#ill stop spiraling its fine i just feel insane

[ashennightingale]

did u know being raised in an abusive household and then finally getting some semblance of control over ur life only to be sent back into that situation again but worse this time bc u had cancer and still feel completely broken and ruined bc of it . Isn't Great For Your Mental Health

[imperator-titus]

Ghost from the Past [Part 9]

The Gang finally figures out what Eletha's problem is.

Had this one written out for a while. Features a lot of my triggers because I'm fucking insane. Sometimes you just wanna punish yourself, right? That's normal?

CW: General Mental Illness issues, Mentions of past abuse and suicidal ideation, Also the Super Secret Weird Trigger

(Prev)[Part 8] (Next)[Part 10] [Master Post]

No one saw Eletha leave her tent for two days while they braved the shadow curse and all its challenges. Astarion would’ve stayed upset about this if he wasn’t excited about Raphael’s offer of help. Gale told him that they should wait and see before making any deals with devils and now Astarion was giving him the cold shoulder.

Worried and sick of the mood in camp, Gale convinced Bonnet to let him into her mistress’s tent. There he found her in a curious state: not quite elven trance, but not quite conscious either. Tentatively, he shook her shoulder, but she didn’t rouse. Clenched in her hand was a tattered scrap of cloth, perhaps a remnant of some once-fine robe or doublet.

“Pardon me,” he whispered as he decided his next course of action. Reaching out with both magic and the tadpole, he murmured softly, “Do let me know if I’m intruding.”

Something connected and his mind was transported to someplace else. The ground was just a shade different from the sky, creating a sense of boundless emptiness. Here he found Eletha sitting on the edge of- Well, it was a rather large hole with no discernable sides or bottom, just complete darkness.

“I’m sorry. I don’t have any tea or cake,” she told him listlessly, eyes not leaving the hole. Her skin was covered in scratches and her clothes were torn. “Poor reception for a friend. Wizard friend.”

“May I… sit?” Gale asked hesitantly, peering into the hole only to be met with nothing. Eletha nodded and he sat down beside her. “Is this what troubles you?”

“Mm. I’m losing it, aren’t I? Out there.” She didn’t wait for his answer. It was rather obvious that if he was here, he felt that she was in danger. In a haunting sing-song voice she went on, “Down, down, down. Spiraling down. Cracked like an egg, to hatch or to eat? The dry leaves sound lovely, under our feet.”

Well that’s concerning, Gale thought to himself. “What is in the hole?”

“Something old. Something bad. Lorelai.”

“Ah, your childhood name, yes?”

“Bad, evil, mean old Lorelai,” she said by way of answer, using the tone of a child talking about a monster in a book or a hated schoolmarm. Then darkly, like that hated schoolmarm, she added, “Little Lorelai doesn’t know any better.”

“You know, I was quite the scamp back in my day too. That’s how I met Tara. My parents denied me a kitten, so I summoned a tressym instead,” he explained with a fond smile and a twinkle in his eyes. He went on about other ‘naughty’ things he did as a child, such as summoning mephits or destroying things with errant magic. He felt that if he could get her to accept that making trouble as a child was a normal part of growing up, then she might begin to forgive herself for whatever she’d done.

Gale’s happy memories only served to weaken the edge of the hole further, bits breaking off every now and then. While speaking about his mother, how much he loved her, the hole suddenly emitted a disturbing sound. A wail mixed with crying, piercing and discordant. Gale stopped his story, training his senses to make heads or tails of what was happening. The wail faded as voices rose in its stead. Elven voices, melodic and refined, called out “Lorelai.”

“Lorelai, you are too young to make such decisions,” Eletha said in Elvish in a man’s voice. It sounded stern and agitated, almost hostile. “Non Moverē.”

She recited the incantation for a Hold Person spell with perfect precision, but it was only an echo of a memory. Whoever had cast it was highly skilled.

“You must set aside your feelings for the good of us all. I did not raise you to be a brat, A’Sum. This is a blessing,” she said in a woman’s voice. It was sharp and disappointed. This voice called upon the Weave to calm her daughter’s emotions.

“If you cannot behave, then we will make you behave, my blood or not,” a second man’s voice said through Eletha’s lips. It snarled, full of revulsion. “Impero tibi.”

I command you, from the tongue of an expert spellcaster. Young and inexperienced, Eletha would have been unable to resist.

“I… I think I understand,” Gale said after waiting a moment for her to continue. “It will be okay. You have us now. We won’t let that happen.”

“It doesn’t make a difference,” she said in her own voice, streaked with pain. “It’s always been here. It’s not going away this time.”

“What-”

A monstrous black claw shot out of the black hole. Gale threw himself back, only to fall out of Eletha’s tent.

“What in the hells was that about?” Karlach asked, looking down at him with confusion.

“I was trying to help,” he answered, trying to rub the befuddlement out of his head.

“MmMmh, breakfast?” Eletha asked blearily, poking her head out of the tent flap. “Can I have eggs?”

“No, Lethi, go back to sleep,” Karlach told her, pushing her friend back into the tent when she appeared to be asleep sitting up.

“So. What hot gossip did you two discuss?” Astarion purred as he approached Gale’s tent, where the wizard was currently writing in his journal. Despite his attempts to seem otherwise, it was clear that the question came from a place of concern.

“Do you remember anything of your families?” Astarion glared at him.

“No. All I know is what little Eletha has told me. They were semi-important.” Gale hummed in response, distracted. “Why?”

“Nothing. Only something to consider.” Astarion huffed with false humor. Scratching his beard, talking more to himself than Astarion, Gale said, “It’s a shame Cazador made you forget your old life. Of us all, you can relate to her the most…”

“I’m not sure I understand the similarities.”

“Held against your will by someone who claims to love you, to be your family. Made to behave. Bodies not yours to command,” Gale explained rather compassionately. Then he grew pensive again. “What did she do, that necessitated such methods of containment? Is it the action, or the reaction, that is affecting her?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. It’s always ‘I did a bad horrible thing, I’m evil, I can never be forgiven.’ Things like that.” Astarion laughed then sighed a little sadly. “Oh Gale. First a goddess. Now an insane elf. How does it feel to fall so far?”

“Does driving your first lover into the arms of pain and madness hurt worse or less than all the blood on your hands?” Gale sniped. Astarion startled, then bristled.

“That’s not fair,” he warned.

“Any more fair than what you just said?” Gale asked, getting to his feet. Standing tall, he had to look down at Astarion a little bit. 

“Keep your meddling paws out of other people’s business,” Astarion growled.

“Why must you treat me like an enemy? We want the same thing: for her to get better. To do that, I’m afraid we must meddle in her business.”

“It’s not just her business, is it? It’s mine as well.”

“The business of a man buried over two centuries ago.” Gale tilted his head and the harshness left his eyes and voice. “You’re worried that she can’t forgive you.”

“Of course I am!” Stupid wizards. Why did they have to be so smart and also so slow at the same time?

“Mm, I find it unlikely. You hold a special place in her heart, broken or no,” Gale told him rather academically, picking something up from his desk. In his outstretched palm he held the scrap of cloth from Eletha’s tent. With a pair of tweezers, he carefully dissected it, revealing a lock of curly white hair. When his tweezers tried to brush the hairs, they were rebuffed. “A preservation charm. I can only assume that this hair once belonged to you, perhaps the garment this cloth came from as well. With a few tools and a wizard’s expertise, she could have easily found you in Baldur’s Gate.”

“But she didn’t. The one civilized place on the Sword Coast she’s never visited,” Astarion said harshly, hovering between shock and anger.

“There are many possible explanations. Eletha is a proponent of choices. You chose to leave, so she respected your choice. Perhaps she was afraid that you never loved her, or that you hated her for waiting so long to follow.” Gale carefully resealed the token so that it could be replaced in Eletha’s tent. “Perhaps she had no choice but to let you go. There’s no telling until she feels ready to explain.”

“I’ll put it back,” Astarion said after a moment, holding out his hand. Gale placed the token in his palm, only to gently take hold of his hand.

“It is a shame. I was hoping to encourage a relationship between us. Eletha was always interesting, a mix of mysterious and open, having lived a rich life of adventure. I had an impression that she found me interesting as well, but she is so clearly afraid of being hurt again.” Gale looked at their interlocked hands fondly. “I suppose I could say the same for you.”

Astarion clicked his tongue and emitted a soft sound of sweetness before threading his fingers through the loose waves of hair at the back of Gale’s neck. Pulling him down slightly while raising himself up on his toes, Astarion pressed their lips together in a needy kiss.Gale’s mouth opened slightly in a surprised gasp and Astarion found his tongue with his own.

Neither kissed like a novice, but it felt different. Electric. With the orb stabilized by Mystra, Gale didn’t fear the sudden excitement of flesh touching flesh or the sound of someone’s moans in his ears. Even Eletha’s light touches and chaste kisses on his head threatened to explode his heart after so long without a person’s touch.

He was suddenly aware of how clammy his hands had become. His body was shaking and his head felt like it might float away without him. A pit of sickness sat in his stomach and Gale pushed Astarion away just a little bit. Before Astarion could misunderstand, he said shakily, “I think it has been too long for me. I am a starving man eating more than his stomach can handle.”

Astarion’s face went through a range of emotions, from hurt to annoyance and finally thoughtfulness. “Eletha had that reaction too. I just assumed she was drunk, but the only thing you seem drunk on is the taste of my lips.”

“There is some truth to that,” Gale agreed with a light laugh. Holding a hand to his heart, he said, “I assure you, I enjoyed that very much.”

“I should… put this back,” Astarion said hesitantly with a small smile, indicating Eletha’s token. “Maybe I’ll come around later. Discuss… what was it we were reading now?”

“I have no clue.”

“Mm… I have done a number on you,” Astarion purred in self-satisfaction before leaving Gale’s tent.

Thankfully, Bonnet wasn’t sitting in front of Eletha’s tent when Astarion attempted to sneak in. The bear would’ve probably mauled him on sight otherwise.

He sat for a moment, just watching her breathe, fighting some internal demon. Very carefully, he placed the token in her open hand, which closed and retreated to her chest.

---

It was late and everyone was seeing to their evening routines when indecipherable elvish yelling grew louder in Eletha’s tent.

She emerged, a leather wallet in one hand, her face red with anger. Everyone was gathering, but she only had eyes for Astarion. Pointing an accusing finger at him, she yelled, “How dare you go through my things!”

Astarion chuckled nervously, holding up his hands in surrender. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, like anyone else has an interest in my journals? The place where I keep all my intimate thoughts and memories?” Eletha sneered, narrowing her eyes. Astarion went from nervous to confused.

“I didn’t take your journals,” he insisted, biting off the urge to call her ‘darling’ or ‘my dear’. He knew by now that it could upset her more just as much as it could make her melt. “And even if I did, it would only be to figure out what’s wrong with you so we can move on.”

“What’s wrong with me?!” Those closest to her tensed, preparing to stop her if she decided to settle this with a fight. Those closer to Astarion gravitated towards him, to get between them if anything went wrong.

Instead, Eletha undid the complicated tie of her wallet and dumped the contents out onto the ground. A seemingly endless flood of books, papers, and scrolls fell out. Giving it one last shake to make sure it was empty, Eletha dropped the wallet on the pile.

“They’re yours now. Have fun,” she growled at him before returning to her tent. 

Those nearby rushed forward as a slight breeze caught the papers, threatening to blow them into the campfire. Everyone gathered to deal with the mess.

“Interesting. A bag of holding, but just for paper?” Gale pondered aloud as he inspected the leather wallet before setting it aside. Astarion snatched it up with a little glare. He was pretty sure he just got blamed for Gale’s sticky fingers and he wasn’t about to let the wizard take something Eletha just entrusted to him.

“She certainly needs it,” Shadowheart remarked, gathering some journals into a stack and setting them next to Gale, who immediately started organizing them.

“Wow, so many for this Lorelai person,” Karlach said after a while of picking up letters and putting them into a semi-neat pile. 

“That’s her childhood name,” Gale explained, becoming excited by something he’d noticed. “Elves pick their own name when they reach one hundred years of age.”

“Oh.” Karlach went from confused, to understanding, to confused again. “Why are they all still sealed? Seems weird, keeping letters you didn’t even bother readin’.”

Gale was deaf to the question, reading the oldest of the journals. In a stilting manner, as he not only had to translate Elvish, but a child’s Elvish, he read aloud to himself loud enough for them to hear. 

“Father said that I should keep a journal, so I can always remember what happened to me. Today isn’t my birthday, but another elf was born last week. Mother said they were worried I would get upset that I was no longer the youngest and wouldn’t get all the attention, so they gave me a gift. I don’t think the new baby wants the attention I get. All Father and Mother do is yell at me for not doing what they want, but I don’t understand what they want. Maybe Astarion will understand. But right now he is just a squishy ugly baby with BIG GOBLIN EARS. They are SO BIG. I hope he grows into them, like the hunting dogs’ puppies.”

On the other side of the page was a crude child’s drawing of what appeared to be a fat baby’s head with cherubic cheeks and some rudimentary curls. Attached to either side were massive elf ears. Surprised, Gale guffawed most uncharacteristically and turned the journal to show everyone. They all laughed, except Astarion, who grumbled in embarrassment.

“Mother says I have to take care of Astarion, it is my ‘role.’ All the Mothers tell me that I should prepare myself, even if it might never happen. Having to take care of him makes me feel gross. The way the Mothers talk about babies makes me feel grosser. I tried taking him away from them, so they’d stop making me feel bad and wouldn’t make him feel bad either, but they yelled at me and made me sit in the rocks again. It’s not Star’s fault. He’s just a baby. One day he’ll be my age, will he feel like this too? All the other children are so much older than me, they treat me like a baby too. I feel like I’ve grown up a lot in a year. I have to grow up just enough to protect Star but still be his friend.”

“Oh, that’s heartbreakin’…” Karlach breathed, holding her breath as she listened. The others were listening, reacting in their own little ways. Lae’zel was still cleaning up the mess. Shadowheart knelt, appearing as if in prayer. Wyll took special interest in each thing he picked up so he could put it in the appropriate pile. Halsin listened with compassionate sadness, while Astarion sat like a statue, frozen in place.

Gale skipped ahead, his wizard’s mind able to quickly read and catalog the information, especially as the Elvish got better. Something made him smile. “Astarion keeps stealing my socks. Why socks? At least they’re clean socks. A lot of stuff keeps going missing and showing up somewhere else and I think it’s him. A lot of them let Astarion into their caravan for no reason and let him do what he pleases, but I’ve seen him sneak into our caravan before to steal my socks. Whenever I catch him, he sticks them on his ears and says ‘I can’t hear you! I have feet for ears!”

Everyone but Astarion laughed once more.

“That’s so strange… It looks like she wrote or drew something every day, but there’s a whole year missing. The pages are ripped out.” Shadowheart pointed out, having flipped through a few of the journals herself. “She said Astarion left when she was 35, so the year after is missing.”

Everyone was making comments about him, but Astarion was deaf as he picked out a bundle of papers from the pile. One edge of them was jagged. He undid the piece of string holding them together and unfolded them.

“Lorelai will behave. Lorelai will eat. Will drink. Rest. Do as she is told. Stay. Not bite off her tongue. Not use the fire. Not practice the sword or the bow or with hands. She will not talk back, she will not scream or raise her voice. She will speak only when spoken to and always be polite. She will not interact with outsiders. She must always be accompanied. Always be clean. Lorelai will be a good girl. Lorelai will apologize for what she’s done. I am a good girl. I promise to be good. I am sorry for what I’ve done.”

The torn pages lined up with those tears in the journal. The first page after was a depiction of a black circle. Taking the journal from Astarion, Gale pointed at the picture. “I’ve seen that. In her head. ‘Something old, something bad. Evil, mean old Lorelai.’”

Gale flipped past some more drawings and lists of typical adventurer things like how many supplies she had and where she was going. Then it went back to a sane depiction of a journal.

“I am not a good girl. I will not do as I’m told. I will not behave. I will eat and drink to spite them. I will bite my tongue when it suits me, when its sharpness cannot aid me. I will speak loud and clear when I please. I will be alone. I will not apologize. I am not sorry for what I’ve done, my only regret is that I let them control me. I won’t let anyone control me ever again.

“I am never coming back. I will never forgive these transgressions against me. I will not forget them, but I will bury them, in a hole deep and dark and bottomless inside me. The hole they made in me, where my heart and family should be.

“I don’t believe that Astarion left in order to leave me behind. He loves to chase and be chased. But I will always wonder, if that was true, why didn’t he turn back to find me? Maybe they were right. I will grant them this small token of grace. Maybe I was abandoned, as I abandon in kind.

“I am far from my 100th year, but I shake off the yoke of my name. Everyone I meet will know me as Eletha, a name Astarion always liked, and I will fashion myself a Nighstar. Who will ever know it’s not true? I might not ever be important, these might be the only words ever written about me, but when I speak this name, I will know that I am more than what I was meant to be.”

“I can’t tell if that’s sad or brave…” Wyll whispered to himself.

“What’s… E… Sum? Hey, I’m getting pretty good at this Elvish thing!” Karlach said excitedly, holding up a letter she’d been inspecting. Gale, Shadowheart, Halsin, and Astarion went blank-faced.

“It says, ‘To my Son’,” Halsin explained gently and quietly, so Eletha couldn’t overhear them.

“I do not understand. As in a male child?” Lae’zel asked.

“Yes, Lae’zel. And seeing as Eletha is a female child…” 

Shadowheart laughed nervously, pinching Halsin’s arm to get him to shut up. “Maybe it’s for Astarion! And she just… forgot about it.”

“As nice as that seems…” Gale started darkly, holding Eletha’s journal with the pages ripped out, “With the knowledge I have, of all the theories I’ve considered, and the fact that I can recognize Eletha’s hand, it is most likely that this is to her son…”

Everyone sat in stunned silence for a moment. Then Karlach looked at Astarion and offered him a strained smile. “Congratulations?”

“That paper seems awfully old. And it looks like it was never sealed,” Wyll pointed out, taking the letter from Karlach. “She never sent this. Why keep it? I guess it’s like the others. Felt too guilty to burn it? Thrown in the bag and forgotten?”

“We shouldn’t read that, right? Even dictating every event of her life for over 260 years is less personal than that,” Shadowheart insisted warily, carefully taking the letter from Wyll and handing it to Gale.

“It is, however, the center of the problem,” Gale explained firmly. “If anyone is to read it, it should be Astarion.”

“Why should I read it?!” he yelled out, his voice cracking. Some of them leaned away nervously. “Don’t look at me like I’m crazy! This is crazy! This is insane! And not the least bit funny.”

“It is okay to be upset,” Halsin told him gently.

“Of course it’s okay! This is very upsetting! I’m sure for someone like you, this would come as no surprise! Almost two months ago, I was just a vampire spawn hunting for my master. I’ve had an old lover show up who wants to play mindgames, go insane, and now this?!”

“I don’t think it’s mindgames, bud,” Karlach said, going through a journal that appeared to be in Common instead of Elvish, although sometimes the script slipped and she had trouble reading it. “Look. 50 years ago. She met an elf on the road, they hit it off, they try to give it a go, she has a lot of nasty feelings after. Talks about this black pit, yeah? And it gets all hard to read. Then she says someone named Mellia found her and took care of her until she got better.”

“Mmm, sounds much like now. She’s spiraling,” Shadowheart said, taking the journal and reading the same bit like they were in some book club with only once copy.

“Down, down, down, spiraling down. Cracked like an egg, to hatch or to eat? The dry leaves sound lovely under our feet,” Gale repeated in a hollow sing-song voice, stroking his beard in thought.

“That’s right fucked.” Some murmured in agreement. Karlach looked at them all, hoping for an answer. “So what do we do? Hide all the booze? Make her stay awake?”

“Honestly, she was fighting harder before this little… break,” Wyll remarked. “I’d be happy if we could get back to that.”

“Eletha has been avoiding this since the beginning. This is an invitation as much as it is an explanation. She needs to say these words herself, so she might share the burden,” Halsin explained with the dispassion of a healer trying to be taken seriously at the expense of compassion.

“I didn't want to go to that hag, but Wyll was right. Damn those foolish boys and their foolish sister. People go to hags for a reason. They want something and there is payment. They are desperate and stupid and they don't understand that. I left Ethel and Mayrina alone because the girl made her choice. My parents, Astarion’s parents, the whole clan, they took my choice away from me.

“I can still hear that hag’s mockery in my head. ‘A dead dog is a better mother than you. Just as selfish and stupid as this girl. You should be ashamed of yourself, trying to smother a babe before it’s even born.’

“She’s wrong. I made the right choice, to walk away. He didn't deserve a mother like me. No child does. 

“If Mellia turned me, could she make me forget, like Astarion? Could Aluin just say some words, wiggle his fingers, or brew me a potion? Maybe this adventure will be my last and it’ll be some other elf’s problem in a hundred years. I’m sorry for haunting your reveries, my next life.

“I’m sorry, everyone. I wanted to protect you, to be strong for you. I wanted to be a shield against the cruelty of the world, but I’m afraid my steel is brittle and my wood rotten. I can’t be your mother any more than I could be his.”

“The rest is… scribbles,” Gale explained in saddened resignation, flipping past indecipherable text and grotesque attempts at artistry.

“Maybe we should put these away,” Halsin said, taking the pouch from Astarion and carefully putting journals in one by one. The others made tidy piles in front of them and passed the pouch around, until Gale was handing it back to Astarion.

“She did say that they were yours now,” he explained when Astarion started to push it away. “Although. A bag of holding just for texts? I would gladly take it off your hands.” 

“No, you can’t eat this one,” Astarion growled, putting his body in between the bag and Gale. Gale chuckled and smiled, easing the tension around the camp.

Astarion sat in his tent, alone, staring at the things in his lap. One was the wallet, and on top of it, the well-worn letter. He fingered its edge in agitation. A little tear formed and he panicked. Very carefully, he set it aside and opened the wallet once more. He placed the letters into little piles. Letters addressed to Lorelai, unopened. Letters addressed to Eletha, in smaller piles by sender. There were quite a few from people named ‘Mellia, Your Sanguine Companion’, ‘Aluin of Suzail’, ‘Tyrlumin, Your Melodic Cha’, and ‘Bromthrum Starkhammer, Provider of Fine Crafts.’ There were miscellaneous letters, some very old, from people thanking her for heroic deeds or just simple acts of kindness. There was even one thanking her for the exceptional quality of a set of mink pelts she provided that went into making a coat for some king Astarion never heard of.

He read them, because he couldn’t help himself. She seemed very close with her humanoid companions, which probably explained why she had so many letters.

Mellia, mysterious and charming, her oldest and possibly closest friend. They met when a pack of gnolls were terrorizing some little farming town. They banded together to slaughter every one. Eletha was just passing by, Mellia was a vampire and had an accord with one of the village leaders. It made his blood boil, he couldn’t think of a higher vampire and not see Cazador, but her letters were so… sweet. Not fake sweet. She would recount some event or vista that made her think of Eletha and their adventures. It was hard to imagine a vampire soaking with an elf in a hot spring up in some monster-infested mountains, but they apparently had 50 years ago. ‘I am glad that I could keep you away from the edge once more, my lovely friend. Maybe it is time you venture to Baldur’s Gate? I will gladly join you, and I know that you have other friends that would answer the call.’ A band of hardened adventurers, showing up at Cazador’s palace, demanding he relinquish his favorite spawn? A story for the ages… 

Aluin the human mage, whose words read nothing like Gale’s. Even as he grew older, his boyish exuberance could still be heard in his retellings of discoveries and mishaps. She lost her eye protecting him from a warg and guided him back to Suzail. To return the favor, he offered her a magic eye. It allowed her to peer into memories of places, things, and people, to see them as they once were. Aluin wanted her to take him on many adventures and he always thanked her from the bottom of his heart for every scrap of artifact she sent to him from her travels. There was a subtle love in his words. 

Tyrlumin, a half-elf bard, whose age she could not discern. He often talked to her like she was a child, but had his own childish penchant for getting into trouble. They met on the road, nothing special, but they were drawn to one another. It seemed he used her for inspiration in some of his songs. He would run into her, seemingly not by accident, and they would travel together until he would disappear in the night, leaving behind a note. It was often a dirty limerick.

Finally, Bromthrum, a purveyor of high-quality dwarven goods, trading to princes, wizards, and thieves alike. She came to his aid upon the road as he was waylaid by bandits. They shared a fondness for drink and smoke. He sounded enamored by her elven beauty and the artistry she employed in battle. She seemed drawn to his complete lack of similarities to elves. He gave her steep discounts on goods and she protected his caravan when she was around.

Astarion didn’t touch the sealed letters. Maybe he had some sense of propriety. They were all so old… It seemed they stopped only 50 years after she left the Dales.

Then there were two. For their E’Sum. For Astarion Ancunin, Baldur’s Gate.

This, too, was old, but not as old as some. Likely, this letter would have never reached him. The furthest it might have gotten was to Cazador, and then what jealous hellfire would his master have rained upon him for receiving a letter from a long-lost lover?

It was meant for him. That meant he could read it, no? It found him, after all these years.

Astarion snuck into Gale’s tent.

“Can I help you?” Gale grumbled, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“I need you to read this,” Astarion insisted, shoving the letter at him. Gale moved away, offended as Astarion pressed the piece of parchment into his chest.

“I think you're capable of reading.”

“I can't do it.”

“Then don't read it.”

“But it's for me.”

“Then I shouldn't be reading it.”

“Dammit Gale, can you just do this for me?” Astarion hissed. “Can you stop being an emotionless pompous arse for one minute?”

“I'm not emotionless, I’m exhausted. That wasn’t exactly easy on me, either. I didn’t even tell you some of the horrible things in those journals,” Gale explained, but took the letter anyway. A little hurt he said, “Is that how you see me?”

“Gale, I need the attention now, or I'm going to start stabbing people.”

“How is that different from usual?” Gale muttered as he opened the letter. “Dear Astarion, stop being dramatic and let Gale sleep.”

“You’re aware of how much of an ass you are, yes?”

“My Star,” Gale started, ignoring him. He actually put a little emotion into it. Astarion listened intently. “Aluin says that writing letters is healing, that ordering our thoughts to communicate them helps us understand ourselves as much as it helps others understand us. I’m not as good with words as Mellia or Lumin. I guess you don't know any of these people. They are friends I've made along the way and if we meet again, I want you to meet them. They’ve helped me a lot, taught me that I deserve to be loved and helped. I don’t always believe them, but it is what it is. Do you remember Heilar saything that all the time, when you’d tell him I beat you unfairly during sword practice? I wonder if I still can. 

“I spent a long time hating you, but I always loved you. I never wished ill on you, even when I hated you the most. I always wondered what I did to make you leave me behind. I always wondered if you thought I'd follow. I wanted to, but our parents bade me stay. Then they made me stay.

What is it like, in Baldur’s Gate? I always wanted to go to Waterdeep instead.” Gale's eyes lit up suddenly and he opened his mouth to make some quip, but when he looked up, Astarion was the picture of anxiety, biting his lip, knees to his chest, fear in his eyes. 

“It took me a long time to accept responsibility for what happened. I would always say to myself that you left a mess behind, you did this to me, that it was all your fault. It was best that you left, because if you'd stayed, I don't want to imagine what you would have done. Would you take their side, or defend me tooth and nail? I couldn't bear it if you were just another person I couldn't forgive. But I wouldn’t want our family’s blood on your hands either.

“I don't know his name. I left as soon as I could. I'm sorry that I can't tell you anything about him. I would think that your parents would try to write you, but maybe they think it meant nothing to you. They try to write me, but I can't read them. I don't want to read them, but I can't destroy them.

“No matter how many friends I make, how many people I help, I will always know that I am a callous monster. Despite how rare it is, despite what it would mean for our families and our people, I didn't want to keep the thing you left behind in me. Knowing it was there filled me with a sickness that went beyond any story the Mothers told me. I was no longer myself, I was just a vessel. I found myself repulsive. I tried to find some way to be rid of it, but our mothers caught me. 

“At first they aimed to tame me with guilt and shame. They told me I was irresponsible, cowardly, a disgrace, for trying to throw away this blessing that felt to me like a curse, a punishment. There were only hard eyes and sharp words for me. I became desperate and tried my own ways of removing my curse. When they denied me that, I tried to bite through my own tongue to spare myself the pain of my burden and it the pain of having me for a mother.

“They took turns, holding me with their magic, giving me no choice but to do what they deemed right. I looked out of my eyes on a world that became hostile and full of villains, faces made of cruelty. The body that moved was not my own, but I still felt that awful feeling in my heart, felt trapped in my own skin just as much as in their power.

“I'm not sorry that I left, so why do I feel guilty? Broken? I'm not sorry for being broken. Was this soul always broken, throughout its many lives?

“I made a deal with a fey. In exchange for never bearing children again, I am cursed to burn by the emptiness of the new moon. It hurt, at first, but not as much as that year hurt. The fey thought me mad for requesting such a simple silly thing and not real power. Maybe I am. You have to be pretty mad to make a fey question your request.

“I’m sorry. I love you. I forgive you. I don't expect you to forgive me. I hope you can still love me, as unlovable as I am. 

“Ever yours- Lori”

At some point, Astarion had placed his head in Gale’s lap. So caught up in the letter, Gale didn't notice. Now that he was done, he freed up a hand to pat Astarion’s head. “Can I go back to sleep now?”

“No.”

“Okay,” Gale whispered tiredly, still stroking Astarion’s hair. “It’s going to be okay. Tomorrow is another day.”

[uncloseted]

1/2 Is mental illness a chemical imbalance or do I have something wrong with my brain or a personality disorder lol. I have bad anxiety that just compounds on itself and worsens every day until I spiral with major depression and ocd and I feel like I'm going insane and heading for a breakdown. The second I try a new medication for the first time its like suddenly all these thoughts flush out my brain and I'm fine and normal. This never lasts long maybe a week as my body grows accustom to

2/2 the meds and everything comes back. It's like my brain wants something new in it to 'reset' itself. This feeling happened the first time I took SSRIs and then again when I first took ADHD meds. I'm going to talk to my psychiatrist about it but I don't know how to explain it in a way that sounds normal. I don't ever feel high on these meds, it's truly a feeling of unplugging a drain and all the bad thoughts going away for a week until the meds stop working and the sink refills

The answer to this question is much more complicated than you might expect. The idea that mental illness is a "chemical imbalance" actually isn't super well supported. Mental illness is caused by the intersection of a number of different factors that produce a constellation of symptoms. For example, in major depressive disorder, neurobiological, genetic, and environmental factors contribute to changes in brain structure, function, and chemistry that create the symptoms we think of as "depression" - feeling sad, empty, or hopeless, losing interest in things that were once pleasurable, thoughts of death, etc. So in this sense, the answer to your original question is kind of that they're all the same- something being "wrong" with your brain can include a chemical imbalance and the result can be a personality disorder or another mental illness.

In terms of what's happening in your brain when you start a new medication, I don't really have any idea. I'm not a doctor or a therapist, and I'm definitely not your doctor or therapist. This is a good thing to bring up with your psychiatrist, since they know your unique history and what medications you've already tried. My best guess is that maybe you're experiencing something of a placebo effect- your brain is expecting to feel better, so it does, even if the medication isn't working yet. That's not to say that the relief you're feeling isn't real or that it's "all in your head". Rather, it's to say that our bodies are incredibly powerful, and all sorts of things can impact how we feel. But again, I would really recommend bringing this up with your psychiatrist and seeing what they say. They're the only person who can help you find a medication that provides more lasting effects.

[realm-sweet-realm]

Repeating the Cycle

I thought I’d write a little story about ink infection, as well as Sammy’s role after he was transformed. It’s inspired by Shazzbaa’s theories (I’d say which, but we don’t want spoilers, now do we?)!

I’ll tell you guys later tonight about the future writing projects I have planned.

---

Sammy awoke in his sanctuary, as he had many times before. He hadn’t been to his apartment in... well, days anyhow. He felt better when he was near the ink. He tried the door to exit his private sanctuary, and it was locked. “Is this a sign?” he asked his lord. “Is it time?”

Yes, his lord spoke back.

Sammy smiled- smiled rather weakly, as the pain from his ink infection had been wearing on him heavily. “Finally.”

All the waiting. All the sickness. All the fear. It was time to see what it was all for. And his lord had assured him, with the comforting voice of a father to a young son, that it would be worth it.

Sammy dragged himself over to the leaking pipe that hung from the ceiling of his sanctuary and turned on the ink supply. Ink sputtered down onto Sammy’s face and clothes, and he fell to his knees, hands outstretched and mouth open as though he was staring into heaven itself. His heart was pounding. He was shaking from adrenaline, and not even being surrounded with, covered in, and consuming the ink that normally numbed his symptoms seemed to be helping. This had to be fear instead of withdrawal.

Do not be afraid, the voice comforted, you will have ascended in mere hours. I promise, you will be safe and healthy. I promise, it will be better than anything you’ve ever experienced.

“Thank you! Bendy, hear my praise! I want what you have for me! I crave your embrace!”

Sammy took a long suck of ink from the pipe, then laid down on the floor. He was weak. so weak.

That’s it. You’ve made it. You need only wait now.

Sammy trusted Bendy. Bendy told him that everything he’d done and experienced in his life- even the nightmarish last few years- was leading to something. It told him that everything was okay.

Sammy didn’t know how much time had passed when he felt Joey tying up his ankles. With some struggle, he sat up and tried to push Joey off of him, but it had little effect. Before long, Joey had finished on Sammy’s ankles and was straddling his chest to tie up his hands. The last thing he saw with his biological eyes was Joey’s knife slitting his throat.

When Sammy woke up, the voice of his lord was gone. By trying to make a toon out of him, Joey had robbed him of his ascension and severed his connection to him.

---

Grant awoke in his office to the horrid ticking of his Bendy clock and the array of whispering voices that had plagued him since early in his infection. The clock’s small hand pointed to six, but Grant had no idea whether it was morning or evening. Months of ink infection had ruined his sense of time. He tried the door to his office and found that it had been locked from the outside by chain and padlock. Grant laughed at the absurdity of it all- his life had spiralled into a nightmarish fever dream.

“Does this mean it’s time?” Grant asked.

Yes. Your time is almost up, the voice answered, and for once, Grant trusted it. He felt almost too tired from illness to care.

“I’ll do anything you ask to stop it.”

No response, except for those muttered voices. Grant hadn’t expected one- the voice rarely had his best interests in mind. He shuffled over to his desk and pushed aside some papers to go back to sleep- possibly for the last time.

And then he saw it- a report from Joey that he’d received mere days before his symptoms had started- ending with the words “Fix this or I’ll have your head!” angrily scrawled at the bottom.

That was it. Joey had done this to motivate him. He just had to figure out how to keep the studio from bankruptcy and he’d be cured!

Yes! Yes! You’re right. Fix it! the voice yelled.

Adrenaline flooded Grant’s system as he jerked open his filing cabinet with shaking hands in search of the necessary files to fix the budget. This was his one chance to survive. The muttering voices were screaming in his head- ear-piercing. His head felt ready to explode.

“Shut up and let me focus!” he screamed.

Ink will soothe your symptoms.

That was something that the voice had told him frequently. He hadn’t given in to it yet- not much, anyhow- because common sense told him that ink was inedible. It was also his sincere belief that the voice wanted to kill him. The voice had told him, back before the physical symptoms had become obvious, that he was merely losing his mind and needed to hide it from everyone, lest he be institutionalized. Then, as soon as the physical symptoms had taken root, it had changed its tune- he was losing his mind, because he was ill with an incurable, supernatural disease, and no hospital could help him, and going to one would only guarantee that he would be a test subject for the limited time he had left. Listening to it then had gotten him into this position, and he wasn’t eager to listen to it again.

But this was life or death. He opened the supply on the ink pipe that Thomas- for some reason he didn’t understand- had installed in his office, and drank deeply.

The voice- the muttering- the headache- it all stopped. Silence. Finally.

Grant’s hands were covered in ink now, and were sure to soak any paper he used. I can’t let that stop me. He dropped to his knees and started painting calculations on the floor.

The numbers didn’t add up. Not a single one. Was his mind was too frayed to do basic mathematical functions?! How could he fix anything, let alone this insurmountable debt, while he could barely think straight?! Calm down. Stay calm. Try again. Life or death. Time is money. What will Joey say?!

From the cracks within the wall, Sammy watched as Grant spiralled into panic and tears, and turned his office inside out trying to find anything that could help, expressing his fears through wall-writing, and attempting escape the room. Poor thing, Sammy thought, remembering the pain and uncertainty of his own ink infection, but soon I’ll be able to teach him the truth.

It had been years since Sammy’s sacrifice. Not only did Sammy still work for Joey now that he was a failed toon, Joey had him on a schedule. Every day at 11:00 AM, Sammy would ooze through the walls of Joey’s office for their morning meeting. Sammy wasn’t particularly happy about doing anything for the man who had turned him into a failed Boris just as he was about to fulfill a higher destiny, but the voice had once told him that to follow Joey was to follow his lord, and now those previous words (which Sammy had recorded and studied every day) were all he had left as a doctrine to follow. Sammy hoped that with enough obedience and service, his lord would see past his ruined body and grant him his destiny.

Joey’s demands were often difficult, but they were simple: sacrificing specific people into specific toons, and looking after the infected. Joey rarely sacrificed people on his own anymore, and instead relied on Sammy to do the dirty work of knocking people out, killing them on pentagrams, and then dealing with the resulting dead body, blood and ink-stains on the floor, and whatever abomination came out of the ink machine. Looking after the ink-infected was easier: keep an eye on them, and once they become too infected to be useful, lock them in their offices or in infirmary rooms and take them to their prison in the basement come night. Sammy had overseen the infection of nearly thirty people by now and had sacrificed dozens.

Thankfully, Joey’s demands were not very time-intensive, and he had plenty of time for his passion: teaching the lost ones about their lord and saviour, Bendy.

The lost ones lived in a prison in the very basement of Joey Drew Studios, along with the failed toons. Sammy’s sermons were some of the only times they were allowed out of their cages, and so they were always happy to see him.

Some agreed with him. Often, these were the same ones who had heard a comforting voice as they were infected- generally those with a religious background. Others thought him insane. Their voice had been different- wrong- hallucinatory- and quite often threatening. Sammy had these lost ones do penance in order to find their way to Bendy. Some found him, leaving Sammy feeling accomplished, but also jealous that he could never have what they had. Hopefully, his lord would see the wonderful work he was doing and one day ascend him along with the rest of them- because surely, that was not their final form.

Today’s meeting was like any other. Sammy waited in the walls until Joey’s 10:30 client left, and then slithered out before him.

“Anything to report?” Joey asked casually, as he looked over some paperwork. These meetings were usually uneventful.

“Two people are currently under quarantine. Three more are infected but still able to work for now. Everything is fine- except for one small detail. One of the people under quarantine is destroying his office out of fear. If you’d like, I could tie him up snug until he transforms, or force-feed him ink to speed the process along.”

Joey considered this. "Hmm... well, I do need an Edgar. He would work as well as any. Are you sure he’s close to transforming?” All ink-infected people had strange beliefs and delusions (except for Sammy, of course- his visions were absolute truth), but by this point in their infection, they were generally too tired to do anything destructive- especially ones like this one, who had increased the duration of their infection by resisting the urge to drink ink.

“It will be a matter of hours,” Sammy assured.

“Well, that’s not convenient, but I do have lunch right after this. I’ll get the Charley down to the basement, and you get the Barley and Edgar. The Barley’s name is Lacie Benton, and I’d suggest you knock her out before taking her anywhere- she’s a tough one. But the Edgar shouldn’t be a problem, right?”

“No... I suppose not.” Severely ink-infected people were, without exception, very weak, and Sammy was stronger now than he’d ever been as a human.

“Alright! See you down there as soon as possible.”

Sammy nodded, slunk back into the walls, and cursed everything, especially his order to obey Joey Drew. A severely ink infected person had never, and would never, produce a good toon- part of their souls had already been connected to the other lost ones. Joey must have known that, but he still insisted on stealing the people that were meant to be Sammy’s to guide, probably because in Joey’s mind, killing a person was murder but killing a lost one (or someone who soon would be a lost one) was not. Joey didn’t see his people as equally human, and it sickened Sammy. Nonetheless, he slithered through the walls until he came upon Grant’s office.

The office looked like a madhouse. The floors and walls were coated with repetitive writing. Furniture had been strewn about. Grant himself was curled against the ink pipe in his office, covered in so much ink that Sammy had thought he was already transformed before he realized he still had hair. The poor thing had tried so hard, while so sick, at something so futile. Sammy had his orders, but he wasn’t going to lay a hand on his sheep-that-wouldn’t-be until he had to.

Sammy slithered out of the wall- slowly, so as not to scare him.

“Who are you?” Grant asked. He sounded so tired of all the supernatural surprises that he barely cared.

“I’m here on behalf of Joey Drew,” Sammy began.

“I’m so sorry. I tried... but I couldn’t. I suppose you’re here to kill me, aren’t you?”

“No. I’m here to give you congratulations. The others in your department were able to use these brilliant calculations,” Sammy gestured widely at the messily scrawled gibberish on a wall, “to make a plan. The studio is going to avoid bankruptcy, and you’re going to be cured. Come with me.” Sammy offered Grant his hand. Grant took it, and Sammy helped him up.

“I-I don’t understand. I don’t understand how-” All of those calculations... Grant would have guessed that they were worthless.

“Shh... you’ll be clearer-headed soon. Just come with me, now. I can’t be out there where everyone can see me, but go to the elevator, go to the bottom floor, and I will be there. I promise- you will be fine.”

“Thank you so much. But, my door-”

Sammy slithered back into the wall. Grant heard the click of a door unlocking, followed by the clink of chains falling limp. His office door was unlocked. Do I trust him? Grant asked himself. This day kept getting stranger. If I don’t, I’m guaranteed to die. I have nothing to lose.

Sammy slithered into the wooden floor of the elevator and only reappeared once the elevator hit the very bottom.

“I’m sorry,” Sammy lamented “I want to lead you to Bendy. I want you to find peace as one of my followers. But it is not in the cards.”

The two made brief eye contact- or would have, if Sammy’s face weren’t covered in mask. Grant, obviously, had no idea what Sammy was talking about. Then, Sammy grabbed Grant’s hair, slammed his head against the wall a few times to knock him out, tied him up for sacrifice, and left to find Lacie Benton.

[secretobsessionstuff]

hi hi! i hope you’re doing well & happy almost halloween! if you’re taking requests i’d love to read some sick riley :’) perhaps he gets in the shower to help him feel better but he ends up feeling really ill and pukes in the shower, madix hears the commotion and rushes in to take care of him? please remember that you are loved & you are valued!!! have a good halloween!! :)

Thank you Anon! You are a beautiful human being ❤ Happy super late Halloween lol. 

Every muscle in Riley’s body was screaming when he finally got home from class. His shoulders were knotted like a knitted blanket, and the rest of him sure felt like there was a weighted blanket draped over his back. If only his body temperature felt the same way. He would gladly have wrapped himself in a quilt if it meant that his chill would disappear. He torturously climbed the stairs and dragged himself into the bedroom where Madix was working at his desk. Madix was deep in his own work, so he gave his boyfriend a quick kiss on the head after dropping his stuff on the floor.

“You’re back already? Madix said, looking up from his textbook with confusion on his face. “Wait, what time is it?” He hastily looked around for his phone. “Well crap, I didn’t know it was so late. I haven’t prepared anything for dinner.”

“That’s okay,” Riley mumbled. He had his arms wrapped around Madix’s neck and was leaning on him heavily. Like always, he buried his face in his boyfriend’s neck and bombarded him with kisses. He may or may not have been trying to leech some of his warmth. “I’m not hungry anyway.”

With his right hand, Madix scratched the fluffy head of hair that was nuzzled into body. “Mmh, you’re warm.”

“I’m really not.” Riley released Madix from his hug so that he could wrap his arms around himself. “I’m fucking freezing.”

Once free from the hug, Madix immediately dragged Riley back to him by tugging at his shirt. “Come closer for a sec.” Before Riley could object, Madix cupped his hand under his boyfriend’s chin. Unfortunately, he wasn’t looking for another kiss. He ran his hand up to Riley’s forehead.

“Mads, I’m fine.” Riley grabbed his wrist.

“Tell your body that.”

“I’ll be sure to pass along the message.” Riley shook his head and started for the door. “Now, I’m gonna go take a hot shower.”

With his swivel chair, Madix spun himself so he could face Riley as he walked away. “Wait baby, you feel like you’ve got a temperature.”

Riley shrugged. He knew how Madix could get with stuff like this. He just wanted a goddamn shower to warm him up. “I’ve always got a temperature, that’s how humans work.”

“Ah yes,” Madix replied, “but yours feels alarmingly higher than normal.”

“Bye, Madix,” Riley said with a wink.

“Wait –”

“Love you.”

And Riley walked out of the room, but as he did, he felt a little lightheaded. Oh well, it’s nothing that a nice shower couldn’t fix. The decision to skip dinner seemed like a pretty good one, he thought, as he turned the water on to heat it up. His stomach was swirling beneath his palm, but that wasn’t his main focus. His main focus was to stop the chattering of his teeth before he cracked them. Taking off his clothes caused even more goosebumps to rise on his skin, which he tried to ignore as the water took its sweet time to heat up.

Once the hot water hit him, Riley melted into a pool of relief. Madix’s worry was probably justified given how achy Riley felt, but he was content to let the water wash away his soreness. He stood under the running water, not even washing his body, until his skin turned pink. Whenever he took hot showers, the colours of the world seemed dim and his vision seemed to blur. Closing his eyes was better but even then, he felt himself sway. A few times, he needed to reach out his hand towards the wall to keep from falling.

As expected, the shower did wonders to help with how cold he was, but now he never wanted to leave. Also, the shower was regrettably not doing anything to help with the churning of his stomach. It was after a wet belch that Riley thought maybe he was sicker than he thought. The burp rolled up his throat and left him with nausea so intense that he braced himself against the wall.

A sick gurgle emanated from his belly, which he could see was bloated. He put his palm flat against his stomach and felt it ripple under his hand. With his hand still on his midriff, his body shook suddenly as a retch tore up his throat. He felt his belly heave, causing him to double over.

As a surge of vomit came rushing up his mouth, he extended his arm to keep himself from slipping, but managed only in knocking a bunch of shampoo bottles onto the floor. A cacophony of noises echoed around the bathroom as the bottles clattered at his feet and a wave of sick splattered against the bottom of the tub.

That’s when Madix started knocking on the bathroom door. Well actually the knocking was more of a quick courtesy before barging in. “Ry, what was that sound? Are you okay?”

Riley wanted to answer but he was still in the process of emptying his stomach. He belched and a thick wave of puke fell from his lips.

“Oh boy, gotcha,” Madix said as he did a little jump on his toes. Without thinking too much about what he was doing, he pushed aside the shower curtain and got in. He was only thinking about the terrible sounds his boyfriend made with each heave, not the fact that he was fully clothed.

“Madix what’re –” Riley began but a gag cut him off. This time he was in no danger of slipping because Madix held onto him. He doubled forward and watched as another gush of puke spiraled down the drain. He wanted to speak but his stomach had other ideas.

And man, could Madix feel the boy’s stomach at work. With his hand on Riley’s belly, he felt it spasm and lurch. “I’ve got you. You’re okay, don’t worry about me.”

Even between bouts, how could Riley not worry about Madix? He was getting soaked, not to mention probably splashed with stomach contents. And it was all in the name of love. How romantic.

After a couple smaller waves, Riley finally had the chance to catch his breath. He first turned off the shower and then turned to face his dripping boyfriend.

Both boys stood there shivering. Oddly, Madix wore a faint smirk. A sick Riley was no laughing matter, but he couldn’t help the grin from appearing on his face.

“You’re insane,” Riley said with water droplets hanging off the ends of his hair.

Madix looked down at his drenched clothing. “It would seem that way, wouldn’t it?”

Riley coughed and cleared his throat excessively. Turning away from Madix, he spat onto the floor of the tub. Still shivering and still wobbly.

“Alright, let’s get you dried off,” Madix said as he helped his boyfriend out of the shower. “Apparently the fever wasn’t what I should have been worried about.” He grabbed two towels and began drying Riley’s skin – his burning skin, Madix couldn’t help but notice. “Still, I wish you wouldn’t have taken such a hot shower.”

“I’m sorry,” Riley stuttered out through chattering teeth. “I should have listened to my body.”

“Really? Just your body?” Madix asked as he took off his shirt. It stuck to his torso, making it difficult to undress. “There’s no one else who maybe expressed concern?”

Riley hoped that was a rhetorical question because he didn’t have much energy to come up with a clever reply. Of course, he could have given the correct answer, but they both knew it already. Instead, he settled on a more pressing matter. “I’m a little dizzy.”

“Why don’t you sit down.” Madix said, suddenly looking much more serious as he watched Riley’s eyes come in and out of focus. “How’s your stomach feeling?”

“Bad”

“Okay yeah, then you sit by the toilet and I’ll get us both clothes.”

Shirtless and now cold himself, Madix left his boyfriend on the floor for a few minutes while he changed into dry clothes. He cam back soon enough with plaid pajama pants and an old shirt for Riley. Upon return, he found his boyfriend shivering like a madman with his mouth hovering over the toilet bowl. The towel slipped form his shoulders while he burped up a thin stream of bile.

“Oh baby,” Madix cooed as he joined his boyfriend on the floor. “I’m sorry you feel so sick.”

“I’m cold.” Great! He was back where he started: Freezing. Only this time he was substantially more miserable.

Madix rubbed a light hand over Riley’s back. “When you get the chance, I brought you cozy pjs.”

“And a blanket?”

“I tell you what,” Madix began, “when your stomach settles, I’ll get you all set up in bed with a bucket. Does that sound good?”

Like a child swaddled in a towel (feel free to imagine one with animal ears on the hood) Riley nodded shyly, and sniffled.

[thechembow]

To the woman who assaulted me at Ace Hardware today,

Jan. 15, 2021

I am your neighbor in Frazier Park. I love this mountain and feel so blessed to live here. You must enjoy its beauty as much as I do, because it is unsurpassed. The woods and wildlife give me solace. I have also always had good experiences among the humans of the mountain, shopping locally, where we all know each other and everyone is friendly. I like supporting our community and keeping everyone working and happy. I’ve never had a bad time shopping in Frazier Park, so it was somewhat of a shock to meet you this way today.

My husband and I were picking up some bird seed at Ace Hardware. If you live in Frazier Park and not in Pine Mountain Club, it’s still legal to feed the birds! We love our feathered friends. They have also been giving me nice brass shavings from their key machine which I use to make orgonite, an energy device which promotes rainfall, clears air pollution, and makes living with EMF safer. My husband, Gabe, and I have been making and gifting orgonite for almost seven years now, and we have covered all of California and much of the US west to end the drought. You might be interested to know that we have put orgonite all over this mountain too. It sure has been snowing more and more every year since we got here and the forests are alive with new baby trees, far outnumbering the trees that die of old age. There were awesome wildflower blooms out in the Antelope Valley and Gorman these past few years. It might also comfort you to know that there are Earth pipes along San Andreas Fault here and at the top of Mt. Pinos, healing the damage that was done here by your ancestors, who stole the land from the Chumash Indians and clear-cut the forests. This will help prevent earthquakes. We have gifted somewhere around 200 orgonite pieces to these mountains, from the Grapevine to the Central Coast. I wrote a book about it too. Our life and most of our resources have gone into planetary healing.

Now that you know a little more about me, I would like to know more about you. I wasn’t covering my face today like you were because I am not a member of your religion. We should be tolerant of other peoples’ beliefs. I am tolerant of your choice to hide your face from your Creator, although I don’t agree with it. I would never hit you and insult you for wearing a mask or for any other reason. What told you that I was to be deplored because of my exposed nose and mouth? When you called me a “f-ing b-tch” and punched me in the ribs, it didn’t hurt physically because you’re old and weak. But I was wondering if it was your mom or dad who taught you to do that? Did you learn it in school or in church? I’ve never been cursed at and hit by an old woman before.

I put on the mask in order not to offend you, although I didn’t have to. You continued to yell, and you were very close to me when you yelled that I would infect you. If I’m so disgusting and disease-ridden, it would be a good idea to stand a few feet away from me when you insult me. I think about 6 feet should do it. It’s also not a good idea to punch a sick person because you could get my germs on your hand. How come you disappeared out the back door when I called out, “She assaulted me!” If you’re right, you should stick around.

Incidentally, soon after we met, I tried to run into the grocery store to grab some garlic. Like at the hardware store, the employees there never get on my case for my need to breathe and show the face God gave me. I got verbally assaulted there by a customer again, which wasn’t as bad as being hit and verbally assaulted at the same time. But the woman there was much younger than you, so you may want to give her some pointers on how to really hurt your neighbor. She said, “You’re killing my family.” She also blamed me for her sick dog. It was more likely a combination of pinworms, Ascaris, a variety of liver and intestinal flukes, some tapeworms, solvents and heavy metals that killed them, along with the ventilators they pop peoples’ lungs with if they come into the hospital with a cold. I’m reading a fascinating book right now called The Cure for All Diseases by Dr. Hulda Clark. It explains all of these diseases you think are infectious and how to cure them. You need to zap your parasites and stop sharing your worms! Stop putting filth in your mouth and reinfecting yourself, says Dr. Clark. Germs are not jumping around in the air. You can learn to heal anything that’s wrong with you with this book.

In your case, you’re definitely watching too much news. I would venture to guess you’re also taking an assortment of pharmaceutical drugs which are masking symptoms of your own worms and the bacteria and viruses they carry. You probably use a smart phone. Lots of old people who don’t even understand the technology do. I wish you would be more like my grandma, who never hit a lady in the store nor uttered an obscenity. She never would have used a smart phone either. She was beautiful, strong, dignified, spoke several languages, loved fine art, cooked great meals and enjoyed life. It’s sad what a shriveled lump of fear you’re become. My grandma survived the very oppression you are doling out today by a miracle of God. Goodness knows, her life was in danger every moment for being Jewish and from Germany at the wrong time. Now I also feel like I’m in danger. If you’ll physically assault a stranger for having a different belief, then what if someone stronger or armed would do it? This is not something I want to find out. Fortunately I have a relationship with God who protects me and am saved by Messiah Yeshua. He reconciled me back to God who forgave my sin of falling into pagan culture like you have. Your world is a fantasy land, but it’s really more like a nightmare, and it is dying like you have died.

There were a few people in the store after you fled the scene who showed me sympathy. But I now know how bad things have gotten. You showed me that today. You made me feel physically sick, not just emotionally distressed, with a little help from your insane ally at the grocery store. Just last week I could go into most places in Frazier Park with my face showing. It seems your time is running out and your world is spiraling out of control. For now, I would rather not argue with you. I will cover my face in your presence and you won’t know I don’t worship your god. It gives me more inspiration to become more self-reliant and less dependent on the businesses of your world. I hate the mask with a passion. I hate what it represents and how you look in it. I think it’s very sad that you love your pathetic false god and believe this absolutely ridiculous narrative to the point that you would assault another woman. C0VID is a mental illness!

Well that’s all for now. I hope to hear from you soon. Maybe you will realize it was wrong to hit me and curse at me and I’ll forgive you. Then we can be friends and have a kosher barbeque when the weather warms up. I’m not holding my breath, no pun intended.

Your neighbor,

Sharon Daphna

[kaiunkaiku]

Could you do some Todoroki sickfic (emeto if you can) where he just kind of pushes through and tries not to let anyone know because he’s only ever been treated like he’s weak and useless when sick. And when the other students in the dorms find out they fuss over him and he doesn’t know how to take being taken care of like that. Also I just found your blog tonight and I love it!

I have discovered that writing Todoroki is exhausting and writing Midoriya is plain weird and doesn’t feel right, but I enjoyed writing this nonetheless. Emeto isn’t really my niche and I find writing it hella difficult, so here’s an attempt.

This is like vaguely 2nd/3rd year, Tododeku and Kiribaku are established, and even though it’s not mentioned Mineta has been kicked out. Content warnings include referenced canonical child abuse, emeto, implied panic attack, and vague discussion of trauma left by mentioned child abuse

Now on Ao3!

Enjoy!

He wakes up feeling… off. That’s the only way he can really put it – he’s not in pain, his head isn’t swirling with unpleasant thoughts, he’s not reeling from a nightmare, he doesn’t feel ill. Just off. 

So he tries his best to shake it off. 

By the time lunch rolls around, there’s a persistent hum in his head. It’s distracting, and leaves him just a touch woozy, but he’s worked through much, much worse. It’s no big deal. He’s lagging maybe half a second behind everybody else today, but no one has commented on it, or asked about it, so he assumes he’s doing a good enough job at hiding it. 

By the time Kirishima ropes him into a video game tournament, Shouto feels like he’s going to puke. There’s a churning pit in his stomach that makes him regret eating lunch, makes him regret eating breakfast, makes him regret last night’s dinner. Definitely makes him regret waking up. 

It’s a well-known fact that video games are the one thing he’s genuinely terrible at, and no amount of Kirishima trying to teach him has improved his skills, so no one questions it when he surrenders his controller to Shinsou after three consecutive losses. 

The room gets loud as Jirou gives her controller to Kaminari, like it always does as soon as someone gets the insane idea to pit couples against each other. Shouto retreats to the far corner of the big couch, decides to tough it out for a game or two. Leaving immediately would look suspicious, and someone might notice, so he sits quietly with his knees pulled to his chest and hopes no one will look at him twice. 

Bakugou is staring at him from the other end of the couch. 

It’s fine, Shouto tells himself even as a cold wave of anxiety washes through him. Bakugou continues to stare, face completely blank, and Shouto knows this is the one person in the class who genuinely does not care, but there’s something unnerving about his eyes. Maybe it's just the hollow bruises under them – Shouto knows for a fact Bakugou didn't sleep last night, because he woke up to explosions sometime around three in the morning, and Kirishima has been hovering worriedly all day – but the blankness of his expression seems very deliberately arranged. Observant. Shouto swallows thickly and tries to find something else to look at. 

The motion on the screen makes his nausea worse. The shouting of his classmates makes his headache worse. He can’t concentrate on his phone. Bakugou keeps staring at him. 

Shouto finally excuses himself quietly when he’s fairly sure he’s about to start smoking soon, because he can feel his control of his powers slipping. It's fine. He can let that happen once nobody can see him. 

They can't see him weak. They can’t. He knows it’s irrational, because these are his friends and they care about him and he cares about them, but the thought of it sends him into a spiral straight down to such a dark place he throws it away before he can do more than scratch its surface. So he escapes into the stairs, not wanting to stand in the elevator, he can’t be still right now, and tries to look as casual as he possibly can. 

He doesn’t even make it to the second floor before he hears his name from behind him. His heart jumps to his throat and his stomach drops, and it takes him a second to sort out that it’s his last name and not his first, and there’s no threat, no anger, no fire in the voice. He can’t help but freeze on his tracks anyway. 

“Hey, man, you okay?” Shouto comes face to face with wide red eyes as he turns around; feels he can’t breathe with the rush of relief when it’s not piercing turquoise that greets him. Some of it must show on his face, because Kirishima takes a step back immediately and raises his hands up, concern clear in his expression. Bakugou is standing a few paces behind him, leaning on the wall and staring at his phone. “Because you don’t look like you are.” 

Shouto feels sick. He doesn’t want to be here, he wants to be in his room, alone, so that nobody can see him like this, so that he can take the time he needs to pull himself together. He swallows and takes a breath. 

“I’m fine,” he manages. He thinks his voice is steady. 

“You sure?” Kirishima looks suspicious. Shouto knows he means well, really, he does, he does, but he just… God, he can’t do this. Even thinking about admitting weakness, let alone showing it, sends alarm bells in his head ringing, makes him see the floor of his home through tears, has his father’s voice in his head yelling at him for being useless, and his scar burns all over again, scalding water running down his face and the tears in his mother’s eyes– 

His breathing is picking up pace. He’s gonna start crying. He’s gonna be sick. He’s gonna have a panic attack. His body is hot and cold on the wrong sides. He’s gonna– he can’t– he doesn’t– he can’t– 

“Todoroki, shit, Todoroki, hey, come on, sit down, okay?” Something touches his arms, but it doesn’t feel like human touch so it doesn’t make everything worse. By the time he realizes it’s Kirishima’s hands with his quirk activated Shouto has already catalogued the touch as non-threatening, so he lets Kirishima guide him to sit down and push his head between his knees. 

It takes him too long to notice that there’s steam coming off his skin. 

“That’s it, man, just listen to me and breathe. You want me to get Midoriya?” 

That sends a new wave of conflicting feelings through him – yes, he wants Izuku, yes, please, Izuku is good, would be great right now, but Izuku would just worry and fuss and worry and Shouto doesn’t want to make Izuku worry, doesn’t want to bother him, and besides, isn’t Izuku out training with Uraraka? Or was it Tokoyami? Why can’t he remember? Uraraka and Tokoyami are two totally different people who hang out with totally different groups and have totally different quirks and Shouto can’t remember which one of them his goddamn boyfriend is training with– did Izuku even say? He can’t remember that either.

“N-no,” he forces out. Realizes he’s been gritting his teeth. “He’s, he’s training, don’t bother him, it’s–”

“Okay, no,” Kirishima interrupts him. “I asked if you want him here. It’s about you. You’re the one that’s not okay, yeah? So do you want him here?” 

It… makes sense, what Kirishima is saying. But it doesn’t. It does; he feels terrible and he would like to have his boyfriend here, and it’s what other people do, too, even in their class. It doesn’t; things like this can’t be about him, he can’t want or need things, how horribly selfish would that be of him. 

In the end, he nods. He has to force the motion, to force himself to allow it. He’s still got his head between his knees, but he swears he can almost feel the way Kirishima grins at his response despite not looking. 

“You gonna be okay if I step into the hallway for just a sec?” Kirishima asks. He hasn’t stopped touching Shouto’s arms, and the touch is somewhat grounding. He still has to put conscious effort into breathing, and he’s just a tad afraid he’s going to lose the focus he needs to keep it up if Kirishima lets go and leaves him alone with Bakugou. 

There’s a steady tapping sound, almost background noise but not quite; a persistent, consistent tapping, volume just enough to be clearly audible even without concentrating. Just a bit louder than a clock. Not as sharp. Shouto is not entirely sure how long it’s been there.

Without even meaning to, he starts counting it. Pacing his breath to it. It’s easy; almost natural. Maybe he’ll stay on track even if Kirishima steps off for a moment. 

Tap, tap, tap, tap. Breathe in four, hold four, breathe out four. Every exhale feels like he’s going to throw up, but it’s almost a background thought. He makes an affirming noise to tell Kirishima that he probably won’t spiral down if he lets go, so Kirishima pats his shoulder and tells him that he’s okay. 

He’s not okay, but he also doesn’t start panicking again. He risks a look around him to see Kirishima take two steps up and disappear into the second floor hallway, and notices something that damn near messes up his newly-found breathing rhythm all over again. 

Bakugou is still standing several stairs below, leaning on the wall. He’s typing something on his phone, and he doesn’t look quite as murderous as he usually does �� tired, still, but his frown is considerably less deep than usual. He’s probably texting Camie, then, since it’s likely not Kirishima. 

But the thing that really catches Shouto off-guard is the fact that he’s steadily tapping his right foot on the stair he’s standing on. 

The rhythm sounds very purposeful. 

Shouto is not going to chase that thought.

He keeps breathing. 

XxX

Izuku is going to apologize to Uraraka later. He doesn’t make it a habit to just ditch his friends, really, but Kirishima sounded worried over the phone and he has barely seen Shouto all day, so he takes off running the moment he hangs up, leaves most of his stuff behind along with Uraraka as he puts his quirk to work. 

He dashes straight through the common room and into the staircase, and almost collides with Kacchan, who graces him with a glare and turns his attention back to his phone. Normally, Izuku would say something to him, even just a greeting, or an attempt at placating his temper, but before he can say anything he spots Shouto sitting a few stairs higher. Kirishima is sitting next to him, close but not touching. 

“Shouto.” The name escapes from his lips in a whisper before he can even think it. Shouto’s head snaps up, and Izuku has to restrain himself from launching at him with One for All activated; Shouto’s face is pale, almost white, and the fleeting look of terror that flashes in his eyes before recognition makes something clench in Izuku’s chest. Shouto’s breathing is labored; controlled. 

Kirishima moves away as Izuku hurries forward, knees hitting the stairs so he can get his hands to Shouto’s face. Faintly he registers Kacchan moving past them to join Kirishima, and the two continue their way up the stairs. He’ll thank Kirishima later. 

“Hey,” he begins, thumb coming to trace the edge of Shouto’s scar. Shouto shivers. “Talk to me, what’s going on?  Kirishima sounded worried so I came as fast as I could, I need to apologize to Uraraka about that later, it was kind of rude of me to leave her there like that but you’re not okay, are you? She’ll understand, she’ll probably bring my stuff back too, I should probably text her, though, just to let her know, I probably won’t be going back anyway…”

“You’re rambling,” Shouto says, voice faint but a hint of a smile playing on his lips. Izuku snaps his mouth shut and feels heat on his cheeks. Then Shouto shivers again, and Izuku manages to see him swallow thickly before he ducks his head back down. He frowns. 

“Sorry,” Izuku offers. “But really, what’s going on? You don’t look good.” Shouto doesn’t feel good, either – his skin is clammy, and just by touching him Izuku can tell he’s not in full control of his quirk. There’s steam coming through his now-damp clothes.

Until now, Shouto has been somewhat curled into himself, hunched over and hugging himself. Now, though, his grip on his biceps tightens and and he curls up some more, like he’s trying to make himself smaller. It pains Izuku, how Shouto always seems to try and make himself disappear when he’s feeling bad. 

One day, once he’s graduated and established himself as a reputable and reliable hero, he’s going to punch Endeavor as hard as he can, and then he’s going to bring flowers to Shouto’s mom. 

“I’m not him,” Izuku reminds gently, still tracing the scar. “Nobody here is. It’s okay.” It breaks his heart to even have to say the words, but Shouto takes a shuddering breath and lets it out slowly, so at least it’s a useful reminder. Shouto tends to forget, sometimes. And sometimes Izuku tends to forget that it’s all too easy for Shouto to follow that train of thought. So they’re kind of even, however that balance works.

“I don’t feel good,” Shouto finally whispers. He sounds almost scared. Izuku is about to start prodding further, ready for a guessing game, when he sees that same swallow-shiver combination he saw earlier. 

“You’re sick?” 

A shrug. A still moment. A hesitant nod. 

“Okay.”

It takes some convincing, and some coaxing, and some help, but Izuku manages to get Shouto up and into the hallway. His room is closer, as opposed to Shouto’s which is located in the fifth floor, so Shouto agrees to relocate there. 

By the time they make it into the room, Shouto is shaking, and also swallowing repeatedly. He hasn’t stopped hugging himself and he’s still hunched over. Izuku keeps a steadying hand on his back, but he doubts it does much.  

He leads Shouto straight into the bathroom with little resistance. Shouto sits down against a wall next to the toilet, draws his knees to his chest and rests his head on them. His breathing is picking up again, and Izuku doesn’t know whether it’s anxiety or nausea or both. 

Minutes tick by as Izuku draws patterns on Shouto’s arm and shoulder and rubs his neck, and Shouto’s swallowing becomes convulsive and he keeps shaking. One particularly harsh shudder runs through him and causes a patch of frost to spread on the wall. His breathing is becoming shallow.

Izuku doesn’t know how much time has passed when something finally happens. One moment they’re leaning on the wall and the next, Shouto is scrambling to get the toilet lid open. A sick-sounding belch makes Izuku wince, and is immediately followed by a retch. Shouto clutches the rim with white knuckles, and Izuku moves to hold him. 

Shouto shivers against him and heaves, but brings nothing up. Izuku wraps his arms around him for support, both emotional and physical, and gently shushes him at the probably involuntary whimper that follows. Presses a kiss to his shoulder. 

“Just let it happen,” Izuku mutters. “You’re okay, just let it out.” It’s like being in a sauna, holding Shouto like this when he’s not in full control of his quirk, but Izuku brushes it aside – it doesn’t matter how uncomfortable it is. Shouto is definitely far more uncomfortable. 

Shouto shakes his head and squeezes his eyes shut, but the following attempt at a deeper breath is interrupted by a gag. Izuku resists the urge to sigh, and instead continues muttering reassurances as he rubs Shouto’s back. Keeping him grounded in the present is important; vital, almost, Izuku would say. He’s witnessed too many times how things like this – feeling bad, vulnerable, not in control – tend to throw Shouto right back to his childhood. 

He’s not profusely apologizing and promising he’ll do better next time, so what Izuku is doing must be working. 

It takes a couple more minutes of heaving and retching before Shouto brings up anything, but when he finally does, it’s like he can’t stop. Izuku very deliberately does not look, instead focusing on trying to calm Shouto down. He runs his fingers through Shouto’s hair, down his spine, and eventually brings one hand to rub his stomach. Shouto whimpers at the contact but doesn’t reject it. 

Izuku loses track of time. Shouto keeps dry-heaving for a good while after it’s clear there’s nothing in him to throw up anymore, and he’s shaking like a leaf. Izuku can’t tell whether he’s feverish or not; one of the few drawbacks of his quirk – even medical professionals have hard time with that, since Shouto’s temperatures tend to go haywire when he’s not in full control, which is almost every time he’s not feeling well. 

When even the dry-heaving eventually tapers off, Shouto slumps lifelessly against Izuku. His eyes slide shut and his breath slowly evens out, and the shaking dies down. An occasional shiver still runs through him, as if as a reminder, but otherwise every sign of what just happened melts into exhaustion. 

They sit on the floor until Izuku decides a cold, hard bathroom floor is no place for anything. Shouto is not asleep, not quite, but he’s well on his way there, so Izuku nudges him alert from his exhausted not-quite-slumber gently. 

“Shouto, hey,” he almost-whispers, smiling a little as Shouto’s eyelashes flutter against his skin. “How are you feeling? Any better?”

Shouto makes a sleepy noise that could mean literally anything, and it sounds absolutely adorable; there’s just not much Izuku can do with that. Shouto’s eyes open more, left one somewhat droopy, and he maneuvers himself so that his face is against Izuku’s shoulder. “I’m tired,” he replies. It’s not really what Izuku was looking for, as far as responses go, but it’s something. 

“Then how about a bed? Some sleep?” 

Shouto makes another sleepy noise, though this one sounds distinctly approving. He makes no attempt to move, however. Izuku lets him be for a moment.

“That means we have to get up, Shouto,” he tells him. 

It takes some effort, but not as much as Izuku feared or suspected it would. He could technically just lift Shouto up – he’s strong enough to carry him and has done so in the past – but he doubts the swift change in position and altitude would be of any benefit. So he helps Shouto up from the floor slowly, makes sure he doesn’t go suddenly white again now that some color has returned to his face, and carefully walks them out of the bathroom. He gets Shouto a soft, oversized shirt to change into (it’s probably Shouto’s own shirt that’s been left in Izuku’s room at some point, actually). Manages to convince him to drink some water. 

Shouto seems to fall asleep the moment Izuku lets him do so, looking completely drained. Izuku likes the sight of him surrounded the All Might themed bedsheets – it looks right, like he should be right there. Like he belongs in Izuku’s bed.

Izuku texts Uraraka and Kirishima, and picks up a book. 

[kittyit]

small natural medicine things you can do for comfort/symptom relief/immune boosting, obviously not suggesting this to replace anything the CDC says, just some extra stuff!

- eat raw garlic! the allicin in it is great for your immune system. i crush up a clove or two & take them with water like a pill! i have some right before breakfast & right before lunch - don’t have it at night bc it can give some people indigestion after laying down. you can also finely dice up raw garlic & wrap it in a paper towel or cheese cloth & put it inside your nostrils or ear, CAREFULLY as to not lose any pieces. the garlic will hurt you if it’s not contained properly, but if you do this right you can really feel the effects. raw garlic is my first line of defense for colds/flus/etc!

- raw honey! raw honey is sooo good for your throat. also it’s amazing for face masks. you can combine honey + garlic if eating the clove by itself is too much for you! i sometimes make loved ones “garlic honey spoons”. it’s when you chop up a clove of garlic and gently place it into a spoonful of honey. usually i’ll say take your medicine. very fun

- fresh ginger or candied ginger! this is immune boosting but also really helps some people (i am among them!) with nausea. you can grate ginger & steep it covered in boiling water like tea. this goes awesome with honey. you can also put it in a honey spoon! yum

- fresh sage tea! sage is cheap & astringent, antiseptic and antibacterial. it is SO great when you have a sore throat. just rip up a few leaves & steep in a mug of boiling water. you can gargle with this (it kills the bacteria making your throat sore!) or drink it. it’s a very mild fever reducer too

- lemon & lime time! i’ve been squeezing a LOT of fresh lemon & lime onto various stuff i’m eating, or you can put it in tea. vitamin c isn’t only great for your immune system, it also helps you absorb vitamin d from sunshine

- if you want to get crazy with the citrus, a hot toddy (WITH NO ALCOHOL) can just absolutely blow your socks off. warm water + half a lemon or lime + 1/2 teaspoon of cayenne pepper = the mucus in your nose running for its life. this tastes insane and is like something an witch you’re scared of who turns out to be good would make you drink. fan favorite in our household

- eat stuff high in iron! hard to list things because only you know what you like but go down a rabbit hole of googling foods that are high in iron & i’m sure you’ll see something that looks good to you

- eat fruits & vegetables! when you’re sick at all, you need to stay hydrated, and your body LOVES getting moisture from fruits & vegetables. three of my favorite easy, hydrating vegetable snacks: bok choy chopped & simmered in broth (you can add miso paste + tofu!), zucchini chopped & sauted with onions, garlic & your choice of seasoning profile), & celery + peanut butter. OH also microwaved (clean, poke with fork, wrap in wet paper towel) or baked sweet potatoes - SO versatile

- gentle saline rinses in your nasal passages! okay, you need to look up how to do this one properly. you need the proper ratio of sea salt to warm (not hot!) water. i usually put it in a spoon and then just put my head back and pour it inside my nose, but you can also gently sniff the water. if your nasal passages get dry from this, stop immediately!! it’s very easy to overdo it, whether too often or too much salt

- ok this one isn’t natural medicine but vick’s! oh my god, vick’s. your chest, under your nose/on your nose, and in the cup of your ear. do this before a nice hot shower or before sitting yourself to breathe in steam over a fresh cup of tea OR even just the hottest water from your sink. you can also do this with 1 or 2 drops of eucalyptus oil on a rag/paper towel, but that shit is extremely potent & can be irritating to your skin, so be careful!

- diaphragmatic breathing! i know this gets brought up as the cure for so many emotional ills but it really can help stabilize you. i’ve been having a lot of fear/anxiety, which shortens my breath, which creates a feedback loop of i feel like i can’t breathe, so i feel like i can’t breathe, etc. horrible spiral! doing diaphragmatic breathing interrupts this. there are people who do certain counts in and out (like 5 seconds in through your nose, hold for 5, out for 7) but the general gist is: you want to breathe in very deeply through your nose to a natural place of fullness, hold it for a few seconds, and then breathe out through your mouth for longer than your intake breath. if the counting stresses you out or doesn’t feel right, just try to find that rhythm on your own. if you’re feeling strained when you try to breathe in for too long or holding your breath feels strained, that’s not the right amount of time for you to be breathing! try to find that natural point of fullness & release for yourself. i try to do this breathing as much as i can, even while watching tv, playing video games, reading, whatever. it’s a great time to get into a new habit.

- remember to move! it’s essential to not be completely physically still even if you’re feeling trapped & overwhelmed. something as simple as stretching your arms over your head a few times or just any basic stretching while still sitting is so much better than sitting in one position.

[clownbeep]

This is gonna be kinda brutal. But I want to put it into writing

Big vent/whats been going on

Hah... I guess this is like my life story or some shit...

Trigger warning ahead.. Depression and a bit of gore/suicide talk so if you are sensitive to that please, for your own sake and mental state you might not want to continue.

For those who dont want to hear a pretty dark vent, I understand.

And those who are just scrolling by feel free to scroll past. I just personally want to get this out.

If you have dealt with emotional neglect/abuse and need to know it isnt in your head this might be the post.

By writing this it feels like hopefully someone else will read this and realise certain things are NOT healthy.

If you are questioning if you are being emotionally neglected/abused (im speaking in a parental sense but even romantically or sexually) im not someone to give you answers, but the fact you are questioning it raises some red flags. In a healthy relationship you dont wonder those things.

Sorry for the long prelude but heres what I wanted to say

.

.

.

.

.

.

Ever since I was young, ive had bad ADHD, manic bipolar/depression, and sensory issues.

I was diagnosed around 13 I believe. My family (I didnt realise it then) always showed pity. Like I was some wild animal that couldnt be tamed and there was nothing they could do. Id do and say stupid attention seeking things just to try and get a shred of empathy.

My family didnt care.

When I was in the hospital for a suicide attempt regaurding pills and my liver had a chance of failing.. None of my family members cried over me. But a family friend. Someone not. Even. Related. Wept over me.

My family didnt care.

I cant say they never cared. They give me food water and luxuries like internet and a phone. For that I am grateful.

But in many other ways they have hurt me faar more than helped.

Once I got out of a short term stay in an inpatient mental facility I desperately needed contact with anyone who would care for me.

I have a younger sister, quite young probably around 7 at the time. She was a close friend of mine for that time. Id hang out with her so often to fill the gap in love it felt my family didnt give. One day I walked into the dining room and overheard my mother and father talking to my little sister. They told her to keep away because I wasnt "stable" because I was "dangerous" and could give her bad Ideas. And with one single action my only friend at the time and way to find happiness was taken away.

My family did not care.

When I stay in bed every day for months on end not knowing which day ill snap and end it all.... I get called lazy.

My family did not care

When I beg for medication to make me a functional human being they brush me off for years on end. Im losing my grip. I can barely remember things that have happened last week because I try so hard to forget everything its my automatic response to everything.

When I cant get to sleep because all of the memories come flooding back and im hit by wave after wave of horrific memories and the feeling if worthlessness... When I cant watch any videos or read posts about families because it brings on unwanted memories and emotions....

Is it me being dramatic then?

When you hear your family openly mocking and laughing about how stupid and dramatic and fake trans people are... How weird and unnatural and mentally insane these people are not knowing they are the very reason grsm and trans suicides are so high...

Am I a liar now? Am I insane?

When I tried to talk to them about my mental health issues. They took my only way of contact and made me feel like it was my own fault.

My family didnt care.

When I was nearly passed out shaking in a bathtub covered in wounds and blood all over... They showed pity, then lectured me for an hour for not telling them or for being impulsive and basically cleaned my wounds and sent me into my room.

My family didnt care.

Yes. I do agree, they cleaned my wounds, the physical side of showing care. However emotionally they were not there.

When my father drinks so heavilly every day he is home from work that he forgets half the things he tells you and can barely function.. They lecture my older sister for having a glass of wine (legal age)

They did not care.

My sister (23) tried for so many years to cling to what little attention she would get by getting good grades and going to college... She realised that it changed nothing about how my family felt toward her.... She snapped.

My family did not care.

She starves herself for a disease she does not have, she uses religion as an exuse to be one of the biggest christian extremists I personally know. Half the days she doesnt eat... Other days she burns book and gets rid of items for being demonic.

My lovely sister used to be kind and quite normal. However she couldnt find comfort in what little live her family gave. Starved for care she turned to religion to un unhealthy degree. Finding any way to keep her mind busy. Now I worry she will end up in the hospital for weighing so little.

My family did not care.

My oldest sister (27) Is married to a continuously cheating husband who she keeps letting back into her life. She was raised with a failing marrige and doesnt seem to see when she should call it quits.

Not to mention her husband has touched someone legally under the age of concent. Did she report him to the authorities? No.

All of these horrific things stemming from bad parenting. Unhealthy relationships and neglect.

Neglect emotionally can cause just as bad things as physical neglect. They are both horrifically dangerous in different ways.

These are the only big things I can remember... Basically age 15 and below are a complete blur to me and I cant remember much of it without thinking for a looong time. Even then I cant remember a lot of it... I feel like ive lost my whole damn childhood. And it hurts more than if they had just hit me or physically harmed me.

Im not underplaying physically harm. But in my personaly opinion I would rather my family have beaten me badly because at least then id have an easier way to prove to people how severe the abuse was. You can see bruises and confirm broken bones... But years of feeling completely useless and being shut off from most of the world other than the internet... It fucks you up in a way I dont think can be healed.

I dont know if I can ever love myself or... Remember things. Its terrifying to think Ill post this and a few weeks later probably not even rememner unless its brought up. Or meeting people and having conversations... And they are just... Gone.

Gone.

I suppose the biggest reason im writing this is well... In the future I dont want to forget in some ways.. I want like to be 100× as awesome knowing itll start as soon as im out of here..

If I dont have anything to compare it too then what is the point?

Ive layed out basically most of what I remember

A large amount of time I look around and nothing registers... Everything is familiar but I cant remember anything for a moment or two.. I feel like my memory is slipping so fast and im terrified.. I cant do anything to stop it and I cant make my mood be stable without the medication my family cant be bothered to get ...

I suppose this is a bit of a vent. I know its kind of everywhere and unorganized..

If im honest.. Tumblr is the only place where people have given me a home I wish I had..

I came out as trans here... Everyone was so damn supportive.. I didnt say anything but I cried hard and the kindness.. It was amazing.. It was such a jarring difference to how I feel when I say anything in real life.

Ive met friends here and ive had some much fun here. If youve stuck around this far thank you so much.. If you didnt I dont blame you.

I just wanted to share what has been flashing in my head these past few days.. It hurts a lot and ive even considered suicide recently..

Im trying hard. As hard as I can.. I have no escape though.

I cannot leave home. I cannot escape. Im not being dramatic.

I

CANT

LEAVE

And its terrifying because I know without medication or at least being somewhere AWAY from family.... I feel like im going to break soon.

I dont want to do anything stupid.. But some days I cant think straight and do things that harm myself and its not good. Its not okay. Im aware that I need help but I have no idea where to go/turn.. I have no ID or drivers liscence.. I have no transportation to and from a job to get money so I can leave... I live in the middle of nowhere.... I just..

I dont want to lose touch. I dont want to do anything bad.. I want to be functional.. I want to do more than eat and sleep my life away because I have nothing else to do..

Im so damn sick and tired of this all.. And at times I really do feel like there is only one way out.

Its always there and I just feel like one of these days im gonna be pushed over the edge and not be thinking clearly enough to stop it.

Im thinking semi clearly right now which is my im posting this.. Because im afraid and alone.

I have nowhere to go irl I have no friends Irl i just have tumblr and media and thats it. I dont expect anyone to be able to help I just wanted to write this so anyone knows what happens if I leave media..

If I tell my family my issues they will blow me off again for the 11th time or so (not exaggerated)

And if I do something to get sent to the hospital and get the help I need the cycle will continue with them being pissed and me getting sent home in a month or less anly for my family relationships to get worse..

Im spiraling fuether and further and I cant keep up the facade of being fine. I need help. And i have no way to get it. Ive just been suffering for years...

Sitting around and doing nothing but using your phone or drawing or whatever sound fun in theory... But if thats all youve been able to do for years with little to no real life social contact its gonna mess with your head... I dont want to be a shut in... I just

I dont know what to do.

Im sorry for rambling. I will most likely delete this later feeling embarrassed I posted this...

Im just tired..

[overdressed-and-unimpressed]

Breathe.

Sometimes I feel as if you are tired with dealing with my anxiety. But who wouldn't? I'm tired of it too. I'm tired of dealing with it everyday. The self doubt, unconfident, evil thoughts my mind comes up with to fill my day. Sometimes it's just a bad day; or a bad week; or a bad month. But it's been a bad 2 years. I've had thoughts of quitting my job, my things, my family, just to start over in hopes that I can get rid of the anxiety that lingers. But the truth is, the anxiety that I leave behind will form a new identity and find me again. So is it worth to leave the things I love to avoid things I hate temporarily? No.

But I get it now, why people choose to end their lives. Why they go insane. Why they get locked up in institutions. If I said the things out loud that I was thinking, they would lock me up too. Not a single person on earth will be able to understand what it's like to be in another's minds and hear their thoughts.

I've been to doctors, therapists, yoga. Tried different medications, and healing techniques. The truth is, I feel better than I originally did a year ago, but I'm still not at a point where I think I should be. When you've been dealing with something like this for as long as I have, you don't know where you should be. You have nothing to go off of. No baseline. So, am I close to being normal? I dont know. And the worst part; I'll never know.

One thing said to me could send me into a spiral of unwanted thoughts and panics. Just one. Can you imagine a day like that? Every. Single. Day. Some worse than others, some not too bad.

Its chronic. They say its curable. Where is the cure? I have yet to find it. The problem is, one pill for the rest of your life isn't the answer. You're body gets used to it, and then it stops working. Time to try something else. And go through the whole process of withdrawal and the side effects of a new medication. Over. And over. And over again. As soon as you start to feel better, as soon as you feel normal, your brain switches again. Time to start over.

This whole post is a side effect of chronic anxiety. The rambling. The need to speak without being able to do so, so I write. As I'm sitting in the shower, with a numb feeling, and only the sound of the water hitting the tiles beneath my feet.

Breathe. Drink water. Don't think about it. You'll be fine...

...I'll be fine? If it was that easy, we wouldn't have this massive problem with my generation.

But back to you. You're tired of it, and me too. So.. what do we do? Help me.

"The worst part of having a mental illness, is everyone expects you to pretend that you don't."

[cutesuki--bakugou]

Return To Me

Ch. 2: Support and Rage Vampire, Quirkless, Victorian / Medieval Era AU

Based off of THIS AU by @vines-of-an-ivy / @aizawasbedtimestories

Genre: Angst / Romance

Rating: Explicit | Violence / Blood / Mentions of suicide and self harm / Depression / Mental Illness / Sex and intimacy

Main Pairing: Katsuki Bakugou x Koge Naegi (OC)

Side Pairings: Seijirou Eguchi (OC) x Dokuji Kobayashi (OC), Eijirou Kirishima x Nene Date (OC)

Bakugou and Koge were just about to start their life together when he vanishes without a trace. Now, all she wants is for him to come back to her, even if he has turned into something inhuman.

“Koge are you sure you want to wear that out? What if it rains on it?”

“Oh it will be fine, Nene. It gets washed in water, what would a little rain do to it?” Koge glowered up at her friend as they walked together down the stone paved streets of town. Although the weather was quite dreary, grey and wet, the streets were bustling with activity. People of all kinds and social status wandered around, set on their destinations that Koge could care less about knowing. Although it was busy, the crowds seemed to part for them, allowing them through without much effort. But, unlike her brighter days, the people in their way did not part out of respect.

Rather, it was a fear that had them stepping out of the way. Koge did have to admit that she understood why they were wary of her, though she thought that this nonsense would have faded with time. It isn’t uncommon for a lover to suffer from a mental illness of some kind when losing their partner, either to death or interest in another. But, whatever Koge had been suffering from wasn’t understood by anyone but herself. The pain had been unbearable when her lover had vanished, and somehow, there had been a rumor that spread. It was said that the cuts on her wrists were not an attempt to take her life, but instead a blood sacrifice, a ritual to beg the gods to return her lover to his world.

It was nonsense, of course. Koge had tried to do no such thing, but since then, she had been labeled as a possible witch. She had even been blamed for Bakugou’s disappearance, some saying she sold his soul to the devil in exchange for power. It was the most ridiculous thing Koge had ever heard, but her attempts to explain herself were in vain. And so, she was outcasted by all but those closest to her, including her family, Bakugou’s family and her few friends.

The biggest reason why Koge wouldn’t have done any type of ritual to bring him back was because she didn’t believe he was dead in the first place. No body found, no evidence, no suspects, no proof. There was nothing to make her believe that he had passed on, and so she kept hold of the smallest hope that perhaps he would return one day. Tomorrow, another year, five years or even twenty years from now, she would welcome him back with open arms.

At first, she had tried to argue with anyone who said that he was dead, often getting into verbal fights that a woman of her status should never be seen engaging in. Polite, quiet and obedient is how she was supposed to be, but that is never how she was. Bakugou had told her that’s what he liked about her, how she never held her tongue even in front of someone who could have her thrown into jail with a single word. Of course, being this way didn’t come without its punishments and difficulties. This included being dubbed as insane any time she tried to claim that Bakugou was still alive, even so far as to nearly be thrown into a madhouse for it. Her only salvation had been her soon to be Mother-In-Law, who had used her status and money to protect her, but only with the condition that Koge would calm down.

So she had. Nearing the one year anniversary of her lovers disappearance, Koge kept to herself, not even bothering to snap back at people who tried to belittle her or insult her. She had her family, her friends and her possessions to keep her company, bringing what little happiness she could muster to the surface. One of them being the subject of Nene’s current worry.

A deep red scarf that used to belong to her lover, worn around her shoulders and tucked into her bodice to act as a draped shaw. It was quite large on Koge and was not typically something that a woman should be seen wearing, but that was of little consequence. Often on the days that she was missing him more than normal, she would adorne a piece of his clothing, just to calm her. This scarf had always been her favorite, the fabric warm and soft against her skin.

“But you always fret about getting it dirty.” Nene continued with her worry. “I just don’t want something to happen to it, you’ll get so upset.”

“It’s fine. I’ll be inside most of the day, anyway.” Koge stopped at the entrance to an odd looking dome shaped building, one which was extremely uncommon for this areas architecture. Though, it matched the oddness of the owner, so it was nothing anyone gawked at for long. As she pushed open the door, a bell jingled excitedly, announcing her arrival.

“Ah, welcome in! Just a moment!”

The excited voice called from up the spiral staircase, which lead to a small library and storage of special herbs and liquids. Just as Koge and Nene stopped to wait patiently, and figure of a young man their age approached the intricate iron railing, grinning down at them with sharp pointed teeth. “Nene! And Koge! What a surprise!”

Koge gave a small nod in greeting, while Nene gave a shy wave. “Hello, Kiri. It’s good to see you.” Both women took a step back as Kirishima leapt over the railing, landing in front of them with polished ease. Koge gave a small shake of her head, raising an eyebrow at her energetic friend. “Eijirou, Sir Eguchi gets upset when you jump over the railing like that. Remember last time, you fell through the floor.” Koge pointed over towards a spot not too far away, where a brand new cellar door rested, locked and waiting use. Eijirou chuckled, ruffling his mess of straight red hair. “Aha, well, Sir had been talking about making a new entrance to the basement anyway! So it worked out!” A grin and a thumbs up followed his confident, if not ignorant, statement.

Nene giggled softly. “Still, you should be careful, Kiri. It would be bad if you did get hurt.” Kirishima’s grin softened to a smile, giving a playful bow. “As you wish! Though I’m tougher than you think.”

“If you start going off about being part dragon again, I’m going to fire you.”

A new voice filled the room, catching the full attention of the three young adults. A tall man came out from a back room that was behind the long counter, eyeing his employee with annoyance. His orange gaze was piercing, instantly making Kirishima laugh nervously as he rubbed the back of his head. “Sorry, Sir! I swear I wasn’t! I was just gonna say that I, uh… I’ve been training?” His face flushed as Nene giggled, obviously embarrassed at being caught.

“Well, now that Koge is here, you can take a few hours off. Why don’t you take dear Nene out for a while, hm?” The older man smiled at them, leaning on the counter with gloved hands clasped. Nene’s cheeks flushed darker, though she looked down at Koge, worried about leaving her. Koge gave a small nod, nudging Nene in the arm gently. “Go on. You can buy some of the things we need at the house while you’re out. You have my money purse, just leave me enough for flowers.”

“O-okay… Thank you. I’ll be back soon.” Nene gave a small bow before leaving with Kirishima silently, though Koge could hear them laughing softly once outside. Looking back out of the window, she watched them vanish into the crowd, Nene taking Kirishima’s arm as he offered it to her. She must have been staring for a while, as the sound of her mentor’s voice startled her a bit.

“Come here, my dear.”

Tearing her eyes away from the window, Koge made her way over to the counter, placing her delicate hand into his large one as he offered it to her. “What’s wrong? Tell Seiji all about it.”

Koge sighed softly, looking up at Seijirou as she tried to think of what to say. Though, looking at this man didn’t exactly help her thoughts stay clear. There was something odd about him, something that she could never quite put her finger on, but it wasn’t exactly anything bad. The problem was that he was absolutely gorgeous, with pale flawless skin and a piercing gaze that typically left people speechless. Women that came into the apothecary would always swoon over him, his charming smile and alluring voice enough to make any woman leave their husband in an instant and vice versa. He could have anyone he wanted, and yet, he chose to be alone. It was odd to Koge, but that is just how he was, and he had been so good to her that she didn’t dare question his reasoning.

“It’s just… I had that same dream again this morning.” Koge touched the scarf around her shoulders tenderly. “I’m just struggling more lately.” Seijirou nodded, patting the top of her hand gently. “I see. Is that all?”

“No… when I woke up this morning, a fire had been started. Just like Katsuki used to do for me. And the window was open just a tad. Nene said it wasn’t her. I… don’t really know what to think.” Koge had kept her gaze down while speaking, feeling a bit timid about sharing these thoughts. Though, when she looked back up, she thought for a moment there was a different gleam in Seijirous eyes, one intense and even angry. Though, it was gone with a blink, his comforting smile only growing. “Oh darling, that is an odd occurrence! Perhaps it was simply a misunderstanding between the maids.”

“Probably.” Koges eyes moved down to his hands as his leather gloves squeaked a bit with his movement. Ever since she first met him, he had gloves on his hands, every single moment. She wasn’t sure why, and though she had asked a long time ago, he simply laughed it off and claimed that it was because of his fear of dirt and grime. Her hand was so pale against the worn black leather of his gloves, only adding to her thoughts that she looked sickly. Seijirou must have noticed as well, a finger tracing one of her visible veins.

“Not getting much sun, are you?” Seijirou released her hand, standing up straight. Koge gave a small shake of her head, making her way around the counter to the back room. “No, Sir. I tend to stay indoors unless I’m coming here or buying flowers.”

“You’re thinner, too! My dear, you know the first steps to feeling better are to take care of yourself.” Seijirou followed her, reaching up to ruffle his wavy black hair, which was parted over to one side with the other shaved down. The long side reached down to his shoulder, and though it was an odd haircut, it wasn’t all that odd for him. Koge sighed as she entered the room, closing her eyes while removing her small purse. “I understand that, Sir, but—“

She was interrupted by her own squeal, dropping her purse and covering her mouth in fright. Much to her embarrassment, she had been startled by another person in the room, something she wasn’t exactly used to seeing. Another man was sitting in a chair across the room, lax with his feet propped up on a table. Though, the instant her eyes landed on him, he tended, piercing blue glare keeping her frozen in her spot. Seijirou was the one to break the tension, chuckling softly as he walked inside.

“Ah, I’m sorry, Koge! I should have told you I had a guest.” He stopped beside her, bending down to pick up her purse for her. Koge glanced up to her teacher before back towards the stranger, watching him closely as he removed his feet from the table. “O-oh that’s okay, I was just… not paying attention.” After handing her purse back to her, Seijirou motioned for the other man to come over, though he also took a step forward himself. Koge thought this a bit odd, as if he were putting space between her and the newcomer, but she decided to stay quiet about it.

“Come here, Doey, it’s alright.”

Standing, the man slowly approached, keeping his eyes down as he ruffled his already messy orange hair. The closer he got, Koge could see that he was just as flawless as Seijirou, freckles sprinkled across his face and exposed shoulders, his tattered grey vest doing little to cover his torso and arms. It was odd to her that he couldn’t seem to keep eye contact for more than a few seconds at a time, but she assumed that he was shy or possibly even put off by her own emotionally drained stare.

“Koge, darling, his is Dokuji. He’s going to be my new apprentice, learning with you. Though, he’ll end up being here at different times than you more often than not.” Seijirou patted Dokuji’s shoulder, making the younger mans face scrunch up a bit in annoyance. Koge nodded, giving a small bow in greeting. “It’s a pleasure.”

Although she had her head down and couldn’t see him, Koge could hear how hard Dokuji swallowed before he spoke, his voice a bit nervous and shaken. “The pleasure’s mine, uh… miss--?”

“Please just call me Koge. I prefer not to go by my last name.”

“Right,” Dokuji took in a deep breath, awkwardly shoving his hands into his pockets. “I’m going to… Go deal with the, uh… Boxes.” He wormed his way around the two, quickly scurrying out of the room. Seijirou huffed, glaring after him as he placed his hands on his hips. “Excuse you!”

“Yeah, excuse me!” Dokuji called back, though he was already up the stairs and out of sight.

With a sigh, Seijiro headed over towards his desk, pulling open a drawer. “He’s not really used to this type of environment, so please forgive him. He’ll get better once he’s more comfortable around you.” Koge nodded, taking a piece of parchment as he handed it to her. “Of course, I understand. Are these the concoctions for today?”

With a nod, Seijirou sat down in his chair, pulling a large leather book towards him. “Yes. Do you remember them all?”

“If not I will look them up in the books before I make them. Hm… though most of these are sedatives?”

“Ah yes, we had an order from the hospital that we need to rush, so these are priority. Just don’t ingest anything or you’ll be sleeping on the floor.” Seijirou chuckled as he gave her a playful nudge in the arm, sending her off to work. “And take care of customers as they come in, okay?”

“Yes, Sir.” Koge left the room without another word, sticking to her duties.

By the time Nene and Kirishima returned, Koge had finished all her work and was allowed to leave, Nene talking her ear off excitedly as they left. Though, the instant the door shut behind them, Seijirou sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Man… That poor girl--”

He was cut off by a sudden thud right under his feet, the wood floor shaking with the impact. With an annoyed click of his tongue, he headed to the cellar door that Kirishima had forced him to make, squatting down beside it. “What?!”

“Get down here you fucking kook! Now!”

“And why should I do that?”

“Come down here or I’m going up there, you fucking prick!”

Pulling out his keys from his pocket, Seijirou unlocked the padlock on the door, pulling it open and beginning his descent down the stairs. The cellar grew dark as the door slammed shut behind him, though he had no problems seeing, stepping out into the open area. Arms crossed over his chest, his gaze met with the crimson glare that came from across the room, the figure sitting with his back against the wall.

“What do you want? I’m busy trying to run a business.”

“I want you to tell me what the fuck you think you’re doing. Why would you let her near that fucking creep, he’s not ready!”

“And you think you are? I have to lock you in a damn cellar just to keep an eye on you. What the fuck do you think you’re doing!?” Seijirou snapped back, walking closer as he pointed up towards the ceiling. “You damn idiot! You think it was smart to go to her this morning?! You think your little gesture was sweet?”

The confronting man before Seijirou stood, though he wasn’t given a chance to speak. “She needs to think you’re dead! Now all she has on her mind again is you, all because you decided a visit would be smart. It wasn’t, Katsuki. You’ll be lucky if Our Lady doesn’t rip you to shreds because you did that.”

“She can go choke on a dick, it’s not like I wanted this--” Bakugou was interrupted by his own choked scream as Seijirou snatched him by the neck, slamming him up against the wood wall with nearly enough force to send him through it. Ignoring the feeling of Bakugou’s claws digging into his arm, Seijirou leaned in closer, his glare and voice dark enough to send anyone running. “Next time you say something like that about Our Lady, I’ll be the one to rip you apart. I’ve known you and Koge for years, and what’s happened to you both breaks my heart. But I won’t stand for your tough guy rebellious bullshit.”

Releasing him, Seijirou backed away, leaving Bakugou to sit back down and clutch his throat. “If you love her, Katsuki. You’ll stay away. This will be the last time I allow you into the town during the day.”

With a scoff, Bakugou leaned back against the wall, too physically weak from hunger to fight back. “Go fuck yourself. Or get your little pet to do it for you, I don’t care. You don’t know what’s best for her.”

“I do know that she’s been mourning your loss for too long. You can watch her and protect her all you want, but you have to become nothing but a memory. Now get control of yourself. We’re leaving soon, and you’re eating tonight, whether you like it or not.” Seijirou turned and began his way out of the cellar, not bothering to take another look at the broken man behind him. “Accept what you are and get over it. The faster you do that, the less painful the rest of eternity will be.”

Once again left alone, Bakugou leaned his elbows on his knees, hiding his face in trembling hands. He was so hungry and so distraught, the scent of every human that had entered the store that day clinging to his senses, like he was in a pit of endless flesh. Koge’s, however, was the most prominent, so strong that he could have sworn he could taste her on his tongue. How badly he wanted to rip into her, to sink his teeth into her skin and drain her of life was overwhelming. Maybe Seijirou had been right, that his actions that day had been a huge mistake.

Because now, he found himself wanting Koge more than he ever had in his entire life, and he couldn’t have her. He wished desperately to change what had happened, to wake up and realize this entire ordeal was nothing but a crazy nightmare.

But he knew he never would.

[autismnation]

tw vent, tw self harm, tw suicide

this is so stupid i was having a good day and now its just ruined. and i might be a bit dramatic in this post but i honestly dont care.

like on sunday i was supposed to see my partner but my mum just said i have to go to my dad’s (theyre split up) and its made me feel awful. i didnt go last weekend and i felt so much better! my dad always shouts and does this awful thing where he’ll lecture me for something i haven’t even done or he’ll shame me for what i eat and he makes me really uncomfortable and i just basically hate him. and my mum didn’t even give me a choice of whether or not i want to go! she just said “you’re going to your dad’s” and i said “why” and she said “because we talked and thats what we said would happen” or somethinglike that. i basically just ran out of her room to my own room because i was starting to cry and i thought she’d get mad (WHICH SHE DID!) because she didn’t understand why i was upset. and i started talking to myself to try and basically vent and she heard and she came into my room to tell me to stop it and she said “that’s why you’re going to your dad’s” and i dont even know what she meant like did she mean me crying or me talking to myself? either way both are awful and mean. and i think she’s mad at me again but i don’t know why she was fine earlier so i don’t know why she hates me again. and this whole thing made me relapse in self harm. and im glad i threw the thing that i used to do worse self harm with away because i wouldve used it. i was so close to attempting suicide too. and i know this sounds stupid and overdramatic and im probably making a big deal about it in my brain when its probably not gonna be that bad, but when things get bad i spiral and i hate it i wish i could just go “oh well” like other people and just persevere but i can’t. and ive been doing so well this past week too. ive been sleeping well and eating (somewhat) well and ive been looking after myself but it all came crashing down because of my stupid and my stupid self and im really really really tired of fighting and i hate everything it never gets better it just gets okay and then bad and im tired of fighting if ill never be good and happy and have a happy brain and life like everyone else. the weekend is supposed to be a time to relax but i cant when im on edge around my dad and i hate it i hate i hate it SHE DIDNT EVEN GIVE ME A CHOICE ABOUT WHETHER OR NOT I WANT TO GO TO MU DADS BUT SHES SAID BEFORE THAT I DONT EVER HAVE TO GO IF I DONT WANT TO BUT SHE LIED AND EVERYONE LIES AND I FEEL LIKE IM GOING INSANE AND ILL NEVER EVER BE HAPPY

[matrixaffiliate]

Glimpsing Happiness

Co-written with @hufflepuffmarlenemckinnon

(I’ve had something come up tomorrow so you get the update early. Yay!)

FFN and AO3

Chapter 7

He'd dozed off again, and that was probably for the best. She needed some time to sort through her feelings about that letter from Mrs. Tonks. Marlene was still reeling, but none of it was her business. She had no business, no right to ask for explanations or to even think on it really. But think on it she did.

 She remembered the first day with him, almost a fortnight ago, and how he'd joked about Queen Alexandra's funeral. She hadn't honestly believed him. It seemed to her that all posh aristocrats wanted to be as closely related to the King and Queen as possible that sometimes they'd go to extreme lengths to infer that they were closer than the reality. But, Sirius, Sirius was not just closely related to the British Crown, he was closely related to some very prominent Nazi families.

 It was just that, well… he didn't seem that way to her. Arrogant of course; annoying certainly; drove her mad regularly; but he didn't come off as someone who believed that anyone was less than him based on their color or creed. He didn't strike her as a world domination fan.

 Sirius couldn't be a Nazi.

But that resolve only seemed to throw her mind into another spiral. What had happened that he didn't choose the same path all but three members of his family had chosen. And apparently, only two of them were left now. Who was Uncle Alfie? Had he passed of old age? And how did Captain Potter fit into this? Sirius called him his brother, but obviously, that wasn't accurate as far as bloodline was concerned.

 Marlene noticed clock and sighed, he was finally sleeping but it was time for his quinine. She hated to wake him, but Doctor Dodge had been strict in his orders. He wouldn't allow typhoid fever to start spreading through Southampton. Marlene and Arabella wore elbow-length rubber gloves, rubber aprons, masks over their faces, and disinfected everything, including their hands before they left the ward. Doctor Dodge also wanted symptoms kept in check as much as possible, and that meant prompt doses of his medication.

 “Captain, I have your quinine. She shook his shoulder and he groaned. Marlene hated how his face grimaced in pain. Seeing any patient suffering was one of the worst parts of being a nurse, but seeing someone recover, well that was what made it worthwhile.

 “Here,” she picked up his glass with her gloved hands. “Just sit up long enough to swallow this and you can sleep again.”

 She brought her hand to the back of his neck and pushed.

 “You're a rightly awful person you know that?” He pushed up on his elbows but opened his mouth when she pressed the pill to his lips, followed by the glass of water.

 “So you've told me,” Marlene smiled. She thought to say more, but as his head hit the pillow he was out again.

 She stood there watching him sleep for several moments. His hair had twisted and knotted a bit with its new length and for some reason, Marlene had to fight the urge to straighten it.

 “Sleep well, Sirius,” she whispered, barely audible to her own ears.

 But then panic suck into the bottom of her stomach. She'd just called an officer patient, a very annoying and rude officer patient at that, by his first name. She spun around and looked at the time. It was only two. She couldn't wait that long. She needed Mary. Mary would set her straight, Mary would explain it all to her. She needed Mary.

 Marlene walked to the tub of disinfectant and began the process. Arabella looked up confused.

 “Is there something you need Sister? I'd be happy to fetch it.”

 “Oh no dear, I just wanted to discuss the possibility of adding something a bit more substantial to Captain Black’s meals next week with Doctor Dodge. He seems to be taking to the broth well enough.” Marlene avoided Arabella's eyes, focusing on the disinfectant her hands were in.

 “Good thinking Sister Marlene, Mother always talks about the importance of eating well. And I know that when the cats fall ill the sooner they can handle solid food the sooner they recover.” Her voice was normal, but the part of Marlene that was freaking out swore the woman could read her mind.

 Marlene chuckled, more so to quiet the part of her that wanted to defend herself to Arabella, and smiled warmly, boldly maybe, at the maid she'd slowly grown fond of.

 “I'll only be a moment.” She dried her hands and walked quickly out the door.

 Marlene stuck her head in the rooms of Mary's ward, finally finding her in the third room. She cleared her throat and Mary looked up startled. Marlene stepped into the corridor and Mary followed.

 “To what do I owe the pleasure, Sister?” Mary looked around the corridor as they stepped away from the door.

 “Mary, I'm going insane,” Marlene whispered, trying to keep the panic from her voice.

 Mary sighed, “I'm not switching with you again, Marls.”

 “No!” Marlene pressed her palm to her forehead. “Mary, I just, something changed and I can't handle this!”

 Mary reached a hand out and pulled Marlene's hand from her face.

 “Hey,” she soothed, “what happened?”

 Marlene sighed, “I guess, I read him a letter from Mrs. Tonks, a reply to the letter you wrote with him, and it, I just, Mary he isn't who I thought he was. I mean he is, but, there's so much more to him than being an arse, and …” Marlene went silent and pressed her palm back into her forehead.

 Mary observed her for a moment before a small smile touched her lips, “And you haven't felt this way since Fabian Prewett?”

 Marlene's heart stopped.

 “I know you will never admit that he hurt you, and that's fine, I don't expect you to.” Mary continued. “But does that bit of information help you understand what's going on?”

 “I need to ask to be reassigned,” Marlene started towards her Matron’s office.

 Mary grabbed her arm and spun her around. “You will do no such thing, Sister!” She whispered fiercely. “If the Matron thinks she can't trust you to be professional you can kiss your position goodbye.”

 Marlene took a deep breath. Mary was right, she always was.

 “So what do I do, Mary?” Marlene hated feeling trapped, it was her greatest fear, being trapped, and she suddenly felt like she'd been pinned between two brick walls.

 Mary wrapped her in a hug and Marlene clung to her. “You're going to breathe, you're going to be professional, and you're going to go back to the Quarantine Ward and you're going to care for Captain Black as if he were any other patient. He'll be gone in a few weeks and you'll be able to move to a new Ward and be done with it all.”

 Marlene sighed, “You're right, of course. Alright, I can do this, back straight and head high right?” Marlene straightened and pushed her shoulders back holding her chin high.

 “You can do this, Sister,” Mary nodded pulling herself into the same position.

 “Right,” Marlene took a deep breath. “I need to find Doctor Dodge. I'll see you after our shift, love, and thank you.”

 Mary smiled at her, “Always the sunshine.” She winked before heading back into her room and Marlene turned on her heels towards the Doctors’ offices.

[mypoorfaves]

A Simple Touch

Summary: Yuuri and Victor are both sick. Victor is cold and clingy while Yuuri is overheated and irritable.

There’s a bit of angst with Yuuri being angry at Victor, so be warned. Though of course everything turns out fine in the end!

2000~ words

～～～

In theory, a day off with Victor in bed, even if they both have a cold, sounds perfect. It sounds like the ideal day, the picture of domesticity, a fantasy that Yuuri’s younger self would only dare to dream about.

Such fantasies involved steaming cups of tea, and sleepily resting his head on Victor’s shoulder only for Victor to do the same to him later. It meant both of them taking turns washing each others hair in the shower because they’ve been lying in bed for days, before drying off and collapsing in bed yet again, and promptly falling asleep.

In reality, however, things are far from perfect.

The cups of tea are empty, many mugs left on the bedside table and creating clutter next to the mess of tissues, bottles of medicine and the thermometer, because neither of them can muster the energy or motivation to clean up.

When Yuuri drifts off on Victor’s shoulder, he wakes up hardly five minutes later prompted by the intense need to sneeze or cough or both, feeling a pain in his neck from the uncomfortable position.

Showers are difficult, both sick skaters struggling to remain awake and on their feet, trying to support each other as they fight for control over the water temperature.

Sleeping together isn’t much better. Yuuri is sniffing so much he has to keep two small pieces of tissues up his nose to keep it from dripping. Victor is on the opposite end of the spectrum, terribly congested even despite the intense heat and steam Yuuri had to endure for their shower. Victor snores when he’s congested, and Yuuri’s head throbs at the sound as he tries and fails to sleep. He hasn’t gotten any proper rest in days.

It’s day three of this shared cold, both of them coming down with it at the same time, no idea where it came from. Only that it hit hard and fast. There is no light in the room, the heavy curtains drawn closed as the smallest amount of light send pain pulsing through Yuuri’s aching head. And probably Victor’s too.

Victor has been uncharacteristically quiet about his suffering, not making much noise other than quiet moans and whimpers as he trembles. The usual chatty and bubbly Victor is gone, which may have something to do with a possible sore throat, but more likely it’s just the fevered agony he’s experiencing.

Yuuri is not quiet about his illness, loudly moaning after each excruciating sneezing fit, giving frustrated groans as he tosses and turns and tries to find a cool spot on the bed to rest his blazing body. More than once, he’s even roughly shoved Victor awake when the snoring gets to be too much for Yuuri and he snaps at him.

Yuuri loves Victor. He really does. But he also really loves his sleep.

Right now, they’re both running high fevers, Victor trembling with chills while Yuuri feels overheated. Next to Yuuri, (who is currently sprawled out like a starfish,) Victor lays curled up on his side of the bed, bundled underneath the blanket as he shivers so hard his teeth chatter.

“Yuuri…” Victor whines, and Yuuri grits his teeth.

“What is it?” he asks. He tries to hold back his irritation but ultimately fails, if the way Victor flinches and shrinks in on himself is any indication.

There’s silence, save for the sound of Yuuri’s sniffles before Victor weakly whimpers out, “nevermind.”

For some reason, this makes Yuuri even more angry. “What do you want, Victor?”

This time, the sniffle comes from Victor. It sounds horribly congested, but more wet now as Victor begins to get emotional. “I just… I wanted to cuddle….I’m so cold, Yuuri…”

The very idea of more heat on Yuuri’s scorching skin is far from a pleasant thought. Victor knows this. Yuuri has been complaining non-stop that he’s overheated. That he can’t even stand to be a mere foot away from another human body. He most certainly does not want to curl up with Victor, whose fevered skin is radiating the same heat that Yuuri’s is. (Well, probably not that much heat, Yuuri bitterly thinks as he feels more perspiration bead on his forehead.)

“I know you’re really hot right now, but I just…” Victor’s lower lip trembles as unshed tears gloss his eyes. “wanna feel your arms around me, keeping me warm.”

Despite how frail and undeniably miserable Victor is, finally caving and voicing his discomfort with this dreadful cold, Yuuri isn’t having it. A combination of his boiling brain and burning body renders Yuuri unable to feel any pity.

“If you so much as touch me,” he starts warningly, “I will get up and sleep on the couch.”

“B-but Yuuriー”

“I’m serious.”

“I can’t sleep, Yuuri. Everything hurts. Please, just until I fall asleep,” Victor pleads. He scoots closer, extracting a hand from under the blanket and reaching towards Yuuri, despite the man’s earlier threat.

The moment Victor’s fevered skin brushes Yuuri’s own, he abruptly sits up and swings his legs over the edge of the bed before pushing himself to his feet. Yuuri regrets the action immediately after; a wave of dizziness comes crashing over him so intense it almost send him falling to the floor, if not for shaking hands finding the bedside table and gripping it with white knuckles.

His headache thrums an excruciating rhythm in his skull and he hisses at the pain, swearing under his breath. Victor is saying something that Yuuri cannot hear over the blood roaring in his ears, and frankly he can’t be made to care about what Victor has to say right now.

Once the disorientation passes, Yuuri storms to the living room, not bothering to spare a glance back at Victor.

He collapses onto the couch, trembling with exertion, and gives a sigh that sounds and feels a lot more like a frustrated huff. There is no blanket on the couch, (not that Yuuri needs one,) and no pillow either, but the openness of the livingroom compared to the more confined space of their bedroom is already cooling the fevered heat rushing through Yuuri’s veins. He presses his face into the couch as he lays there, an arm dangling over the edge, and wills for sleep to take him.

The apartment is silent, save for the steady tick of the clock on the wall and the occasional sounds of Makkachin moving around the house. Yuuri likes the quiet. He hasn’t exactly been able to sleep in silence next to Victor, so he keeps his eyes closed and relishes in it.

Minutes pass, but still sleep will not come.

There isn’t much room to toss and turn while laying on the couch, and Yuuri quickly finds himself uncomfortably warm once again. The rhythmic tick. Tick. Tick announcing each passing second is slowly driving Yuuri to insanity. With a frustrated groan, he gives up on sleep for now and sits up, cradling his head as his headache makes another reappearance.

He ponders what to do. He can’t get comfortable here on the couch, but he doesn’t want to go back to the bedroom either. He still hasn’t completely cooled off (both literally and figuratively) from his altercation with Victor. He briefly considers how the cool tile of the bathroom floor would feel against his burning cheek, and wonders if it’s worth the sore back to sleep there.

A soft sound drifting from the bedroom catches Yuuri’s attention, breaking him away from his thoughts. He strains his ears, curious, and is startled to realize the sound he is hearing is Victor crying.

Victor. Crying. With a fever. All alone in their bed. Where Yuuri left him.

Yuuri left him.

Oh god, what has he done?

Yuuri remembers back to the last time he had been sick, and Victor had looked after him. He had brought Yuuri hot cups of tea, successfully warming his frigid and fevered body from the inside out. Victor had bundled him with blankets, placing gentle kisses on his hair and soothing touches on his back. He had stayed by Yuuri’s side through long and sleepless nights, courtesy of painful coughing fits and constant sniffling.

And what had Yuuri done in return to thank him? He had denied Victor the warmth and the love he had been seeking, that he had needed, and stormed off, leaving Victor cold and alone and sick.

It’s his fault Victor is crying right now. Normally such a thought would be the start of spiraling anxiety, but instead Yuuri feels a strong surge of determination. He needs to make this right. He will make this right. He’ll make it up to Victor, and then some. But first he has to apologize

He opens the kitchen cupboards and rummages through their assortment of tea, boiling some hot water before adding the leaves. While it steeps, Yuuri ventures to the hall closet and grabs two of the large quilts there. He contemplates throwing them in the dryer to help further ease Victor’s chills, but ultimately decides he doesn’t want the added heat of carrying the warmed bundles. This will be fine on its own.

Yuuri carries the blankets in one arm, holding the steaming mug in his other hand, and returns to the bedroom. He nudges the door open the rest of the way with his foot, and the hinges give a soft squeak, causing Victor to snap his head up.

There are fresh tear trails on his flushed cheeks, his nose is rubbed red and dripping. Victor sniffles, eyes wide and watery as he looks up at Yuuri.

“I’m sorry,” Yuuri says right off the bat. Plain and simple, and sincere. “I was upset and I snapped and you didn’t deserve that. I’m sorry, Victor.”

Victor doesn’t say anything yet, just sniffles again and blinks at Yuuri. His tears have stopped flowing, but his eyes are still glossy with them, and red around the edges.

“I brought you some stuff,” Yuuri goes on, holding up the items in his hands. “To help you feel better. I’m still too hot, so I don’t want to get too close to you, but I brought more blankets to warm you up, and tea.” He sets the mug down amidst the clutter, then gets to work tucking the blankets around Victor. When he’s done, Yuuri climbs into bed next to him, as close as his overheating body will permit.

“I love you. And I really am sorry.”

“I love you too,” Victor says at last. He’s still teary-eyed, but the soft smile on his chapped lips is genuine. “And I forgive you.”

Yuuri feels a part of him deflate with relief. Despite the heat his skin is giving off, he figures it couldn’t hurt to reach for Victor’s hand. Victor meets him halfway, as he always does, and holds Yuuri’s hand lovingly in his own.

“You should try and get some rest.”

“You too.”

“Mmm.”

Exhaustion begins to creep back in as Yuuri’s eyes slip shut. Victor’s hand holding his is warm, but not unbearably so. It’s more of a comfort than anything, knowing that Victor is here and he loves him, even when Yuuri happens to snap at him and make him cry.

He wishes his body wasn’t overheating right now, because to be honest, he does want the feel of Victor curled up against him, especially if it will help Victor feel better too. But as it is, he settles for giving Victor’s hand a gentle squeeze to let him know he is fond of their contactーas small as it may be. His heart skips a beat when Victor gently squeezes back, and Yuuri can’t help but smile before finally succumbing to sleep.

～～～

I have ko-fi!

[lorna-and-nicky-complex-love]

Summary and Analysis of Nicky Nichols and Lorna Morello’s Relationship Season 1-5 SPOILER ALERT FOR SEASON 5!!

Season 1 Nicky and Lorna have a casual sexual relationship, even though at the time, we are led to believe that Lorna is engaged. As far as we know, Lorna identifies as straight and Nicky is a lesbian. From what we can see they are best friends who have sex until the fifth episode of season 1 titled “The Chickening.” After having an orgasm in a chapel, Lorna announces that she wants to stop having sex with Nicky because she feels it is unfair to fiancee, and that Nicky is “making her feel like a cave.” For a split second, Nicky looks a little hurt, but proceeds to say it’s cool and that she’s fine with it. This is our first sign that Nicky may actually care more about Lorna than just friendship. Then throughout the rest of season 1, Nicky seems slightly annoyed and bitter about the fact that Lorna “broke up with her” She makes small comments about Lorna being coy. Then in episode 10, she yells at Lorna about being delusional and believing that her fiancee, who hasn’t come to see her since 3 weeks after she got to prison is still in love with her. Even though this was brutal, it shows that Nicky is one of the very few people who is not afraid to be brutally honest with Lorna. (Which due to her fantasies is exactly what she needs). Then at the end of the season, we see Boo telling Nicky to start sleeping with Lorna again to which Nicky replies that “you only get one chance to break her heart” implying that by ending their casual sexual relationship, Lorna broke her heart. Along with this comment, for Christmas, Nicky makes Lorna an adorable wedding poster, which included her in place of the groom. When she shows it to Alex, she claims that it is a joke, to which Alex responds, “is it?” implying that other people are aware that Nicky may have feelings for Lorna that are not entirely platonic. The season ends with them as best friends, but the audience, is left to believe that Nicky may have feelings for her. Season 2 So this season includes Lorna flashbacks that show us that Morello is in jail for stalking Christopher, and putting a homemade bomb under his wife Angela’s car. We see Nicky comforting Morello after she finds out that Christopher is getting married, and comforting Lorna in one of their most heartwarming scenes on the staircase. After Christopher shows up to confront Lorna about breaking into his house (which she did do) he destroys the fantasy she has spent the last 2 years creating. He calls her a psycho, who has been stalking him. Nicky overhears and comforts a weeping Morello on the staircase. While Morello does acknowledge that something is wrong with her and that she does in fact have a mental illness, Nicky states that she even though she is batshit crazy, that she is beautiful, sweet girl and that so many people are going to love her. Lorna acknowledging her own insecurity says no one is ever going to love her to which Nicky tenderly responds that she does. This alone implies that Nicky does in fact love her even though she does suffer from a mental illness, and is obsessive she still sees her as a beautiful sweet girl, that she fell in love with. For the rest of the season, they are on good terms, as they had been during early season 2, but this time, Lorna decides to stay away from romance, and accept reality because of Nicky’s acceptance. Season 3 So in the beginning of season 3, Nicky and Lorna seemed to have resumed their flirtatious friendship with Nicky saying that she is happy that Lorna is keeping up her appearance and that she looks like juicy ripe fruit and they are seen sitting together during Mother’s Day. When Nicky is ratted out by Luschek, and dragged off the Max, Lorna along with Red are seen hysterically crying, and when Nicky says that she loves the both of them, Lorna tearfully replies I love you too. This spoke volumes about how they both truly felt about each other. Lorna finally admitted something that all of us already knew, she loves Nicky. In the following episodes, Lorna was seen crying, and being lonely without Nicky proving that Nicky is a her rock, and the one person who cared about her, not because she was beautiful, but for who she was a person. We then see Morello marry Vincent, but I believe she did this out of loneliness as opposed to actual love. 

Season 4 In this season we saw Lorna’s somewhat strange relationship with her husband, and their word sex. We also saw the return of Nicky and what she has been doing in Max. We find out that she is 3 years clean, and that she has had sex with Stella (Although this was most likely out of loneliness, and sadness than genuine feeling.) After seeing Luschek we see Nicky feeling depressed, alone, and see her hit her lowest point of performing oral sex on a CO for heroin. After we see her return to minimum security where she is warmly welcomed by Red and Lorna. During the party we see Lorna hugging her, caressing her arm, and leaning on her. Showing us that Lorna just wanted to feel close to her at all times. We slowly begin to see Nicky spiral out of control due to her drug addiction. She steals from Red to buy drugs, and begins to take her anger out on Lorna. In episode 8, she makes very strong sexual advances towards Lorna, even though she knows she married, proving that not only does she not take Lorna’s marriage seriously, but she also plays on Lorna’s attraction to her. Now one cannot deny that this was manipulative, but it also shows that Nicky considers Lorna the one thing in her life that she can count on.(She is consistently there for her). Also when Nicky plants the seed that Vincent is cheating on Lorna in her head, one can believe that she did this purposely. She wanted ruin Lorna’s marriage because on some level, she was aware of her feelings for her, and she hated that she was married. Nicky knew that Lorna would freak out, and possibly scare vinnie away, and one can deduce, that that is what she wanted. We see Nicky taking her anger out on Lorna again when she insults Lorna in the cafeteria by saying, “Friends is that what we are now?” and that “Lorna is a peanut brain fickle hearted whore.” Even though this is partly influenced by her drug use, I also believe that Nicky said this because she felt that Lorna had toyed with her emotions, and had moved on from her too quickly. (Sleeping with Stella for Nicky was not about emotion therefore in her mind, she had not moved on, but was simply trying to cope with her loneliness). After Poussey’s death when Red asked them to scout locations for the new garden, before pushing her up against the shed, Nicky had an interesting look on her face, like she missed Lorna, and being with her so much. (However I do not condone what happened afterwards, because it was sexual assault, to stick your hand down the pants of someone who says they do not want to have sex with you). Nicky then looks visibly hurt when Lorna calls her a junkie, an addict and a liar. She retaliates by calling Lorna a psycho, and forcing her to acknowledge her mental illness. After Lorna acknowledges her illness (possibly erotomania), and states that she cannot stop herself from doing this, and that she needs help, and that she is unhappy, and afraid that someone else is going to leave her. Nicky then realizes that Lorna is clinging to the delusion that she might be pregnant because then she won’t have to acknowledge that her marriage is falling apart because of her lack of treatment. (However I do believe that Nicky triggered this episode). Because of this, Nicky decides to no longer make comments about her marriage, as seeing Lorna unhappy makes her unhappy. Season 5 SPOILERS So in this season (well the first 10 episodes) we see Nicky making advances towards Lorna in the first episode that are firmly rebuffed by Morello. We see Morello genuinely caring about Nicky’s sobriety, ie -you are not taking any pills -I don’t think you in a room full of medicine is good for your sobriety -Taking the keys from Nicky and hiding them so that she wouldn’t have access to drugs.

Overall in the first 2 episodes we see Lorna and Nicky having the normal playful friendship that used to have. However, in episode 3, having taken over the medical cage, Lorna listens to the symptoms, and distributes the meds that Nicky tells her to. While comforting a grieving Soso, Nicky indirectly says that “you’ll realize that you’ve fallen hopelessly in love with an incredible, insane, beautiful woman who will never love you back” Making it clear that she is open to admitting publicly in front of Soso, and a line of strangers that she is in love with Lorna, and she is also aware of the fact that Lorna does not seem to love her back in the same way. Lorna seems shocked, and shaken, and continues to speak to the person on line instead of acknowledging what was just said. This shows that its not that Lorna doesn’t love her, its that she is not sure how that love relates to her heteronormative dream on what it means to be happy. All her life, Lorna believed that she needed to meet her prince charming, get married, and have kids (there is nothing wrong with wanting that). She never considered that maybe she would spend her life with a woman, who does not believe in marriage, and doesn’t like children. So I would say that Lorna does in fact love her but she is unsure of how to accept that love, and understand that it is okay because it goes against everything she had always imagined for her life. At the risk of spoiling episode 6 I am going to end there because, I am still trying to wrap my head around episodes 6-8, and understand the motives for the things said and done, one of them being why Nicky decided to sleep with Lorna knowing that she would freak out afterwards, and if Lorna slept with Nicky because she truly does love and want her or if she did it to push her away. 

Also another tidbit, I forgot to add, is that Nicky treats Lorna differently than anyone else. Nicky has a pattern of treating the women she sleeps with like crap afterwards. Ex. Brook Soso (ignoring her and saying she talks too much), Alex Vause (talking shit about her after she was released), “Hot girl” in episode 8 of season 5 ( not remembering her name) Stella (being an ass to her in Max) proves that to Nicky sex with anyone else other than Morello is simply a distraction from loneliness, or way to mend her broken heart. Whereas sex Morello is more than that and not something she regrets. That is why Nicky was so upset when she found out Lorna got married because she wasn’t just using Vinnie as a distraction, she was claiming to love him, which made Nicky feel like Morello had betrayed her. 

Overall, Nicky and Lorna have a complex relationship, with Lorna’s mental illness (erotomania), her having a heteronormative view on what happiness, and love should look like, and Nicky’s drug addiction, and self destructive patterns. Nicky is a wealthy woman who grew up with a neglectful and emotionally absent mother, and it was one of the contributing factors that led to her heroin addiction. She struggles with remaining clean everyday, as many substance abusers do, and still needs time to recover. Lorna is an “old fashioned” woman who grew up thinking she needed a man to be satisfied, emotionally, and sexually. She most likely suffers from erotomania, and acknowledges that she needs help for her illness but she isn’t getting appropriate care. Overall, if Nicky and Lorna both got professional help for the issues, they would be the perfect couple. However, even with mental illness, and drug addiction, they still love each other very much. ie Nicky’s “I love you so much Lorna” 5.06. and Lorna’s “I Love you too” 3.03. Lorna loves Nicky because she is a real, stable figure in her life. She is her rock, and is the only person who has showed her genuine care. For Lorna this is everything. Along with being mentally ill, she is also incredibly insecure, and believes that no one will ever love her. Nicky proves to her that she is wrong, and that she is a beautiful, sweet person, who can be loved by someone, and she is by Nicky. In return, Nicky loves Lorna because she is one of the very few people in her life that has never wanted anything from her in return. She accepts, and is amused by Nicky’s sarcasm, and up until her relapse in season 4 when she calls her a junkie, addict, liar, Lorna does not judge her for her past drug addiction. She sees Nicky as she is, and they have a light, happy banter with each other. Even though we will need to see a flashback on how Nicky and Lorna met and why Nicky felt she was different, it is safe to say that Lorna did something significant, and meaningful, which is why she fell in love with her. Once Lorna accepts that she does not need a husband, or even children to live a happy fulfilling life, and Nicky is willing to plainly explain that she is in love with her and wants to be more than friends is when they can have successful relationship.

Please feel free to leave your comments 

[scriptshrink]

Borderline Personality Disorder: Intense/Fluctuating emotions, personal experience

Hey there. I have borderline personality disorder, depression and bulimia. Figured I’d put all that time I’ve spent analysing my emotions and thinking patterns to good use and write up how I experience BPD. This relates to how I experience the intense and fluctuating emotions.

Reminder that this is all my personal experiences. They’re not universal amongst people with BPD. 

TW for cutting, suicidal thoughts, violent thoughts, violence, eating disorder, depression.

If I’m not feeling something really strongly, I’m feeling nothing. That ‘I don’t know how to like things casually’ post is really accurate. And if I feel nothing I’m really aimless and bored but without the drive to do something. I don’t tend to do anything unless someone else gives me something to do, my usual hobbies tend to be just as boring. Usually I end up sleeping or watching TV shows to pass time. A lot of my day to day life is finding distractions, because I’m bored. Always bored. So bored. To Do lists work really well for me because they give me things to do, rather than make me think them up on the spot. I guess I must have some kind of normal emotional reactions but I can’t think of any times where that happens, I’m bored. When that goes on too long, I’m tired/depressed. If something enjoyable happens, my day suddenly revolves around that or it’s fleetingly good and then I’m tired and bored. 

Below are the most common emotions that I have actual ‘episodes’ of. They tend to last at least five to ten minutes up to a few hours. Rarely, a standard high will last overnight/through a sleep. Both the depression moods can go from minutes to weeks. 

Highs: Standard, weird. (These are the terms I use to describe/differentiate between the types of high/up moods I experience.)

Standard highs are great. You know when you drink coffee for the first time and you get so wired? It’s a bit like that. My brain gets really energised and I come up with new ideas for things and start planning them out. I also work on existing projects, if I think to direct my energy to them, because the energy doesn’t really mind what I’m working on, creativity and drive is on 100%. Sometimes I talk a lot, in conversations or to myself. If I’m nattering to myself, I find it hard to stay on one topic, everything leads into something else or a new idea comes up and takes over. Physically, my heart sometimes races and I get a weird feeling of anticipation in my stomach. It’s really frustrating because it’s like something exciting is about to happen but nothing is and there’s no reason for it. Uh, if I’m talking to myself I tend to walk really fast, usually I kind of stroll everywhere but during highs I’m really power walking, not quite to breathlessness. I find that if I do the power walk and talking combo, when I stop walking for more than five or ten minutes the high goes away. Sometimes I clean, usually making a resolution that this time I’m going to get my life on track for real, organising everything, setting things up, maybe even cooking. Energy level wise, I feel like I could probably run a marathon but I never do much more physical than cleaning/fast walking. 

Weird highs: where I have ideas and weird but funny/important/interesting (at least to me) thoughts that I *need* to tell people. It usually leads to me spamming a couple of friends with FB messages, unless someone happens to be online and engages with something I say. Like, I might send someone thirty messages in an hour or two, starting with an idea for a business, fleshing this plan out, also do you watch Daredevil because I just started and its awesome, why do shows have love interests all the time, hey so I want to touch that body but not in the sex way??? Does that even make sense? It should make sense. Im taking you off the list of people I have a crush on and putting you back square in the friend list because I need room for daredevil. Why are there spiders in my room? This is really freaky. Theres a spider on my bed noopeeee. Never going to sleep again. Hey have you seen this tumblr post. It reminds me of you. Oh did you end up eating anything? You need to eat. Hey, how do you think zombies know to avoid walking though fire? Because they do seem to know in the walking dead, which suggests they have some kind of self preservation instinct. Unless they know there’s food in the fire, then they walk in. So not much self preservation. What part of the brain would need to be functioning for that? New project for holidays: an extensive report on the bodily functions of zombies and the necessary brain areas needed to achieve them, along with the resultant emotions that they could hypothetically be feeling. 

And so on and so forth. Usually with degenerating spelling and grammar. If, however, the person responded to say, ‘Do you watch Daredevil?’ with ‘omg yes, who is your favourite character?’ then the weird would probably be focused to Daredevil commentary. 

Weird highs tend to simply be less coherent, less productive and with an undertone of anxiousness or uncomfortable energy. Sudden loud noises or shadows or other scary/superstition things feel a lot more frightening. Like, I *will* be afraid the Joker is in my cupboard, especially at night. Think about it like a standard high being the energy that comes from downing a dozen energy drinks and a weird high is when you’re incredibly sleep deprived to the point where you’re past tired to energised.

Anger

Anger was actually the first thing that made me think I might have BPD. I’m not actually sure if it’s triggered by anything or my brain just randomly makes the switch but I go from zero to raging-enough-to-murder-you in like, ten seconds. Like, so much angry energy inside that I have to move. I shake my hands at my sides a lot (I also do that when I’m stressing out), again, lots of power walking and talking. Violent thoughts are really big when I’m overwhelmingly angry, sometimes I’ll self harm or want to self harm to try and let the anger out. I have this idea that I’m full to bursting with this energy and cutting will let some of it bleed out. Alternatively, everything and everyone pisses me the fuck off. Like, breathtakingly angry (for some reason that phrase always occurs to me when I’m mad). Best example is from when I was on a psych ward. There was this lady, A, who did not shut up. She’d talk about herself and her husband (switching between how good he was and how he’d abandoned her), telling everyone that they were beautiful and shouldn’t be on here, getting upset (although she never yelled). She did not stop. No one liked her much because she didn’t listen, just talked. And I didn’t like her either but I work in hospitality, I have an excellent customer service face. But one night I flipped into rage mode and was pacing the ward. Mad about most of the people, about the announcements that were always going on, about not being allowed to leave or being able to get outside. And I turned a corner, saw A at the other end of the hall and was utterly furious with her because she didn’t get the fucking message, she kept talking, just fucking say something A, I fucking dare you, I will rip your head off. I was 100% ready to try and break her neck if she talked to me, my hands were like…phantom urges to do it. And she walked past me and said I didn’t look okay and I said ‘I’m not’, and she obviously realised not to talk to me. So I went three or four laps of the ward wanting nothing more than to physically rip A’s head off and wondering if today would be the day I actually did something because I’m on a psych ward, why not? (Because even when that furious, I know the difference between legal and illegal so I am aware that I can’t actually use an insanity plea. Being borderline doesn’t erase your awareness/knowledge of things.) Then I saw one of the girls who was receiving involuntary ECT and she looked like crap and I started fantisizing about suffocating her, because I couldn’t think of a way to break her out of the ward and my anger had switched to the fact that she was being forced to have ECT. 

The anger mood can be good though, I tend to do my more active social justicey things in an angry state. Like letter writing or getting involved in debates. I rarely have the emotional spoons to get into conversations with centre/right wing people about politics anymore, unless I’m in an angry state. But there’s a line, sometimes the anger state becomes too much and tips over into feeling helpless rage and then I just end up spiralling from anger to depression because there’s nothing I can do. So anger can be good but it’s a fine thing.

One other thing. A few of sites I’ve visited suggest that people with BPD can have problems controlling anger. This isn’t something I have a problem with because I’m one of those people who overanalyses everything, which has helped me keep perspective. I think of my brain as split into two parts, subjective, which rules the roost, and objective, which is aware of what, why and how my subjective brain twists things and how I *should* be acting. I essentially logic myself through anger episodes because on one level I realise that my anger isn’t justified/relative to the situation. One of my psychs put it as ‘using intelligence to mitigate borderline personality’. I mention this because it was an interesting idea to me, often in fiction smart characters suffer from mental illnesses of some kind but I have never seen that intelligence used to combat it as well. 

Depression: Empty, Painful. (Again, these are just the terms I use to differentiate)

Depression is weird. When I received the diagnosis of BPD earlier this year, the doctors suggested that my depression was less severe than previously thought and was exacerbated by being borderline. I don’t know. Interesting thought about interactions, I guess? Anyway, being depressed works in one of two ways. Empty, which is like…being bored but worse? Aimless, no emotions, not sad, not seeing the point of anything. Not in a suicidal way, just that there seems no logical reason for anything. The thought of suicide is more because I need to *do* something, but nothing really has any point so might as well die. It’s more of a…a logical conclusion to a series of thoughts? Empty depressed is a bit like strapping on a backpack of rocks every time you try to do anything, physically things seem to take more effort. But there’s not really a corresponding emotional heaviness. I feel like I should be sad, and sometimes I *do* get sad (not depressed, just sad), but it really is nothingness. I tend to sleep a lot when I feel like this.

Painful depression is a whole different kettle of fish. That hurts a lot, emotionally. I often feel like there’s something in my chest that’s hurting, but also like a vacuum, and I tend to do things to try and protect that area. Cross my arms or put something heavy on my chest (I love weighted blankets for that). Mostly I’ll go to bed and curl in a ball with my arms/toys/pillow/a wadded blanket/something pressed into my chest. If I cry, I’ll silently scream into the exhalations until I haven’t got any breath left. It’s all trying to dig whatever the feeling is out of my chest. Self loathing really digs its claws in as well, some of which is due to eating disorder thinking. Painful depression and eating disorder thinking like to go hand in hand. Physically, energy isn’t really a thing. Mainly because the emotional hurt makes it feel too hard to do anything. Lots of blasting music when I’m like this. Sometimes I binge watch TV, but usually that’s too hard and I don’t feel like I want to. Painful depression is when suicidal thoughts become a real danger for me, because it’s an emotional drive to make the pain stop, rather than a more intellectual reasoning. 

Episodic vs. Everyday thinking. 

Something I feel like I need to add, especially after the anger part. None of what I think/feel when I’m in an extreme is different to what I would think/feel normally. They’re just about 1000 times more intense than usual. I always have some level of ‘There’s a monster in my cupboard’ fear or ‘I want to stab this person in the face’ anger because these are things that I, personally, think and feel normally. The difference between the ‘baseline’ emotion and a borderline episode (for want of a better word) is the intensity of the emotion. During an episode, the feeling is dialled right up so the corresponding thoughts become a lot more central and a lot less casual.

Example: Fear.

Scene: I’ve missed a call from my parents. I call back. No one answers.

Baseline thought: What if someone’s died? Haha yeah right. You know, I’ll feel really bad if someone has died and I just laughed. I didn’t mean it. 

Borderline thought: What if someone’s died? What if Mum’s been in a car crash or Dad’s had a heart attack? Why isn’t anyone picking up? (I’m probably calling both of my parents and the home phone at this point) Oh my god, I don’t want my dad to die. Why isn’t anyone answering me, what’s happened? What if they were all driving to the city and had a car crash and everyone’s dead? I’ll miss them so much. They won’t get to see me graduate. I’ll never watch tv with dad again. Mum won’t ever make dinner or give me a backstretch again. I don’t have this relationship with anyone else, I can’t do this without them. (I don’t cry much but I’d be feeling very much like crying because by this point some part of me is convinced that my parents are dead. This is also partially me catastophising- imagining the worst possible outcome without evidence.)

Example: Anger

Scene: Someone is walking slowly in front of me.

Baseline thought: I will stab u holy shit, why are you walking so slow? No, be patient, it’s alright. Chillax, life is a journey. I still want to stab him. Yeah, but does walking slowly really deserve death? It’s all good. You aren’t in a rush.

Borderline thought: Fucking fucker I will fucking stab you oh my god, hurry the fuck up. Right in the back, slide the knife in between your vertebrae. (Lots of visualising said stabbing, probably clenching a fist/pretending to hold a knife by my side). 

[Thank you for sharing your experiences. - Shrink]