensen said.

“Hard not to.” You said, mouth half-full of sandwich. “I don’t mean to intrude in any way, so let me know if I am. But earlier, I heard you guys talking about Jared going through something a while ago. So you’re telling me you both of you have gone through something similar?” 

“Yeah actually-” Jared said, sitting back into his chair. “-And you’re not overstepping at all, don’t worry. We wouldn’t have talked about it with you around if we thought it was something you didn’t need to know.”

“What he said.” Jensen said. “And yeah, Jared went through a bout of depression about five years ago. It happened when we were on set, actually. He has no shame on sharing it with others, but isn’t really ready to let everyone know about it just yet.”

“What got you through it?” You asked, intrigued.

“I know Jensen was talking about therapy before, and how it helped him. I know it’s going to sound like a broken record, but that majorly helped me get through it. That and a great support system.” Jared said.

“You two really are joined at the everything, jeez.” You said. “Jensen and I were actually just talking about therapy last week. I agreed to try it, but I’m just a little scared how it’s going to turn out.”

“It can be scary, especially since it’s new territory for you.” Jared said.

“So, what do you say it’s about time we schedule you for that therapist?” Jensen asked.

---------

One Month Later

You walked down a small hallway until you reached an ajar door that had the name "Mr. Roslin" on it, and knocked lightly. A man in his late forties was sitting at a small desk in a computer chair; he turned around and smiled.

"You must be (Y/N). Please, come in and take a seat." He said.

You walked into the decently sized room and sat on a padded chair several feet from the therapist. Mr. Roslin shuffled a few papers on his desk before turning back around with a notepad and pen in hand.

"So (Y/N), tell me more about why you're here today." He said.

"Well… My friend.. er date.. said I would benefit from seeing you." You said.

"And why would they think that?" He asked.

You sighed. "Well, lately I've been having these.. panic attacks. Quite a lot of them actually."

"Have you had them before?"

"Many times, yes. Just haven't had one out of nowhere in quite a while."

"Hm. I think I have just the thing for that."

Mr. Roslin turns around in his chair and pulls out a sticky note from his desk. On it, he scribbles a few notes before handing it to you. It read: "5 things you can see, 4 things you can feel, 3 things you can hear, 2 things you can smell, 1 thing you can taste."

"Have you heard of grounding exercises before?" He asked.

You shook your head and stayed silent so he would continue.

"Grounding techniques or exercises are coping skills that keep you in the present. Let's say for instance, your thoughts or a panic attack are keeping you from doing a task at work. These exercises help you stay in the moment instead of focusing on those pesky thoughts or feelings." He explained.

"Oh wow, those sound useful.. Thank you." You said.

"Mhm. They are only useful though if you practice. That'll be your homework after this session, until I see you next. He said.

"Sounds easy enough. Thank you Mr. Roslin." You said.

"Don't mention it. By the way, have you ever been formally diagnosed previously?" Mr. Roslin asked.

"No sir, this is actually my first ever appointment to see anyone like this. I assume I have anxiety, as my doctor long ago said I may have it. He was the one who gave me the breathing tips." You admitted.

"I see. Just for your information, I'd like to know if knowing your diagnoses would help you in any way, or would you feel they would set you back?" He inquired.

"I feel the diagnoses could help explain some things, so you can tell me." You said. 

"It's only your initial appointment but from what I can tell so far based on our phone conversation and now, you have both anxiety and possibly a smidge of depression. It isn't uncommon in the psychiatric world to have both. They tend to work together to make your life more miserable. The depression tends to be more of the negative thinking (at least in your case), while the anxiety of course is the panic/anxiety attacks." He explained.

"The anxiety I figured; the depression I never thought of though. Will it ever get better?" You asked.

"With a lot of effort and time, you will find it a lot easier to cope with what you have, so yes." He said.

"That's good to know. And for the panic attacks, do you think taking up a new career can enhance them?" You asked.

"Certainly. New environments and added stress are definitely a factor. They should fade after getting adjusted. But if they don't come talk to me and we'll hash it out together." He said.

"Thank you for that, it's very helpful to be in the know." You said.

"Always; knowledge can be very powerful. Is there anything else you would like to discuss today?" He asked.

"Yeah actually, there is. With my.. date. I'm not really sure where we stand. We're moving at quite a fast pace, and I'm scared something is going to go wrong or something. My life usually works that way, and I know our relationship so far isn't exactly normal." You said.

"Well, have you talked with them about it?" He asked.

You paused for a moment; you hadn't thought to ask Jensen about anything besides that one time. It seemed to be a logical thing to do.

"It is okay to communicate these things in a relationship. If anything, the relationship will be stronger if you communicate how you feel and what you expect." Mr. Roslin said.

"You're right. I just.. I don't know. Wouldn't it be awkward to talk about those things?" You asked.

"It's only awkward if you want it to be, remember that. You could always phrase it something like.. 'I wanted to talk about our relationship. Where are you and I right now? Are we still dating, or are we looking for something more?'. Most importantly, let them know how you feel. If you're afraid, let them know." He said.

"Okay, I'll try those things." You agreed.

"Perfect! Unless you have anything else to discuss with me I'll write you in for another two weeks from now.  Does that sound good?" He asked.

"That sounds great Mr. Roslin, thanks for everything today." You said.

"No problem, take care (Y/N)." He said.

You walked out of the office and made your way to the curb where Jensen had parked his truck. You hopped inside and exhaled in relief.

"Well? How did it go?" Jensen asked.

"Actually, it wasn't that bad. He's pretty helpful; although I didn't expect homework." You said.

"Hey, taking care of yourself is hard work." He said, cupping your face in his hands. "And you've already taken the first step; you're doing great." 

You smiled and glanced at his lips before quickly giving them a peck. 

"Hey Jensen?" You asked.

"Yeah hun?" He responded.

"There was actually something I wanted to talk to you about." You said.

"Like what?" He asked, gently pulling away from you.

"Us. I wasn't sure for a bit, but I think I'm scared. Something always goes wrong in my life, and I would hate for it to be us. I'm not breaking up with you or anything, I'm just unsure. I mean, I can tell you like me, but in what way? Where are we taking this? Is  it even going to go anywhere?" You asked.

Jensen was taken aback at all this information at once; he raised his eyebrows.

"Wow, uh. I guess we do need to talk." He said. "To repeat what you said: yes, I do like you. Hell, I like you a lot. That part, is never going to change, as far as I can tell. We can go wherever you want with this. If you want it to be a fling, let it be a fling. Although, I would really prefer something more than that." Jensen explained.

"Wait.. you would?" You asked, eyes lighting up.

"Yeah! I mean, if that's okay with you of course." Jensen said.

“You have no idea how happy I am to hear that.” You said.

You grabbed Jensen’s face gently and gave him a passionate kiss, pouring all of your emotions into him. He responded gently, meeting the same level of passion without being too rough. In that moment, everything felt good. You knew it wasn’t perfect, but you had faith in both the man in front of you and where he was guiding you.

End

[trashyswitch]

Picani's Therapy House

Chapter 2: Closing Hour Vibes

Patton and Remy are nearing the end of their shift, and are commenting on the people they've met and the work they've done, or rather hasn't gotten done. Things quickly turn silly.

“Half an hour, Pat! Half an hour till I can get my first Pumpkin Spice Latte of the season.” Remy said excitedly, cheering with 1 hand up in the air.

Patton smiled as he moved his fingers all over the keyboard in front of him. “Sweet!” Patton reacted.

“You bet it’s sweet! Pumpkin season is back baby, and back to give me that sexy, spicy autumn flavor. Mm, mm, MM!” Remy cheered.

“I think you told me that last year...almost spot on, too.” Patton told him.

“Did I?” Remy asked.

“Mm hmm.” Patton replied.

Remy stared off and blinked a few times. “...Huh.” Remy hummed.

Patton’s keyboard tapping was still going on. Occasionally, the tapping would switch to mouse clicks, before switching right back to the apple keyboard clicks. They weren’t extremely loud, and only made enough sound to administer some background white noise. But the apple keyboard had a specific higher-frequency tapping sound that sounded...almost calming if you liked it. Most of the time, Remy didn’t mind the sounds of the keyboard. It was usually a sign that Patton was hard at work. But at 4:07...you’d think the keyboard typing would die down…

“What are you even working on?” Remy asked.

“New patient profiles.” Patton replied.

“Did you finish creating a new profile chart for that blanket-obsessed emo?” Remy asked.

“Working on it right now.” Patton told him.

Remy grabs onto Patton’s shoulder, and pulls him aside slightly so he can see the screen. “Is he single?” Remy asks him.

Patton jumps at the sudden action, but quickly relaxed into a smug grin. “Why? You interested?” Patton asked.

Remy looked at Patton. “No. Just...curious.” Remy replied casually.

“Sure…” Patton teases as he takes a sip of his apple juice.

Remy sighs and scrolls down on the screen with the down arrow on the keyboard. “Is he a coffee drinker? What kind of music does he like? Is he a trick or treater on Halloween? Or does he lay low and watch scary movies all night? Does he sleep in often? Is he an insomniac? What kind of books would he read if he could choose? Does he prefer the sound of a storm, or the sound of chirping birds in the summer-”

Patton pushed Remy away with his hand. “If you’re so curious, why don’t you find out? I have his number right here.” Patton suggested.

Remy looked at the number, and bit his lip. “Mmmmm...nah. I might just wait till he shows up again.” Remy decided before he started to walk away.

“How do you know he’s coming back?” Patton asked.

Remy paused his walking and turned to look at Patton with slight worry in his face. “He’s coming back...isn’t he?” Remy asked, worry showing in his voice.

Suddenly, Picani walked by the office and peeked his head in. “Virgil is scheduled to come in on Thursday of next week.” He told Patton.

Patton smiled. “Sounds good!” He replied.

Remy let out a sigh of relief at the great news. “Hm...Cool.” Remy stated.

Patton rolled his eyes at Remy and smiled. “Looks like you have a chance…” Patton encouraged.

Remy smirked. “More like you do.” Remy teased.

“Don’t be ringing this back onto me. I’m not the one who fell head over heels with the new blanket monster of the Therapy House.” Patton mentioned.

“Hell yeah I did...Do you know how intimidating, yet adorable it was?” Remy asked. Then, Remy placed his soda onto the table, jumped over the empty spot on Patton’s desk and went to the chest filled with blankets. Grabbing a couple of the blankets, Remy covered himself in them and started walking around like a hungry zombie. “RAAAAWWWRR! I AM VIRGIL THE BLANKET MONSTER! FEAR MY COTTONY PRESENCE!” Remy declared in a deep voice, with his arms in front.

Patton allowed himself to laugh at the weird employee before focusing his attention back onto his computer. But he only got a few more sentences in before he was interrupted by a hand on the top of the computer screen. “How DARE you ignore the almighty blanket monster?! Blanket Monster is now greatly offended!” Remy told him in his deep voice.

Patton only continued to laugh and shake his head at the silly man. “Awww! Poor muffin!” Patton whined sarcastically.

“You dare not take the blanket monster seriously?!” Remy reacted in his deep voice.

Patton snickered a little bit and bit the tip of his tongue for Remy to see. Then, he shook his head before attempting to focus back onto the computer.

Remy jumped over the desk and landed behind the man with a loud stomp. “NOTICE ME!” Remy yelled at him.

Patton giggled and hung his head with a big smile on his face. “Noho.” Patton replied.

“NO?! WHAT DO YOU MEAN NO?!” Remy yelled.

Patton let out a snort as he hid his face in his arms on the desk.

“I NEED ATTENTION 24/7! NO MORE, NO LESS!” Remy shouted in his deep voice as he poked Patton’s side.

“AAAH! REHEMY!” Patton jumped as he reached for Remy’s hands.

“Don’t make me tickle you more.” Remy ordered.

Patton leaned back against the chair and giggled more. “Yohou barely tickled me.” Patton told him.

“Must the blanket monster resort to tickling in order to get their daily constant attention?!” Remy asked evilly as he started wiggling his fingers on Patton’s sides.

“HAHAHA! Ihihihihi’m wohohohorkihihing!” Patton laughed.

“Well guess what Pat? Work time is over! I need attention!” Remy declared.

Remy turned the chair towards him and skittered his fingers all over Patton’s belly. Patton’s eyes widened alongside his smile while he bursted into even more laughter. “NAAAHAHAHAHAHAHA! OHOHOKAHAHAHAY! IHIHIHI’M SAHAHAHARRYYY!” Patton begged as he struggled to defend himself.

A big smug smile grew onto Remy’s face. “It’s too late for apologies. Now:” Remy paused and started tickling Patton’s ribs next. “Accept your rib-tickling fate!” Remy declared.

Patton squealed and fell into a fit of cackles. His tied sweater sleeves swayed back and forth as he squirmed and wiggled around in the chair. Patton was even kicking his feet out in front of him!

“Wow! I knew my puns were funny, but I didn’t know they were THAT funny!” Remy teased.

Patton whined amidst his laughter. “IHIHIHI’M LAHAHAHAUGHIHING BEHEHECAHAHAUSE YOHOHOU’RE TIHIHIHICKLIHING MEHEHEHEHE!” Patton yelled at him.

“What? I’m not tickling you!” Remy reacted right before throwing his hands to his sides. “My hands are right here! Not tickling you or anything!” Remy told him. Sure enough, Patton was still hysterically laughing despite the sudden change. So, Remy took advantage of the amazing reaction for as long as he could, before resuming his swift tickle attack on Patton’s ribs.

Patton threw his head back and let out a lower, stronger bout of laughter. Remy gasped at the sudden change in laughter. “Wow! You have a low voice?! I had no idea!” Remy reacted.

“IHIHIHI DOHOHOHON���T! IHIHIHI DOHOHOHOHON’T!” Patton yelled back.

“You’re right: you don’t have a low voice. But boys with a high voice are naturally adorable. And that’s 100% something you are!” Remy told him before moving his fingers to Patton’s hips.

“Ihihihi’m nahahat CUHUHUTE!” Patton protested.

Remy gasped and stopped tickling him almost right away.

“Did you just...did you just tell me you’re NOT adorable?! Are those actual words I heard from your mouth just now?!” Remy clarified.

Patton couldn’t help but keep laughing at his dramatic reaction.

“Girl, you are a LITERAL HUMAN PUPPY! AND THERE IS NOTHING IN THIS WORLD THAT IS CUTER THAN A PUPPY!” Remy told him, cupping Patton’s cheeks.

Patton giggled and looked away. “Wehehehell...Baby pandas are cuter.” Patton muttered.

Remy sighed and hung his head in disappointment. This reaction alone, managed to make Patton burst into even more laughter. “How dare...how dare you contradict my opinion...how dare such an ADORABLE BEAN contradict my words! I am offended!” Remy jokingly scolded him.

Remy grabbed the blanket that was sitting on his shoulders, and wrapped it around Patton’s head to make him look cuter. Patton giggled and blushed before he made his smile even bigger to show it off. Remy just about exploded from the cuteness. How DARE this cute being exist in the regular world! How on earth can one man carry so much cuteness in one face?! How is this even possible?!

“Having fun there?” Someone asked through the door in the back of the secretary spot. Remy moved Patton’s squished face towards the therapist at the door. “How does one not die from seeing such a precious bean?” Remy asked Picani, showing him Patton’s slightly squished face.

Upon seeing Picani’s face, Patton gave him a smile and a wave. “Hi Doctor!” Patton greeted.

“Hello Patton! I see that Remy is going off on another one of his cuteness rants?” Picani assumed with a smirk.

“Mm hmm…” Patton replied, both embarrassed and amused by this.

“HE’S TOO CUTE!” Remy shouted again, squishing Patton’s face more. Remy removed his hands from the man, and squished Patton’s cheeks with his index fingers this time. “Squishy bean! Squishy bean!” Remy cooed.

Patton laughed and waved his arms around to get Remy’s hands away from his face. “Stahahap ihihit! Ihihi gehet it! I’m cute. You don’t need to repeat it.” Patton told him.

“But I must! I really must!” Remy told him.

“Oh please...Şüräle is much cuter than me by a long shot!” Patton argued.

Suddenly, Şüräle popped its head out from inside Picani’s shirt pocket. “Yes? I heard my name?” Şüräle called.

Patton paused the argument and quickly ran up to the man and his mouse. “Hi there Şüräle! We were just talking about you and how cute you are!” Patton greeted.

Remy snorted and rolled his eyes. “So unconvincing. I will admit: Şüräle is cute. But Patton beats him in the cuteness scale by a long shot!” Remy explained.

Picani’s smile quickly morphed into surprise. Wait, what did he just say?

“Nohoho ihi’m nahat! Şüräle is a mouse stuffy! There is nothing cuter than a mouse stuffy!” Patton argued.

Picani’s surprise morphed into relief. He didn’t want them accidentally insulting the mouse right in front of him.

“Ugh, come on Patton! Your face practically radiates happiness!” Remy told Patton as he sent him a few tickles onto the ribs. Patton squeaked super high pitched, and bursted out in cackles once more. “And it always will until you pass into the heavens!” Remy added.

Picani was smiling at the cute scene. But he was also biting his lip as he thought of Şüräle’s feelings. He could tell tiny Şüräle was fuming in his pocket. “Now Şürry, let’s think about this-” Şüräle jumped right out of Picani’s pocket and onto the desk, before sprinting up to Remy.

“Uh oh…” Picani warned. “You should be careful of what you’re saying, Remy.” Picani warned.

Patton looked down, and widened his eyes at the crawling stuffed mouse.

“What do you mean?” Remy asked.

Immediately after those words left Remy’s mouth, Şüräle crawled into Remy’s pant leg and sprinted up his leg.

“Wha-aaAAH! ŞÜRÄLE! GET- NOOOOHOHOHOHOHO! EEEEEEHEHE!” Remy shouted. Patton’s surprise face slowly grew a smile as he watched Remy quickly crumble to the ground.

It appears Şüräle had decided to start tickling Remy for his ‘insulting’ words! Feeling absolutely amused, Patton started cheering on the mouse! “Keep going, Şüräle!” He cheered. Suddenly, Remy’s underarms felt filled with a pair of arms. His shoulders were restrained by, you guessed it, Patton! With Remy pulled back yet still able to struggle, Picani had bent down, grabbed onto Remy’s feet and removed his shoes from his feet. With Remy’s feet exposed, Şüräle took advantage of the free spot and exploited the heck out of them! Remy’s protests, laughter and squeals filled the therapy house for a good while. It didn’t take long for an audience to build to see the surprisingly adorable sight, that is Remy being tickled by Şüräle.

By the time 4:30 came along, Remy was a giddy, giggly mess. It didn’t take long for Remy’s giggle mood to turn into a cuddle mood because soon, Remy was giving Şüräle all the belly scratches and all the cuddles for a few minutes.

By the time Remy had actually gotten his pumpkin spice latte, it was nearing 5:00. Yeah, Remy had to spend a few extra minutes at the therapy house against his will. But, he did get the chance to properly laugh and boy; was it worth it!

I'm gonna be starting a college course tomorrow, so the fanfic writing is going to be lessening for a couple months. This is not a full year college course: this is just a course that's a couple months long. So, I will most likely be back for more frequent fanfic writing. But for now: I hope you enjoyed my fanfic!

[r00en]

Still Good-Chapter 7

Midoriya what's to know more about the number three hero in America.

All Might / Reader (OC) 

This one is mostly just Paladin talking to Midoriya about her quirk and fleshing out the differences between the US and Japan when it comes to how hero’s work. It also touches on quirk breeding and how quirks effect jobs and employment in society....a little. To make up for the fact that this is much more of a slow burn that I expected I’ll write part 2 of Caught. 

"Hm? You want to know more about my quirk?"

The near violent bouncing of Midoriya pulled a small giggle from the nurse as she finished wrapping up his finger. Sure she was going to have to do it at least twenty more times before the end of the month at his rate. His legs kicked slightly under the cot he was perched on trying his best to contain that near aggressive fan boy excitement that was rushing through his body.  "Yes please! You were the number three hero in America for almost five years without ever having beaten a villain yourself! I want to know how you did it!"

Paladin sighed and stood up, rubbing the back of her head in a bit of embarrassment. "Well when you put it like that it sounds more like an accident huh?" her nervous chuckle sent the young boy into another mild panic and wave of muttering. "I-I'm sorry! I didn't mean to offend you! What I mean is your style of combat and fighting villains is unlike that of any other hero! I want to know how that's possible!" They both watched other for a moment at the old hero tried her best to think of a good response that might calm him down. "Alright, what sort of thing do you want to know?"

As if she had opened the flood gates the green haired student raced into a long winded stream of questions. His notebook and pen in hand ready to write down every word she said. "I know you're Recovery Girls granddaughter and quirks are often inherited but also mutate with each genetic passing from parent to child but what sort of change did your quirk go through that makes it so different from hers? For that matter Recover Girl is far from a front line fighter and is know as one of the best support hero's so what make you decide you want to fight rather than use your powers as back up and after combat care? Did you use any support items at all while you were a hero? Did they enhance your healing capabilities or give you an offensive edge in your battles?! what about-" A hand came down on Midoriya's head with a soft yet stern wack which quickly silenced his sudden outburst. "S-sorry! Sorry...."

After a brief pause to make sure he had gotten his ranting out of his system or at least had control over it, Paladin sat back in her seat and tapped her chin. "Well then let's see....my quirk is pretty simple when you think about it. It is generally just recovery. Like grandma I'm able to heal wounds rapidly on others. Though exactly like her's there is a limit to the amount of healing I can give someone without causing undo stress on their bodies and possibly killing them. Which of course means major life threatening injury's are out of my range unfortunately." The young student was already scribbling down in a page with her hero name painted in bold large letters at the top. Her her horror there was also a crude drawing of her in her old hero costume from years back. Hopefully no one else would be peaking into those books any time soon.

"If that's the case...then how can your own body heal so quickly during battle. In your fight against the Code Weaver you were impaled on iron spikes from the rubble of a building....and against Lady Dino she managed to rip your leg off TWICE! You can regrow your own limbs and different body parts so how come that doesn't apply to others." He spoke like this was such a normal thing to talk about. Horrible mutilation at the hands of villains. Perhaps in this day and age it was. Something Toshi was trying so desperately to avoid for years and something he still grew dark and somber about when it was mentioned around him. Now that she was also confronted with the cold facts of her time as a hero she understood why her dear 'friend' acted the way he did and seemed to want nothing to do with her old time as a hero. Outside of the nice press releases, interviews and seamless happy rescues that was. He adored those beyond belief and often replayed them while they ate dinner together. But major battles were off the table. She god it now.

Tapping her pen against the young students medical report she wondered if it would be best to explain her great strengths and weakness to a child. Then again he was meant to be learning after all and All Might held the boy in great regard. "Mmm...it's like this. Say I'm healing a broken leg on you, that uses life energy which drains quickly when the speed of recovery is increased draining to much can kill you...but my body heals itself so rapidly that the rate at which my life energy is replaced far exceeds that at which it's expended. Like a small crack at the bottom of a water bottle. I also don't have to direct my quirk to work to set parts of my body. As long as I activate it it will seek out the injury and repair it without any other help from me. When healing others since it's not my own body and one I'm accustom to it's better to use Grandmas  techniques and assess the damage and distribute my quirk in smaller doses. Your body can't keep up the same way mine can so it's safer that way."

"Right...that makes sense! But You said something before about being able to tell what's wrong with a body but unlike Recovery Girl you never went to medical school....how-" "Well that's my father quirk." "You have two?!" "N-no quite....ah...you see it's not very uncommon for selective quirk breeding to come about accidentally." Midoriya gave a look that screamed confusion "W-what I mean is, often times you'll find in very select fields of work people will commonly have the same quirk type. You know doctors marrying doctors, construction workers with construction workers. These special fields often allow the use of quirks which draws the same kind together in large groups. Hospitals are often filled with support quirks that are pratical for anyone in the health industry to have." tapping her lip Paladin got a grave look on her face "Which is a bit of a downfall....now it's less likely for those without these special catered quirks to get into the fields of study and work that they wish. There are drawbacks to this hero society we created..." The pair of them kept silent for a moment. If Midoriya was honest he did never think of it that way. Some people weren't exactly free to decide what they did in life. Their quirk often dictated a path they might not have chosen for themselves. It also often shattered their dreams if it didn't line up correctly. A fact he himself knew all to well.

"B-but back to what I was saying! People in the same line of work often have the same type of quirk which will lead to accidental quirk breeding! The round about legal if not accidental way of breeding powerful advanced quirks! My grandfathers was being about to feel an injury or illness in a person. He couldn't correct it but he could often diagnose a problem given enough time." "And your father" "Ah...he could rewire the body to respond differently to things like pain and stress. He was a physical therapist. But my grandfathers works in favor with mine! As I said my quirk though the body I can feel the issues as it passes over injury. If you told me your shoulder hurt I might not be able to tell right away by looking exactly what part of your shoulder but if my quirk passes it it more or less reports back to me what it's doing to correct the issue. If it's not a wound or injury, something like All Might's muscle stress I can help him by telling his body to relax and pull pressure off the scar tissue around his trauma areas."

The boys hands clapped together as if he just recalled something important. "Oh yeah! I see All Might come by here all the time! Is that what you two are doing? Physical therapy?" The sudden rush of blood that raced it's way to Paladins cheeks was far to fast for her to hide or get a handle over. Spinning herself around in her office chair she faced the wall and started to laugh nervously. "W-Well he's a good friend of mine after all! O-o-of course I would want to help him with any pain he might be under! That's what friends do right!? Friends help friends!? He also comes to see grandmother too so it's not just me! There's no way he just comes here to see me or eat lunch together! That would be silly who would do such a thing!?" Her sudden outburst seemed to go over the boys head who just sat there with a serious look on his face.

"Your power seems incredible....maybe if you could reverse All Might's injury...." A hand came down to ruffle the body green hair. Over with her little panic session Paladin smiled down at him with an almost sad look of mourning. "I'm sorry Midoriya....no quirk in the world is going to be able to bring All Might back. Even when it happened it took three different quirk users just to keep him stable. The damage is far too great." They both shared a somber moment. As if once again reliving the time they learned that All Might was gone, at least the symbol of peace, was hitting them all over again. A somber air hung in the office and felt cool and damp. The young student was the first to snap out of it. "Oh yeah, we didn't go over your weaknesses. If that's alright I mean not all hero's like to disclose that sort of thing."

Ruffling his hair again Paladin sat back. "Nah it's fine. I'm not in the hero business any more and if I'm going to be taking care of you kids it's good that you know my limitations. Let's see, as I said before like Recovery Girl I can't heal others to great extents. My support abilities are handy but no replacement for major surgery and at times it's far better to let the body heal naturally over time. You know this stuff already after grandma filled you in during the entrance exam. For me personally there are a few major flaws in my quirk. For one thing some types of damage start to degrade the cells in the body. Fire is the first one that springs to mind. Burnt up cells can't regenerate properly with is why burn scars are normally so much more unnatural looking. They can't reshape correctly. It takes much longer for my healing to do it's job if the area is effected by a fire quirk. Same goes for chemical type burns. I'm no good against acid villains. But I would say my biggest is the fact that I need to activate my quirk. It's not something that happens naturally. If I'm knock unconscious I won't heal."

"But I've seen you get hit tons of times and get right back up! None of those ever knocked you out before?"

"Oh no plenty of them did! Most I'm guessing. But that's were my training comes in. I need to predict an enemy's move and determine if the impact will in fact knock me out and activate my quirk just seconds before the blow lands. If I'm able to do that my healing will rush to the head injury and often fix allowing me to wake up and finish the job myself!" "I see! So by reading your opponents moves you can cushion the blow AND preemptively heal yourself before any damage is done!" "Right! Smart kid! But this dosn't work with natural suppressants or drugs. If a villain is using a sleep gas my body won't respond to the attack as it thinks the effect is harmless. Like white blood cells and cancer. If there isn't something it deems a threat I can't target it to heal. I'll be out for the fight!"

"So while your power seems amazing and unstoppable it really does have some major down falls. I never even thought of these sorts of things..." "Every quirk has it's weak points. It's all about finding them and exploiting them in a fight if you want to win. I have next to no offensive abilities but my healing allows me to wear out criminals, assess their quirks and expose their weaknesses to other hero's. I'm sure you know in America most hero agencies work with team based hero groups over single hero's. You guys often team up in Japan but there are very few groups that work together full time. That's one of the big reasons I was able to be a front line hero! I don't think I would have stood a chance here in Japan." It was true, hero's in Japan often worked alone or with one to two side kicks at best. It allowed the agencies to spread hero's across the map without having to cluster them in smaller locations. But in America hero's were often paired into large groups of six or more. All large names with rather impressive statistics and track records. Of course there were solo hero's but since the cities were set up so different it made more second for a network of hero's to control a single city and allow smaller hero's to branch out into less hostile areas. It worked well enough and often the threat of large hero's with vast communication and skill working together as a group often scared away the larger criminals or networks if villains. Its easy to get past a hero or two but a large group with comparable quirks and skill working together was a far different thing.

Midoriya beamed up at the nurse as he snapped his note book shut. "This is great! Thank you so much Paladin! I had no idea your quirk was so advanced! What made you suddenly decide to work here at UA? Seem's like such a step down from your heroing..."

Her voice caught in her throat, fingers clutched tightly to her work skirt unsure how to answer. Instead she opted to ruffle his hair again and laugh. "Ah it just wasn't for me anymore! I would much rather help the next generation be the best they can be! Besides grandma asked for my help. I couldn't really refuse." The slide of the office door caused both of them to turn with a sudden startled jump.

"You ready to go Paladin? If we catch this next train I might be able to get the soup started sooner so we won't need to eat so- Y-young Midoriya!?" There stood as flustered and tired looking All Might. His face painted a light pink at the realization that he just outed the two of them with their dinner plans. "You two....eat together?" Both the staff members scrambled, looking at each other and waving frantically at the young student who sat ridged and shocked. "Wait All Might! Is this the staff member you were asking advice about on the beach?!" Paladin looked at Toshi with a sly expression, trying desperately not to tease him. This wasn't the time though she did get a rather warm and fuzzy feeling over knowing he was even asking students for advice about her. What ever that meant.

"T-T-That's! It's not! Y-young Midoriya this is hardly the time or place to be asking such personal questions from your teacher!" He tried his best to put on that stern authority voice but the tremble in it wasn't very convincing. "You should be heading home now, don't leave your mother worried!" As if remembering the time the student jumped up from the cot and shoved his notebook away in his book bag. "Shoot you're right! Thank you All Might! And Paladin! Thank you so much for the information on your quirk! I'll be sure to study it!" Both of them watched as he scrambled down the hall deciding at least for now that it was alright for him to run. Once he was out of sight they both let out a breath they didn't know they were holding. "I don't think he'll remember. I packed his head so full of hero facts that should keep him busy for a while."

Toshi chucked and rubbed his neck nervously. "Yeah? Sorry about that....I figured everyone went home already. Thank goodness it wasn't Aizawa." The thought of that dark looming man and his icy grin and knowing eyes set a shiver down Toshi's spine. "Small favors...." Paladin nudged his side softly to get his attention and the smile she gave him warmed him almost instantly. "Let's get going yeah? Now you have me in the mood for this soup you mentioned!" "R-right..." As the shut down her office, Toshi flicking the lights off and locking the door for her he thought of something.

"You were teaching Young Midoriya about your quirk?" "Mhm, he wanted to know exactly how it worked and how it's different from Grandmothers. We went over strengths and weaknesses and all that, I was sure to remind him that combat training even without a quirk is an important tool to read your opponents moves and react accordingly. I think I might have a hand for this teaching stuff after all!" The happy tone in her voice plastered a smile on his thin face. She didn't have to be so kind, go out of her way to help the students like she did and think of all the little ways to help them improve even outside of her designated job as school nurse. This was something so special about that light she carried within her that Toshi found himself drawn to it like a moth. Happy to just be dazzled by it from afar.

[lilixloveswriting]

Shell

Whumptober 2020 Day 19 (Prompt: Grief | Mourning Loved One | Survivor’s Guilt)

Fandom: BNHA (This is an AU for my Next Gen...AU...😬)

Characters: Hitoshi Midoriya (OC), Mitsuko Midoriya kinda, she’s dead (OC), Izuku Midoriya, Ochaco Uraraka, Katsuki Bakugo, Saisho Kirishima (OC), Eijiro Kirishima mentioned, also dead, Kayda Todoroki (OC), Hisao Todoroki (OC), Akio Todoroki haha...you guessed it (OC)

Word Count: 4582

A/N: This may be a mistake since y’all don’t know these characters yet but it just fits all the criteria for today’s prompt and I just couldn’t pass it up. Umm so I wrote this in the car when I couldn’t sleep on a road trip from 2 am to 9 am. I never acctually planned on posting it anywhere, so...idek what I’m trying to say. It’s the darkest thing I had written at that point (and imo, still is my darkest piece) so...yeah. Buckle up, it’s a sad one also please note canon Hitoshi is not this mean

TW: swearing, dissociation, suicidal ideation, child whump (Hitoshi is 13/14), survivor’s guilt (obvi), grief (obvi), family member death, past death of minor (Mitsuko - age 17), emotional detatchment, blood, ptsd flashback (nightmare), panic attack mention, vomiting mention, eventually Hitoshi has a well deserved emotional breakdown

The pencil spun around Hitoshi's knuckles in sync with the second hand of the clock. He stared at it, waiting for it to hypnotize him so that he didn't have to be there for the rest of his session. It wasn't anything personal, his therapist was fine. Today was just a bad day. Not that his days were ever good, but today was a particularly bad one. One where he felt like running out into traffic, just to see what would happen.

"Hitoshi?"

His voice seemed so far away in his dissociative state. It was nice, kind of comforting actually. More so than the unbearable ringing that would occur sometimes when someone spoke to him. The accident fucked his hearing, that's what the doctors said. The accident fucked a lot of things.

56, 57, 58, 59, 4:00

Hitoshi snapped into action, catching his pencil in his hand and slipping it into his bag as he lobbed it over his shoulder.

"Who's coming to get you today, Hitoshi?"

"My dad." He responded with a grumble, not that it was any of his business.

"Okay. Is he here, or would you like me to wait with you?"

Hitoshi shrugged his shoulders, biting back a sarcastic remark as he turned the door handle to exit his therapist's office and enter the hallway. He knew the way back to the waiting room all too well by now: a left, then two rights, down the elevator, and straight down the hall. Hitoshi heard muffled sobbing as he passed one of the doors, sparing it a glance before continuing. He wondered what her problem was. He was a little bit envious, for whatever it was, at least she could express how she was feeling. Hitoshi never felt anything but anger. Sometimes he never felt anything at all.

He made a beeline for the stairway, not too keen on sitting in another silent room with his therapist.

"Getting your steps in today?"

Hitoshi rolled his eyes as he swung himself around the flat bit of the stairwell. Their session was over, couldn't this guy shut up?

He arrived at the waiting room soon enough, tucking his thumbs into his backpack straps as he scanned the room for his dad. Not here yet.

"Not here yet?"

"No, dingbat. Do you see him?"

"Hm. I've got some time before my next appointment. I can stick around for a while."

"Fuuuck me."

"Hey! Sorry, I went to the bathroom." Hitoshi turned towards the cheery voice he knew so well, a small sigh of relief escaping his lungs. "Hey, kiddo-" Izuku placed his hands on Hitoshi's shoulders, faltering as he moved and shoved the front door open. "Hey, hold on!" He called after his son, and Hitoshi did slow down, but he didn't stop. He left the building, then walked a few steps down the sidewalk, perching himself on the ledge of the window sill, his back to the building.

"Uhh…" Izuku sighed, "bad day?"

The therapist gave a vague shrug and Izuku frowned.

"What did he say? Did something happen at school? Did I do something? His mom?"

The therapist smiled apologetically, "I'm sorry, Mr. Midoriya. You should talk to your son."

Izuku bit down on his lip. "Please, just…tell me something. Anything." The words begged to escape his throat, but he swallowed them down and nodded. He understood doctor-patient confidentiality, but that didn't make it any less frustrating.

He bid Hitoshi's therapist goodbye, then joined his son on the sidewalk.

"Hey, kiddo." Izuku's voice sounded far away too, and Hitoshi wasn't sure if he wanted it to this time. He continued to stare at the curb of the sidewalk, the whizzing of tires lulling him off into another dissociative state. His father's voice was muffled and he didn't remember the walk from the sidewalk to the car.

"What's wrong, Hito?" Izuku turned to him, and he couldn't will himself to look away from the dashboard. 

He didn't know what was wrong. Nothing, nothing was really wrong, but everything was wrong at the same time. He felt so fucking numb but ached all over at the same time. It was exhausting, he just wanted everything to stop. He wanted everyone to stop trying to fix him; he couldn't be fixed.

Hitoshi took a deep breath, willing all of his effort to move his tongue. "Nothing, I'm just tired." it was silent in the car, nobody moved and a wave of guilt washed over Hitoshi, though he wasn't sure what for.

"Survivor's guilt is a common occurrence. It won't be unusual for Hitoshi to feel as though he did something wrong for surviving the crash. Getting him into therapy sessions now is probably the best course of action."

"Can we go home now?" Hitoshi inhaled again as he reached for his seatbelt, jerking it over his body and clicking it into the buckle.

His dad put the car into drive and Hitoshi rested his head on the window.

"You wanna get some ice cream?" Izuku asked. Hitoshi shrugged and ten minutes later he had a chocolate ice cream cone in his hand. He had grown to hate the taste, but he ate it anyway because it made Izuku feel better. 

It still felt wrong not to pass any napkins to Mitsuko to get it out of her hair.

Izuku flipped on the lights to his apartment; the "bachelor pad" as he called it. He had turned Hitoshi on to the idea of a man den when he was ten. They both knew this wasn't what he meant.

"Do you wanna-"

"I've got homework," Hitoshi said, heading straight to his room and shutting the door behind him. He kicked off his shoes and told himself that he didn't care enough to put them away, but the way they were scattered across the floor was a little too much like her, so he picked them up and lined them up against the wall.

He fell back onto his bed, exhaling deeply as he stared up at the popcorn ceiling. His room here wasn't too bad, it was a decent size and his dad even bought him a desk and helped him decorate it with figurines and pictures. He put the pictures away though, they made him feel uneasy. 

"Hey," There was a short knock at the door and it slowly creaked open. Izuku stuck his head inside. "I know you want to be alone right now, but keep the door open, yeah? Just a crack, okay?"

Hitoshi sat up a bit and nodded at his dad, who gave him a weak smile in return.

"Okay. Thank you." He said, and Hitoshi appreciated that he didn't pry, even though he knew his father was worried. "Uh, is there anything you want for dinner?"

Hitoshi shrugged and Izuku sighed.

"Okay. Think about it and let me know, okay?"

Hitoshi nodded a little, knowing he wasn't going to decide on anything. He really didn't care.

"Okay. I'll leave you alone now. I love you," Izuku said and Hitoshi gave him a small smile, then he left, pulling the door closed with about an inch to spare.

Hitoshi let his head fall back onto the bed, exhaling in a puff as another wave of guilt crashed over him. He always saw the look in his father's eyes. 

"Please give me something. Anything."

But he couldn't, no matter how badly he wanted to. He didn't even know what to say. His dad had always been emotional, he wondered how many nights he spent crying because Hitoshi couldn't even manage an "I love you."

He wanted to cry. He couldn't really remember what crying felt like, but he knew he used to feel better after he did. Now, he just felt bad all the time. He was tired of it.

Hitoshi flipped over onto his stomach, trapping his pillow between his arms and his face as his eyes fell on his bag. He had homework, but he couldn't convince himself to do it. The mere thought of it was exhausting and Hitoshi turned his head the other way, towards the wall. 

The blood coated his fingers like syrup, making an awful squelching sound as it mixed with his tears. He applied pressure, he heard that somewhere, a tv show, he thinks. It was supposed to make the bleeding better or something, but it kept leaking and it soaked into his jeans and shirt and skin. He must not have been doing it right, maybe he was pressing too hard because Mitsuko kept gasping for air. Maybe he was choking her. 

She turned to him and took in a shaky breath, eyes wide and bloodshot and she whispered in a spine chilling voice, "Help me, Hito."

Hitoshi gasped and in the moment of fear, loosened his grip on Mitsuko's neck. She screamed as the ground caved in, swallowing her whole, and Hitoshi couldn't do anything but scream her name as he reached in after her.

Hitoshi opened his eyes and lifted his head from his pillow, blinking a few times before looking around the room. He sighed, realizing it had been a dream. He wasn't sure which reality he would rather be in.

The faint smell of food caused him to sit up fully, and he looked at his nightstand to see a plate of pizza waiting for him. His dad had to eat alone again. Dick move, Hitoshi.

He rubbed his eyes as they fell on the window, the sun had already set. How long had he slept for? Hitoshi yawned and swung his legs over the side of his bed, taking a second before standing up and opening his door. He went to the living room, a short walk in the small apartment. His dad turned his head from the tv as Hitoshi stepped into the room, greeting him with a small smile. 

"Hey. I don't know if you saw, but I left you some pizza. But if you don't want that then I can see what else I can make you."

Hitoshi shrugged, shoving his hands in his pockets. "It's fine." He whispered, and if you weren't listening for it you wouldn't have heard it. 

"Okay. Mom called. I told her you were sleeping. You want me to call her back?"

Hitoshi shook his head and Izuku tilted his head to the side.

"Sweetie, you should call your mom." He said, prompting a sigh and a bit of an eye-roll from his son. He nodded in the end, though, so Izuku counted that as a victory.

"Later."

"Not too late. She probably has a shift in the morning, she'll be going to bed soon."

Hitoshi didn't respond to that. Instead, he walked around the couch and sat down next to his father. "What are you watching?" He asked, and Izuku was thrilled to be getting this many words out of him.

"I don't know. The news. Nothing special."

"Pro Heroes Ground Zero and Chargebolt work together in EPIC villain take down!" Izuku cleared his throat, switching the tv off before standing abruptly.

"Alright, it's late. Call your mom and get ready for bed, okay?" Izuku ruffled his hair and planted a kiss on his head. "Goodnight, I love you." He said, then went to his room.

Hitoshi stared straight ahead at the switched-off tv. He should get to bed soon so his dad's sleep didn't suffer. Izuku always waited until Hitoshi had gone to bed before actually sleeping himself. He sighed, staring at the phone on the coffee table. He didn't want to call his mom; calling his mother actually involved talking, and she was much more thorough than his father was. He didn't want to deal with that today. Still, if he didn't call her then it'd be his father who suffered and Hitoshi didn't want that.

She picked up on the third ring.

"What, Izuku?"

"Mom." Hitoshi said, leaning into the phone as it rested on his palm.

"Oh, hi honey. What are you doing on Dad's phone?"

Hitoshi shrugged, sighing in frustration as he realized she couldn't see him. "It was closer than mine."

His mother laughed. "Lazy butt. How was your day?"

"Fine."

"How was your meeting with your therapist?"

"Fine."

"Okay…how's Daddy?"

Hitoshi sighed as he looked over the top of the couch to his dad's room, door open and light on. "I'm slowly killing him."

"Fine."

"Okay, can you give me more than that, please? I miss you. Pretty please?"

Again, Hitoshi sighed. "He's okay. We got ice cream."

"Oooh what's the occasion?"

"He's sad that I won't speak to him." "Just…guys being dudes."

Ochako laughed, which provided some type of relief, even if it was only temporary. "Alright, did you guys get your homework done?"

"Yeah," He lied. He didn't want his dad to get reprimanded for his own destructive tendencies.

"Did you have a lot?"

"Not really."

"Any you struggled with?"

Hitoshi cursed silently, looking for a bullshit answer. "Algebra." Mitsuko was good at algebra.

"Oh, ummm, well did you two get it? If not you could snap a pic and send it to me and I can help. Or you could ask Kayda, I'm sure she'd love to help you."

"We figured it out."

"Of course you did, you're so smart." There was a pause when Hitoshi didn't respond. "Your dad is pretty good at algebra, huh?"

Hitoshi sighed. "Yeah." That's where Mitsuko got it. 

"Okay, well it's getting late. As much I know you love talking to me, you need to get your rest."

"Okay."

"Okay. I love you, bubba. Goodnight."

"Night." He said and hung up the phone, letting it sit idly in his lap before he moved. He went to his father's room and peeked inside to see the bathroom door closed. He must have been showering. Hitoshi left his phone on his bed, then went back to his own bedroom. He laid down on his bed, not bothering to get under the covers, figuring he'd just get up and shower when he'd inevitably wake up again in two hours. Everything felt heavy, especially his eyelids, and he let them fall closed as he drifted off into the night.

✱✱✱

Hitoshi kicked at the ground as his hands gripped the sides of the chair. His cousin sat in the one next to him, resting her chin on her hand.

"He doesn't need whatever the hell this is, Katsuki-"

"I don't have anything to do with this, don't start with me."

Hitoshi sighed and bent down to pick up his backpack just as Katsuki and his mom burst through the door to the principal's office. His mom rushed over to him, cupping his face in her hands and repeatedly asking if he was injured. Hitoshi pushed her off and started towards the door, scoffing when Ochako blocked his path.

"Hitoshi, what happened?"

The brunette glanced at his cousin who rolled her eyes as she picked up her bag. "Nothing."

"Obviously, it's not nothing if you're both here-"

"Okay, would you shut up and let me parent my own kid?" Katsuki spat, and Ochako scoffed.

"You're not doing a very good job-"

"Mom," Hitoshi whined. Nothing good was going to come from this.

"Saisho, what the hell happened?" Katsuki asked and the girl rolled her eyes. "Don't you dare roll your eyes at me, do you know how many strings I had to pull to come get you?"

"Oh, yeah. 'Cause it's my fault, right? It's always my fault." She pushed past her dad, ignoring his angry shouts and walked out of the door. Hitoshi slipped around his mother, following Saisho's lead. He just wanted to go home.

"This is the third call I've gotten this month. Saisho, whatever the hell this is, you need to get it together because I'm sick of it."

"What do you think, I like you coming to my school and screaming at me in the halls?!" Saisho whipped around and shouted right back at her father, a few spikes growing on her arms. "Yeah, it's the highlight of my freaking week!"

"Watch your mouth!" Katsuki scolded her but she was ready to fire back with more sarcasm.

"It wasn't her fault, she had a panic attack!" Hitoshi shouted over them, grabbing both of their attention as well as his mother's. Quieter, he continued, "They pick on her, they wouldn't leave her alone. So I stepped in and then her quirk was all…you know and then…"

"What…is this true?" Katsuki turned to Saisho, who's breathing had picked up as she stared at Hitoshi. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because you don't listen! It doesn't matter."

"Of course, it matters. How could you even think that? You're supposed to tell me stuff like this-"

"She was just scared-" Hitoshi started, but was quickly stopped by a wry cry.

"Oh my GOD!" Saisho wrung her fingers through her hair, pulling at her scalp in frustration. She turned to Hitoshi, "Would you FUCK OFF?! Stop fighting my battles for me!"

"Hey!" Ochako stepped up next to Hitoshi, offended for her son who simply sighed and cast his gaze to the floor.

"Hey! Not okay!" Katsuki grabbed onto her wrist and she growled, yanking it away with all her might but still not able to get free.

"LET GO! Don't touch me! Stop!" She cried, clawing at Katsuki's hand. "Ugh! None of this would be happening if Dad was here!" She yelled, and that was enough for Katsuki to loosen his grip in shock. Saisho immediately ripped her hand away, stumbling backward in a fit of tears.

"I'm here! I'm here, sorry I'm late!" Izuku threw open the double doors, slowing down at the sight in front of him. "What…what's going on?"

Saisho let out one more frustrated sob and stomped forward, shoving past Izuku to the parking lot. 

Izuku gave Katsuki a look, which he ignored and started after his daughter. Izuku grabbed him by the arm before he could get passed. "Hey-"

"Don't touch me!" Katsuki yanked his arm away, whipping around to face Izuku. "You're not the only one who lost someone in that accident, you know?! And that's what it was, an accident! It was an ACCIDENT! I'm sorry! You know I'm sorry! And you can punish me all you want, but don't you fucking drag her into it because she lost a parent!" He pointed out at the parking lot, tears welling up in his eyes and Hitoshi realized this was the first time he'd actually seen his uncle cry.

Izuku didn't stop him from leaving after that, and the broken family watched the blond storm out of the school.

"Okay…what the heck did I miss?" Izuku held his arms out to his sides as he approached his son and ex wife. 

"More like why the hell did you miss? Izuku, where were you? I know they called you after they called me." Ochako stepped towards him, arms crossed over her chest. 

"I was working-"

"So was I."

"I was all the way across town!"

"What happened to your super speed, Mr. Full Cowling?" 

"Okay, I'm not doing this with you right now. Hitoshi-"

"No, you don't get to do that. You don't get to dodge my questions like they aren't important."

"I am trying to check on our son!"

"He's fine! I already checked, because I was here."

"Well I am here now and I would still like to know what happened."

"He was in a fight!"

"You were in a fight?!" Izuku echoed, turning to Hitoshi with a shocked look on his face.

Hitoshi raised his eyebrows and his mouth dropped open in surprise. "What?! No, it wasn't a fight-" He started, but was interrupted by his mother before he could finish. 

"Maybe you could have done something to prevent it if you actually talked to him."

Izuku recoiled, his eyebrows furrowing and his mouth morphing into a scowl. "I do talk to him."

"Oh yeah? What do you talk about?"

"We…Ochako, this isn't fair-"

"You want to know what isn't fair? What isn't fair is that I'm stuck being his mom after you decided to be his friend! Let me guess what you had for dinner last night: whatever he wanted?"

Izuku frowned. "Actually, we had pizza."

"Oh, pizza! Even better!"

Hitoshi shut his eyes, scrunching his nose up as they continued to bicker. He was sure the classrooms down the hall could hear, and he didn't need to add anything else to his souring reputation. "You guys, can we please go home-"

"Shush!"

"Not now!"

This was how they'd been since the funeral. They argued constantly; over why the dishes weren't done (Mitsuko always did them), about who's turn it was to buy groceries (Mitsuko did most of the shopping), about whether they were going to keep Mitsuko's door open or closed.

The last one didn't last long because Izuku moved out a few months after. He wanted her door closed, but now Ochako could keep it open. 

They argued over Hitoshi a lot too, and he remembered when he first saw the headlines: "Pro Heroes Deku and Uravity Messy Divorce After Loss of Child!"

He threw up after reading it.

Things were better after they separated. Well, not better, but at least they weren't fighting all the time. They had gotten better at communicating, but he still hated being in the same room with both of them at a time. It was times like these where he wished his sister was still here, or at least that Saisho didn't hate him. 

He guessed this was the type of stuff he was supposed to tell his therapist. But how was he supposed to say it when it felt like talking about her was forbidden? Her name was like a lit match, waiting to be dropped on a stick of dynamite embedded deep inside of the Earth's core, ready to blow his world to pieces. He lost himself in these thoughts, spiraling down and down and down until he'd forgotten what reality he was in.

His dissociation was dangerous because he would sometimes wander without realizing it until someone woke him up. This time, it was Hisao.

Hitoshi blinked as Hisao shook his shoulder, staring at him with a concerned look on his face. "Are you okay? Here, come in." He ushered and Hitoshi listened realizing his clothes were damp. He must have walked there in the rain.

"KAYDAAA!" Hisao shouted, and from the annoyed look on his face it didn't seem like it was the first time. "I don't know where she is. Damn, I've got a thing to go to, I just stopped by to pick up some tools. Here, uh-" He flipped the switch to the fireplace and it lit up. "I'll go get you some dry clothes."

"What do you want?" Kayda came down the stairs, her irritated expression faltering as she laid eyes on Hitoshi. "Hito-chan…what…?" She started and looked to Hisao who shrugged, bounding up the stairs to get clothes for Hitoshi.

Kayda finished down the stairs and jogged over to Hitoshi, who was shivering now. "What are you doing here?"

Hitoshi shrugged. "I don't know." He truly didn't.

She frowned and grabbed a blanket from the couch, wrapping it around his shoulders.

"Mom and dad were fighting." He mumbled and her shoulders slumped. He felt bad for unloading onto her like this. Mitsuko was her best friend after all. 

"Okay! They're gonna be pretty big, but it's better than what you're wearing, so," Hisao appeared next to them, handing Kayda the dry clothes. "I'm late to meet with Jisoo, so are you guys okay? Should I…?"

Kayda shook her head. "Go on, we'll be fine."

Hisao muttered a quiet "kay" and quickly left the house, leaving Kayda and Hitoshi alone. 

"Here, why don't we get you changed?" Kayda helped him stand and led him to the bathroom, handing him the clothes before he closed the door.

About fifteen minutes later, he was curled up on the couch with a mug of hot chocolate. 

"You know," Kayda sighed, picking at the blankets they were curled up with, "When Akio died…I wanted to die too. Well, not literally. I just couldn't…grasp the concept of living in a world where he didn't exist. I was so mad at him for…leaving me behind."

Hitoshi stared down into his cup. "It's not the same."

Kayda looked at him, then swallowed and nodded, sniffling. "I know."

Now he made her cry. When was this ever going to get any easier?

"I guess what I mean is," She sighed once more, allowing her hands to fall into her lap, "I've lost two important people within the last couple of years. So if you ever need someone to talk to…"

Hitoshi nodded. Kayda was nice, she had always been nice to him. But if he couldn't talk to his therapist, someone who his parents were paying to listen, how was he supposed to talk to his dead sister's best friend?

"Why didn't I wake up sooner?" Well,he's done it. Kayda raised an eyebrow and he, somehow, continued, "If I had…" He stopped, an involuntary sob bobbing in his throat, "She was just…lying there. She was all alone." He whimpered and his vision went blurry before he felt a warm wetness on his cheeks. "If I had…if I had woken up…s-sooner-" He coughed in his own tears, bringing a hand up to cover his face.

It had been a long time since he cried, and now that it was finally happening he didn't like it. His face was hot, and his head felt like it was going to explode from the sheer effort he was putting in to keep his tears from falling. Effort that didn't matter, because they were falling anyway, like a dam that had been patched up with gum, water spurting out of every crack, every crevice it could find. And to top it all off there was this sharp pain in his chest and he couldn't stop his lungs from seizing as he gasped for air, choking on his sobs and coughing when he couldn't get enough of it.

Warm arms restricted his shaking and he pressed his head into Kayda's chest, her hug providing some sense of security as he cried until his eyes swelled. Mitsuko would have made fun of him for this, and the thought only made him cry harder, pleading to some sentient being for the past year to have been a nightmare. Unfortunately for Hitoshi, said sentient being must not exist, because his desperate prayers went unheard. 

She whispered little reassurances, and though he didn't believe them, they made him feel a little bit better. His breathing slowed and his cheeks dried, though his head still pounded like a drum. He would have fallen asleep if he hadn't pulled away, hiccuping as he wiped at his eye.

"I should tell my parents where I am." He mumbled, taking out his phone and struggling to type in the pass code with his shaky hand.

"They don't know?" Kayda inquired, to which Hitoshi shook his head. He hadn't told him he was leaving, and they had been too caught up in their argument to notice. 

He shot them a text, nothing fancy or anything more than an address. He didn't want to talk to them. He was tired. 

But he did feel better. Even if it was just a little bit.

[throwaway-sinfulwriter]

The Same - Chapter 7 - 2/6

A handful of lollipops in his pocket, Malcolm arrives at the crime scene.

"One for you, one for you, and one for you.. lemon lime." He says as he hands out the lollipops, only getting a smile from Gil and Dani as he did. JT just looked mildly confused, staring suspiciously at the wrapped candy before putting it in his pocket.

Looking over the body, Malcolm hums. "The eyes.. This is a side effect of lobotomy. Are there any incisions?"

Edrisa comes over to him, nodding. "Yes, at the top of the skull. Hello, special agent Bright."

Malcolm gives her a small smile. "Hello, Edrisa. Cherry?" He holds out a lollipop.

She looks mystified, gently taking it from him. "My favorite.. I'm sorry, I-I didn't know we were exchanging small gifts. I don't have anything for you, but I can go get..?"

"No need. It's okay." His smile is more tight, more forced. The doctor was kind, but her interest in him was so obvious it made him wince.

Still, he smiles fondly. Edrisa was one of the only people who seemed to understand him, even more so than Gil. She didn't look at him strangely, and seemed to share his passion of crime and investigating.

A good ally.

No one could match his father, though. Those were big shoes to fill.

Malcolm had no recorded attraction to women, romantic or otherwise. It was probably a psychological effect to his Mother's influence, or his admiration of his father, even after he had been arrested.

Though, it could just be him. He would never get a solid answer to that one, as there wasn't a single Malcolm Whitly in the multiverse that wasn't affected by his upbringing.

(And yes, he believed in the multiverse theory.)

Regardless of this fact, in this universe he had only ever been with men, and was determined to have it stay that way.

He's shaken out of his static thoughts when the examiners tell them they've found something.

Staring at the note left by the killer, Malcolm calmly explains how the person who wrote it must have been mentally ill, the "word salad" (clever phrase he learned in college) making no coherent sense.

Leaving Gil with the note, he heads back over to Edrisa, who is examining the man's skull.

"These incisions are incredibly deep.. it's almost like he wanted to cut through the skull itself." Edrisa says, gently pulling back the scalp, and..

Dani and JT gag behind him.

Malcolm lights up at the sight of the pink, gorey cavity of the man's head, heart beating furiously at the sight. The entire head was empty, just a husk of a place that once held a brain.

It was.. wonderful.

He crouches down next to Edrisa, observing inside.

"He removed the entire brain.." The profiler whispers lowly. "How?"

"I don't know, but it's kinda impressive." Edrisa says, and they glance at each other, smiling.

------

Throwing his blue stress ball in between his hands in the debriefing room, Malcolm looks over the crime scene photos, the note, and the death report once more.

He died of a heart attack.. How strange. For a moment, Malcolm thought that Edrisa had been wrong. But now, looking at the evidence.. the nail marks on his palms..

It was entirely plausible.

"Why would he remove the brain?" Dani asks, and JT shrugs next to her.

"Beats me."

Malcolm rolls his sleeves back, standing. "Removing the brain fufills some sort of psychological need for him. It has to have some meaning.. I just don't know what it is yet."

"What do we know about him?" He asks, looking at Dani.

"Well known professor. Widower. Neighbor last saw him leave at 9 PM. He never came back. His lab is still being run, by, uh.." Dani pulls out a paper from her case file, reading it over.

"Carl Mitchell and Elaine Brown."

Malcolm gasps loudly, and everyone's eyes snap over to him.

"Elaine Brown?! Sh-she's a legend." His eyes sparkle. True excitement rising in him.. What he wouldn't do to meet the Elaine Brown.

Dani raises her eyebrows.

"…Okay."

"I researched her work at Quantico.."

He would be elated to meet her. That being said, he was hoping he wouldn't have to meet her under case circumstances, but he would take what he was given.

Malcolm's hand rests on his chin, and he stares at the photos for a moment longer before someone comes into the debriefing room.

"Mr. Bright? Your doctor is on the phone." One of the officers in the front says, and he stands as she leaves. Looking at the others, trying not to hunch his shoulders up. It must be his therapist. Or.. him.

"It's uh.. my.. dentist. Bad gums, y'know." He makes a flimsy excuse, quickly leaving the room. Being led to the phone that he had been called from.

Malcolm sits down, picking up the phone and putting it to his ear.

Picking up on the breathing before saying anything, he knows who it is.

"I'm tiring of these phone privileges." He says bluntly, glancing around, paranoid.

"Awh, Malcolm. Don't be daft. We both know you love it when I call. You didn't answer my calls yesterday." His father starts off sounding cocky, but he sounds geninunely sad that Malcolm hadn't answered him.

"I was.. busy." He lies. Yeah, busy. Busy throwing up and masturbating in sporatic intervals.

"Did you get my voicemail?" His father asks in a hopeful tone.

"No." He answers, rubbing his forehead in exasperation. Malcolm didn't have time for this. "Why are you calling me?"

"Did he take the brain? I saw you and your sister on the television. Aw. Local news is always amateur-ish, but Ainsley has some real chops, don't you think?"

Malcolm goes to respond, but stops when his father's voice becomes muffled. He's talking to someone else.

"Can you turn that down? I'm talking to my son."

Said son presses his forehead to the table, ignoring how fast his heart was beating. He didn't want to see his father again. But just hearing his voice made him want to jump into his arms and be safe with him.

He shouldn't feel so strangely aroused and happy when the man he was in love with called him his son.

"So? Did he take the brain, Malcolm?"

The profiler groans quietly, shaking his head even though his father couldn't see him.

"I'm not telling you anything. That's police business."

"Oh, come on, my boy. Someone taking the brain of Dr. Elaine Brown's colleague.. you don't think that means something? You know, I'm quite good at deducing killer's meanings.. you know, from reference."

Malcolm sits up fully, ignoring that last bit, eyebrows drawing together. "You think he's sending a message?"

He can hear his father's smirk over the phone. "Are you asking me for my advice?"

"No." Yes. Please help me, father. I'm lost.

Doctor Whitly sighed on the other end. "Fine, then. If you don't want my advice, please tell your sister that her diction is impeccable."

Bright doesn't know how to respond to that. "Goodbye, Dr. Whitly." I love you.

"Wait, Malcolm." Malcolm hadn't moved the phone from his ear, even thought he should have.

"Fear, my boy, has always been your.. stumbling block. This case may be difficult for you."

Irritation grows in Malcolm. How dare his father tell him what was difficult for him, he didn't know how he reacted to situations like this..

But, deep down, the man knew that his father was right.

"I catch killers for a living. Fear isn't a problem for me." He says in a biting tone, grip tightening on the phone until it creaks dangerously.

"But your nightmares.. those tremors." Said tremors were acting up, making the phone shake as he gripped it. "Push yourself too hard.. and you'll break into pieces."

"You have always been good at pretending fear isn't there, Malcolm. But we both know it is. You're not the best at hiding it, I'm afraid."

Malcolm digs the nails of his free hand into the table. "Because of you."

His father sighs loudly on the other end, like it was a game and Malcolm had given the wrong answer.

"Here comes the blame game again, Malcolm." He sounds exasperated. Part of Malcolm is satisfied with that, while the other part of him was devastated at his father being cross with him.

"Let's not go there today, hm? Keep it civil."

He doesn't have anything to say to that.

"Uh, listen, why don't you swing by? You looked so troubled at our last visit.. So many questions left unanswered."

"I have no intention of returning." He didn't, but Malcolm knew he would end up going there again. It wouldn't be today, tomorrow, or hell, the next week. But it would be some day. He couldn't stay away for long.

"Very well." Doctor Whitly says in a brisk tone. "Have it your way, Malcolm. But.. when you do see Doctor Brown, please tell her that her work helped me.. resist convention."

Malcolm hangs up. He doesn't have time for his father's games right now. There's a crime to be solved.

Even when he leaves the phone, his chest hurts. He wants to call back and beg for forgiveness. But he won't.

[the-captains-ayebrows]

I’m intrigued by the therapy one and the studio?

The Studio AU was supposed to be a three-parter Modern AU. The first part is modern deckhand!hook backstory. It’s all him and Milah and Gold. That’s the only part I’ve written so far. Part 2 and 3 were going to be Emma and Henry’s backstories, respectively. All of them are told as flashbacks and the stories dovetail into each other so Killian, Emma and Henry meet at this recording studio where Emma works and Killian is a guitar player. I may post part 1 just on it’s own, since it’s actually finished. IDK.

The therapy one though...Oh lord... *blushes* That sprung from a GIF of Bernard Curry as a high school principal.

The basic premise is that Emma is in court-ordered anger management counseling. Liam is her therapist. Emma has been angrier than usual lately because her new neighbor wakes her up cheering at football matches that air at 4 am. She also may be having a few questionable dreams about said neighbor. Little does she realize the neighbor is her therapist’s brother.

Here’s what I’ve got thus far:

“I don’t need therapy.”

The doctor slid on a pair of reading glasses, and began thumbing through her paperwork. “That may well be Miss Swan, but Judge Spencer seemed to think otherwise. Hence, making it a condition of your probation.”

Emma rolled her eyes. God, this was irritating. “Geez, you slam one slimeball’s head into a steering wheel…”

The doc paused his perusal and looked up at her, blue eyes peeking out over the top of the lenses. “Just the one?”

“I mean,” Emma gestured vaguely with one hand, “there may have been a few skips that I had to get physical with, but they all earned it.”

“Mmhmm. I see.” The doctor closed her file and removed his glasses, sitting up straight to face her fully. “Still, as well-founded as your reasons may have been, the Superior Court of the state of Maine believes that you may have a bit of an anger management problem. And they shan’t reinstate your bail bonds license until I’ve cleared you.”

“So, here I am.” Emma made a sweeping gesture with both hands, encompassing the large tufted leather couch upon which she was sitting as well as the elegant wood-paneled office in general.

He nodded, one corner of his lips tilting up slightly. “So, here we are. Anything you’d care to talk about?”

No. She cocked her head to one side and said the first thing that popped into her mind. “How did America end up calling it ‘soccer’ when the rest of the world calls it football?”

The doc’s eyebrows made a little peak over his nose. “An excellent question to be sure, but I’m afraid that discussion won’t bring us any closer to discovering the root of your anger issues.”

Emma snorted a bitter laugh. Shit. She’d meant to say something random and meaningless. But no. He was infiltrating her thoughts again.

“What’s funny?”

“It’s just…” Emma gave him a tight smile.”You’d be surprised.”

“Ah, well then enlighten me.”

Emma leaned forward on the couch, resting her elbows on her knees. “I don’t have anger issues. I, uh - I haven’t been sleeping much lately. I guess it’s making me kind of…” She leaned back on the couch again and raised her arms helplessly. “prickly.”

The doctor narrowed his eyes. “And this is somehow related to football?”

“I’m getting to that. I’ve got this new neighbor, see? He’s from your side of the pond, and no offense to your countrymen, but this one’s an asshole.” Emma crossed her arms over her chest. “He’s all arrogant and smirky and clearly thinks he’s hot. Okay, so he is hot, but the point is he knows it. And he seems to have made it his life’s mission to annoy the shit out of me.”

She didn’t like the way the doc was raising his eyebrows or the tone of his, “Mmhm.”

“Look. All of that I could ignore, but it’s the damn soccer or football or whatever the hell you call it. Apparently my neighbor is a rabid fan of the English Premier League - oh, I’ve googled all of this since I’m fucking awake anyway - and what the hell kind of sport starts at 9:00 a.m. on a Saturday?”

“That doesn’t sound too early…”

Emma leaned forward for emphasis, slamming her hands down on the couch cushion on either side of her. “In England. 9:00 a.m. in England which is 4:00 a.m. here. I swear to God if I hear ‘Glory glory Man United’ drunkenly slurred through my wall when the sun isn’t even up yet one more time, I’m going to go over there, tear his scruffy head off, and shove it up his-”

“Right. Got it.” The doc crossed his legs and tilted his head, seeming to study her. “I don’t supposed you’ve tried asking him to keep it down?”

She fidgeted, taking particular interest in a loose thread sticking out from the seat cushion of the couch. “No,” she finally answered.

“Why not? That seems the simplest solution.”

Emma really didn’t like his insufferably reasonable tone. “That would involve talking to him.”

“And that’s bad.”

“Yes. That’s bad.”

Crap, now he was starting to look worried. “Do you find him to be threatening or harassing? If so, I can-”

“No, no no.” Emma waved his concern away. “It’s not like that. He’s not a creep, and even if it was like that I can take care of myself.” Her fingers fiddled with the thread some more. “I could definitely kick his ass,” she added under her breath.

The doctor fixed her with a wry look. “You realize you aren’t doing a lot to convince me about those anger issues, Miss Swan.”

Emma glared at him in a manner that clearly communicated she could kick his ass, too. He raised a hand in surrender and gestured for her to go on. She didn’t know how to go on. God this was stupid.

“It’s just- he just…” She exhaled heavily. “Flirts with me.”

“And you don’t like that.”

Damn, that thread just really needed to be plucked or clipped or something, and how cliche was it for a shrink to have a leather couch like this?

“Miss Swan?”

Emma pressed her lips together. “Hm?”

“You said that your neighbor flirts with you, and I asked if you don’t like it when he does that?”

Emma felt her cheeks warming. She turned her head to the side and gave a nonchalant shrug. When she glanced back at the doc, he was smiling at her like he’d made some big discovery.

“I see.”

Emma glared again, emphasizing her point with a jab of her index finger in his direction. “You see nothing.”

“Miss Swan, do you have feelings for your neighbor?”

Emma huffed in exasperation. “Of course I have feelings for him. It’s like I just told you: anger, hatred-”

“Sexual frustration?”

“Ew!” Oh, God. What am I twelve? Who says ‘ew’?

“Oh, really?” His eyes were wide and it looked like he was trying to suppress another ‘eureka’ kind of smile.

“It’s-” Emma shook her head and looked at the top of the bookshelf behind him. “It’s nothing. I’ve been having kind of a dry spell, and he’s there, and he’s-”

“Hot? I believe you said he was hot. Your word.”

“It’s nothing. I’ve been having these dreams. It’s kind of the other reason I’m having trouble sleeping.”

“And in these dreams…?” he prompted.

This was getting ridiculous. Emma exhaled sharply and sat up, looking the doc square in the eye. “I have wild crazy monkey sex with my neighbor. Who I hate. Anyway, it’s confusing and I don’t want to talk to him.”

“Fair enough, but Miss Swan, you do realize you have to deal with these issues and perhaps get some sleep before you’ll be able to resume your livelihood?”

“I don’t have issues.” Emma’s voice sounded petulant and unconvincing even to her own ears.

“Lass, I’ve known you for less than half an hour and in my professional opinion, you’ve got a fair few. Trust, intimacy, anger management, denial-”

“Okay, okay. I still don’t want to talk to him. Can’t I just move?”

“Disregarding for the moment whether that’s even a remotely psychologically healthy attitude, is moving a financially viable option for you?”

Emma slumped. “No.”

“Then I’m afraid you’re going to have to face this.” The doctor shifted in his chair, and furrowed his brow. “Now, you say you’ve been having sexual dreams about your neighbor. Have you engaged in any self-release?”

“Self-re...oh my god.” Emma’s head dropped into her hand, covering her eyes. This wasn’t happening. She wasn’t about to get the talk at age 30 from a stuffy Brit in a sweater vest and blazer with elbow patches. He must’ve taken her reaction as embarrassment, and maybe it was, kind of. The second-hand variety anyway. He kept talking. Emma checked out.

“...and that’s why masturbation is perfectly healthy.”

Emma finally raised her head. “Stop. Please. Look, I’ve… self-released before. But, I’m not feeling myself up while thinking about my neighbor. I’m not a creep.”

He extended a hand toward her in what she supposed was meant to be a reassuring gesture. “I’m not suggesting you make it habitual, only that it could be a safe way for you to confront and explore your confusing feelings for this person. Particularly since you seem so resistant to confronting the actual person causing them.”

Wait, that - that actually kind of made sense. “So…” Emma narrowed her eyes. “Like banging one out, only solo?”

“Bit of a gross oversimplification, but yes, I suppose so. Much safer at least than picking up a stranger at a bar and projecting your feelings onto him or her.”

Well, that hit close to home. “Have you been reading my diary, Doc?” Emma asked coyly, trying to make a joke out of it.

He chuckled. “Analysis is my job, Miss Swan. And you, I must admit, are a bit of an open book.”

“Huh.” Emma considered her options. As much as she thought it was dumb and unnecessary, she had to do this therapy thing if she wanted her license back, and this shrink didn’t seem like such a bad guy. A little awkward, maybe a little judgey, but not awful. He didn’t seem put off by her which was unusual enough, and she suspected he might even have a sense of humor in there somewhere. She guessed she could suck it up and deal with this. It was all confidential anyway. It’s not like he can go blabbing on her, right?

“Well, if we’re gonna be discussing every intimate detail of my life, I guess you better call me Emma.”

He smiled again. Not an ‘ah-ha!’ kind of smile like before, but a friendly one. “Very well, Emma. You can call me Liam.”

[espeneldritch]

2. This is the post with abuse mentions I was talking about please stay safe

Alright so first off so nobody gets confused: yes. I'm ftm. I don't list that on my bio because I just want to be male you know? Being trans isn't as big to my identity as being bisexual and it's not like I would probably date anyone off Tumblr anyways so it's really none of anyone's business unless it comes to stories like this, in which, you need that context.

If you don't know what that means, it means I'm trans and yeah I still go by he/him. I'm male.

Anyways here's the story

I have waited a little over 2 years to be seen by my local gender specialist. This is not optional in Canada no matter your money, and he was booked up that far because the old one retired and I live in a fairly densely populated area. I was very excited when I received the phone call and was solely focused on the gender aspect of my mental health because I've been living as male since 17 and not being on T while seeing trans peers in other areas get to medically transition faster felt like torture. I had completely forgotten that these gender specialists are trained psychiatrists prepared especially for the issues we can face.

I came in, gave him my med list, told him about my transition, he agreed on my disagnosis of gender dysphoria and referred me to an endocrinologist within the first five minutes. He even apologized for the wait and said he would refer me for top surgery, but he needed to wait for fat redistribution on T.

Here is where things got interesting. He had us booked for a full hour like a therapy session. It really caught me off guard how he started going through questions off the beaten path for therapists.

He asked me about previous disagnosis and we went into detail about how they interacted with my dysphoria and suddenly something old came out of his files. My letter from my childhood doctor for concerta. He asked about how my ADHD was off medication. Nobody I'd seen since I was 6 had asked about my ADHD, and there was a good reason for that.

I was absolutely shocked. It all came flooding back. No, my mom had taken me out of the doctor's because she said it changed my attitude too much and she wanted me back. I was bilingual, mandrin immersion when I was little. On the meds, I was finally catching up with my tutors a year in but my mom took me off them and my attention crashed so hard that I had to be removed from my multilingual program and put into special Ed to recover the damage done. I had to switch schools, she didn't try different meds she just took me off them. I figured out how to make my understimulated brain work with special Ed and was thrown back into regular schooling by grade four. Chances of learning any other languages pretty much completely ruined even with learning strategies.

But it didn't stop there. I was ill allot as a kid and my Mom wasn't experienced enough to handle it. I don't think it was malicious, she's just always been my only parent and... not really ready for a kid. I was severely iron deficient throughout my childhood which may or may not have been her fault but between the both of us being victims of actual abuse and living in shelters for a few years I'm not willing to call the trauma she put me through abuse.

Yet, when I developed chronic migraines in Jr high (a risk factor for migraines is chronic iron deficiency) she refused to treat me after one bad medication interaction along with refusing recommend MRIs due to budding working symptoms. She stopped taking me to doctors, I lost contact with my neurologist. As always she had that same inexperienced fear of repetition instead of a willingness to be on my side to help me. As a result of that my migraines were out of control up into highschool. I was missing weeks of school a month because I couldn't talk without slurring and they would stack up and trigger each other.

Mysteriously, they stopped in grade 11-12. But they came back when I was 18 (I graduated at 17 and was working for half a year at this point) but this time with hemipeligic symptoms. But, because of my neglect growing up, I had no idea that a) people didn't just deal with half their body getting paralyzed or b) what to do about it as an adult who has never been taught how to take care of my mental or physical illnesses. I refused to tell my coworkers what was wrong. I valued my privacy, and if I had had the supports behind me, this would have been fine. But I didn't. I had love behind me, but no supports.

I suppose what this is. I see everyone bonding over abuse, including me. I've talked about my abuse tons of times and that's not for the public eyes but I want to know if you all can relate to having so much love behind you from so many different people. So many people from different places that you have healthy relationships from, but you know, none of them behind you are resilient. It hurts you, but it's not their fault. My mom is so important to me. She's a good person, a strong person. We get along as adults. But our roles feel kind of flipped and it's not abuse but it's not healthy either. I don't know how much people really talk about that kind of dirty laundry, but there's a certain kind of burden that comes with this structure. I'm the eldest son. I live in and pay her rent even though I want to move out because she wants to keep the house and I want to make sure my little brother is never alone like me. She's always crying on me. She brings home her boyfriends to me, asks for advice. I break up arguments between her and her long time boyfriend all the time. From before I was in school I was helping at her work and I continue today, despite that being one of the places I was abused.

She never seemed abusive to me because she's always seemed naïve. She just didn't know better. Yet, there's research coming out that they're finding white matter scarring on MRIs of people with hemipeligic migraines. I can't blame her, but her mistakes might have left physical scars on me.

I could have brain damage because she was scared of me getting locked in with a migraine medication again. I was afraid too, but I was a child, I needed her to be strong more than I needed to be strong. I needed her to continue looking for treatment, but she didn't, because she had love for me. She was just there for me, but not to fight for me when I was sick and too young to understand. She was just an inexperienced mother who saw her kid suffering and wanted to hide because of it. Unfortunately I just happened to hurt so much more because of it and I didn't even want to think about all that before my gender therapist asked.

Today, I am 4 months HM free on preventative medication despite bad side effects and ages of dosage adjustment. It's still not perfect, but compared to what I had, it's incredible. I just tried a different of ADHD medication and even some gaps in my vision I thought were permanently ruined due to my migraines were fixed. I'm going to do some research on this tonight, but I'm overjoyed. My vision problems are nothing glasses could fix, I didn't think my ADHD could effect my vision, but I think it might make sense especially with my migraines at the same time and also depression. But that's another post and just my thoughts as a dumber than average non-neuroscientist

TL;DR

Going in for gender therapy is actually not just gender focused. Sometimes you can be surprised with big honking problems you forgot you had. You'll probably walk out of that room with a referral, just prepare yourself for all the other things you were barring behind your gender. Because, I didn't believe them when they said there's always something; but there's always something. Don't be afraid, just be ready. You might bite off more than you can chew like I did, but take it slow. The prescription for ADHD meds at the gender clinic has probably been both the strangest and the best thing that's ever happened to me.

[altruistic-meme]

alright my dudes, this post is going to go deep. in it, I'm going to talk about some rather triggering content. under the cut I'm going to tell you about my personal experiences with the mental illnesses I have and just basically try and give you an understanding as to why I sometimes act the way I do. so if you care to read, and reading won't in any way negatively affect you, then click that read more. if not, feel free to scroll on, no hard feelings. sometimes you aren't feeling up to reading dark shit and I can respect that, I get that way too. now, with minimal further preamble, the undercut and what lies beneath...

(potentially triggering content includes: discussion of depression and anxiety and  mentions of self-harm and suicide.)

well hello there, and welcome to the undercut. I'm about to take you on a journey through the messed up part of my mind. I'm gonna try and keep this short and to the point mostly.

A QUICK THING; it's probably going to be very incoherent, and if you are confused about something or would like more information about something, do feel free to visit my inbox or messages and ask! a lot of people are very uncomfortable talking about this stuff and lbr, I kinda am too, but I'm making an effort to speak up more about it, and to reach out a hand to those who need it, as I never really had one put forth for me. so do not be shy to ask about anything, that's what this post is about, hm?

let's just jump right into this, shall we?

HERE WE GO; I HAVE AN ANXIETY DISORDER AND MILD-SEVERE DEPRESSION.

neither of which are fun, lemme tell ya. (and I am totally in awe of people who have either or BOTH and are out there, working and being an adult in general like damn. u strong. go u.)

a disclaimer before I continue: this post is about MY PERSONAL experiences with these illnesses. this is NOT a post about the general symptoms of these illnesses. if you relate to anything I say in this post, I'm v v sorry that you are going through this, bc it's hell, not gonna lie. anywho, I had better see 0 bullshit about "oh, you don't have x bc you don't do/feel blah blah blah" not everyone goes through the same stuff, dipshit.

moving on.

symptoms yayyyy;

Anxiety: -I am extremely socially anxious. -this means going up to the counter to ask for a take-out container for leftover food at a restaurant? u m no. -talking to strangers? no. -it is also really hard for me to talk to little kids or older folks. -and then there is also; feeling anxious (wow) -having 209745 worst-case scenario's go through my head. -trying to sleep and instead having my brain interrupt and tell me "hey ya know what's cool? thinking about how you could mess up x" -actually that happens a lot. -a general thought process for me; "am i good enough? do I look okay? do I act like an idiot? am I charming or stupid? am I cool or a know-it-all? I talk about myself too much. what else can I talk about? them, talk about them. but that doesn't work either. I don't know what to say." -not fun. -and that is just what came immediately to mind. there are lots and lots of different variations. -don't even get me started on how doing my school makes me feel. -and a metric fuckton of second-guessing. -no panic attacks yet but I have felt like I was close to having one often.

Depression: -just. suicidal thoughts. let that sink in a minute. -also thoughts of self-harm. -like there are days where looking at a knife will make me want to cut and I have to hold knives on a daily basis pretty much so not fun. -can we see that self-deprecation?? yeah we can. -constantly wondering if my family loves me. -don't even get me started on my friends. -hiding in my room bc it's literally the only place where I feel kinda safe from myself -except for when I remember that I have scissors in here. -enjoying things I used to love whom?? -times where I have to take a minute to psych myself up for little tasks like carrying my dishes to the sink. -i n s o m n i a. all over. -some days I lose all will to eat, or just my appetite as a whole. -motivation?? don't know her. lack of motivation is the only one here.

ah, yeah, let's stop there for now.

another interrupty thingy!!: bc I'm gonna go out on a limb here and assume at least some of my friends will read this, there are two things to assure you of; YES I know you love me but depressions goggles make it hard to remember that sometimes. and PLEASE don't freak out over the first 3 items on the depression symptom list I'm fine. I will explain in just a sec.

okie? okie.

so now ya know! not fun! kinda terrifying actually!

"oh, well, Ac, why don't you just try sleeping more? or going outside more? or drinking water? or eating regularly? doing yoga?"

all very good suggestions. yes, they CAN help improve mood, but at the point I am at, they aren't going to help much.

and for the sleep part, lemme tell you, I KNOW FULL WELL that I should sleep more. but guess what? I can't. like, I can. not. sleep. I want to sleep. I enjoy sleeping, I enjoy being fully awake during the day and I enjoy not feeling and looking like a fucking zombie. but you know what? Anxiety and Depression by themselves usually make it harder for people to sleep. combined? I'm fucked. sometimes, yes, I get a regular amount of sleep. but also sometimes I don't. I'm not yet sure what it is that triggers me into either cycle, but they can last from two months to four days.

and OK. I get that you have your ways of making yourself sleep. but you don't understand. I have had to sit through the same speech from my mother about "just picture a blank wall" 6. TIMES. your methods are yours, and while I'm very glad they work for you, it is highly unlikely they will work for me.

okay now, if you got worried when you saw the first 3 symptoms under Depression: I really do appreciate your concern, and I am touched that you care. I'm not going to say it's ok bc of course it's not, it's very not ok, but it is something that I am and have been working on. the first time most of these thoughts hit and hit hard was November 2017, and immediately after I calmed down from them I decided that I had to talk to my mum about going to therapy.

this started a kinda long process including telling my gf, my friend, and my sister before telling my mum. and then of course when I did tell her in December we weren't able to actually try and setup an appointment until January due to being out of insurance. and ofc after that we find out that the recommendation I had gotten the previous year for anxiety was expired and this resulted in me having to go back to the doctor, then to the ER bc that was the only way to get their on-hand therapist to come that day, and then I had to spend 2 hours there bc they were v v concerned and I was almost admitted for a few days bc of my thoughts.

and yeah, it was a mess.

but I do now have a therapist who I've been seeing for a few weeks, and we have a safety plan in place, and he was v v impressed with my knowledge on coping mechanisms and just my symptoms as a general.

random story: when I was maybe 14 I had already self-diagnosed that I had some sort of Anxiety disorder, and I mentioned it out loud in front of my two sisters and one, who had had panic attacks that had sent her to the ER before, was like ah, yeah. and the other one, who as far as I know STILL doesn't have an anxiety disorder let alone had one back then, said basically "no you don't. god. like, I believe that you have anxiety bc everyone does but you don't have REALY anxiety" which is, ya know, why she didn't know why I was going to therapy until my mum told her several weeks in (and even then idk if she evens knows the full reason, but she hasn't asked me so fuck that)

anyway, i'mma try and wrap this up now!

tl;dr, basically; I have Anxiety and Depression. I have had suicidal thoughts (in the past and recently) but I am working to get rid of them, and until such a time occurs, I do have a plan for if they show up that will result in me being protected and safe. I have coping mechanisms and I use them whenever I feel like I need to, and sometimes when I don't simply bc I enjoy them. I'm currently in once a week therapy with someone who let's me talk and laughs with me when I crack a joke and listens to my stances on issues. I know that you have your methods for things, and I'm very glad they work for you, but do NOT try and force them on me.

I hope you now understand a little bit more about me and why I sometimes react to things the way I do.

have a great day, month, year, life.

~Ac

[astoldbyacertifiedunicorn]

Japril Appreciation Week: Day 3 ⇒ A song or quote that reminds you of them 

Halo by Beyoncé 

Remember those walls I built?

Well, baby they're tumbling down

And they didn't even put up a fight

They didn't even make a sound

I found a way to let you in

But, I never really had a doubt

Standing in the light of your halo

I got my angel now

Jackson Avery couldn't understand why exactly he was feeling so angry. It was a hard emotion to pin down for a 7 year old. He just knew, that despite all the coddling his mother has been trying to do, and all the yelling his granddad had done, he had an inexplicable need to act out. 

And now here he was, at a doctor's office, where his mom said that his behavior at school meant he'd have to talk to this doctor and tell her what was wrong. He wanted to tell her that he wasn't sure what was wrong, so there was nothing to tell her. He hadn't meant to push Pete off the swing. He really hadn't. But Pete had been talking about how his dad was teaching him to play baseball and how they'd gone for ice cream after, and he hadn't stopped when Jackson had asked him to. So, he'd pushed him, and Pete had gotten a scrape on his forehead and he'd cried real hard. Jackson had felt terrible. It wasn't Pete's fault he was feeling awfully angry this whole month. 

"Jackson, please stop being difficult. You're an Avery. You can't act out like this in public." Catherine told him, through gritted teeth, as she dragged him along a hallway leading to the doctor he was supposed to see. 

He didn't care much at the time that he was an Avery, it didn't mean anything to him. He just knew he was having a particularly bad day and he needed to scream. A lot. 

"Honey, please stop screaming." Catherine huffed, looking completely lost as to what to do with a screeching child who was kicking, arms flailing wildly as she carried him to the psychiatric ward to meet a child therapist, with as much grace as she could muster. 

"I don't want to go! I don't want to go!" He bent his body, and let his feet hit the floor, attempting to pull his mother to screeching halt.

"Honey, you have to. The school isn't letting you back until the doctor says you're... fine." Catherine explains, in a hushed voice, both to soothe and avoid scandal. 

"I am fine!" He says indignantly, even though he knows that feeling like you're fine means you want to play on the Nintendo instead of feeling like throwing it across the room. 

"You're not, Jackson. And it's okay. You're da-" 

He screamed as loud as he could, lungs puffed out, and the veins in his throat almost popping through the thin skin. She was going to say a name he didn't want to hear. 

"Okay, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I won't bring him up. Just... please. Behave." Catherine tried to no avail, since Jackson was still belting out high pitch yells, and she had no option but to carry him into the room. 

 Maybe it was the stillness of the room itself, or the many faces that turned their way when they entered, but the moment they stepped into the room, Jackson went quiet. He looked around, observing the area with his eyes, unsure of what exactly this place was. It had bright coloured walls, and a play area a little off to the place where adults were all seated, flipping through magazines. His mother, finally looking relieved, was asked by a lady seated at a desk, to wait for some time before the doctor could see him. 

 She took Jackson's hand and led him into the play area, "Please, please, play nice." 

 He turned around, a scowl permanently etched on his face, as he walked forward, kicking all the toys that lay in his path as hard as he possibly could. There were 2 kids to the right, coloring and a little girl who was playing in the toy house all by herself. He chose a spot nearer to the door, sat cross legged, and took to the task of throwing any object in his vicinity as far as he possibly could. He did this for a while, happy with the rush he got every time a toy bounced so hard it almost broke.

 "Hi." 

 He stopped, a toy truck in hand, wheels almost falling off from being thrown numerous times, and looked to his right. 

 "I'm April Kepner. But you can call me April. Do you want to be my husband?" 

 He blinked, completely taken aback by this bold little girl in front of him, who was holding out her hand towards him. Her red hair was pulled up by two pigtails, and she had on a pair of dungarees, a wide smile, and a pair of massive glasses, she kept pushing up her nose. 

 "Me and Lizzy are playing house," She clarifies, pointing to a battered down doll, "I'm her mommy, and so if we get married, you can be her daddy."

 He turns red, and his hands ball up into fists. He didn't want to play house with this girl. She was annoying, and he hated her. Just like he hated everyone, especially his dad. 

 "I don't want to play a stupid game with you. Leave me alone!" He yells at her, and although most kids he knew, now flinched around him, April seemed to stay steady. 

 "It's not a stupid game." She insists, and smiles wider, "We have to go to work, and come home, and look after Lizzy. Like mommy's and daddy's do." 

 "It's a stupid game because not all daddy's do that!" He tells her, rolling his eyes. Some daddy's don't come back home. 

 "What do you mean?" She asks, putting her hands into her pockets. 

 "Nothing." He mumbles, because he doesn't talk about that day. 

 He doesn't talk about the day his daddy said he'd just be going to work, and he never came back after that. He doesn't talk about how Jackson had waited every day for a whole month, on the step outside his house, like he always does. Maybe he'd gone on a trip, Jackson had thought, he'll come back. He always goes on trips, but he always comes back. He'd waited, and waited, thought of all the stories he'd tell his dad when he came home, and all the games they'd play. He couldn't wait. He sat there, on that step, from the time he got home from school, all the way until the sun had set, waiting for his dad to just come home. He'd done that, until his mom had patted his head, and told him, in the same tone she used when his pet goldfish Frank had died, that dad wasn't coming back. 

 "Dads are dumb. I don't want to be a dad." He tells her, and she thinks this over for a second. 

 "Hm, then you can be the mom!" She tells him, gleefully, and Jackson feels like laughing for the first time in a while. 

 "I can't be the mom, stupid." He tells her, and instantly feels bad when she looks hurt. 

 "Hey! Don't call me stupid. I'm really smart. I read a lot, and know big words, like approximately."

 Jackson nodded, quite impressed, and muttered an apology. 

 "It's okay," She smiles, "So do you want to be the mom?" 

 Jackson nods, hesitatingly. He doesn't want to play, but there was something about April he now decided that he quite liked. 

 "Okay." Because at least moms don't leave. 

 "Why do you hate dads?" She asks, and he purses his lips, before he relents. 

 "They leave you." 

 "No they don't." She argues, looking baffled. 

 "Mine did." Jackson shrugs, carefully picking up Lizzie from April. 

 "Oh." She says, and pouts for a moment, "Well then he's a bad daddy." 

 Jackson looks up at her, and feels angry for a second. He new he should probably defend his father, but even at 7 years old he knew it wasn't true. 

 "Yeah he is." 

 "Is that why you're so mad?" She asks him, and Jackson takes a while before he nods, "Well, that seems fair. I'd be so angry if my daddy left too." 

 He didn't know there would be anyone who'd think he was right to feel the way he did.

 "Thanks." 

 She smiles at him, a toothy grin, and Jackson notices how she's missing a couple of teeth, but she was cute for a girl, even though rumour was they all had cooties. 

 "Hey Jackson," April says, as they get ready to go to work, and he feeds Lizzy with a tube they're pretending is a bottle, "I won't leave. I'm going to be the best daddy!" 

 He smiles, and something happens for the first time since his dad left. He doesn't feel so angry anymore. 

 Hit me like a ray of sun

Burning through my darkest night

You're the only one that I want

Think I'm addicted to your light

I swore I'd never fall again

But this don't even feel like falling

Gravity can't forget to pull me back to the ground again

 “Hey, April!”

 His best friend, who was sitting cross legged on the floor, near the play area, looked up from her book, and waved him over. She was wearing a sweater with a long skirt, and had apparently broken her glasses from the looks of it, since it was being held together by a white plaster of some sort.

 April and him had been friends ever since they’d met when they were seven years old, right here, in the waiting room of Mass Gen’s psych ward. Now they were both 14, and they still came here every Friday. She made these appointments his mother forced him to go, more bearable.

 When he reaches her, she scoots over to make space for him, as he takes a seat, pushing his legs in front of him.

 “What are you reading?” He asks, peaking at the words in her books, which were far too small for his liking.

 “Ulysses by James Joyce. It’s the Latinised name of the hero, Odysseus in Homer’s poem Odyssey. It's really interesting because throughout the novel you see parallels of the poem and the novel, like the characters structural experiences and the thematic exploration of modernism-”

 He chuckles quietly to himself, as April basically narrates a book report right in front of him. She was a bit of nerd, and he said that with pride. His best friend was one of the smartest people he knew. Heck, that’s why she was here in the first place. As a kid, April had never paid attention in class, and her teachers had found her difficult to teach since she doesn’t seem to be interested in her lessons. Her parents had gotten worried and brought her here, just to make sure April didn’t have any learning difficulties. Turns out, it was quite the opposite. She wasn’t challenged enough, because she was too smart for the grade she was in. So, she’d gotten bumped up a few grades, and was now a high school student at 14.

 “Sounds boring.” He teases, and pushes her with his elbow.

 “Shut up! It’s really good. It’s just-” She bites her lip, and hesitates.

 “Unnecessarily overcomplicated and a tiny bit over hyped?” He guesses, and she shyly chuckles before agreeing.

 “Yeah. It is. But it’s still good though.” She says, and closes the book before placing it back into her bag pack.

 “Says you, nerd.”

 She pushes him away, and rolls her eyes, 

 “How was school?”

 "Same old, same old. Nothing exciting,” He shrugs, trying to act as nonchalant as possible.

 April stares at him, eyes narrowed and he can tell that she knows he’s bluffing.

 “I know when you’re lying! What happened?”

 He waits a second, letting her grow slightly impatient as she whines for him to stop being an asshole, and just tell her.  He gives in, smirking fully, as he deposits his report card on her lap. She opens it up, and begins to squeal so loud she gets hushed by Nurse Ria.

 "Sorry,” She mutters to Ria, as she throws her hands over his shoulders, hugging him tightly, “I told you, you could do it”

 He grins at her, and nods his head, “You did. Thank you for tutoring me… and you know, for believing in me and stuff.”

 He’s awkward with these kind of talks, but he really wants her to know how much he appreciates her friendship. His family never really cared to push him. His mom excused pretty much anything he did because of his dad, and his grandfather didn’t see any potential in him, which he never once failed to remind him. Jackson was just a sad, pretty face and he knew that nothing was expected of him. Well, by his family at least. April, on the other hand, had spent the last couple of months, tutoring him and pushing him trying to prove to him that if he worked hard, he could be really smart. He’d been unwilling at first, but the more time went on, Jackson had realized that he wasn’t failing because he wasn’t smart, but because no one cared enough to tell him otherwise. Except for April. So when he’d received his report with all A’s, he knew there was just one person he wanted to show it to.

 “I am so proud of you.” She smiles at him, her eyes beaming and her tone so genuine. His stomach did that weird flip it did whenever she looked at him like that. He wasn’t sure why.

 “So what’s up with you?” He asks her, as she hands him his report back.

 She opens her mouth as if to say something, and then shakes her head, faking a smile, “Nothing.”

 “You know, I can read you too, right?” He asks, and she drops her smile, instead choosing to pout, “April, come on, tell me. Did someone do something? Did they say something?”

 “They always do that.” She shrugs, as if she’s used to it, even though she really shouldn’t have to be. April had never had an easy time fitting in. She was smart, imaginative and a little strange, and even though those were all his favorite things about her, it also meant that she was an easy target for bullies. It also didn’t help that her classmates were all almost 4 or 5 years older than her. It was another reason why she still came here.

 “Hey, come on. Tell me.”

 She takes a deep breath and turns to him, “It’s so stupid, I shouldn’t even be upset.”

 He raises his brows at her, and clears his throat, putting on his best impression of their psychiatrist, Dr.Jones, “Your emotions are always valid. You have a right to be upset about even the smallest, most inconsequential of things.”

 April laughs, but it feels too forced, and it makes him want to punch whoever hurt her.

 “We have senior prom coming up, and I didn’t even want to go. You know I don’t like parties,” She tells him, and he nods, “Anyway, Jake, this guy in my biology class, asked me to go with him, and he’s… cute and kind of smart, so I said yes.”

 Jackson unconsciously clenches his fist. He already didn’t like where this story was going.

 “So, it turns out, it was all going to be a prank. He wasn’t going to turn up on that day. I overheard them when I went back after class to get this book I’d left behind.”

 She wipes her eyes, and he watches a stray tear roll down her cheeks. What a dick, he thinks. What kind of a horrible, disgusting, pathetic human being has to make someone feel like this so that they can feel better about themselves? April didn’t deserve this. Heck, no person deserved this.

 "What a fucker.” He mumbles, and April look shocked at how cold he sounds.

 “Jackson, don’t curse.” She mutters back, as she quickly shoots a glance around the room.

 “Do you want me to beat him up?” He asks, all serious, because even though he was younger than this guy, Jackson was quite built for his age, so he could probably take him out. He would, for her.

 “Don’t be ridiculous. If you do anything stupid like that I will go straight to your mother, okay?”

 “Whatever.” He mutters, but he knew she wasn’t joking about that.

 “April Kepner.” Nurse Ria, points at the door, indicating to April that she could go in.

 “We’re still on for tomorrow, right?” She asks, standing up, and patting her skirt down. They had movie night every Saturday at his place.

 “Yeah,” He says, but there’s something else he’s itching to ask her.

 “April?”

 “Hm?”

 He gulps, wondering when he’d gotten so nervous, “Do you… do you maybe want to go to prom with me?”

 She looks confused for a while, and a little astounded at his question.

 “You mean your junior prom?”

 He nods.

 “Yeah. All our friends will be there. Alex, Cristina, Lexie and Mark.”

 She smiles, “I do miss the gang.”

 “So, you… want to go?”

 She looks at him, and blushes, tugging on her bag.

 “April, go in!” Nurse Ria ushers her, clearly impatient.

 She looks over her shoulder, and turns back to him.

 “Okay.”

 He grins, almost breaking his jaw.

 “Okay.”

 It's like I've been awakened

Every rule I had you breakin'

It's the risk that I'm taking

I ain't never gonna shut you out

 It had been 2 weeks of hell for Jackson. He sat in the car, head on the steering wheel, thinking about how he wasn't at all ready to go have a therapy session where he'd undoubtedly have to bring up the events of the past 2 weeks. 

 God, did he regret it. He regretted it every single day since it happened. He could barely sleep or concentrate on his classes, he was disengaged from his friends and he didn't really give a shit that he'd been an angry, intolerable douche as his mother loved to remind him. 

 He groaned, realizing he was just delaying the inevitable, and got down from his car. He walked towards the hospital, and caught his reflection on the mirror. He hadn't shaved in a while, and he looked like he felt on the inside, absolutely shitty. 

 "Hi, Jackson. You're early this week." 

 He manages a smile at the receptionist, and nods his head, "Yeah, I, uh, got caught up in a class last week." 

 No he hadn't. He'd come here, sat in his car in the parking lot and waited until he'd seen April leave the hospital, to get down and leave for his appointment. It had only been a week, and it was too fresh. 

 "Alright, well, you'll go in after April." She winks at him, and he lowers his head in shame. Of course, everyone here still thought they were together. 

 He doesn't say anything, instead nods a goodbye and walks towards the room. He slowly opens the door, and heads inside, while some faces look up to see who had entered. He smiles at Jake, a 32 year old with severe social anxiety. They never talked, but sometimes Jackson would play video games  in the waiting room with him, until April was done. 

 April. There she was, tucked into a corner, seemingly reading through some notes from class. She looked amazing, he thought. She was wearing a pale blue skater dress, with sandals, and her red hair was piled at the top of her head in a messy bun. April was, as always, effortless. 

 He hesitates for a slight second, wonders if he should maybe stay outside the waiting area for some more time, but honestly it would make him more of a coward than he already was. 

 He walks up to her, and she senses his presence, tearing her eyes from her notes to glance up at him. She looks up at him, and her face is conflicted with a mixture of emotions. She looks sad, angry and resigned. The worst thing is through it all he sees what he saw that night, when she told him she loved him, and he had gotten too scared to say it back. 

 "Can I sit here?" Jackson asks, softly, pointing to the two chairs in the corner.

 She nods, and looks away from him, as he sits down, throwing his bag on the other chair. 

 They sit in silence for a while, before he decides he needs to say something, because damn it, he misses her. 

 "How are you?" He asks and she turns to face him. It breaks his heart once more when he sees the bags under her eyes and the pale skin, and red eyes. He did this to her.

 She frowns, clearly annoyed by his question, and even he has to admit it was a dumb one. 

 "I'm sorry, that was a really stupid question." He laughs, humorlessly. 

 He knows he's really fucked up when she doesn't even reply. Heck, he knew he really fucked up the moment she'd stormed out of his room, crying her eyes out 2 weeks ago. They'd tip toed around each other for the majority of their teenage years, after they'd gone to junior prom and lost their virginity to each other. When they’d gone to college he’d finally grown the balls to ask her out, and when they'd started dating, Jackson had thought they'd finally figured it out.

 "April, I-I really am so sorry. I don't want to hurt you. God, April, that's the last thing I want to do." He tells her with a melancholic smile on his lips, "I regret it, so damn much, but... I don't know, it's for the best? Trust me, it's is. You don't... you don't want to love me."

 She sighs, and shakes her head, letting her hair fall over her face. He knows she does this when she's mad at him and wants to block him out, but it's an indication she's listening so he goes on. 

 "Do you hate me? Please don't hate me." He whispers. 

 "I don't hate you." 

 She tells him, rolling her eyes, finally coming out of the hair veil she had going on. 

 "Yeah?" 

 "Of course I don't hate you, Jackson! That's the whole problem! The problem is I love you so much that it almost feels unhealthy." She groans, burying her face in her hands. 

 "April-" 

 "No!" She yells, a little too loud, and her face flushes having remembered that they're in public. She settles on a stern, hushed tone, "You don't get to do this, Jackson. You don't get to break me, and then come here and say you're sorry, and act like regretting it will make everything alright again. It doesn't work like that!" 

 "I didn't think that. I swear I didn't. I just wanted to explain-" 

 "Explain what? That you don't love me back? Don't worry, message received. Loud and clear. Just... please leave me alone, Jackson. Go back to avoiding me like you've been doing these last 2 weeks. Go back to acting like we never happened." 

 Yes, he had avoided her. He'd intentionally avoided places she visits, and kept to his campus. She goes to Yale, and he goes to Harvard, something he'd for once be grateful for. He just couldn't bear seeing her, and be reminded of the choice he'd made. 

 "Okay, you're right. I avoided you. I'm sorry. I should've handled that better." 

 "You don't say." She replies, sarcastically. 

 "But don't... don't say I don't- that I don't-" His words fail him, like they did that day, when he needs it the most. 

 He waits for a second, gathers his thoughts. He had to make a decision, because one thing was for sure. He did love her. It was that overwhelming realization that had led to them breaking up in the first place. He loved her, but he had no idea what love was. He wouldn't ever try to love April without knowing exactly how to love her right. But, he also needed her in his life. Selfish or selfless? Maybe he was too young to make the right choice. Either way, she needed to know why.

 "I have never felt like this. I've never felt so overwhelmed by something, by someone, like I do with you. April, everything I feel for you, overwhelms me. And it's scary. It's terrifying, because I know I'm just going to end up failing you." 

 He admits, and looks up at her staring back at him, completely shocked. She'd definitely not guessed that, he could tell. God knows what conclusions she'd come to, with all her insecurities and anxieties. 

 "What? No you won't." She says, as if the mere thought was ridiculous. 

 "I will, April! I will! I don't know how to love someone. I'll screw it up and I'll hurt you, more than I already have, and you'll hate me. I can't have you hating me." He'd give her up, if it was for her best. Selfless, it is then. 

 "No, no, you won't. I know you won't." She insists. 

 "April-" 

 "No! You listen here. You are not your father. You are not Robert. You're Jackson. You are a completely different person. I know he screwed you up, Jackson, I know that. But are you really going to let him screw everything up for the rest of your life? Don't give him that kind of power!" She pokes him in the chest, once, twice, to prove her point. 

 She takes in a deep breath, and calms herself, considering her outburst had gotten her riled up. 

 "I'm not saying you have to love me-"

 "I do." 

 She smiles at him, a warmth reaching her eyes that had only minutes ago looked dead. How could he not love her when she knew him better than anyone else?

 "Yeah?" She asks, and he nods.

 "You're just scared to say it out loud?" 

 He nods, again.

 "Well then you should've just told me that, doofus!" 

 He pushes him back, and he lets himself have a laugh for the first time since he'd called them off, since he'd decided that he wasn't someone who deserved April.

 She places both her hands in his face. 

 "I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I know you think you're unlovable, Jackson, because you think he couldn't love you but that's not true. I love you. I love you so much. I-" 

 She was the ultimate risk. The blind jumping into a bottomless pit. But God, was she worth all the damage it could do. 

 "Love you. I love you." 

 She kisses him then, and he can almost feel the older man next to him rolling his eyes at their public display of affection. She pulls back, studies him, and kisses him once more. 

 "You are not him." 

 He doesn't say anything, but he doesn't deny it either. 

 April brings an arm to his shoulder and lightly pulls his body towards her. She brings her mouth towards his ear, and gently bites on the lobe. 

 "Want to skip today?" She murmurs, and like the 20 year old, hormonal boy he is, he can feel himself embarrassingly react to just her words, "Maybe, some makeup sex? I hear it's really good." 

 He smirks, and surreptitiously puts his hand under her dress, snapping the elastic of her underwear. 

 "Well, let's go find out." 

Everywhere I’m looking now, 

I’m surrounded by your embrace, 

Baby I can see your halo, 

You know you’re my saving grace,

You’re everything I need and more

It’s written all over your face

Baby, can feel your halo

Pray it won’t fade away

“Mom, remember that Samuel tends to walk around a lot, so keep an eye on him even if you put him in the play pen, and Harriet will fuss for April at bedtime so just play that recording I sent to your phone, and she’ll calm down.”

Jackson tells his mother, as he walks paces the hallway outside of the now very familiar waiting room, although he comes here less often over the years and it looks very different than it did when he first came here. He listens to his mother rattle on about how she’s perfectly aware and capable of handling her own grandchildren, and that he should stop worrying about this, and worry about something that actually required his attention, like his marriage. It was, after all, the reason why he was back here, after almost 5 years.

He cuts the line, after telling her to stay out of his business, and goes back inside to rejoin his wife. He walks up to her, and sees her attempting to sit down on the chair, with an 8 month pregnant belly, which he knew now, after 2 other babies, was no easy feat.

“Hey, hey, let me help.”

She stares daggers at him, but nonetheless takes his hand, and lets him sit her down. She doesn’t thank him these days. She’s not very amicable towards him at all these days, and honestly, he doesn’t blame her. He’s been a little impossible to like as of lately.

“How’s the baby?” He asks, placing a hand on her belly.

“Kicking on my bladder, doing cartwheels around my belly and craving raisin pudding. I hate raisin pudding. Basically, making my life as difficult as possible. That’s how I’m sure it’s your child.” She gives him a withering look, as she uncomfortably adjusts herself on the chair.

He shakes his head, used to the jabs she takes at him nowadays, “Is that why you’re sure? Not because you recall that vacation in Cancun when you wanted me so bad, you refused to let me get up and go get a condom?”

She widens her eyes, and as she used to do even back then, when he’d said or done something inappropriate in this waiting room, quickly scans the crowd to see if they’re listening. Once she realizes they aren’t, she turns back to him.

“I’m not in the mood to joke with you, Jackson. If you’re feeling particularly talkative today, please feel free to instead talk to our therapist about-”

“There is nothing to talk about, April. God, we’re just wasting our time here.”

She scoffs at him, “It’s nice to see that you think saving our marriage is a waste of your time.”

“That’s not fair! You know that’s not what I-”

“Doctors Avery, if you could maybe try to resolve your issues in my office and not the waiting room, that would be great. I can assure you I’m more qualified of an audience than Lilly over here.”

Rashida, their counselor, points to the 5 year old little girl who sees enamored by their hushed argument.

April flushes a bright red, and gets up with his help, to follow Rashida into her office. They sit down, and the tension settles back in.

“Alright, did we do our homework for this week?” Rashida asks, staring earnestly at them.

“Yes.” April nods, albeit too enthusiastically, and he smirks at how his genius of a wife never stopped being the cute nerd who taught him the word ‘approximately’.

“Okay, then, April would you like to tell me what you’ve written down. Now remember Jackson, this is a list of all the things you did that affected April negatively. I don’t want you interrupting until she’s done.” He warns her, because he had a tendency to be quite defensive.

“Okay, so he’s been more and more distant lately-”

“Oh come on!” He groans, and immediately looks bashful since it had only been a second since he’d been told not to interrupt and he was already doing it, “Sorry.”

“So he’s been distant. He keeps trying to distract me with sex, and honestly, I’m over that. And last week, he yelled at me because I asked him if he wanted my help giving Harriet a bath. It’s like he thinks I’m questioning him as a parent, and-”

He sighs, as April lists off all his recent failures as a husband. He hates that she feels so disappointed. It was not at all his intention, to ever hurt her or make her feel like they’re marriage wasn’t strong enough. When they’ve gotten married, he’d made her promise him that divorce would never be an option for them. So last month when she’d given him the ‘therapy or else’ ultimatum, he knew she didn’t mean a divorce, but that the word would become an option for her.  

“I just want him to open up to me. I just want him to stop telling me nothing is wrong-”

“Nothing is wrong, April. I am fine, I keep telling you this, but you’re not listening to me. You’re reading into nothing.” He groans, running a hand over his face.

“That’s not true. I’ve known you since I was 7 years old, Jackson! I’ve been your best friend for almost 28 years, we’ve been married for over 10 years. I know you! I know when you’re upset.” She insists.

“April, I love you. I love our kids. My life revolves around the three of you. I live for the three of you. Is that not enough?”

“Of course I know you love me, Jackson, that’s not the problem. I love you too, so much. I just don’t think my husband should go through something that is making him into someone I don’t recognize because of it.”

“Did you know Dr.Jones was my father?”

They break their gazes away from each other to look at Rashida.

“Really?”April asks, sounding pleasantly surprised.

“Small world.” He comments.

Rashida smiles warmly, “Did you know you were his favorite patients? He used to talk about the two of you at home. Of course, he never said any names, but after reading your files, I figured out it out. He thought it was crazy romantic that you two met here, at seven, and ended up dating. He loved that you two asked him to come to your wedding. It’s sad he passed away before it happened.”

“It broke our hearts.” April admitted, and he did remember how sad she was that he couldn’t be there. They hadn’t even been able to make it to the funeral.

“Did you know that you two talked about each other at every single one of your sessions?” She asks, and they both nod, knowingly but surprised that the other also did the same, “It’s sweet. Aprils talked about how she finally found someone that seemed to truly like her, and Jackson talked about how he’d found someone he could maybe picture himself having a family with. You found healing, not only within yourselves, but also within each other. I just… urge you not to forget about your incredible history. Remember this when you’re confused about Jackson’s feelings or when April seems to read into yours a little too much, just don’t forget-”

“I found my dad.”

The silence that set in the room was so loud, Jackson wished someone would say something. April looked so shocked, her mouth slightly open and her eyes wide. She gasps, as she brings a hand up to her mouth.

“You….uh…. dad… um, what?” She stutters, eyes rapidly blinking, trying to decipher this information.

“I found him. I hired this guy to look into him, and he finally found him. He lives in Montana. He owns a bar and he sells chicory coffee on Etsy. It’s really fucking weird.”

“Oh, honey.”

April scoots closer to him, taking hold of his hand, and hugging it to her chest.

“Why didn’t you tell me this? Gosh, Jackson, I can’t believe you dealt with all that by yourself.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t want to worry you. I know how you get with my dad, April. You feel bad, and you think talking to him is going to solve it, and I don’t know what I even want to do with this information. I’m torn between wanting to talk to him, and punching his lights out, or both,” He admits, and then looks sheepishly at April. He knew she didn’t like any kind of violent talk, “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’d like to punch him myself, to be honest.” She says, and he smiles at her.

“Look, Jackson, it’s definitely up to you, but from what I read in your files, you always talk about closure. Maybe this is the closure you’ve always wanted.” Rashida says, and he shrugs. He’s torn between that and never wanting to see him again.

“I just want you to tell me when you’re going through something this big. I’m your wife, Jackson. You don’t have to deal with this alone.” April tells him, running a hand through his hair, “I will come with you, if you decide to go. I will be there for whatever you need. I am your wife. I love you, and I’m not going anywhere.”

If Jackson was to look at his life through a series of snapshots, the one person who would always be there was April. When his father had left, all those years ago, there had been a hole in his life, he’d never thought he could fill, but as fate would have it, he met April. April his friend, April his best friend, April his girlfriend, and April his wife. They’d all filled up that gaping hole, bit by bit, piece by piece until there were only faint scars of what had happened.

“Thank you.” He says, as he leans forward and kisses her.

If there was a thing as a guardian angel, well he’d found his at seven, and he had held on for dear life.

Baby, I can feel your halo, 

Pray it won’t fade away. 

THANK YOU FOR READING! 

I’m not too happy with this one, so sorry if it wasn’t all that good <3

[heartfeltheart]

Alchemy: Tiny Steps

Chapters: 38/45 Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist/Harry Potter Rating: T Relationships: Edward/Winry, Lan Fan/Ling, and May/Alphonse. Primary Characters: Edward Elric, Severus Snape Additional Tags: Crossover, Teacher!Edward, BrOtp Edward/Severus. Sassy beyond measure. Pro!Snape Series: Part 2 of 9. Summary: Part two of the Alchemy Series.  Politics. Either you love it, hate it or you live it. For Alchemy Teacher Edward Elric, he lives it, hates it and loves it when he gets the upper hand. Here is to another year of hell… D/C: I do not own Harry Potter or Fullmetal Alchemist. Discord: La Red(Mesh Mash of… stuff.): https://discord.gg/KYjmVAb Alchemy Series: https://discord.gg/DejEYNJ

Warning: I apologize ahead of time, I do not know how to write a character with PTSD.

"I don't want to go!"

"Shut up."

"Make me! Let go of my ear!"

"Stop acting liking a child."

"No! Let go!"

"…"

"Please."

"No."

Edward pouted, he didn't want to deal with Sirius Black any more than Severus does. However, with how things are going… nothing is going well for any of them. "The guy doesn't even like me. He tried to throttle me."

"Which you proceeded to knock him out in one punch."

"You had to admit, the guy had it coming."

"True. He is still stuck in the past."

"I guess we'll have to use an ancient technique to knock some sense into him."

"…Does it have to do with physical violence?"

"Yes, of course. You will not believe how it works with his type."

Severus couldn't help but smirk at the notion of having Edward beat Black once more to a bloody pulp. He shook his head of that and continued with their schedule of their day. "Lupin and Madam Bones requested us to speak to Black before his therapist and the social worker."

"Why?"

"He wants…ugh… he wants to know if I blackmailed or brainwashed you into convincing the court to place several regulations before the notion of having his god-son placed into his care."

"...Is this man deluded?"

"I ask myself that question every day…"

"Typical… Seems like I'm going to have to beat some sense into him. I do not have time for this, I have to plan the winter trip back to Amestris for my class."

"That is still on? Even with what is occurring between Amestris and Drachma?"

"Yeah. Alphonse called, he said that the guy we were supposed to hand over that journal is dead but taught his grandson how to crack the code." Edward grinned, contentment filled within him at the news. So far, there is a standstill until the kid cracks the entire journal and it is already showing great strides in doing so. So far… several oil paintings were found along with a sculpture of a famous opera singer from Drachma that was born in that small town near Briggs. "You want to know the funny part about it?"

"Hm?"

"The kid goes to a magical school in Norway. Apparently, that school teaches Alchemy in a lower level than at Amestris and but is miles ahead from here."

-.-

Sirius grumbled under his breath, wondering how his life seemed to want to screw him over repeatedly. His personal issues with his family, friends, people he thought as friends, and people in general. He's pretty much back where he was back in that retched prison. Alone.

Stuck in his childhood home with no one to talk to. He wasn't even allowed to have a wand yet, as there is a fear he would do something that would cause him to go back. No flue powder for the same reason. The whole aura of the place wasn't helping his mood either. It makes Sirius wonder if he was back there… in that tiny cell… alone with his thoughts…

With a snarl, Sirius grabbed hold of the coffee table and flung it across the room. The sound of glass crushing, and wood splintering filled the room, along with the heavy breathing of the only living human in that so-called home. For him, it only brought along a moment of sound that he needed. He needed more noise, something to fill in the silence. Anything. If he had to fill this entire place with sound…that wasn't his mother's constant screaming, then maybe he'll won't go mad.

"SHUT UP YOU OLD HAG!"

-.-

Alphonse looked through the notes that his father left behind to be deciphered by his friend for future use. He was asked by the man's grandson to help decode them and it is proving to be rather insightful to see his father's work outside of the office…and not causing mayhem. Said grandson ended up being a thirteen-year-old that goes to a magical school and appears to be rather excited at finally fulling his grandfather's work. His name is Ivan from what Alphonse been told and was not told last name for fear of Amestris hunting down the kid.

Silly but true notion, still, Ivan reminds Alphonse of himself and Edward a lot from their own time whenever they found something excited about Alchemy.

"I found the location of a... tomb? Of a princess? Mr. Elric, could you verify this?"

-.-

"This is why I wanted him checked over…" Edward whispered to Severus as both men entered Grimmauld Place. The entire place was trashed, wallpaper teared off the walls, furniture thrown against the walls and some didn't even survive the crash. There was a woman screaming on the top of her lungs, screaming about her pathetic son and how a muggle even dared to enter her home. The sad part about it all… everything looked like it matched the eeriness of the Place. Both men could hear someone is upstairs throwing around furniture and other random items.

"Muggle… no… you're something else… what brings you here to my mistress home."

Edward and Severus turned their head to see an old House-Elf, glaring at them from down the hall.

Edward pulled out a couple of crackers from his lunch earlier. "Crackers? You look like you need them for having to deal with the idiot upstairs."

"Are you trying to bribe him with food?" Severus raised an eyebrow at Edward, not actually believing what he was seeing in front of him.

"Hey, from what I have seen from pure-bloods, they treat their house-elves like shit. I am trying to be respectful when I entire their home. Why? Did you want them instead?"

"…"

-.-

Not once in his entire time he ever lived in 12 Grimmauld Place, did Sirius ever hear music fill the entire Place in such rhythm. Sure, they enchanted instruments to play themselves, but never to this caliber. This time, the music feels… relaxing and it's starting to fill his mind with noise. Much appreciated noise…

The close Sirius got closer to the music, he started to hear voices coming from downstairs. He recognized one of them, Severus Snape. The other one is one he only heard just recently, Edward Elric. It sounds like…they are arguing?

"If only I still had my alchemy, it would make fixing things so much easier. I'll have Alphonse do something once he gets back to show you!"

"Why not the General or Major?"

"And deal with their own brand of stupidity? No."

"The doctor?"

"He's more of a scholarly type alchemist… He avoids doing alchemy when he has to."

"Ah… What about that one man you once told me? The one with the long ridiculous name?"

"Scar? His religion is opposed to Alchemy."

"… The princess?"

"She does something completely different."

"…Anyone else?"

"…There is Teacher… but that is highly dangerous…"

"The one that set a bear off on you?"

"Yes."

"Young Elric… I got the… tools you requested." Kreacher?

"Thanks, 'Reacher. This should do, we'll call if we need anything else."

Sirius curiosity got the better of him and walked down the stairs. Why were they here at Grimmauld?

"Why did they place Sirius here? It looks like shit, feels like shit, and so on. No offense to 'Reacher."

"He's currently in-house arrest, people are still skeptical about him and is kept here for everyone's safety, including himself. Including that of his god-son, we do not want him to accidentally reveal where he is located at."

"Of course, sucks though…"

"…You're planning something…"

"You know me so well."

"Could someone explain to me why you two are in my home?" Sirius made his presence known to Snape and Elric.

"I don't know, I was forced here."

Smack.

"Oi! Stop doing that!"

"Once you stop acting like an idiot, perhaps."

"Ugh! Why are we even best friends again?"

"We both enjoy torturing our students and firewhiskey."

"Oh right… hee-hee, torture."

-.-

"I swear… he hates us."

"How much?"

"It's still up in debate."

"He can't expect us to finish all of this work before he comes back!"

"I think I'm losing my mind…"

"We lost that a long time ago…"

-.-

"Yeah… torture. Seriously, why are we here? Why couldn't they assign someone else to this? He doesn't like you, and I'm not exactly his more favorite person right now?" Edward questioned Severus with an eyebrow raised. Sirius copied his expression towards the Potion's Master as well, wondering that himself.

"There's a full moon tonight, other wise Lupin would be here. Apparently, the Ministry are using him as a test subject for a newer version of the Wolfsbane Potion. So far…there's been soaring reviews… Everyone else… they are not connected well enough with the Muggle world help with Black." Severus coughed into his hand when he said the word, muggle. Edward hates the word and is currently roughly sanding a chair at the mention of said word. "Mr. Elric," "Really, Severus? Back to last names?" "Has made several calls and found someone to be your personal therapist."

"A therapist?" Sirius face scrunched up at the word. "What in bloody hell is that?"

"They help you. In your' case, Ms. Hammond will help you transition from prison life to civilian life…and make sure this does happen again." Edward lifted up what appeared to use to be a coffee table. "Can't have you destroying everything in your path again."

"Oh, come on! Is one of your rules you had on me! You made them do this to me, Snape! Is that it!" The world around Sirius seemed to be growing smaller by the minute. His eyes kept darting everywhere, trying to look for an exit or a way to figure out what they are saying to him. He didn't have a problem. No problem. Just needed a way to fill the silence. Something to occupy himself. That was it. Just a one-time thing. Why do they think he has a problem? Are the purposely trying to keep Harry away from him! Don't they know the danger he is in Lily's sister's care!

Edward slowly reached over and grabbed hold of Severus shoulder to give Sirius more room. "Let's give him room… look's like he is going to explode."

"I take it you have experience in…this sort of thing?"

"Afraid so... Sirius? Would you like us to leave? We need to grab some items to fix this place up for you and Harry…" Edward said in a low calming voice to Sirius, maintaining eye contact with the man. "Would you like me to put on another record? Something more upbeat? Music?"

"…Th… that… that would be nice…" Sirius physically deflated, music will fill his mind for now. The place does need a change of look…

-.-

Arty Fuchs waved at his co-worker dropped a couple of files on his desk before they walked out, closing the door behind themselves. Just what he needed, more work. He reached under his desk and pulled a lever he had underneath there to reveal a secret compartment. Reaching into said secret compartment, Arty pulled out a file that needed his immediate attention.

It's the file of the infamous Harry Potter, the case no one wants to take on. It wasn't because the kid was horrible or anything, it's his current guardians and the higher ups that seemed to want him permanently placed there until further noticed.

"They are proper people, there is nothing wrong with them."

"It's clear the child…is anything but normal."

'Anything but normal my arse… Money is the only reason that blasted family is keeping the poor kid. Just wait until he's of age, he'll sue them for misuse of his family's money.' Arty thought to himself as he looked through Harry Potter's file. Not only was it a muggle issue, it was a magical issue. Sure, the muggle side of him wants to take that kid out of the situation but he also has to think about the charm he has over him. Before the kid could even be moved elsewhere, he has to make sure said location is safe enough to be moved into. The Black's place seems more than an adequate place for Harry to placed into, but… as of right now, his god-father does not meet the criteria. First thing first, he has to make sure where the kid is going to stay is up to standard, ensuring it is a healthy environment and so on. No way is he going to allow personal bias going to interfere with any of it. 'What time is it? Hm… it's almost time for me to meet with Sirius Black.'

-.-

"I still say we get the light blue paint with black or dark blue accents."

"We have to make the place seem…ugh… welcoming."

"…yellow? Green?"

"He won't stand for green, Black is a Gryffindor in a family of Slytherins."

"…Yellow and white?"

"It'll look like Easter puked all over the place."

"Then you pick!" Edward leaned into the cart he was pushing around the hardware store in defeat. He and Severus have been arguing about the color scheme for the entry hallway and main sitting room. "I prefer the look of wood and painted white walls. Simple. Rustic."

"Never pegged you for a country boy." Severus mused, he picked out some paint samples and wondered which ones worked together.

"I grew up in a farming community, we didn't have much but…it was more than enough." Edward eyes glazed over at the memories of his childhood home. So many memories, good and bad. "Mother loved flowers, she had painted them on tiles and stick them around the kitchen. I think I saved a few… hm."

"…What were her favorite?"

"Myosotis sylvatica, forget-me-not."

"Could you two get a move on, you're both taking up the entire room here!"

Severus and Edward turned their heads to see a… man that pretty much occupied the entire aisle with his size. He was glaring at the two with his beady eyes, judgingly. The man muttered under his breath about how strange and rude they are, going out in public in such manner, whatever that means to Edward. Then the Alchemy Teacher heard a loud squawk from behind the walrus of a man, and out popped a woman wearing a ridiculous salmon colored hat, her eyes bulging out at the sight of Severus.

Severus in turn, raised an eyebrow at the woman. His eyes held recognition and mainly annoyance. He wasn't wearing his typical wizarding garb as he was currently in muggle London, opting for a buttoned up black long sleeve shirt, black pants and leather shoes. He had on a thick dark green peacoat that was left unbuttoned. How Edward managed to get hold of his muggle clothes, the Potion's Master still has no clue, consider how the younger male prefers clothing that was more…traditional. "…Petunia…"

"You know them?"

"Unfortunately."

-.-

Harry attempted to make himself as unnoticeable as possible. Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon and Dudley had planned to go to a fair, Mrs. Figg wasn't available to babysit him, so he had to tag along with strict rules. After leaving the fair, Aunt Petunia said she wanted to repaint the kitchen and wanted paint samples.

It resulted with the ten-year-old to duck around the aisles to avoid being seen by anyone and by his cousin, who currently is hunting him down to hit him. It came to a stop when he took a quick turn smacked into someone. He gulped, the color on his face drained when a man with hair that was nearly identical to gold with matching eyes looked down at him with questioning eyes. "So-sorry…"

The golden eyed man raised an eyebrow at him but didn't say anything. He grabbed hold of his friend and strolled over towards the cash registers. The man did however wink at him, along with a smirk. Looking back at his relatives to see that they had no color left in their faces. From shock or fright, it is unknown to Harry.

-.-

"…So that was Harry Potter?" Edward murmured under his breath to Severus, eyes calculating as he took in the information.

"Yes." Severus confirmed.

"Now I am starting to understand why Sirius wants him out of there."

"There is so much we can do from this point on. Even if we want him out of there, Dumbledore remains adamant on making sure he remains there."

"Typical."

"How did you get your hands on Pott-"

"Harry. The kid's name is Harry. Your beef is with his dad, not him. Until it is revealed the kid is a complete and utter brat, then you may act like he's a stuck-up a-hole."

"…Ugh… How did you found out they were embezzling Harry's inheritance?"

"So close… You'd be surprised how loose lipped some people are… and the walrus never kept quiet about his endeavors. There is no way in Truth's Name the guy can afford up to four flashy vacations on his payroll and in that company, and still afford to get his kid in a pricey private school." Edward shifted the paper bag he was carrying to his other arm, feeling right arm was going numb for caring it. "I have been placed on this case and I plan to see it through."

"And messing with Dumbledore?" Severus lips quirked upward.

"But, of course!" Edward laughed, nodding in agreement

-.-

"Children, I have received word from Mr. Elric and confirmation from the Minister that this year's trip to Amestris is a go!"

[opalmothnightingale]

Weird Webs Withhold

2- 5- 18 - 

Weird webs withhold.  

WW...  WWW...  

World war, world wide web...  Webs...  Spiders...  And the feeling webs make, so troublesome...  Psychic or energy, astral webs, etc...

Can seem to suddenly materialize into vivid intensity, like psychic entanglement, like cording, heavy and clingy and disturbing,...  Intrusive...  

Obsessed feelings...  Or feeling overly worried about someone...

Or sensing their thoughts, feelings, etc...  Far too much, more than is comfortable, perhaps heavily burdening one’s life...

Even if you like the person it can become much far too close, too close for comfort, too much lack of privacy, too in their heads, hearts, souls, emotions, issues...  A confusing tangled web that turns into something much more heavy, constrictive, like wading through mire instead of light webs, annoying but trivial enough to deal with...   How does it happen, and how is it that it can be lopsided, so that one person can feel it like a leaden weight while another person seems to be oblivious of the fact that their feelings, their thoughts are somehow tying up and binding others?  I don’t know but it seems to me this happens sometimes.  It’s not necessarily a conscious thing at all, even if a person is very developed psychically and all that...  It might be that they feel light and free, harmless and innocent, just living their lives but they feel they have some connection to another, psychically...  And it’s just that, just a connection, like an acquaintance, a friend, someone you care about or matter or they matter to you, in your circle of endless connections, the web of life, and degrees of separation and it’s nothing much, just a whatever, usually not even thought of...  Just someone you know, a little bit...

And then to the other person it’s like intense, huge, complicated, heavy, either in a good or a bad way or both or changing between good and bad...  Or confusing, just too much, too at a loss, what is this, what does it mean, what to do with it, how to interpret it...  And it’s like, come on, I’m not your close friend, not your lover, not your family nor your therapist or doctor...  Get rid of yourself, get away from my energy field...  I don’t deserve this, don’t care, don’t even notice or think of you so what the heck?  Why is it happening?  When you also seem to be pretty much fine, light, breezy, not that concerned or caring or wrapped up in me, as a person, as another human being, as a friend or acquaintance, or even wishful lover of best friend, those what ifs,...  Where you like someone but you don’t know if there could or might or will ever be anything much deeper, so it’s all this realm of observing from a distance, ...  Still, not attached, really because you can’t be attached when it’s at that level,...  Because no, you DON’T know each other...  Not that much... Not enough to even really talk much so the thought that there’s some deep, attached bond is really such a huge joke...  Even if there could be hope of a bond developing, maybe someday, in wonderland, in fantasy world, imaginations, subconscious, daydreams,...  Because we all do need that...  at least... if nothing else...  We at least need the chance to have role models, who we can imagine as someone who might be someone who we could relate to... If we don’t have anyone else in the real world and real life, we at least need role models, so we can imagine and believe it might be possible to be close to someone...  Or else we’ll crumple and decay and close down and withdraw because...  We’re social animals...  Even if we can make do with imaginary social life or even self-referencing and imagination and spirit and animals, plants, signs, symbols, gods, the voice of the world...  As surrogate social substitutes... But...  All that takes time to develop as a bond, as an easily accessible surrogate...  and so,...  Sometimes you need someone real to make you feel hope, to feel the role model sense that triggers imaginations and ideals and hopes and faith and courage and effort to try, to improve yourself, learn about yourself, to try to build for a possible future you can believe in as worth the effort, the emotional investment, and the psychic energy...

 So you don’t feel flat and dry as a bone but have real emotional stimuli even if it is part illusion...  But it seems to me that such surrogate or role model roles can create these big psychic bonds maybe?  Where it’s affecting people more than it seems like it would, a one sided, lop sided web or cord or whatever you call the thing...  And I have had it go both ways...  Or sometimes, somebody seemed to be affecting me a lot, but I don’t know if they were attached to me as a surrogate something or other or whatever,...  

But there have been times when I was somewhat attached to the role model persona I saw in another and they seemed heavily burdened, felt too close, too much information, psychically, they were receiving... from me, when I didn't’ intend for it to be that way for them at all...  And so sometimes they got mad... Sometimes they also thought they “read things” or “sensed things” from me, and accused me thereof, when actually they were way off base and I didn’t think or feel any such thing as they thought they sensed from me...

Anyways, I think that I’m just writing all this because I realized that it’s not at all just the hm...  Sexual or emotional love or affection that I fear might be uninvitedly affecting people...  But also this whole kind of psychic web stuff that might feel light, innocent, protected....  Intervened between me and all else with spirit, to keep it pure and for the higher good of all...  And it might be very healing and bring me so much insight and learning but somehow...  I fear, what if it’s heavy, annoying, burdensome,, ominous, too close...  for the other person and I had no idea...  What if all my attempts and intentions and rituals to protect and keep it pure, good, light...  What if it’s not working?  

But again I go back to last post’s conclusion, and the one before it too...  If it’s bothering them, can’t they tell me?  Can they tell me?  Do they even know who I am or might it actually be a mystery thing that is intrusive but vague and mysterious and an unknown being or energy?  Which I hate absolutely the thought of that...

Yet based on past experience, no one except one person admitted to ever being bothered by my energy,...  So what am I to do when other times I tried to ask people it only had the effect of destroying what was sacred, elaborate, intense, complex and healing of the highest order and direst need for me...  What am I to do about all this when I only want to do what is right and the synchs are sometimes too much for me and confusing that make me fear I’m affecting people negatively,...  But then I try to ask them and they’re all like, what are you smoking or else, they’re like, running away from me, creeped out by such a bizarre sounding situation and thinking I might stalk them or something...

When again, I’m not attached to the actual person,...  Only the spirit bond...  I need nothing from the person, but only want the soul I’m connecting with...   And so it’s like, it seems like...  I maybe ought to leave a good thing alone because it’s good for me so far...

And other times when I took the “leave a good thing alone” route, they ended up insulting and implying things but that eventually died down and felt far less painful oftentimes than the more direct communication route...  And for all I know it’s all synchs so that they were not trying to imply or insult things about me and it was only subconscious or spirit making them do that when they had no idea consciously what was happening or how they were giving me these strange and bizarre signs...  Because when I talk to people that is how most people seem to portray it...

Either that or else, also rather likely, they’re denying it because it’s too weird and they don’t wanna go there so they act like nothing’s going on with them even though it is...  Maybe they don’t like the real me and want to stay away and not feed this strange connection...  Heck, I don’t know.  

But I just wish it all made more sense, seemed more clear and clean and cut and dry, easily healable closure and the pain, the cuts easy to heal, if there must be cuts, pain, misunderstandings or being misaligned to each other and affecting each other in awkward ways...  Then why can’t we just leave it at that and let go without dragging each other through insult, drama, accusation, character attack, guilt trips, rejection,...  Just say “we are not on the same wavelength”...  

We don’t relate.  It’s just life and some people don’t relate.  We’re not all social butterflies, relating to everyone...  I relate to so few people that it would be very strange for me to actually relate, so no one ought to get offended by my not relating or avoiding them...  I try to not get offended either, by others avoiding me, just as long as basic respect and acknowledgment as a human is there...

Which often seems to not be there, from others towards me...  Oh well...  I try to let go and move on as long as they don’t hurl insults and put downs and condescending advice, etc,...  Which can be very painful and long lingering in its trauma on my so neglected, isolated soul...  So abused and rejected for decades by nearly everyone...  Fed up and I can’t take anymore of it hardly...  Ugh..

That is part of why I avoid people...  too...  I see the likelihood of being rejected and so I steer clear...  It’s only self protection and self love.  It’s all I can do to avoid a useless and humiliating interaction that adds nothing to my overall well being, understanding or knowledge of life.   Just the same old, people can be jerks thing...  Shown in many different examples and expressions of that fact, not needed....  No more fuel to the hate life, hate people or hate the world, let’s hide forever, let’s give up and hide from the world feelings...  No, just go away.  Before I can find more people to want to avoid, I want to avoid them so I don’t have to know I want to avoid them...  

Lol  Sigh.  Ugh.  Whatever... yeah.