#let me be clear this would be a clearly medical interaction I am seeking from the team

[garashir]

I just realized the only sort of self insert indulgent fanfic I would even conceptualize is me getting treated by doctor house’s team JUST for the fantasy of whatever the hell is wrong with me getting cured

[ultimatetrashyfanfic]

Still loving Komahina and I also love hurt/comfort sickfics so this was pretty inevitable. Nagito is very good for sickfics. Anyway, I wanted to show these two trying to navigate a bad illness and all the frightening and sometimes embarrassing things that come with that. Post-hope arc again. With fluff because I can’t NOT do fluff. I hope you enjoy it - Circle

Also on A03: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34280557

Warning: descriptions of vomiting (I didn’t describe the puke itself or anything, don’t worry, I’m emetophobic myself) and high fevers/vague descriptions of medical procedures.

Hajime noticed at the beach this time - and just like every time, he kicked himself for not noticing before he’d made Nagito leave the cabin. He thought back to when Nagito stumbled as they walked across the island, about how he’d chased every meagre bite of breakfast with a gulp of water like it was difficult to get down. Hajime hadn’t been vigilant enough, and now they were sitting together on the sand and Nagito was leaning far too heavily against his shoulder.

“Nagito?” Hajime said cautiously. When Nagito turned his head, Hajime hastily put a hand to his forehead, managing to catch it before Nagito veered away. “I knew it. You’re burning up.”

Some old routine. Nagito would deflect, then grow self-deprecating; Hajime would shut that down, then begrudgingly carry Nagito back to their cabin. They’d done this dance together over and over, whenever Nagito’s weakened state and illness made something like a common cold seem as serious as smallpox.

It didn’t seem so bad for the next couple of days. Nagito had a fever, but it was a low one, and he ate when Hajime asked and seemed alert and talkative. Hajime felt comfortable leaving him in the care of their friends while he went to Mikan for medicine and advice - though his friends proved to need supervision of their own. He returned to his cabin just as Sonia and Gundham were leaving, reassured when Sonia reported that Nagito wasn’t any worse. At the time, he didn’t notice the splashes of brown paint on Gundham’s bandages or Sonia’s dress.

Hajime stopped short when he stepped over the threshold. There was a gigantic swirly witchy symbol covering almost the whole wall above the bed, the heavy smell of paint in the air. Nagito was peeping over the top of the bedsheets, eyes sparkling.

“What the hell is that?” Hajime couldn’t even sound angry. He was just bloody tired. Why were the Ultimates so dramatic?

“Sonia and Gundham did a ritual for my good health,” Nagito explained. His lip twitched and Hajime knew he was fighting a smile. “I was so honoured to have two Ultimates working to help me that I thought it’d be unspeakably ungrateful to protest.”

“Oh, shut up, Nagito! I can see you just think it’s funny,” Hajime snapped. Nagito snorted and disappeared under the sheets, spluttering.

Hajime sighed and took another look at the giant eyesore on his wall. At least it was painted fairly neatly - and he knew Gundham and Sonia’s hearts were in the right places even if this particular stunt was irritating. He supposed they were trying to help in a weird way. Sonia went along with anything Gundham said, and Hajime didn’t expect Gundham to know you shouldn’t paint giant symbols on other people’s walls without permission. Gundham navigated social interactions like he was going into battle; Hajime doubted he would ask permission for something he clearly saw as a good deed.

“Doesn’t it make your boring plain wall more interesting?” Nagito piped up.

“Don’t push your luck, Nagito.”

“Right. Who knows what pushing my luck will do.”

Later on, Hajime would worry that he’d jinxed them somehow, that whatever strange force was behind Nagito’s Ultimate Luck was malevolent and wanted to teach them a lesson for mocking it - because that night brought disaster. Nagito was usually exceptionally clingy when they were in bed, often to the point where Hajime got so warm he had to pry him off, but now he curled up right on the very edge of the mattress, well away from Hajime. Hajime knew he was awake from his strangely measured breaths and his unusual stillness; Nagito was a restless sleeper. He frequently kicked Hajime in the night and rolled right on top of him and yanked the blankets away. Sometimes Hajime felt like he’d get more sleep on a busy runway as airplanes roared overhead.

Hajime poked Nagito in the back, careful not to tip him right off the bed. “Hey. What’s up?”

He didn’t get a response. Hajime sighed. “Do you think I’m stupid? I know you’re not asleep. You never sleep like that. So what’s going on?”

He wound his arms around Nagito’s waist and tried to pull him closer to get a better look at him, but Nagito winced and slapped his hands away with surprising force. “Don’t,” he gasped, curling up even tighter. “Don’t press…”

“What? Is it your stomach?” This was new. Nagito had been off his food lately, but then he frequently found it difficult to eat. “Do you feel nauseous?”

Silence. Getting information from Nagito was like getting blood from a stone sometimes. Hajime felt Nagito’s forehead in the gloom. His fever had definitely gone up and his skin was clammy. Hajime let his fingers trail down Nagito’s cheeks to his jawline and felt along his neck - the lymph nodes were so swollen they felt like two throbbing ping pong balls.

“Fuck,” Hajime muttered. “I thought we might get through this one without anything too bad.”

He was expecting some strange rambling about how this bad luck would inspire them to hope for good things in the future, but Nagito still didn’t speak. He rolled over and shuffled across the bed, tucking his burning head right under Hajime’s chin. It worried Hajime more than any words could; Nagito didn’t actively seek out comfort unless he was feeling really terrible.

“Hey,” Hajime mumbled, having to spit out a mouthful of Nagito’s unruly curls. “Ugh, your hair keeps getting in my mouth. Look, I know you’re sick and I’m sure it must feel crappy, but you’ll be okay. You’ll probably feel better by tomorrow morning. Right?” Hajime knew he sounded like he was trying to convince himself as well as Nagito.

More silence. Hajime could feel Nagito shivering, and wound his arms around him quickly. He usually teased Nagito for being so chilly all the time, needing his jacket whenever the sun dipped behind the clouds and getting goose pimples in the air conditioned cabins, but it didn’t seem remotely funny anymore. Nagito trembled like he was buried up to his neck in snow, but he certainly didn’t feel cold.

“You’re burning up. Fuck, I think I need to get Mikan,” Hajime said. He felt a hand shoot out and grab hold of his t-shirt, clinging for dear life. Hajime knew he could easily pry Nagito off, but he couldn’t bring himself to try at a time like this. “Okay, don’t freak out. I’ll stay. But I’m going if you get any worse.”

It was after midnight when the vomiting started. They’d already been in the bathroom since eleven, huddled together on the floor by the toilet, sharing a blanket. Nagito kept sleepily begging Hajime to go back to bed and leave him there, but he wouldn’t budge.

“Shut up,” he mumbled. “Don’t act like you wouldn’t be here with me if our roles were reversed.”

“That’s different. You’re you and I’m me,” Nagito whispered. He let his burning head rest against Hajime’s shoulder despite his pleading.

“It shouldn’t be different though. It’s not different, not to me. You’re sick and I wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway if I knew you were in here on your own feeling miserable.”

“You have such a kind heart, Hajime. To think you could care so much about someone as worthless as I am.”

“Nagito. If you don’t stop that I’m going to shove your head down the toilet and flush, no matter how sick you are,” Hajime threatened. “You’re not worthless. For the millionth time.”

“You’d think you’d have got tired of saying that by now,” Nagito said.

“I have. Very fucking tired. But I’ll keep saying it until you believe me. Now shut up and try to get some rest. And let me know when you need to throw up. You’re in a position right now that would have you puking down my front and it’s making me nervous.”

Thankfully, Nagito was exceptionally neat about it when he did have to lean over the toilet to vomit. Hajime hooked his white curls back behind his ears and tried not to groan too much. It was unpleasant, obviously, but it was clear Nagito was the one suffering the most right now. He didn’t need Hajime moaning in his ear for him to hurry up - and as the minutes ticked by Hajime found his embarrassment and mild disgust morphing into anxiety. He knew Nagito hadn’t had much to eat these past few days, but the retching and heaving went on well after Nagito had nothing left to bring up. Nagito’s cheeks grew flushed and blotchy, and it wasn’t long before Hajime was the only thing holding him up over the loo, his arms wound around Nagito’s chest. He could feel Nagito’s heart pounding hard against his arms, on and on.

“Come on,” Hajime said eventually. “I’ll get you a bucket or something. You’re not really throwing anything up now anyway. You need to lie down.”

Nagito didn’t respond. He was breathing heavily, his face dripping with sweat. He was gripping the porcelain so hard his knuckles bleached white. Hajime had to pry off his fingers one by one.

“Come on,” he repeated. “I’ll get you something to wipe your face. I know you feel miserable but you can���t stay tethered to the toilet until you die.” He scooped Nagito up into his arms, cradling him as carefully as a newborn. Nagito felt frighteningly hot and damp.

Shaky arms wound around Hajime’s neck and a weak, hoarse voice whispered into his ear. “Death would be welcome at this point…”

“Stop it,” Hajime said firmly. “Don’t go all melodramatic on me. You sound like Gundham.” He carried Nagito to the bed and ran a cloth under the tap. “Here. Shall I do it for you? Then you don’t have to sit up.”

Nagito didn’t react, staring up at the ceiling. He seemed to decide to ignore Hajime at will, and it annoyed him almost as much as Nagito’s self-deprecation.

“Fine, don’t talk to me,” Hajime snapped. “I’ll scrub your face like a baby if you’re going to act like one.” Despite his tone, Hajime ran the damp cloth over Nagito’s skin with unbelievable care and tenderness, going carefully around his eyes and mouth.

Nagito’s eyes flickered over to him. “Well, Nurse Hinata, what’s your diagnosis? Is it curtains for me now? Is this world finally finished with me?”

“No! God, I’ve never known anybody so dramatic,” Hajime said angrily. “It’s just a little stomach flu or something like that. Don’t be so stupid.” He was almost shouting now. It was far easier to get angry than to admit to Nagito that he was scared too, that the knot of panic in his chest was getting tighter by the minute.

Nagito stared at him pityingly. Hajime wanted to slap him and clasp him close all at once.

“I’m going to get Mikan.” He turned to leave, but felt a clammy hand grasp his wrist and hold it with a surprisingly firm, desperate strength. Hajime turned back. “Nagito..?”

Nagito had his head bent, his lips pressed together. He didn’t speak, but he clung to Hajime’s wrist so tightly his fingernails dug in.

“But we need help. I’ll be as fast as I can, I promise. I’ll run all the way,” Hajime tried.

The hand squeezed even tighter.

“Oh fucking hell,” Hajime groaned. “Okay, I won’t leave. But we still need help, so you need to let me go for a second, okay? I promise I won’t go past the door to the cabin.”

A pause. Then Nagito slowly unclamped his fingers and let Hajime break free. He immediately flew to the cabin door, opened it wide and took a deep, long breath inwards. “HEY!” he bellowed, as loud as he could possibly manage. His voice boomed through the still night air. “WE NEED HELP! COME OUT AND HELP US!”

He yelled the same simple lines over and over until a door opened. He’d rather hoped for somebody sensible like Twogami or Mahiru; he ended up with Kazuichi. It made sense really - the sensible people would be asleep at three in the morning, and Kazuichi’s cabin was directly across from Hajime’s.

“What the hell are you screaming about, Hajime?” Kazuichi whined, scrubbing his eyes. His hands were covered with oil and he smeared it across his cheeks. It looked like he was wearing bad war paint. He’d doubtless been hunched over some project he was working on. It usually annoyed Hajime to see his friend neglecting vital things like sleep for his machines, but he was grateful for Souda’s insomnia tonight.

“Kazuichi, come over here, I need your help. Nagito is sick. Like, really sick. I need you to go get Mikan. Please.”

“What? Why can’t you do it?” Kazuichi said indignantly.

“I just… I don’t want to leave him alone, okay?!” Hajime muttered, flustered.

“Awww, Hajime! You loooove him,” Kazuichi cried, spluttering with laughter.

Hajime heard Nagito snort behind him too. He must’ve heard. He felt his cheeks flush crimson. “Kazuichi, will you just fucking go before I throttle you!”

“Stop yelling at me, I’m doing you a favour!” Kazuichi cried, looking wounded - but he ran off in the direction of Mikan’s cabin obediently.

None of them slept much that night. Mikan worked diligently, trying antibiotics and saline drips and ice packs, but she couldn’t get Nagito’s fever down, getting more and more tearfully apologetic as if she was personally blighting him herself. “His fever is dangerously high. We have to find a way of lowering it,” she muttered over and over like a mantra, shaking her head.

Anti-nausea drugs stopped the persistent stomach pains, but Nagito was clearly far from comfortable. He stopped smirking and teasing Hajime, stopped laughing at Kazuichi’s silly jokes. He stopped putting himself down and babbling about how the four Ultimates were so full of kindness and hope to be fussing so much over someone like him. He just stared vacantly up at the ceiling, his eyes foggy and over-bright, his cheeks flushed.

They each toiled in their own way until dawn, when they finally collapsed with exhaustion, squashing up together on Hajime’s bed. They lay there undisturbed until Twogami came looking for them, concerned by the absences at breakfast. He shook Hajime awake, wanting to know why there were four people curled around each other like puppies on his bed, but all Hajime could focus on was Nagito. His head was resting on Hajime’s chest, burning hot through his shirt. The fever was still there. He’d woken up but the nightmare was still going.

It was a mercy that Twogami found them. He sent Mikan off to sleep in her own cabin and made Hajime give a detailed account of the previous night (he let Kazuichi remain asleep at the foot of the bed. Twogami knew he wouldn’t sleep again if he was disturbed, and he wasn’t in the way).

“If he gets any worse, we might have to contact Future Foundation,” Twogami said thoughtfully. “They’ll have more complex medical equipment.”

“We don’t need them,” Hajime snapped. “Especially Makoto.”

He’d thought Kazuichi was still sleeping, but he snorted. “Because Nagito gushes over Makoto. That’s why you don’t like him,” he mumbled sleepily, sitting up.

“Shut up, you hypocrite. Why didn’t you like Gundham before?” Hajime argued.

“I don’t know why you get so fussed, Makoto looks a lot like you.”

“He doesn’t!”

Twogami sighed and crossed his arms like an exasperated parent. “If you two want to bicker you can go do it outside. Nagito needs peace and quiet.” He sounded like a parent too, and the other men quietened immediately and focused on Nagito again.

Nagito didn’t seem to wake up properly. He could open his eyes (though this looked like it was taking an extreme amount of effort) but he didn’t speak or even react very much when somebody spoke to him. He barely blinked when Hajime tried to make him sip water or Kazuichi tapped on his cheek and called his name. Mikan was forced to give him fluids intravenously. When the afternoon brought no improvements, Hajime let Twogami contact Future Foundation for better medicine.

Hajime spent another anxious, sleepless night desperately holding Nagito - though he didn’t feel like Nagito. He hadn’t spoken a single word all day, and though Hajime was trying to be optimistic, he could feel panic pooling in his stomach like oil. Would the medicine get here in time? Would it even work? Nagito was so sick, as sick as he’d been with that awful Despair Disease. Hajime remembered how he’d left Nagito alone then; he wouldn’t make that mistake this time. He’d be there for Nagito - if he was even aware of Hajime at this point. It seemed less and less likely. He wasn’t even opening his eyes now. All Hajime could do was hold him, hold onto this lifeless, unresponsive husk that sucked in shallow breaths far too fast. He wondered if the real Nagito was somewhere deep inside, floating aimlessly, or if the fever had fried his brain completely and obliterated the strange, smart, fascinating person Hajime knew. No, surely he was being stupid. It couldn’t be that bad, right? Unless Mikan and Twogami were just being tactful. Maybe they both expected Nagito to perish and just didn’t want to snuff out Hajime’s hope. He clutched the burning body tighter.

“Don’t you dare die,” he whispered fiercely, cupping Nagito’s cheeks. “I mean it. Not after everything that’s happened. You can’t just give up now. You woke up once before. It took you the longest of everyone, but you still came back. Do it again, because I’ll lose my fucking mind if anyone else dies. You’d better fight this.” His eyes burned. Several tiny droplets of water fell onto Nagito’s face.

Hajime waited. He silently begged Nagito to open his eyes, whisper something coherent, clutch his hand… but nothing happened. Hajime held him all night, terrified of drifting off to sleep in case he woke up and found Nagito stone cold and white and still. He’d found Nagito dead once. Bloody and bound, his eyes bulging with pain… No. It wasn’t real, even if it felt real. It wasn’t real it wasn’t real it wasn’t real.

Morning brought the stronger medicine from the Future Foundation. Twogami explained what it was and how it worked, but Hajime was so fuzzy-headed with lack of sleep and stress that he didn’t take any of it in.

“Are you sure you’re going to be okay?” Twogami said doubtfully. “Mikan set up the IV so you don’t have to worry about anything. You could leave one of us here, go get some rest.” He tried for ten minutes to convince him, but Hajime shook his head.

“I can’t leave him. Not until he’s better.”

“You’re so stubborn. At this rate we’ll need to start nursing you along with him,” Twogami muttered, but he left them alone. Mikan left as soon as she could too, apologising even more than usual. Maybe Hajime had been glaring at her? It wasn’t her fault, he just had a splitting headache, but he obviously couldn’t leave to go apologise. Not now.

Time had started to blur. Minutes crawled by like days, but then suddenly an entire hour could disappear in a second. Hajime stayed sitting by Nagito’s side, periodically holding his hand, begging him to squeeze his back. Nagito lay still, but his breathing had evened out considerably since he’d been given this new medication. Hajime tried tickling at his cheeks and smoothing back his hair and Nagito twitched and sighed - tiny reactions, but they were reactions. Hajime hardly dared let himself hope and he definitely didn’t dare let himself sleep, though he was so tired now he had shooting pains behind his eyes.

Later - much later - Kazuichi came back, bringing Hajime toast and coffee. He looked startled by the state he was in. “Good God, Hajime, you look worse than Nagito!”

“Thanks a bunch,” Hajime grumbled. He didn’t touch the toast but took a grateful gulp of coffee.

“Seriously, bro, when did you last sleep? Or eat? Or… shower?” Kazuichi asked, sitting cross-legged at the foot of the bed.

“That’s rich, coming from you.”

“Have you seriously not slept since he got sick?”

“How can I?” Hajime snapped. “Will you please stop bleating obvious questions at me, Kazuichi. Yes, I’m fucking tired and hungry and I look like shit right now, I know. But I’m trying to make sure my boyfriend doesn’t die right in front of me, so forgive me if I can’t give much of a fuck about anything else! I don’t have the energy to deal with you right now. So can you please just shut up or fuck off!” He was practically screaming by the end of it. Part of him really wanted Kazuichi to yell back, start a real fight; he was so tired and so frustrated and it was so easy to take it out on Kazuichi.

But Souda didn’t argue. He didn’t speak, but his eyes filled up and he ducked his head to hide his quivering lips. Hajime felt a sudden wave of shame wash over his head. He didn’t want to make Kazuichi cry (even if that was pretty easy to do).

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, putting his head in his hands. “Yes, I’m tired. Tired and miserable. It’s not your fault.”

“I know you’re tired. I thought I could stay here. Keep watch over Nagito for a bit. You can sleep next to him,” Kazuichi said, his voice cracking.

Hajime felt worse than ever. “Shit. I’m sorry.” He grabbed Kazuichi and pulled him into a clumsy hug. “You’re a good friend. Better than me.”

“I’m your best friend, right?” Kazuichi asked hopefully. “You’re not just being nice? Am I actually just annoying?”

“You are annoying. But you’re still my best friend.”

Kazuichi grinned. “Okay. And you’ll get some rest now? I think you really need it, Hajime. You’re so grouchy when you’re tired.”

Hajime rather wanted to grumble about that comment, but he didn’t want to prove Souda’s point. “You’ll wake me up if anything changes with Nagito? Even something tiny. Even if you’re not sure it’s a change, can you wake me up to check?”

“Yes. God, you’re worse than Peko with Fuyuhiko. Do you really love him, Hajime?” Kazuichi asked.

“Look, we’re not at a pre-teen sleepover, Kazuichi. I don’t want to sit here with you and gossip about boys,” Hajime said, shuffling close to Nagito. He wasn’t sure - maybe it was wishful thinking - but he thought Nagito’s body was slightly cooler.

“See what I mean. Grumpy,” Kazuichi mumbled.

Hajime didn’t bother to reply this time. He didn’t think he’d manage to get a wink of sleep with all the stress and worry, but he was out like a light almost immediately, so exhausted he didn’t even dream. He wasn’t sure how long Kazuichi kept vigil at their bedside (several hours, he guessed. Kazuichi was a good friend) but he was gone when Hajime opened his eyes. The silvery dawn light was filtering in through the windows, bathing their furniture in a soft glow. Something was burrowing into Hajime’s chest like a small animal.

“Nagito..?” Hajime mumbled, still half-asleep.

“Of course. Who else do you invite into bed, Hajime?”

“Nobody, dumbass.” Then it clicked and Hajime was instantly awake, peering through the dim light. Nagito truly was awake, looking very pale and sleepy and weak, but his eyes were open. Hajime clutched onto him at once, holding him as tight as he dared. Nagito felt as fragile as glass, like he might shatter altogether if Hajime squeezed too hard.

“Careful, you’ll yank my IV out,” Nagito mumbled, but he buried his face into Hajime’s shoulder too. His skin was still clammy, still warm, but not that terrifying burning anymore. Nagito felt clammy all over. “You should wait till I’ve showered before we do all the tearful reunions.”

“Shut up. I need a shower too,” Hajime said hoarsely. He tried to swallow the lump in his throat. “Fuck, it’s good to see you awake and talking.”

“How long was I out?”

“Several days. How much do you remember?”

Nagito paused. “I remember the night Mikan and Kazuichi came. It gets a bit muddled after that. Someone tried to make me drink quite a few times. Nothing much then. Except…”

“Except?”

“Perhaps I was dreaming. I couldn’t imagine somebody caring so much for someone like-”

“Oh Christ, I haven’t missed that,” Hajime groaned. “Just tell me what you remember!”

“You. Your voice, telling me not to die. Though it sounded more like you were threatening me not to die. And something dripping on me.”

Hajime felt his face flushing. It seemed like years ago that he’d hovered over Nagito and frantically begged him to keep fighting. “Trust you to remember something embarrassing like that.”

“Were you truly crying?”

“What else would I be doing? Drooling on you?”

“You hardly ever cry.”

“I’ve never seen you that sick before,” Hajime admitted. He held Nagito in the hug so he couldn’t see his face. It was somehow easier to blurt it all out in the gloomy morning half-light. “It was… fucking horrible. I didn’t dare sleep. I haven’t felt scared like that since the simulation. I thought I was going to lose you… just like Chiaki.”

There was a long, pregnant pause. Hajime could feel Nagito’s breath tickling against his neck.

“We smell awful,” Nagito finally whispered.

Hajime started spluttering with laughter. “For God’s sake! Can’t you ever be serious?”

“You know I don’t have any idea how to comfort people. But… you shouldn’t worry so much when I get sick. Not just because I’m me, but because my luck usually comes through for me eventually. It hasn’t let me die yet. Well, except in the simulation.”

“Shut up. Don’t talk about that,” Hajime said quickly. “Izuru has luck too. So that should mean I’m stuck with you forever.”

He rather expected Nagito to shoot back with some sort of self-deprecating response like “poor you” but Nagito was silent for a while. He was practically in Hajime’s lap now, his skinny legs wound around Hajime’s waist.

“Thank you.”

“Hm?” The words were so quiet Hajime barely heard.

“Thank you for taking care of me. Nobody has ever done that before,” Nagito said, his voice as light and delicate as the dawn. He still found it so hard to accept things like this. He’d spent so many years building walls around him and then Hajime had come along and blasted through them in an instant. Nagito felt raw and vulnerable and exposed - but there was a warm feeling in his stomach too, new and unfamiliar.

“I’d do it again in a heartbeat,” Hajime promised.

“You’ll probably have to. My immune system is awful.”

“Then I will. Needing things isn’t bad, Nagito. You’re not meant to do things all alone.”

“The thing we need right now is a wash.”

“Yes. We’d better get that over with first,” Hajime agreed - but despite their words they both remained in their embrace, clinging to each other with desperate strength, long after that sun had risen properly.

[flowesona]

The Devil - Yandere! Taehyung x reader

The Tarot Series

Warning: Explicit / Sexual content, Alcohol use, Allusions to non-con

The drowning beat of the club, the flashing colourful lights, the indecent displays. All of it was doing (Y/N)’s head in, as she counted down the minutes until her shift was over. 

She wasn’t proud to be working in a strip club. But the pay was good, and she’d gotten used to seeing scantily clad people. Most of the time she kept her back turned anyway, and never had to interact with the patrons beyond serving a few drinks.

Once 3 AM struck, she was finally free to start closing the bar. Wiping down the surfaces, checking the fridge temperatures, mopping the floor. 

She didn’t even notice someone standing by, watching, until she turned to leave only to bump into his chest.

“Oh! I’m so sorry sir, I didn’t see you there.” (Y/N) spluttered, her face crimson. She was used to people lingering about, but this man was another level of stunning. Glossy black hair, golden skin and decked in high end brands to complete his luxurious appearance. 

“That’s fine… (Y/N).” He replied, leering at her name badge. “You’re clocking out for the night correct?”

“I’m sorry sir, I don’t think that’s any of your business. If you’re looking for a stripper to fuck, they’ll be in their dressing rooms.” She said, brushing past him. He tried to follow her, only to have the staff door slammed abruptly in his face. A sickening crack resounded, his nose now dribbling crimson blood and a fire lit within.

*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*

“(Y/N)? Can we talk?” As soon as she had hung up her coat in the staff room at the start of her shift, Jin was waiting for her, tapping his foot impatiently.

“Is something wrong?”

“No… well… come to my office, sweetheart. There’s some business we need to sort out.” He said with a grim expression. (Y/N) bit her tongue, wondering what she could possibly be in trouble for. She never took money from the register, or turned up late. What reason did Jin, a relatively pleasant person for the profession he was in, have to fire her?

That reason was sat in one of the leather chairs of the office, a bandage around his nose and dressed in a far too expensive jacket.

“(Y/N), this is Kim Taehyung. I’ve been told you slammed one of our doors in his face, and now his nose is severely injured as a result of this.” (Y/N)’s stomach dropped as she recognised him, realised just what she’d done. Rejecting a rich man then accidentally injuring him would be sure to have steep consequences. 

“He wanted to talk with you about compensation.” Jin gave her a gentle push towards the other chair, giving a light pat on the shoulder at the same time before leaving the room.

“(Y/N).” Hearing that deep voice again sent a shiver down her spine, as she was forced to make eye contact with the handsome patron.

“I’m really sorry about what I did! But please, I don��t have that much money, I could probably only cover half of your medical bill if it needs to get fixed.” She was ready to get on her knees and beg the man if necessary. He had all the power over her. To take her job away, to sue her for every penny she owned.

“That’s not what I’m asking for, love.” Taehyung breathed, beckoning for her to take the seat. She said as he indicated, resisting the urge to cry.

“(Y/N), when I approached you the other night, I was only going to ask if I could buy you a drink.” He looked earnest enough, resting his elbows on his knees. But (Y/N) could sense there was something different about him. He just reeked of greed, and she felt that he would suck her dry if given the chance.

“Sir, I’m not sure if it’s appropriate for me to do that with a customer. I’m a bartender, not a hostess.” The words got lost in her throat. Taehyung blinked.

“I’m an old friend of Jin, he wouldn’t mind. Even so, I would like to take you to a different bar. One that I own.” His gaze was intense as he spoke. “Or, you could pay for the plastic surgery I’ve gotten on my nose to repair the damage you did. But I don’t suppose you’d be working here if you had five grand to spare, would you?”

‘Bastard.’

 No doubt, Kim Taehyung was a demon with the power to match. As (Y/N) dumbly nodded her head, letting him launch into arranging a time, she couldn’t help but wonder if she could do anything at all.

*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*

Taehyung’s bar was much more sophisticated than (Y/N)’s workplace, with dim orange lights and soft music from a band on the stage to create a sensual mood. Of course, there were still plenty of people getting way too close for comfort, and in a moment of delirium (Y/N) reached out to take Taehyung’s hand as he led her to a table near the back.

He gave her hand a gentle squeeze before letting go to draw out a seat for her.

“What do you drink (Y/N)? Wine? A cocktail, perhaps?” 

“A margarita would be lovely, thank you.” She replied curtly. How she wished the night would be over, and for the time being as she could do to remedy her sorrows was drink something strong enough to get her buzzed. Taehyung nodded before striding away, although his presence lingered behind. The ambience of the bar screamed his name, as if it itself was trying to lure her in as he did, to hypnotise her into doing his will and make her pay if she did not.

Taehyung pulled one of the bar staff aside to give his order, asking them to double the tequila, before pushing past into the back room to find the heating and kicking it up a few notches.

As soon as their drinks were ready he picked them up and made his way back to (Y/N), only to see someone standing next to her. Some semi-decent looking man was trying to make conversation with her. Even if this man was clearly rich and charming, he didn’t have an inch of the leverage Taehyung possessed over (Y/N). Nor a fraction of the obsession that Taehyung had.

(Y/N) was so caught up in her conversation , she didn’t even notice his return until the beautifully garnished cocktail was placed in front of her.

“I hope that I haven't been gone too long that you had to seek another man’s company.” Taehyung glowered at the patron, silently telling him to scram. Forget the business, forget the reputation. (Y/N)’s company was not something he would let anyone else take from him.

(Y/N) flushed pink with embarrassment, at the notion that she was some attention seeking village bicycle. Meanwhile, Taehyung simply seated himself opposite her, a glass of whiskey in hand.

“Why… did you want to take me out for a drink so badly?” (Y/N) quiered cautiously, taking a sip of her margarita and noting the taste was stronger than anything she’d ever had before. 

“Well, I want to get to know you, (Y/N). You’re beautiful, and I am very interested in your company.” Taehyung replied smoothly, eyes trained on her. 

“So much so that you had to blackmail me into coming out with you?” (Y/N) quirked an eyebrow. The alcohol instantly relaxed her, perhaps too much. If she’d had time to think, she wouldn’t have dared question the man who would easily ruin her life.

“Touché. But you wanted to keep things professional, correct? Then this is just a business transaction.” 

It was one hell of a business meeting, that was for sure. Over several secretly doubled margaritas she learnt he’d known Jin for a number of years, right when he opened his first cabaret. He even admitted to having seen (Y/N) a few times, but only decided to approach her that night since he’d done a line and felt more powerful than any other person in the city.

“But why me? The hookers must be falling over each other to get a rich man like you?” (Y/N)’s words had an adorable slur to them, and she’d advanced to taking the seat next to him rather than opposite him. 

“I’ve never seen a woman more perfect for me. And I just know that you can’t resist me.” His hand reached across to stroke her thigh. Her skin felt like it was on fire, the only thing cooling her being the rings that adorned his fingers.

(YN) leaned into his touch. Whether it was the lighting, the alcohol or the interest he was showing in her, she saw him as the most attractive guy on earth.

“I think we’ve overstayed our welcome. If you’re interested, I’ve got plenty of drinks at my place. Or we can do something else.” At her cautious nod ho stood up, taking her hand in his impatiently. He’d been wearing her down all evening, and it was satisfying to see it work. There was less separating (Y/N) and her coworkers than she liked to think. 

In fact, it was hard to hold back from fucking her in the back of his car en route to his penthouse, as she was eager. But he had a way to make the payoff much sweeter than just a few minutes of pleasure.

“I’m going fuck you senseless, love.” Taehyung breathed as he pushed her down onto the bed. (Y/N) moaned at their contact, trying to grasp at his cool skin to comfort her own.

“Patience, love.” He chuckled as he removed his tie, before looping it around her wrists. (Y/N) was desperate, whining on the verge of begging for him to fuck her, but Taehyung wanted to keep her waiting, to taunt her as she had done to him by refusing him in the first place. But with the right mood and good looks, Taehyung had no trouble peeling off (Y/N)’s clothes, as he gave her a night she would never forget. Certainly, the hidden camera in his wall was his insurance to make sure she wouldn’t forget.

*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*

(Y/N) was terrified to return to work. To have her impulsive night of pleasure backfire as Taehyung would tell Jin about what happened without hesitation, and she would lose her job. All for that demon’s sadistic pleasure, she guessed. 

Taehyung was revelling in the glory of sleeping with (Y/N). Indeed, he’d been blowing up her phone for days on end after acquiring her number. How he’d obtained it was ambiguous, but what was clear was that he wasn’t prepared to let things go as easily as she’d hoped. 

But when she finally had to go back to work with no more sick days available, she found Taehyung’s plan to be of a different design than having her thrown to the streets.

Her first evening back at work wasn’t too bad to begin with. The club was packed with regulars, what with it being Friday night. (Y/N) didn’t have time to be scared of seeing Taehyung with the amount of people waiting to be served. 

Finally, as people drifted away from the bar, (Y/N) could breathe. But only for a second before it was snatched away. As (Y/N) poured herself a soda, so she could finally relax, she heard the sound of moaning coming from the speakers. At first she thought nothing of it, until she heard the corresponding male voice. 

“You’re a fucking whore for me, aren’t you (Y/N)?”

(Y/N)’s head perked up, her eyes darting towards the large television that usually played sensual music videos to go with the performances, or the occasional softcore porn to get people provoked. But, over the tops of the heads of people crowded around it, she could see the video that was playing. 

Her and Taehyung. Naked. Having sex.

“Is that…?” (Y/N) couldn’t bear to face any of the judgement, dashing out from the bar to the staff area. She tried to wipe away her tears, as she knocked on Jin’s door. 

The door was opened, and the devil was there himself. Kim Taehyung, looking more smug than before.

“Here’s the woman of the hour. Our video was quite a hit, love.”

“Let me talk to Jin.” (Y/N) hissed, her face red.

“Is he on your bucket list too?” Taehyung taunted. “Everyone here knows what a whore you are now, after all.”

“Leave me alone. This is all… you’re a monster, Kim Taehyung.”

“I know, love.” He purred, his hands circling her waist. “But who else do you have? I’ve dragged you down to my level, and here shall you stay.”

(Y/N) shivered as his teeth grazed the shell of her ear, his breath hot on her skin.

“Next time, don’t make a deal with the Devil, love, if you don’t want to get burned.”

[all-of-the-above]

Depression

Do you ever get those days were it feels like all its going to do is rain, and I’m not talking about physical rain, I’m talking about the metaphorical rain. The days when nothing is ok, nothing goes right, nothing seems right. The days were it literally feels like there is a cloud hanging over your head. And sometimes these days can last a week or a month, or what seems like a lifetime. Do you ever find yourself feeling…

a)     Irritable

b)    Down for no reason

c)     Unmotivated even to do the things you normally enjoy

d)    Drained from everything

e)    Negative about the world

f)      Fed-up with yourself, your life, this feeling

g)     All of the above?

Its ok. I’m not diagnosing you with depression or something, I’m more sharing facts and experiences. I’m here to say you aren’t alone, and that its ok to not be ok.

To suffer with depression, or extreme sadness, or grief, or just to go through bad days, none of it is easy. I’m not suggesting here that I have either been diagnosed, but its more the fact I’m aware of myself, my mental health, my state of mind and just well me. I’ve suffered a very large form of grief in my teen years and it’s fair to say it has changed me. That’s ok, its normal. I can sit here and see now and understand me, asses so to speak and reflect. This topic is so important to me because of how much it is a part of my life and who I am really.

Depression. It’s a big word and although I may not have all the facts, I think most of you will get what I’m talking about even if it’s not from the most medical point of view.

You see depression isn’t a temporary thing, it stays around far longer than say a period of sadness. Don’t get me wrong not every day is a bad one, I would kind of describe it as coming and going like waves. Sadly, it can be quite inescapable. There doesn’t necessarily need to be a trigger for it to ‘happen’ either, you can simply wake up and not be ok again, and it can last from a day to however long. I find it then fizzles away again like clouds clearing from the sky and you get those times when its clear all day, every day, but other days it can be misty, and others clear with a little cloud, like a little niggle in the back of your mind, yet you can sort of ignore it. Then there’s the clouded, rainy days and you can’t ignore it. You see, however you feel, whenever you feel it is ok. It is different for everyone but I’m hoping my cloud metaphor helps.

With depression you can’t just “cheer up” and move on. It comes and goes but throughout your time of living with it, struggling and battling it, hopefully it comes less and less. There’s no time frame to getting rid of depression, it is something you live with. You can become more aware of it and yourself and grow overtime and find more happiness throughout your life, so it feels as though it barely rains and that is wonderful. But it’s not simple and easy and to understand you’re not alone is extremely important. To desire change, to act on it, to reflect on yourself and be determined to see growth away from those dark places is so special and takes courage and strength. Some days we don’t have that strength, but it’s about finding it again and to keep going.

You may have some exciting news but not even feel remotely happy about it. It happens. You may have a negative world view, aka seeing no point in it all, being fed-up with your life, your family, friends, relationships. You may sleep more to avoid feeling it. Or sleep less to distract yourself. You may rely on social interaction to feel loved and surrounded, busy and happy and with a lack of it you feel deflated, lost and down. It happens. You may end up shutting-off from people and not telling them how you really feel so you don’t burden them with it. You may seek comfort in the silence, the loneliness and cut-off communication. Whatever it may be, it happens. Its symptoms of depression, its signs you aren’t doing ok, and that’s alright because you aren’t the only one. Its alright because you will get through it. And although it may come around again, you’ll be stronger and even when you don’t feel it, you are. You have strength in you and no matter how dark those cloudy days become, you find the light, even if it’s a fragment. You see its all about hope, strength, perseverance, knowledge, reflection and understanding. If you can sit here now and recognise parts within you, parts about you. If you can reflect and understand, you’re a step closer to seeing less rain. But what I need you to know is, its ok if it still rains. Your journey, your life will be filled with sunshine, and with rain. There’s always going to be bad days, but what we all want, what we all need is just a few less of them. You aren’t messed up or weird or too sad for this world, you are you and you are fighting your own battles that no one can ever fully understand.

You may have noticed a lack of my presence recently, I haven’t posted much, this is my first blog post in a very long time and well its not to say I’ve not had good days, I’ve in fact had some of the most wonderful days recently and have wanted to be present in each of those moments. But underneath I’ve still struggled. I stopped doing this, I stopped a lot of my hobbies. I stopped the little but also big things I enjoyed. I had no motivation for it, and I ignored how I was feeling deep down. I may have gotten on with most of my days happy and well, but there were some clouds looming that I didn’t address. I took time to reflect and see, I then forced myself so to speak to do something, write something, plan something and I could see even more clearly how important this post would be. Recently I’ve been affected by my mental health and that’s ok. I didn’t want to write or post or do any of it. But I remembered the joy it gave me, the pride, the community. We fall in and out of habits all of the time, but to forget something you love is a big thing, yet not uncommon. To then have the ability to recognise it, no matter how long it takes, and to act on it, to make that change. Now that, that is spectacular. And you know what, if it happens again, its ok! Because let me tell you this, I see strength in you, I see knowledge and power, I see perseverance and pure understanding of who you are and what you are capable of. The waves can feel continuous and big or small, but those waves can come to a soft and steady fall. Who you are, your mental health, and your personality is you and irreplaceable. It is beautiful and unique, and one thing for sure is that it is loved.

It’s okay if you aren’t ok. I’m here. Others are here. But most importantly you are here, and with each day you are conquering the world.

[all-the-love-harold]

Chapter 20 - Earth Side

Master post 

Come and Talk about Harry and Poppy 

November 3rd  2017 – 29 Weeks

Harry walked into his house, chucking his keys on the table beside the door and bounding upstairs to take a shower. It felt nice to finally peel his suit off after having it on all night, through an hour-long flight and in the hospital with Poppy. Once he had it off, and scattered across the bedroom floor, he climbed into the shower, without waiting for the water to heat up, and let it wash it over him dripping down his side as his mind flooded with fears. He knew that for now, Poppy and the baby were okay, but her labour could start again any minute and he couldn’t bring himself to leave her alone for that, but he also knew that thousands of people had bought tickets to his remaining shows and he didn’t want to disappoint them either. He shut the water off, not wanting to leave Poppy alone in that hospital for too long.

“Fuck” he whispered to himself, realising that he’d forgotten to take a towel from the linen cupboard in the hall. He shook his hair dry and walked out of the bathroom. “Oh god” he used his hands to cover himself as he ran into Poppy’s mum in the hallway “Hi Linda”

She grimaced at him “Hello Harry” she answered bluntly looking him up and down “Left your wife alone again I see”

His nostrils flared as he wrapped a towel around his waist “I needed a shower and some fresh clothes” he ran his fingers through his hair, in frustration “she’s fine by the way, and so’s the baby, but you’re obviously more concerned with me than you are with your daughter and your grandson”

Her jaw dropped, not expecting him to retaliate like this “Don’t turn this around on me, I’m not the one that left her for months”

“I was gone for 3 and a half weeks” he snarled “and a few days here and there not months, but at least I didn’t leave her last night when she was terrified about what was going to happen. I was there for that. Where were you?”

“She didn’t need me then, she needed you”

“And I was there”

“But you weren’t there when it started, you weren’t there when she got that email from your lawyer, you’re only there when it’s convenient for you”

“You think getting back here last night was convenient? It’s not easy to get a flight from Glasgow to London that late, I had to cut a show short, leave all my things in Scotland, inconvenience the entire crew and venue staff, it wasn’t a walk in the park, but I got there Linda, because she needed me”

“Maybe if you never left, you wouldn’t have disappointed so many people”

“Christ” he sighed “how was I supposed to know? Touring is my job, Poppy knows that, she knew that before she married me, she’s always known that, she isn’t upset that I wasn’t there when it started, all she cares about is that I’m here now- so why does it bother you so much?”

“Because she deserves someone that doesn’t have to leave her all the time!” Lind yelled “Her family lives halfway across the world, if you’re not here, and I’m not here, who does she have?”

Harry wanted to yell back, but he could tell this outburst from Poppy’s mum wasn’t coming from a place of malice or hatred, but fear for her daughter, so he calmed his tone and spoke back softly “She has a lot of people here Linda, my sister lives only a few blocks away, my mum a few hours but she’d get here as quickly as she could if Poppy needed her” he sighed “everyone at radio 1 would drop everything for her if they needed to, she’s never going to be alone, if she doesn’t have her family then she has her friends”

Linda nodded, too defeated to say anything else on the matter “How is she? Were they able to stop the labour”

“For now” he answered “but she’s on bed rest for the rest of the pregnancy, so they’re keeping her in there, I came home to shower and get her things, I’m going back soon- are you coming?”

“Of course, I am” she smiled “I’m sorry Harry, I shouldn’t have been so rude to you, I just want the best for her”

“So do I” he said, walking into the bedroom and closing the door behind him so that he could get dressed.

***

November 4th  2017, 29 Weeks.

Harry strolled down the street outside the hospital, on the phone to the manager of his PR team, trying to work out the best way to tell his fans that the rest of the tour will be cancelled because he can’t leave Poppy. It had taken him a long time to make the decision, it wasn’t something he took lightly, but neither were Poppy and the baby, and right now, that was his main priority.

“You think a tweet and an Instagram is too insincere?” He asked, walking into the nearest café to get Poppy a peppermint tea because the hospital didn’t have any.

“I don’t think so, they’re going to be upset obviously, but there’s nothing we can do, and you’re still doing Victoria’s secret and the ARIAs, so there will still be some chance for fan interaction at both of those events”

“Ok” he nodded “I’ll write out what I’m going to say and send it through, so you can check it over before I post it”

“Great, send Poppy our best, we’re thinking of you both”

“Thanks” Harry said hanging up the phone and stepping up to the counter to order “Hi, could I get a large peppermint tea and a black coffee please”

“Sure” the boy at the counter said, “Take away?”

“Please” Harry took his wallet out of his back pocket and paid for the drinks, stepping back from the counter so the person behind him could order.

“Harry?” a voice said from behind him and he reluctantly turned, not really in the mood for fans today

“Hi” he muttered softly

“Oh it is you, I wasn’t sure” she blushed “I thought you’d be around this area though, is Poppy ok?”

“Uhh” he sighed, not wanting to seem rude but annoyed by the invasive question “yeah, she’s doing alright”

“I got her some flowers” she handed him a bunch of yellow daffodils

“Ahhh” Harry said, happily surprised by the gesture “Thank you, she’ll love those”

“I hope you don’t think this is creepy” she added “I work in the hospital she’s in and I saw you running in the other night in your suit”

“Not at all love” he lied “I’m used to it”

She smiled “I’m glad Poppy’s doing ok, I’ve been listening to radio one a lot, hoping that someone would say something”

He nodded “We’re not really sure what’s going to happen, so we’re staying quiet for a while”

“The peppermint tea and the black coffee” the barista called, and Harry went over to the counter, taking the two cups and thanking him, the girl following him as he did so.

“Well I hope everything’s ok” she said “Give Poppy my best”

“Will do” he said walking out the door. He pulled his hood up and walked quickly back to the hospital, keeping his head down so he would be seen by fans or paps. It was very sweet of that girl to buy flowers for Poppy, and it certainly wasn’t something that he expected, but  it left him feeling a little like his privacy had been invaded, and that was the one thing he hated most about being Harry Styles.

***

November 13th 2017, 30 Weeks.

Harry and Poppy’s lawyer had submitted a petition for Harry to take Poppy’s place at the court date on the grounds that she had been hospitalised, it was granted and now Harry found himself sitting in a courtroom, opposite Danny, waiting on the Judge to decide on the custody arrangements for their baby boy.

In the weeks since Danny had applied for parental responsibility, They’d both been visited by a law guardian, whose role was to speak on behalf of the baby, she inspected Poppy and Harry’s home, to see what they had done to prepare for Oli’s arrival and she’d done the same for Danny, asking them all extensive questions about parenting and caring for a newborn.

The case was unusual, most custody cases weren’t usually opened until the child was born, but in this case, where it was likely that the child would require medical decisions to be made for him from birth, the courts felt it necessary to have any parental responsibility disputes settled before the birth.

“All rise” the bailiff said from the corner of the room as he opened the door for the judge to walk in and take her seat. The knot in Harry’s stomach twisted as he stood, feeling the tension in the room rise he focused his eyes on the front of the room, avoiding eye contact with Danny.

“I understand we’re here today to settle a custody dispute for an unborn child, am I correct counsellors?”

“That is correct your honour, my client here, Mr Daniel Watts, is seeking custody of his son who he has been denied rights to thus far” Danny’s lawyer answered the judge

“Give me a moment to understand the facts of the case” the Judge said, filing through the papers in front of her “As I understand it, Mr watts has submitted to the courts, a Child Arrangements order where he has requested part time custody and parental responsibility for his child”

“Yes your honour” Danny’s lawyer said

“And Mrs Styles wishes to dispute this on the basis that Mr watts, in his current situation, is unfit to care for a newborn baby”

“My client, as the mother of the child, feels that Mr Watts will be unable to care for what may be a very sick little boy”

“And where is Mrs Styles today, Mr Tanner?”

“She has been hospitalised due complications with the pregnancy, her husband is here on her behalf, I’ve already had that cleared”

“Right, yes, I did see that somewhere” she looked at Harry over her glasses “At this stage in the pregnancy, is there any uncertainty as to who the father of the child actually is?”

“No, your honour” John replied “Both parties agree that, biologically, Mr Watts is the child’s father, but we’re not here to discuss biology”

She drew her lips into a sharp line “Clearly.” Her tone was blunt, and Harry could tell she was annoyed by the case “What are Mrs Styles objections to Mr Watts?”

“My client believes that Mr watts is unable to support the child financially, and has concerns about the effects that the instability that comes with unemployment, would have on her child”

“Your honour” Danny’s lawyer interrupted “perhaps if Mrs Styles is really concerned about instability, she would have thought twice about marrying a man that travels for a living”

“The case has nothing to do with Mr Styles, he is merely here on behalf of his wife” John said in retaliation “your honour, if you look at the home studies conducted on both my client and Mr Watts, you’ll see that Mr Watts is in no way prepared to look after a child”

“I have reviewed the home studies Mr Tanner, and in the interest of keeping this short, Mr Watts, I’d like to see you in my chambers please” She stood from her seat and turned towards the door behind her as the bailiff escorted Danny and his lawyer to her chambers.

Harry let out a deep breath as he turned to John “Is this good news?”

John shrugged shuffling through his papers “It’s hard to tell at this stage Harry” he sighed “I would hope that she’s reviewed Daniel’s home visit and wants to talk with him to see what he really wants from this because it’s pretty clear from that study that fatherhood is not for him”

“How long will this take?”

“Could be hours, could be any minute now, but we haven’t been given a recess, so we just have to wait here until they come back”

Harry looked at his watch, worried about leaving Poppy alone in the hospital for so long. He’d already been gone for hours and anything could have happened by now. With the rest of his tour cancelled, Linda had decided to go home, they were getting on each other’s nerves and with Harry home, Poppy didn’t need her there, but that meant today, she was alone again, and Harry couldn’t wait to go back, with good news.

“How’s Poppy doing?” John asked, bringing Harry out of his trance

“She’s ok, I think being stuck in that room is dampening her spirits a bit, but if I can go back with good news today that will help”

He nodded sympathetically “no more signs of labour?”

Harry shook his head, checking the time on his watch again “C-section is set for December…” The door to the judge’s chambers cracked open and a disgruntled Danny and his lawyer shuffled out and took their seats opposite Harry and John. Harry cleared his throat and straightened his suit jacket brushing his hands through his hair and resting his ringed fingers on the desk, feeling the butterflies rise in his stomach once again.

“All rise” the bailiff said, opening the door for the Judge once again.

She took her seat quickly and shuffled her papers, before speaking “After speaking with Mr Watts, I have unfortunately had to come to the conclusion, that, at this time, he is unfit to parent a child.”

Harry breathed a huge sigh of relief

“After much deliberation, it has become evident to me that it is in the best interests of the child to reside with his mother and her husband, in a family environment. So, it is with great regret, that I will not be granting Mr Watts petition today. With that said, as the biological father Mr Watts has asked that Mr Styles, is unable to adopt the child.”

John looked at Harry who shook his head in disbelief “With all due respect, your honour, if Mr Watts hasn’t been granted parental responsibility, then he is not the parent, and has no right to block the adoption”

“You said yourself Mr tanner, biologically, Mr Watts is the father”

“I also said that we weren’t here to discuss biology, it is clear that Mr Watts does not want to be a father, otherwise he would have made the necessary preparations, he wants to make Mr Styles as miserable as possible, and you’re allowing him to do that”

“If you let me finish Mr Tanner, I was going to explain my decision” she looked at him sternly

“Sorry your honour”

“At this moment in time, Mr Watts does not and will not have parental responsibility, or any contact with the child, however, if in two years’ time, Mr Watts is able to demonstrate his ability to parent appropriately, then the case will be reviewed, therefore, Mr Styles, will not be allowed to adopt the child, until that time. If, by the child’s second birthday, no applications for parental responsibility have been submitted to the courts, then the adoption will be allowed to go ahead”

***

December 22nd 2017 – 36 Weeks

Poppy hadn’t slept a wink in the last 24 hours, this date had been set for weeks now, and barring any complications, or emergencies that the doctor had to attend to, she’d be meeting her baby today and she was too excited for sleep. Harry was much the same, he’d spent the night tossing and turning on the hard hospital couch and woke with a sore back, but he chose not to complain too much considering that in a matter of hours, Poppy was going to have her stomach sliced into while she’s awake on the table.

“I hate you” she glared at Harry as he ate his full English breakfast on the table in front of her. She wasn’t allowed to eat because of the surgery but her stomach was growling, and she envied him with every fibre of her being as she watched him eat his baked beans.

“I’m sorry” he said, mouth full of food “but we get to meet Oli today, and once he’s here you can have biggest meal you’ve ever had”

“Make sure I get breakfast for dinner yeah? I want bacon”

He giggled, “You can have all the bacon in the world”

“Good” she sighed, rubbing her belly “we’re having a baby today H”

“You’re having a baby today love” he smiled “I’m just watching them slice into you”

Poppy winced “Don’t say that”

“Slice” he said emphasising the end of the word, cheeky smile spreading across his face as he ate his last mouth full of breakfast

“Stop” she nudged him playfully “I’m nervous enough”

“Sorry” he pouted “but at least you don’t have to go through proper labour”

“True” she nodded “But I think this will be bad enough”

The rest of the morning creeped by slowly, Poppy couldn’t stop checking the clock, and watching the door waiting for the nurse to come in and start getting her ready for surgery. She knew she had to wait for Dr Marshall to finish her morning appointments in her offices, but it was 11:30 and she was starting to get more and more anxious as time passed. She wasn’t hungry anymore, that feeling had passed hours ago and she was left with a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach as she waited. Harry tried his best to keep her distracted, but by the time lunch time rolled around, there was no way she could think about anything else. Which is why, when the nurse walked in at 12:25 both Poppy and Harry breathed a sigh of relief.

“We’re having a baby today!” she exclaimed, it was Leah, who, throughout Poppy’s stay she’d become quite close to. She always knew how to bring her spirits up and when Harry was away for those few days for the ARIAs and The Victoria Secret show, she would spend hours with Poppy in her room, keeping her company, which she was forever grateful for. “Dr Marshall is on her way now, so things will be getting underway pretty soon, I’ve been sent in to put in your IV, to keep your fluids up for the surgery”

Poppy nodded and stuck her right arm out, “Stick me Lea” she giggled as she got all her things organised

She laughed too “Well, I’m glad to see you’re happy today, most mothers that are about to have a C-section are nervous as hell”

“She gets like this when she’s nervous” Harry added, sitting on the bed next to Poppy, so she could look at him instead of at the needle she was about to put into her.

Leah wrapped the tourniquet around her upper arm and used her middle finger to find a viable vein to stick the needle into “You have junkie veins” she noted screwing her face up in concentration

“I’ve had a lot of failed blood tests in my time” Poppy said

“Well I can see why, your veins are awful, but I’ve found one” she turned and grabbed the IV kit from her tray, keeping her finger on the vein “Alright, deep breath, this is the easiest part of today”

Poppy took a breath and buried her face in Harry’s shoulder, so she didn’t have to watch it go in. she felt the sharp pain in her inner elbow and let go of her breath as she finished.

“All done” she smiled, and Poppy lifted her head, and watched her connect the bag of fluid to the tubes that were now hanging from her arm. “Ok, so Dr Marshall will be in soon to give you the rundown of procedure, and shortly after that you’ll be taken down to theatre, where you’ll meet Kevin, who will give your epidural” she pressed a few buttons on the IV Machine to stop it from beeping “Harry, I’ll see if I can find you some scrubs” she walked out of the room and left Poppy and Harry in nervous silence.  Poppy kept her head on his shoulder and waited for Leah to come back.

***

“Ok, are we ready to go?” the hospital orderly asked as he unhinged the breaks on the bed. Not waiting for an answer, he began pushing the bed out of the room. Harry walked beside Poppy, until they got down to the operating floor, where he was told he would have to change into his scrubs and wait until after Poppy  had the epidural to go into the operating theatre with her.

“I’ll see you soon my love” he said placing a kiss on her forehead and squeezing her hand as a sign of comfort “real soon”

A few stray tears escaped her eyes as she kissed Harry goodbye. The orderly the rolled her bed into the operating room, leaving Harry on the other side of the door. The room was bright and filled with unfamiliar faces there was nothing reassuring about the space, it was harsh and cold, and her heart raced at the thought of what was about to happen.

“Poppy” an unfamiliar doctor said to her as she lay in her bed “I’m Kevin, your anesthetist” he held his hand out for her to shake “Once the table is fully prepped, we’ll get you to move over there and I’ll give you the epi and once that’s all done and everything is set up, your husband can come in and Dr Marshall will get started with the delivery of your baby”

The rest of the time in that room alone was a blur, she had the epidural and the scrub nurses had put the plastic curtain up in front of her as they brushed antiseptic all over her belly. She was basically naked on the table, with only a light blue sheet covering her lower half for modesty. When things were just about ready to get underway, Harry walked in, dressed in salmon pink scrubs and a blue hair net that covered his curls. Poppy could only just move her head enough to see him as he made his way over to her, but she was glad he was there.

“Hi love” he said softly, sitting down on the stool right next to her face “you good?”

Poppy nodded “Yeah” she whispered, burrowing her face into his hand.

“Alright Poppy” Dr Marshall said “are we ready”

A small “yep” escaped her mouth as she felt the slight pressure of the scalpel cutting through her stomach

“Look at me love” she heard Harry say, trying to get her to focus on something else. The midwife, Julie, was standing next to him, telling him to keep her distracted, so that she didn’t watch as her stomach was sliced into. Poppy turned her head and looked straight into Harry’s eyes, as he stroked her head “You’re doing great” he smiled.

Poppy could feel a slight tugging sensation in her lower abdomen, and she could hear the doctors muttering, the words didn’t reach her ears, but the expression on Harry’s face fell, and she guessed something was wrong.

“H?” she whispered, “what’s happening?”

He looked through the clear plastic and back at Poppy “It’s alright love, they fixed it” he kept his eyes fixed on her until Dr Marshall spoke.

“Poppy, you probably want to be watching for this bit” she smiled and her and Harry both turned their heads as they watched the doctor, lift their son from inside Poppy’s belly.  He screeched as he hit the cold air of the operating room and the tears were falling down Poppy’s cheeks while she watched the nurses pull down the screen in front of her so that he could rest on her chest.

“Dad” Julie said to Harry “We need you to cut the cord” she handed him a pair of sterilised surgical scissors and he stood from his seat, moving closer to where Dr Marshall held Oli, who was still screaming, so that Poppy could see what was happening.

“Just between the two clamps” Julie encouraged, and he snipped the cord, smile spreading across his face feeling like a dad for the first time. “Poppy, are you still wanting skin to skin?”

She nodded squirming a little as she tried take down her gown, forgetting that her arms were tied down to the operating table. Harry stepped in and gently lowered the front of her gown and Dr Marshall laid Oli down on her chest. His cries settled the moment he touched her skin, her arms were freed and  she placed her hands over his back, peppering kisses over the top of his head as the tears streamed down her face.

“Hi baby” she whispered, and he let out a little squeak “I love you so much little man”

Harry sat back down next to Poppy and placed his hand over hers on Oli’s back, the pressure, calming him even more “hey buddy” harry cooed “welcome to the world” he placed a kiss on Poppy’s cheek “congratulations love, I’m so proud of you”

“Merry Christmas H” She smiled feeling the slight tugging of the doctors putting her back together and behind her, she could hear the nurses getting everything ready to have Oli cleaned up and weighed, but she couldn’t stop staring at him. She couldn’t quite believe that this was real, that she’d just had her first baby, who she was now holding in her arms. This was never supposed to happen to her, but here she was, baby on her chest, and best friend by her side, she couldn’t be happier.

***

Harry sat on the couch in their hospital room with Oli in his arms as Poppy slept soundly in her bed.

“Hey little man” he whispered “you don’t know this yet, but that lady in the bed over there, she’s your mum, and she’s the best woman in the world, so us boys, we’ve got to stick together yeah? Make sure she’s ok, because she’s wanted you her entire life, and we can’t let anything get in the way of that” Oli, twisted his face into what looked like a smile, but Harry knew better “You’ve just pooped haven’t you?” he chuckled “You are on fire little dude- that’s three already, you’ve not been here for more than six hours” He stood and walked Oli over to his crib so that he could change him before he started to cry and wake Poppy up. He placed him down gently, but the minute his body touched the mattress and he felt Harry’s hands disappear he let out a loud cry, which jolted Poppy awake.

“What’s going on” she mumbled

“Nothing love” Harry said softly as he pulled a nappy out of its bag “he just needs a change, go back to sleep, we’re all good here”

She blinked a few times adjusting to the harsh hospital light “I want to cuddle him” she pouted

Harry cracked a smile as he unwrapped the baby “Alright love, let me change him and then we can all have a cuddle” he grabbed the nappy and unzipped Oli’s Babygro, changing him without a hitch and attempting to wrap him again as Poppy watched on.

“You gotta pull it tight over him so he feels secure” she instructed from her bed, pain in her belly reminding her that she had a large cut there.

“Swaddling is hard” he said as Oli’s little arm escaped from the blanket

“Bring him here” she reached her arms out and Harry picked him up gently handing him to Poppy.

“Hiya” she smiled taking the baby from Harry “daddy’s not doing a very good job is he?” she cooed “Lay the blanket down H” she motioned towards the space on her bed and Harry did as he was told, putting the blanket next to her. She laid Oli down on it and he let out another cry, which calmed as she pulled the blanket tight across his chest.

“Can you pick him up again” she asked “Stitches”

“Yeah” he nodded, picking him up and gently transferring him into her arms.

“That’s better isn’t it little dude” she said, pulling the blanket away from his chin “Daddy tried, so we’ll forgive him this time”

“Heyy” Harry said, sitting down on the bed and wrapping his arm around her shoulder “How many nappies have you changed so far”

“Zero” she smiled, rubbing his knee with her free hand “Thank you” she rested her head on his chest and she both looked down at her son

“We’re like a real little family now” he said, moving his hand onto Oli’s torso “My little Styles Clan”

“Yeah” Poppy let out a small laugh “It’s a Sign of the Times H” she smiled down at her sweet little Oli, engraving this moment into her memories, as the happiest she’d ever felt.

[notwhelmedyet]

Dratchtember Day 7

Prompt: free space! Ratchet accidentally summons a demon and then falls in love, part 3/3. This time featuring the Dead End clinic and the DJD as demon hunters. (cw: violence, torture) ...and yes, if you were wondering I did look up a directory of the supposed metaphysical properties of minerals for this fic (also on ao3 here) (demon summoning part 1 here)

Ratchet sighed. His patients didn't like it when there were cops lingering outside the building, even if Orion was his friend and didn't mean any harm. "I promise, Orion, first sign of trouble I'll call you up," he said, patting his friend on the shoulder. "You and Roller."

"I know, it's just - " Orion gesticulated at the surrounding street with its broken buildings and shuttered shopfronts and Dead End inhabitants. "Response times getting out here aren't great. It'd make me feel a lot better if you kept the clinic locked and hired some security. You've got a lot of valuable medicines in there and people are desperate."

"I heard you the first time, Orion, and I'm sorry but it's not going to happen. If I lock up the clinic it ceases to become a community space that people living here are willing to interact with. It starts looking like a predatory research lab or worse, a body-stripping operation. There's no point in running the clinic if nobody goes."

"Well, what about security? Just one guard - "

"I'll think about it Orion," Ratchet promised. "It's a good idea and I promise I'll think about it. Now, I really do need to get back to work," Ratchet hooked his thumb over his shoulder. He and Orion made their goodbyes and their promises to definitely hang out more and find the time to meet after work when they were both free - Ratchet was expecting be at least a couple of months but stranger things had happened to him lately than syncing schedules with Orion Pax.

Someone draped their arms over his shoulder, melting into him like a Cyberlynx seeking out warmth on a cold day. "You gonna hire security?" Drift whispered into his audial, clearly amused. "You need some tough mech to look after you, keep you safe?"

Ratchet rolled his optics. "I assumed you had it covered."

"Mm, I suppose I could be tempted into taking the position," Drift murmured. He kissed the back of Ratchet's neck, trailing kisses down to the sensitive spot where it joined with Ratchet's shoulder.

Ratchet tried not to squirm, hooking his thumbs into his hip plating and pretending he was surveying the city skyline contemplatively. "Not in front of the patients," he hissed under his breath.

"I want a nice rock in exchange for taking over security," Drift said. "Two rocks, actually. Tourmaline quartz, for sure, to clear the clinic of negative energies. And rainbow moonstone - meditating with a charged rainbow moonstone is supposed to help you find feelings of inner peace, I read."

"I'm not buying you magic rocks," Ratchet grumbled.

---

Drift looked at the rocks in his cupped hands and then squinted at Ratchet. "Are you dying?" he asked, sounding suddenly very concerned.

"Why would I be dying?" Ratchet asked.

Drift stared at him in 'I have been requesting nonsense spiritualist crystals for a year and now you are suddenly giving them to me and there is no alternative explanation that makes sense'.

"I'm not going to be attending at the hospital in Iacon anymore," Ratchet said. "I've been requested as the attending medic for the Prime."

Drift smiled. "No more Panax? That's great, Ratchet - I knew someone was going to see how talented you were soon - "

"I don't want you to come with me to work any more," Ratchet said. "The clinic is fine, we'll still have the clinic. And I want to spend as much time with you as I can. But it's too risky to have you in the presence of the Prime."

Drift looked down at the rocks and then looked back at Ratchet. "This is an apology, then?"

"I am sorry. I couldn't turn down this appointment - he's the Prime, you don't say no to him. But I'm not so dense that I couldn't put together the pieces of what you've said about your previous summoners; they were government, weren't they? Maybe not at the Prime level, but certainly at the level of the Functionist Council."

"Not all of them," Drift said.

"But enough of them," Ratchet finished. "We can't risk that someone there has a way to detect slivers, that there are people in the Prime's inner circle who are observant enough to realize that you exist and what you are. I said I would keep you safe and the best way I can think to do that is to keep you far away from those people."

---

Sometimes Ratchet’s patients at the clinic were reluctant to invite themselves inside. So when he saw a minibot huddled up by the entrance, Ratchet detoured to check if they were in the midst of a medical emergency.

"Hey kid, you here for the doctor?" Ratchet asked, crouching down a few feet away. Never get to close to a Dead Ender without permission, he'd learned that the hard way. Some folks didn’t want his help and he wasn’t going to force it on them. Even on his new CMO’s salary, he didn’t actually have the funds to take care of the entire Dead End. He needed to get himself a wealthy patron like Orion had.

"Hey medc Ratchet," the bot said, wiggling their fingers in a little wave. "No, I’m good. You don’t mind if I sit here, do you?"

"The street’s a public place, last I heard," Ratchet said. Technically Dead End was divided up into the territories of various street gangs and syk-pushers but Ratchet didn’t pay that any mind. He looked around, taking in the stillness of the street that night. It was too early for this deathly calm. "Something happening out here tonight?" He asked lightly.

"Someone got Theo," they said.

Ratchet raised a brow. Theomus was one of the most well-respected flophouse managers’s in Dead End. He ran one of the few buildings where a mech could rent a room and find a safe place to sleep off the streets and he was known for being both fair in his prices and unwilling to take sides in inter-gang disputes. If Theo was dead, that was going to have a seismic impact on the neighborhood. "They know who yet?"

The kid shook his head. "Whoever got him is still out there and - bad things don’t happen near your clinic."

"Is that right?" Ratchet asked.

"Proctor told me he nearly got disappeared a few days ago but he ran to the clinic and the mechs chasing him disappeared. They found them the next morning with their sparks ripped out, down by the Old Gate. Whoever got Theo, I don’t think they can touch me here. This place is protected."

"Sounds like superstitious nonsense to me," Ratchet said. "But come inside. There’s plenty of chairs in the waiting room, won’t hurt to have you taking up one of them."

After Ratchet worked through the patients who’d been waiting for him to show up, he headed of the back stockroom in search of Drift. They’d put a cot in Ratchet’s office but Drift had decided he preferred to set up a nest of towels and other soft things and sleep on the floor. Ratchet turned on the light and shuffled sideways until Drift winked into view.

Drift made a sleepy noise and stretched out, blinking at Ratchet. Ratchet sat down and spread his arms, "Hey sweetspark, I missed you."

Drift threw himself into Ratchet’s arms, knocking them both onto the floor. "Ratchet!" He pressed his helm up against Ratchet’s, brushing their noses together. "How was your day?" He asked.

"It was fine," Ratchet said. "Better now." He kissed Drift, then got an arm around his waist to lift him as they stood up. Drift wrapped his legs around Ratchet, laughing into the kiss. Ratchet walked until he bumped into the table, then let Drift go to cradle his helm in his hands.

They wound down eventually, Drift still peppering Ratchet’s collar with kisses between words and Ratchet petting his finials as they talked.

"I heard some bad business went down in the Quarter today," Ratchet said. "Felt real tense out there tonight."

"Mm. I didn’t hear anything," Drift said. "But I did notice it seemed tense. Not a lot of foot traffic."

"I heard something else interesting," Ratchet said.

"Oh?"

"Apparently someone saved Proctor - you know, the kid with the fuel tank replacement surgery - from some body snatchers the other day. Right outside the clinic. You know anything about that?"

"How toothless do you want me to be?" Drift murmured into his shoulder. "I know you don’t like violence."

"I’ve never had any illusions that you were harmless," Ratchet said. "You’re going to start some urban myths if you keep it up."

"There are some people out there who think they're monsters and that they can do whatever they want without consequence," Drift said. "I’m just...correcting those misapprehensions."

---

Ratchet had always thought he’d hated parties, but he hadn’t realized the depths of loathing he was capable of experiencing until he was asked to attend one of the Prime’s "banquets". Hundreds of rich bots and senators swirling about, trying to one-up each other and buying and selling influence over ritzy energon spritzers. People felt the need to talk to him because he was Chief Medical Officer and somehow they thought that translated into some sort of influence with the Prime. If he’d had any sort of influence at all he would have been safely home at his apartment watching cheesy movies with Drift. He wondered what they’d think if they knew he still lived in his run-down apartment block with his college roommate.

It was already a scandal that Ratchet was so young. The Prime hadn’t chosen Ratchet out of any special regard for his skills, he’d told Ratchet as much. He’d selected Ratchet because he didn’t give a damn about politics and had no political connections to any of the Prime’s rivals. That, a general competence and the Prime’s apparent grudge against Panax (really the one political opinion they shared) had been enough to catapult Ratchet from obscurity.

Ratchet made awkward excuses to the senator who’d cornered him to try to ask about "you know, this noise when I bend my elbow. It goes ‘creak, creak’, I swear it does, I just can’t seem to make it do it just now." Spotting an unoccupied doorway out onto the balcony, Ratchet lifted another flute of engex from a serving droid and slipped out of the crowd.

There were still people out here, just fewer of them. And since the balcony was only lit by the decorative floating lanterns it was nearly too dim to recognize people. Hopefully that would stop people from locating him for a few minutes.

"Excuse me, Medic Ratchet?"

Ratchet sighed, then squared his shoulders and turned to face the speaker. Large frame, tank alt, probably a dark blue or purple but it was hard to tell in the lighting. Long clawed hands gripped a delicate flute of engex. He was wearing a mask.

Ratchet hadn’t realized this was a masquerade. "That would be me," he said, then offered the mech a hand to shake. "And you are…"

"My name is Tarn." The mech lingered on the handshake just a shade too long. Ratchet’s plating crawled. "I run a...team, one of the Prime’s pet projects. We seek out occult beings and those dangerous persons who would try to harness that power to their will. We call it the ‘DJD’."

Ratchet didn’t like where this was going, but he had a part to play. "Can’t say as I believe in any of that, but the Prime is free to spend his money where he wills. What is ‘DJD’ supposed to stand for?"

"Oh, it’s a joke - we call ourselves the Demon Justice Division. And I assure you, doctor, the creatures we seek are very real indeed."

"You would be the expert on that, I suppose," Ratchet said with a tip of his glass. "Forgive me if I remain a skeptic; they drill it into you in medical school. Was there something you wanted to speak to me about?"

"Ah, yes. I understand you live with a certain Trefacto of Iacon at," Tarn rattled off Ratchet’s address. "There were several books inside your residence as of three days ago that would fall under the purview of my unit. I had my agents take the liberty of removing this contraband from the property. I decided it would be best to speak with you in person, rather than bringing you and your roommate in for official...questioning. Often it’s simplest to take a light touch with these matters."

Ratchet’s spark was stuttering in his chest, a sickly mixture of rage and fear. How dare… He tried to quash that response and decided there was no way he could do that convincingly. "You had my apartment searched?" He asked in a voice on just this side of civil. Maybe slightly beyond it, but quietly enough that he didn’t attract the attention of the surrounding socializers.

"Yes."

"On what grounds?" Three days ago...Drift had stayed at the clinic that day because Ratchet had been doing a showcase surgery, he didn’t like being alone in the apartment when Ratchet wasn’t there.

"I don’t believe you’re understanding the depth of the Prime’s trust in me. He is concerned that others may attempt to use powers beyond their control to tilt the planet away from its proper course," Tarn said. "You weren’t singled out, doctor, you were one of many. Now, the books. Do you know why they were there?"

"My roommate believes every conspiracy on this side of Luna II," Ratchet said, trying to figure out how to phrase this so that Trefacto would sound thoroughly unthreatening. "He believes in crystal healing, he believes that people have auras, he believes that Luna I was eaten by an invisible space whale. He had a passing fancy in the occult and got a few books on the subject. Nothing came of it. As far as I know they’ve been sitting on a shelf ever since."

"You don’t believe he’s implemented any of the techniques in those books?"

"I don’t believe he could implement any of the techniques in those books," Ratchet said. "Because it’s all slag. But no, I don’t think he’s actually tried any of it. He got the books from a street vendor or something, tried reading them and complained that the writing was impenetrable and gave up."

"Mm-hmm," Tarn said. He lifted his mask slightly with one hand so that he could take a sip of his drink.

"Is it illegal now, having books?"

"Oh no, we’re not discussing a violation of the law. We’re discussing the potential violation of the natural order of things, of the will of Primus." Tarn reached out and brushed the underside of Ratchet’s chin with his claws, tilting his head up. "I think it would be for the best if you were to find a new roommate, doctor. I would hate to have to bring you in for interrogation. The Prime is very fond of his new pet, after all." Tarn stepped away, raising his glass slightly in acknowledgement. "Travel safely tonight, doctor. And watch your step."

---

"Are you going to need help carrying any of this down?" Trefacto asked, pausing in the doorway of Ratchet’s room. Ratchet grimaced, looking around a the chaos. He’d hoped to get everything packed up before the van came, but they’d messaged him that they were waiting downstairs and he was still bundling up his datapads into stacks.

"Yeah, that’d be helpful, actually," Ratchet said. "I’m sorry to leave you in a lurch like this. I’d planned on moving out at the end of the lease, but…"

"You’re the Prime’s CMO now, it was weird they didn’t order you to move out sooner," Trefacto said with a wave of his hand. "I’ll just sublease your room out until the trimester ends. Got a few boxes prepared? I could carry those down for you while you’re packing the rest."

"One second, let me check these to make sure they’re ready," Ratchet said, climbing over the stack of datapads to open up one of his finished boxes.

"Is that a moonstone?" Trefacto asked. "Oh gosh, is that cuprite? Ratchet, you never told me you were into the metaphysics of crystal energies. We could have been having so many interesting conversations."

"Oh, that’s not mine actually," Ratchet said. "It’s a gift. For my sparkmate."

"Woah!" Trefacto gasped. "You’re dating someone? Primus’s fuelpump, that’s wild. For how long?"

"Uh, awhile. A year or so."

"And you never mentioned anything?" Trefacto smiled. "Wait, why am I even surprised, this is you we’re talking about. Congrats. You should definitely introduce me to your sparkmate sometime, though. If we ever hang out after this. You do have my comm frequency?"

Ratchet dutifully pretended he would ever call Trefacto again and checked that he had his comm frequency written down. The rest of the time they were packing, Trefacto continued to ask Ratchet questions about Drift. Ratchet absently invented answers, most of his mind on packing. The rest of his concentration was on the anxious knot in his spark, which was growing harder and harder to ignore. So he got a little threatened by some theatrical weirdo with his own secret police force. That was no reason to freak out - no reason to freak out more than he already was.

By the time he’d said his goodbyes to Trefacto and sent the van off with his stuff towards his new apartment, the knot was beginning to become physically painful. Ratchet decided to walk it off, but the pain kept building and eventually he had to sit down. It felt like spark pain, but Ratchet’s indicators all looked steady. The only time he’d expect to see pain like this in a healthy patient was if they were a split spark and something was stretching the bond between them and their resonant partner -

Wait.

"Orion, Roller, I’m going to need you at my clinic," Ratchet snapped into his comm as he dropped into his alt mode.

"What’s going on?" Orion asked.

"Someone’s about to get murdered at my clinic and I can’t wait for backup," Ratchet said. "So, uh, get there fast or hopefully avenge me. You’re looking for a guy about Roller’s size, wears a mask, talks like a creep, thinks he’s lord of the universe. Tarn."

"Ratchet, wait for us," Roller said. "We’ll get out there as fast as we can."

"Sorry, I can’t promise that," Ratchet said. "He’s got my sparkmate."

Ratchet turned off comms and switched on his locational beacon. How could Ratchet have been so stupid as to think Tarn wouldn’t know about the clinic? Ratchet hadn’t even warned Drift about his encounter with Tarn the night before - he hadn’t wanted to make him so worried that he insisted on shadowing Ratchet at work and get caught.

Ratchet hit the streets of Dead End at a speed he hadn’t realized he was capable of. People ran to get out of his path, streets flying by until he got to the block where his clinic was and had to screech to a halt because of the mass of people blocking the road.

"Medic!" Someone whispered frantically and the crowd converged on him, mobbing him so he couldn’t move forwards. Ratchet transformed back to his root mode and tried to push past them.

"Medic Ratchet, you can’t go in there! They’ll kill you!" Someone whispered and Ratchet paused. He looked around. These weren’t just any Dead Enders. These were his patients, the ones he’d left at the clinic when he’d gone into work the night before. Even his long-term care patients, who couldn’t walk on their own, had been dragged out into the street.

"What’s happening?" He asked.

Everyone tried to answer him all at once and Ratchet had to throw up his hands to stop them. "One person," he said. He pointed at a grounder with green paint and a bad case of peripheral rust infection. "You. What’s happening in my clinic."

The mech explained, haltingly. Five mechs - one of whom was definitely Tarn - had shown up at the clinic. They’d ordered everyone out and, when some of the patients tried to fight back, one of them had transformed into a sniper rifle and Tarn had started picking off patients.

"He got Sleek," the grounder said. "But before he could shoot anyone else your demon showed up to fight them."

Drift had rushed in, in all his idiotic heroic bravery, and thrown himself at Tarn, buying the patients time to evacuate.

"Before we left, I saw them trap him," one of the other mechs in the crowd said. "The three of them used these lasers to make a light trap and pinned him in it. We haven’t seen anything since - they’ve got two guards on the door. One brute with a grinder in his chest and the one who turns into a rifle. But we could hear them for awhile." The mech shuddered. "It sounded horrible."

Ratchet’s fuel ran cold. Five mechs, all built for combat. No, not combat. From what his patients had seen, they were built for torture. "I can’t leave him there," Ratchet said. How was he going to take down five mechs? What if Drift was already...no. If Drift was gone it would stop hurting, and it hadn’t. "I need more information," Ratchet decided. "And if anyone’s got one, I need a gun."

The buildings in this section of Dead End had largely been gutted in the fires and the riots. To a mech that knew their business they were porous - you could follow a path through broken windows, half-collapsed staircases, walls with secret tunnels and jury-rigged catwalks. Ratchet’s patients knew their business. Ratchet found himself in the building opposite his clinic, using a mirror to look through the window while he crouched below its frame. Sure enough, the two guards at the front door were exactly as described. Ratchet watched them for a moment, trying to turn the sludge in his brain into a plan. He had a bad habit of going into things without a plan and it had, historically speaking, rarely ended well for him. And most of those times he hadn’t been trying to take down five fanatics-slash-professional torturers.

Drift screamed. Ratchet flinched, but he kept his optics on the mirror. The larger guard turned towards the clinic for a moment in response to the sound, a sick smile on his face. And then, just for a moment, his optics disappeared from behind his armor. The guard turned back and his optics lit red again. Ratchet snapped the mirror closed. "Those people aren’t mechs," he said. "They’re demons painted to look like mechs."

Ratchet and Drift had realized, a while back, that if you went through the effort of applying body-paint, Drift would be visible from all directions. It was useless for blending in with a crowd because they couldn’t paint over his optics, not if Drift wanted to see. And so you’d have a perfectly visible bot whose optics were pools of impenetrable darkness from every angle but one. Apparently Tarn’s DJD hadn’t found this to be a problem.

"Okay," Ratchet said. "Can someone help get me to the back entrance? I’ve got a plan."

From inside the building, the sounds of what they were doing to Drift were inescapable. Ratchet shuffled through the back hallway to his storeroom, quivering with anger. He couldn’t do anything about that yet, he had to wait. Ratchet’s tank wanted to purge itself but there was no time to waste having feelings. He had a demon to rescue.

In the dark he gathered up his supplies. Then he climbed onto the table to reach the hatch that led to the crawlspace above the ceiling. He’d spent plenty of time clambering around in here when he did the wiring for his lights and surgical equipment, but when he’d been doing all that it hadn’t mattered how much noise he made. Now what mattered most was silence and the silence let him hear all the louder what was happening downstairs.

"Do you repent, Sliver?" Tarn asked. "Do you repent for your crimes against Primus, do you welcome your damnation?"

"I already said yes," Drift stammered. "I’m a practicing spectralist, you know."

There was a crackle like an arc welder and Drift screamed again, voice ragged.

"You are nothing," Tarn hissed. "You are not fit to speak Primus’s name. You are not fit to speak. You’re place is to serve and to scream."

"Fuck you," Drift growled.

Ratchet tried to tune it out again as he reached the space over the entryway. Two slivers, watching the road and not the ceiling. Ratchet vented slowly, trying to steady himself. One of his patients, who was definitely a gunrunner, had lent him a bandolier to carry his supplies in. Ratchet took out a roll of tape, some wire and a handful of small lenses. He assembled the components of his trap first, then started lowering them into place. He started with the corner by the door - lifting one of the small ceiling tiles beneath the crawlspace and hooking the wire with the mirror taped to the bottom over the support beam. Four mirrors, suspended exactly the same distance from the ceiling. He wasn’t going to have much wiggle room. Finally, he powered on the little laser pointer he’d found and lowered it down on it’s own hook until he could see it refract off the mirror. The beam bounced from mirror to mirror and the trap closed. The slivers didn’t seem to notice, at least not yet. Ratchet moved on to the main room.

Slowly, carefully, he unscrewed a bit of ventilation piping and moved it aside so that he could use the ceiling vent as a peephole. Be strong, Ratchet. You’re going to save him. He forced himself to look.

There were a pair of light circles - one that encompassed most of the room and one that was encircling a single berth, with just enough space for a slender red and gold sliver with electricity sparking over his plating to stand at the head of the berth without exiting the circle. The other sliver was huge, larger than tarn, with an open barrel chest full of liquid metal. They were standing close, but carefully outside the circle. Tarn paced back and forth, crossing over the light beam of the inner circle with little care.

Drift was on the berth.

You could make a sliver visible by painting them, Ratchet and Drift had figured that one out on their own. Apparently you could do the same thing by pouring molten metal over their frame. Drift shook and shuddered on the berth, frame streaked with lines of grey cooled slag.

"Feeling warm yet?" Tarn asked lightly.

Drift glared at him.

Tarn snapped his fingers. "Kaon."

The sliver with the electricity powers - Ratchet’s patients had warned him about them - grabbed Drift by the finial. There was a crackle and then charge arced between Kaon’s shoulders. Drift writhed on the berth.

Ratchet focused his fury into his hands. He laid in another trap encircling the sliver with the smelter and then carefully lowered in his laser pointer. The mech didn’t seem in a hurry to move, hopefully Ratchet would have time before he noticed.

Tarn walked over to the smelter and filled a ladle with molten metal before walking back to the berth. "Sit up," he commanded.

Drift stared at him, sullenly. Tarn snapped his fingers and Kaon shocked him again. Drift still didn’t move to sit up, possibly because he couldn’t. Ratchet knew that Drift was stronger and considerably faster than most mechs, and given some of the stories Drift had alluded to from his time before Ratchet he must have been able to withstand more damage than most Cybertronians could survive. But still.

Ratchet began to mix the vials of chemicals he’d brought with him, tamping the container closed with his thumb. He needed to wait for the right moment.

"Lift him," Tarn ordered and Kaon wrapped his arm around Drift’s shoulder to shove him to a sitting position. "Would you care to tell me your name? I’m offering you one last chance to give me your name and your bond. I want you to understand - this is your very last chance. I would be happy to have you join our ranks, but if that’s not a possibility...my directive from the Prime was to purge all unholy creatures from the planet. And that I will gladly do."

Drift didn’t say anything, which Tarn clearly took as an invitation to monologue. "You might believe that you can outlast me. Primus knows you slivers can survive a great many things. I once had Tesarus grind a sliver down until it was only a head and it could still cry out in pain. But I was chosen for this role for a reason. I was forged with a gift beyond that of my peers - the ability to break any machinery, snuff out any spark, extinguish any demon. All by the power of my voice."

"That sounds about right," Drift said. "I bet most folks want to die, if they have to listen to you too long."

Tarn reached out and grabbed Drift’s face, forcing his head back. "Your name," he roared.

"Drift," Ratchet whispered, coming to a realization he should have had a long time ago.

Drift’s optics flicked towards him and Ratchet knew he was right. Drift had lied when Ratchet had first summoned him - he’d given Ratchet his actual name. The ability to order him, to bind him and to banish him. That meant that Ratchet could break the binding on Drift, right now, and he’d be able to leave Cybertron.

"I may die," Drift spat. "But I will always be his."

Tarn poured the ladle of molten metal over Drift’s face. The pain echoed through the bond to Ratchet’s spark so intensely that he thought maybe he was dying too. When he forced his optics to focus again Tarn was pacing, ladle halfway across the room where he’d apparently thrown it in a fit of rage. Kaon had released Drift and was looming over him, charge building on his plating.

That was Ratchet’s cue. He lifted his thumb off the vial in his hand and dropped it against the vent grate. Smoke poured out and a few moments later Ratchet heard the sprinklers start as the siren kicked on. Someone screamed, hopefully Kaon. Ratchet was already scrambling back towards the stockroom entrance, dragging open his own internal protocols and scorching ground as he went.

He dropped down into the stockroom in perfect silence. He’d been hoping for a pistol, but the patient who’d loaned him the bandolier had handed him off both a laser pistol and a rifle. Ratchet checked each of them again and then stomped into the main room and shot Tarn.

Tarn was armored, so he wasn’t expecting to bring him down in a single shot, but it was still disappointing to see him shrug off the shot with a shake of his head. At least Kaon and the smelter were down - Kaon on the ground, plating smoking and the smelter hammering on the invisible walls of his laser trap. But Tarn was still in play.

With his faceplate on it was very difficult to tell if Tarn was speaking. Ratchet fired another shot at him, nearly hitting him in the throat. Not that "nearly" did any good. He’d never been any good at shooting, Roller had pointed this out numerous times throughout his attempts to train him. Tarn drew his own gun and Ratchet dove behind the life-support console, feeling the shockwave from the impact against his back.

Barring some freak accident or an actual miracle, he wasn’t going to be able to bring down Tarn, Ratchet realized. Thinking otherwise had been an act of hubris, brought on by rage. Drift was too weak to even lift himself and there was no way he could stop Drift from hearing Tarn’s voice. Tarn could be killing Drift even now, and there would be no way for Ratchet to know.

There was only one option: breaking the bond so Drift could escape.

Ratchet stepped out from behind the console and fired a shot, not at Tarn but at one of the mirrors making up the circle around the berth. "Drift!" He yelled. "I order you to save yourself! Go home!"

Drift stared at him in shock. Ratchet felt a pressure on the sparkbond again, this time different than the others, a vibration of what could only be described as laughter. He looked at Ratchet and then he was gone.

Ratchet had known Drift could move more quickly than was physically possible for a Cybertronian. He hadn’t realized until he could see it in the traces of melted iron fused to his frame that Drift was using magic to do it.

Drift threw Tarn to the ground and sunk his claws into Tarn’s frame. Tarn struggled and then slowly began to melt into sintered sentio metallico. When Ratchet tore his optics away from Drift the other slivers were already gone, unbound with Tarn’s death.

Drift hauled himself to his feet and began to stagger towards Ratchet. Ratchet ran to him, digging back into his protocols to enable his hearing again. "I told you to go!" Ratchet yelled, scooping Drift up into his arms and burying his face against his chest. "I told you to go so you’d be safe."

Drift’s vocalyzer crackled and hissed, melted beyond function. But then his voice echoed against the sparkbond, perfectly clear.

>>You told me to go home, Ratchet. You’re home.<<

"What in the pits is going on?" Orion shouted, throwing the door to the clinic open. Roller staggered in behind him, looking around frantically.

Ratchet looked at them across his ruined clinic, sprinklers still pouring water from the ceiling, Drift’s mutilated frame clutched in his arms. "It’s a long story," he said. "This is my sparkmate. He’s a demon. I don’t suppose either of you have some green tourmaline on hand? I think we’re going to need all the healing energy we can get."

[peterbarron13-blog]

From A Skinny Kid To Dubai Fitness Pro - Exceptional Fitness Journey Of Peter Barron

In 2014, Peter Barron visited Dubai on holiday, fell in love with the city and never looked back. “I could see massive potential in fitness here. I knew it was the right career choice,” says the cheeky chap of his massive move to the UAE.

Barron took an extended leave of work from his medical career and set up a fitness company in Dubai. It grew— and so did his social media. Today Barron has 105k followers on Instagram and regularly posts intense workout videos to his page. Here’s how it began and the things he’s learned along the way.

Clearly you’re into fitness. When did it start?

Growing up, football was the only thing I wanted to do. I’m sure I learned to kick a ball before I could crawl! (Laughs)

I played for a semi-professional team in Ireland. When I was 17, I went on trial with a football club in the UK. I thought I worked hard enough, but I sort of failed a few fitness tests and was sent home to work on that — ironic, really. I didn’t have enough faith in myself, so I never went back.

This is actually what drove me to start studying health and fitness. I didn’t want others to make the same mistakes I had made. My dad would always say to me: hard work beats talent when talent doesn’t work hard. Finally, years later, I believe him.

Now we heard teenage you wasn’t very good at listening…

I was always very skinny growing up and it never really bothered me. A few months before going to the UK foot- ball trials I knew I needed to work on my strength and fitness. I got a workout plan from a top coach and my parents converted our garage to a gym.

I was so excited, but as a 16-year-old, I completely ignored what my coach said. (Because what could he tell me that I didn’t know at 16!) I used the gym to see how much I could press. Every kid wants a big chest, right? (Laughs)

All these mistakes on my fitness journey had to happen to lead me where I am today. I tell people not to look back, and see mistakes as building blocks to achieving those goals.

We’ve seen you jogging around with a particular UAE running club. What’s that all about?

In 2016, Adidas launched their running club in Dubai. I was hired as a coach and helped the group grow to over 2,000 members by 2017. I met so many amazing people throughout the year. I’d highly recommend the group — it’s more than just a running club.

You mentioned a family death recently — right around the time we asked you to be on the cover…

Yeah. A few days before you guys reached out, my grand- dad passed away. His name was also Peter Barron. I know how proud he would have been of all of this, and that makes it extra special for me.

On a lighter note, when I was 20 I had to get surgery, and it was something that made me pretty self conscious. Right after the massive surgery, when the wound was large and fresh, I asked if it would heal or if there would be seriously rough scarring. The surgeon made a joke that stuck with me. She said: ‘It will heal fine, but let’s just say you’ll never be a cover model on a magazine.’

Of course she was a really nice woman and didn’t mean anything by it. We laughed about it, but I did leave that hospital thinking how to prove her wrong! (Laughs) I’ve not been in touch since 2010, so I’ll track her down and send her a copy. (Grins)

Sounds like you’re pretty determined. Was there ever a time when you felt less motivated?

It was hard to motivate myself after failing my fitness test when I was on trial in the UK. In my mind, my dream was over and I was going to have to settle for second best.

I spent weeks feeling down and de-motivated. Then I started to meditate to clear my mind, read motivational books and listen to podcasts from authors such as Jack Canfield, Tim Ferris, Echart Tolle and Tony Robbins.

This helped switch my mindset, teaching me to find the positive in every situation, good or bad.

Everything in life happens for a reason, and what is meant for you won’t pass you by. I live by this, so even when things seem bad I know that something better is just around the corner.

Ok, we totally agree. So is mental health a big thing for you?

Mental health is something I think is very important and something everyone should look after. If your mind is in the right place I think everything else in your life will follow.

Have you ever had a day where you wake up angry or feeling down and somehow everything that day becomes negative? You spill your coffee on your shirt, you’re late for work, and your car breaks down? This only seems to hap- pen to me when I feel negative. I’m not saying you can never feel down but it knows how to recognize and improve your mindset.

If I feel down or tired the only way for me to clear my mind is to exercise, run, play football, and lift weights, any way to release those happy hormones (endorphins). I also try to meditate or be mindful for a few minutes each day. Seriously just two minutes day done right can make a big difference.

I also try being grateful more often for everything I have in my life. Smile more, this sounds stupid but try it. Smile right now and I guarantee you will feel happier. If not, I’m sorry for wasting your time. It works for me. (Laughs)

What would you say to someone who is new to fitness?

Don’t be afraid to ask for help.

No matter how much you know. Someone out there always knows more. Be open to other people’s opinion and don’t be afraid to ask for advice even if you think you know everything.

I have worked in the fitness industry for nearly 10 years and even now I will be the first person to ask another coach for advice or for their opinion. Dubai is filled with top class coaches, use this to your advantage and if you are struggling in any aspect of your journey. Ask for help. Also, make training part of your lifestyle, not a chore.

Make it something you want to do. Find a reason for why you’re doing this, like a goal. Then just get it done.

All that makes sense. So us about your diet. Are you scoffing pancakes on Saturday? Swigging protein? What?

Guys, I’m going to say something you might already know: balance. Balance is the only option that works with nutrition.

For me, after experimenting with different styles, I know that around 2,500 to 3,000 calories per day works best. It allows me to stay fit and give 100 percent at every training session. I’m more about staying fit than thinking about overall body fat percentage and weight.

I love eating pizza, burgers, and basically ‘bad food’ — but there really isn’t any such thing. Your body doesn’t know anything other than macronutrients and what the food breaks down to. Portion control is the key.

It’s all about fitting these types of food into your weekly intake while keeping an eye on your overall calories.

I’ve been using a meal prep company called Pura for the last year. This makes my life so much easier. They give me five meals a day and it basically simplifies everything, while helping me reach my goals.

Thanks, now we’re hungry. Changing topic… something surprising about you?

I have had over 50 stitches in my face throughout my life. I used to run head first at a 45degree angle as a child. I hit my head a lot, fell through a window. Almost gave my mum and dad a nervous break- down on numerous occasions… Then I was in a car crash at 17 and that was over 30 stitches in my face alone. (Laughs)

Glad you stopped that running habit. Talk to us about your pretty massive social media following.

When I started on social media, I used it to track my progress and to hold myself accountable for what I was doing in the gym. I started to create short workout videos for people to try. When I began receiving messages from people that were trying the workouts and sharing their fitness journeys with me, it really motivated me to keep working hard to get fitter and stronger— just like they were.

Social media isn’t all kittens and avo toast (although there’s plenty of that, to be hon- est). Are there any weird pressures you face because of it?

I think the pressure that can be associated with being on social media comes from the fact that we will often compare our lives to that of friends or strangers. We receive constant updates of how “perfect” their lives are and try seeking this in our own life. It can lead to us worrying that our life isn’t as exciting or that we haven’t accomplished as much as our peers.

Sometimes I get anxiety from spending too much time staring into my screen on Instagram or any other social media channels. I try to take a few days every month where I completely stay off social media and make sure to keep on top of real life interactions with friends and family. (Laughs.) Basically remember what it is like to have a proper face to face conversation!

Social media is an amazing tool but It can take over your life very easily so make sure to detox often.

What’s next? We see you working out a lot with our Gal of the Month, Zoe (instagram.com/zoehappyfit).

Yes you do! At the moment I’m focusing on creating YouTube content with Zoe. We’re looking at food, workouts, and healthy lifestyle. Check out #peterandzoe to try some of our workouts.

Blog Source URL: https://www.peterbarron13.com/from-a-skinny-kid-to-dubai-fitness-pro-exceptional-fitness-journey-of-peter-barron/

[fhylie]

Eleven days ago, my divorce was finalized.

I want to lead with that, because if feels like I've been holding myself in for a long, long time. Probably unhealthily long. I think it's a signature of the relationship that I ended that I feel like me having emotions revealed to someone else can only end badly. 'Why not just avoid that,' I constantly say to myself, 'and then other people don't have to get hurt by me?' You can see the obvious wrongness in that line of thinking, I hope. Hiding my feelings from people was an unhelpful poison and only wound me up repeatedly back on myself until I could only snap angrily or float emotionlessly, usually the second.

In the interest of self-help, I want to try and lay out the course of what prompted me to end my marriage. Maybe having it out there will help, maybe it won't. What I don't intend to do is name names, because that's not really good for anyone. Frankly, the people that know me already know who anyone I'm about to describe is.

Let's start at the end and work backwards, I suppose. On October 23rd, 2016, I had a heated argument with my ex-wife about whether or not I was allowed to be friends with a girl I met online through FFXIV. We had been friends for a while before that, probably a good year or so, and my ex-wife knew that the two of us talked about our personal problems when we couldn't get past them ourselves. I think that my ex-wife deeply envied that connection, because over time I had come to not be able to have those sorts of discussions with her, and mostly this was because almost all of the problems I had been having had my ex-wife at their root.

Going through the list, the problem we had with the most immediacy was my ex-wife's refusal or inability to leave our condo, which meant that the condo we had bought together relied solely on my income, and that any and all tasks requiring interacting with the outside world fell to me. I don't want to suggest that we divided things in an equal way, either, as almost all of the cooking and most of the cleaning was myself as well. In fairness, she was always the one to do laundry, and she rarely asked for help with that. However, it was a status quo I had been handling for a very long time, and so it felt very natural, but not enjoyable in any way. With my public transit commute for work, my usual days began at 5am and I would be home at 6pm, a little later if grocery shopping was needed, after which I would handle the food. When we spent time together it was usually to play games or watch shows together, which usually meant I stayed up very late - a habit I still haven't broken.

Anyways, the reasons behind her habits were a deep depression and anxiety about other people which were brought on after her mother passed away some years earlier (I want to say around 2007-2008 but can't recall), as well as her development of fibromyalgia, which left her in pain and exhausted. Looking back, I feel like I didn't do enough to take care of the first part of things, but I don't know if I ever could have done anything about the second part. I don't know that I ever could have felt like I did enough, honestly, and for a long time my role in our relationship was of a caretaker. Besides that, her emotional problems had been present before her mom passed, and we were not physically intimate for a considerable time before this October argument; probably years. It's difficult to recall when, specifically. All of these things resulted in a grinding lack of confidence in both of us, but I feel like she was always less determined than me to carry on and do things that needed to be done, even before medical problems with a concern.

Let's continue backwards in time. At the time of our marriage in 2012, my ex-wife had a best friend, of sorts, who she had met online through various games, and during 2011 and 12 actually lived with us in Canada, sharing an apartment and then later our condo with us and her husband. They were American, so there were constraints on what sort of jobs they were able to obtain, but the best friend had moved here ostensibly to go to school at the local university, so that only mattered for her husband. He was a nice enough sort, liked to read books and talk about writing. A bit of a weird guy, awkward, but then so am I.

We never really got along, I think, because of the greater context of my ex-wife's and her best friend's relationship. Before the American couple moved in, late in my relationship I was still very unhappy with the burden of responsibility I had - still with those 13-14 hour work days in 2009 or 10. I did mention I had been doing this for a while. But the important part of that time period was that one night, my ex-wife tearfully confessed to me that she thought she loved the best friend she still had not met in real life, and who was also married, and that she didn't want to lose me because of it. She asked for permission to be polyamorous, and I was some kind of combination of emotionally dishonest, a big idiot, and afraid of losing someone I had been with since 2001, so I said it was okay. That was what I had always done: let her have what she wanted and thought would make her happy and paid the cost myself. It was why it had been okay for her to leave her job after her mom died, as well, to me, even though what I knew I should have done was push her towards better recovery instead of seeking solace from people online.

So the Americans moved across the continent from the far southeastern states and the best friend and my ex-wife began their relationship. Maybe to their credit there was a minimum of physical intimacy between the two of them while I was present, but again, let's keep in mind how often I wasn't. During this time I was still physically intimate with my ex-wife as well, though probably not often enough that it mattered enough for her to even seek out a second partner. My ex-wife maintained during our divorce proceedings and to this day that they were not ever physical, though I clearly remember her embarrassed conversations on the subject with the best friend while I was around. More to the point, I specifically asked the best friend after the October 23, 2016 argument about the physical nature of their relationship and was told that I was right, and that she was upset because she thought I knew.

As a side note, the best friend is probably not a trustworthy witness for any of this, since she had/has her own emotional problems, but to be honest, I can't bring myself to be angry at her. It's not her fault I was bad enough at relationships to let it get that far. I know that after she moved away from Canada due to the cost of living here and other things related to her husband's family she had a serious breakdown, and I hope that her experiences with us didn't contribute to that. She was a good person, I think, when her presence wasn't actively fucking up my relationship with my ex-wife.

After the Americans had been around for a while, my ex-wife had decided to finally seek the benefit of psychiatric help after shutting herself in since 2007, so this would have been about 4 years, I think, of that, and less than a year or so of being with her friend. I remember feeling upset but not upset that she listened to advice about seeking help from her friend and not me, but she was getting help, so it was a net good, wherever it came from. I wanted what was good for her, and this was an extremely positive step.

After starting on antidepressants, there was a very brief spark, I think, of the person she had been nearer to the start of our relationship. She had energy, she had positive emotions, both of which had been very rare. She left the house at first with me and then on her own and looked for work, and then got a job which she stayed at for a long enough period for us to be able to move from the small apartment we were sharing with 2 other people into a good sized condo. I felt like things might have started to get better. She asked me to marry her, saying that the new mental clarity she had had from the drugs had led her to realize the depth and importance of everything I was doing for her, and thinking a dark time in my life was finally over with, I said yes. We got married in the spring of 2012, and the best friend was in the wedding party. I'm not actually clear if she was maid of honour, but it's not really important.

Then my ex-wife stopped. The antidepressants weren't enough, the counselling sessions didn't help so she stopped going, the fibromyalgia got worse, and there were too many things she didn't like about her job. I started going with her to her counselling sessions, paid for by her employer in an effort to get her back to work, to make sure she was doing them. There were maybe two times after that where she bothered to go. After a time she lost her job and, over that time, lost her willingness to go outside for any reason. The Americans moved away due to a death in the husband's family and the cost of living in this town, as I mentioned above, and I remember helping them pack their boxes and move their things into a van to go all the way back across the continent, marking one of the only times that my ex-wife came outside of the condo for any reason that year. While they were leaving, the husband took me aside privately and expressed his concern that we might not be able to afford the condo, to which I smiled tightly and said we would manage. We did manage, barely.

I became very depressed over this entire ten year time period, and I think my depression echoed hers. I felt like I wasn't good enough, that my job wasn't enough financially and so I felt like a failure there, and that I wasn't enough emotionally and so that was what made my ex-wife seek out this other relationship. Other failures in my life with education and friendships didn't help much either. I cut off contact slowly with friends, cancelling our then weekly D&D games citing my inability to run a game and manage the increasing emotional demands of my relationship. They all knew my ex-wife was jittery about having people over, even if she was friends with some of them and sometimes had played with us. In truth that was partially it, but I was also feeling ashamed at my failures and didn't feel like I could hold up being a good host anymore. It was easier for me to run away from that, and so I slowly faded away from that group of friends.

When I started playing Final Fantasy XIV at the start of A Realm Reborn, it wasn't the first MMO I played. I had played World of Warcraft for some years with the very same friends I was moving away from emotionally, not to mention my ex-wife and her best friend. I met some of the other people at PAX in Seattle a few times as well. I guess what I was unprepared for was the tremendous difference in community between WoW and XIV. Apparently, Blizzard games don't have the most friendly fan bases, and the way I had conducted myself in public forums with endless levels of concern trolling and meme yelling in trade chat certainly didn't exclude me from that judgement. But even at the outset, XIV felt different. Maybe it was because it was new, maybe it was because I was lucky, but I hit upon TALE, the free company I am with now and the one I would like to have said I always stayed with, and they were this strange group of wonderful people and roleplayers. Some of them were weird as hell, but so was I and they put up with my brand of weirdness. I had resolved to have a way better online persona in this community, and it paid off hugely.

My ex-wife and I and the best friend were all members in this time period. We all made friends and roleplayed with people in TALE and out. The ex-wife and her best friend both liked to ERP on their male characters with each other (not new behaviour, mind you), whether or not I was around. It shocked some people when it came up that we were long term dating, then married, since they knew about the other relationship first. When their relationship became more distant after the best friend moved away, my ex-wife found various new ERP partners and I didn't bat an eye, because I had been dealing with it for so long. She had stopped asking me if it was okay a long time ago, anyways. To their credit, some of those partners which found out about our relationship messaged me to ask if it was okay, which I said it was, because what basis did I have to start having a problem with it now?

I met a friend living in the same town as me through TALE. I met people I'm going to Fanfest with this year through TALE as well. I even met people that I felt like I could talk about my personal feelings regarding my relationship with. Some of them were the ERP partners of my ex-wife; I think it's significant to note that they didn't stop. A small few of them, great people all, actually had tips to try and make things better, or were disturbed that the gamer couple relationship they had seen from the outside and admired wasn't what they thought it was and wanted to prop it up since I was very open about wanting to fix things and being willing to take on anything I could to do so. One of those was a girl my ex-wife started an argument about.

I want to be clear that I think there was something to admire in our relationship. We had been together for such a long time, we were easy in each other's company, we did things together. If you didn't know the other things about our relationship and you took the way I acted about and the words I said as truth, it looked like we were a couple that was weathering the storm and our love was getting us through it. In the end, though, that wasn't true.

What my ex-wife saw is that I stayed up late to talk to a girl, I think probably more than a few times. It looked to her like I was cheating on her. Now, I know what the initial outside thought is: hey, didn't we just get through a million words about her polyamory and ERP habits? I'd like to contest that thought, but I can't. It always made the entire thing ridiculous to me, and it was the bedrock of why our marriage ended. So, having this problem with me speaking to this girl over IMs or in game, my ex-wife decided to implement controls.

At first, I was not allowed to speak to her on voice chat if my ex-wife was at home, which was always, and this became while she was at her computer, which was most of the time. This was fine, because I never got on voice chat except for raid stuff. Then, she discouraged us speaking over instant message while my ex-wife was around. Kind of weird, but I guess in an out of sight out of mind way it works. Typing to each other in game was apparently okay, because of... reasons? Once before October she got very angry that I was on voice chat at the same time as the girl while doing some content stuff with other people, which sparked a small argument about what it is I was allowed to do and who I was allowed to speak to. I felt beaten down.

I left TALE for a brief period and the both of us joined a different free company who are, by the way, wonderful people. I strongly recall someone saying something extremely minor to me and one of the officers very quickly PMing me to say was that okay? I think at this point my skin was so thick from dealing with emotional distress that I didn't even notice, but I played it off as sure, no, I'm not offended. Nevertheless, I had a difficult time really connecting with this new group of roleplayers, both because it was a new group and because I had a lot of misgivings with leaving my old one under very strange pretenses. Not that I didn't still talk to them sometimes, but we all know it's hard to feel included when you're not in the main channel of discussion. If you folks from the other company are reading this, I wish things could be less awkward.

So, October 23rd, 2016, after Thanksgiving and before Halloween. I'm still not exactly sure what made my ex-wife flip her lid, but I think it was partway between her delusion that the girl and I were hiding an affair from her and the fact that all of her controls were not having whatever the intended effect was supposed to have been. Either way, she just lost it and started messaging the girl in a public channel we were both in about how dare she do this to us and that I had lied to both of them about the things she said about what I was allowed to do. At the same time as acknowledging that I wasn't allowed to talk to her. Since the two of us were in the same room, the back half of this argument was the two of us yelling at each other in our condo. Her yelling and crying at the same time, and me trying to placate her and slowly but surely growing more frustrated until she gave the ultimatum that I had to choose my ex-wife or this girl I talked to online, and I told her fuck you, you can't tell me who I can be friends with, either you trust me or you don't. I stormed off with no explanation to the girl until much later. I sat in the bathroom of our condo with a spinning head and felt sick for a long time. I couldn't believe the violent physical reaction I was having to all this.

It was at that time that I first thought to myself that I had to try one more time, and if it didn't work I was going to get out.

A few days passed without resolution to the argument. I messaged the girl with what had happened, because she deserved to know, and found out that my ex-wife and her had spoken about this very same subject months earlier and been reassured that no, we were not having an affair. I supposed it made sense to my ex-wife that of course we would lie about it. At the end of those few days I told my now ex-wife that I wanted a divorce over the way she had treated not just me but many other people, but me most of all, for years. It was fucking hard to do and I'm not sure how I did it on that specific day.

She resolved to try harder, to start trying to leave the apartment if I would help her by going on walks, we resolved to go to couples therapy, where I got out many of the things I've said above. It didn't take. I sought my own help for depression and told a physician that I thought I was trapped in an abusive relationship. The person I was referred to was ... not good, for many reasons. My ex-wife did not try harder. She fought me every time I tried to get her out of the condo for a walk. She hated the times of day we could go (walking in the dark could be bad!) and was actively spiteful to anyone we interacted with if the walk was also to go and accomplish anything, like walking to the pharmacy for her medication. I knew nothing was going to change. It felt like she was just going through the motions to get me back to where I was before, and I couldn't be in that place anymore.

When I told her we were going through with the divorce, she cried and I felt numb. She asked me if there was anything she could do, and I told her if she had another relationship that she should absolutely not decide it was polyamorous partway through. Yes, a lot of allowing that is on me, but if there was any root to the failure it was that. She cried at that too.

I spoke with my parents and the real life friends I had cut off years ago and I was free. Some of them with strong views on the sanctity of marriage said I should stay the course, but I knew what the right decision was the entire time and I knew that telling her that the things she had done were okay was the wrong thing to do. I reconnected with a lot of people in my life and I kept talking to the girl and the rest of my online friends and I knew that everything was going to be okay eventually.

On October 12, 2018, which would have been my 17th anniversary of the start of dating my ex-wife, our divorce was finalized by the government of Canada, but if you ask me, that argument about whether I was allowed to choose my own friends was when it really died.

[shardclan]

Promenade Medical wasn't far from the Court of Five Lights, and subsequently it wasn't far from the Hall either. The architect had built it as Telos asked: far south so that the traffic on the Promenade didn't disturb them. Azricai could see the the white pillars marking the outer limits of the court off in the distance, and the speck of Tràthail fluttering and flapping her way through them. While fast, she wasn't quite done molting, so she flew with approximately the grace and lift of a turkey.

Azricai gripped her cane and shifted. Flatlands were difficult to lift off from, but even a small leap from the Promenade steps was enough to catch the wind under her wings. She sailed in an arc, curving around to land gently in the inner courtyard. She kept a brisk pace on the walkway that led to the hall, but once she passed under the inner arcade, she saw she needn't have rushed.

Arcanus was standing out in front of the entryway with Tràthail held under his arm. The girl wasn't struggling, but the moment she saw Azricai, she was as loud and chatty as a sentry squawker.

"Yes, there you are! Explain to this man that we need the Umbra Wolf! And make him let me go!"

"Hush," Azricai said sternly. "You can't just barge in on the Queen and expect her knight to let you though."

"But Dust needs her!"

Arcanus' mouth twisted with vague annoyance. "What's all this about?"

Azricai explained in as short but clear terms as she could, and sighed. "It's not a bad idea, the child just has no sense of order. Is she in session with the Tribunes?"

"No, a personal audience."

Azricai raised a brow. There were not many who bothered to come personally to Telos these days. Typically it would be a diplomat or a clan head from somewhere else, but personal audiences...

"Lutia?" she whispered.

Arcanus tensed at the thought, bvut was careful not to squeeze his cargo. "Not yet. Junior."

The skydancer's shoulders wilted, her expression pained. "He was just a child, no different from his brother and sister. If he must apologize, so must we. We were supposed to protect them, even from themselves."

"Yes," Arcanus said with uncharacteristic gentleness. "We were."

"Is Zo with him?"

"Won't leave his side, even for Techne."

"As it should be."

She gathered herself up with a deep breath, dispelling the lingering regrets starting to fill the air. There was no one in the clan who wouldn't be ready to forgive Junior. Well, there might be a few, but none who wouldn't be entirely cowed by Zo's presence at his side.

She hadn't had much interaction with Zo--there wasn't really a need. He was a clear-minded young man with sensible, perfectly reachable ambitions and he took care of his own woes in his own time. He was very...stable for an Arcanite his age. Even more so than his own mother had been when she first appeared before them. But somewhere deep inside, probably below his own notice, he did have that small current of the untameable that ran through nearly all members of the old dynasty.

She approved of him. And even more so of his feelings for Junior. She would never say it, but Zo's love for Junior was growing to be as tender and honest as the Radiant's love for Abaddon had once been. It was definitely something boy needed, but not something he or his father should actually hear.

"Excuse us, please."

Arcanus and Azricai stood to the side, allowing Zo and Junior to pass hand-in-hand. Telos emerged behind them, and gave the latter a parting embrace. They departed, and she stood in somber silence, not seeming to notice that anyone else was with her. Her own eyes were reddened. Flecks of the gold leaf she used for her signature tear markings had been carried like sediment down to her chin and even glittered slightly on her bosom.

"You have urgent business?" she finally asked.

Azricai bowed her head. "Take a moment, my Lady. We can wait."

"Thank you."

Telos disappeared back into the cool shade inside the hall, and Arcanus sat Tràthail down to accompany her. Tràthail looked after them in an unusual calm. Slowly, without ever looking up, she gravitated toward Azricai and pressed into her side.

"Has something bad happened?" she asked timidly.

"A long time ago," Azricai answered gently. "They've finally made peace."

"But they were so sad..."

"It's a terrible memory for both of them. Telos lost her husband, Junior lost his siblings, and everyone lost their old homes."

Tràthail pressed closer, but didn't ask anymore questions. Maybe someone had already told her the story, maybe she had no idea.

"I don't want to lose Dust."

"You won't." Azricai laid a hand on her shoulder. "I want you to let me talk to Telos, Tràthail. Alone."

Tràthail's feathers stood. "Why alone?"

"Because there's someone in this clan stronger than Bestealcian, and I am going to ask Telos to allow her and Dust to work together. But it's a very emotional and very political subject and I would rather you go back to Dust."

The harpy clearly didn't like it, but even she was not so simple she didn't recognize the basis of the situation. An adult of high standing was offering to negotiate with a matriarch on her behalf.

"I will go tell Dust that I do not hate her."

"Good. The love of a friend can get a dragon through many things."

Tràthail smiled in her giddy, beaming sort of way. Azricai watched her amble back the way she came, and had a very clear premonition of her bursting in on Dust and yelling 'I love you' with no lead up at all.

Even as Azricai smirked at the thought, she hoped the girl would have a little more tact than that. 

Arcanus came to her side, and politely offered her his hand. “The Morning Queen will see you now.”

Telos’ face was clear, and in the diffuse light coming in from the high windows, it was hard to tell she had been crying only ten or fifteen minutes ago. But she hadn’t re-applied the gold leaf, and the chaotic spread of the lingering flecks amplified her aura of mourning a thousand times over. It made her seem worn, like she had grieved until no more tears were left and still found only more sadness.

But her eyes were clear and her head high, so the illusion lasted only until she presented Azricai with a steaming cup of tea and took her seat at the head of the tribunal table.

“You sent the child away,” she observed in a voice still slightly husky.

“I did.”

“You have something serious to discuss then.”

Azricai stirred her tea. “I’m sure you’ve been kept aware of Dust’s status. Today I spoke with her to get to the root of the issue. I will not repeat her words because she spoke them to me in confidence, but in short: She is frightened of becoming big enough to be a worthy target of the Catoptria’s appetites.”

Telos' lip curled, and a sigh hissed through her teeth. "They're a scourge."

"I agree. Dust agrees." She took a pensive sip of her tea. "I promised her they would be dealt with if she could reach minimum healthy weight. She agreed."

Telos said nothing. It was Bestealcian who snickered from the eaves: "She's a vengeful little thing~"

Both women chose to ignore her. She wasn't wrong, but that was not the meat of the matter. Telos poured her own cup of tea and folded her hands around it, idly rubbing at the rim with her thumbs.

"Thank you for making me aware of this little deal, but what exactly are you asking me for, Azricai? You know I can't go after them officially. I am pressed enough to handle local affairs, much less cannibals on the other side of the Shifting Expanse."

"Am I to take that as an express ban on official Clan Aphaster involvement?"

"You can write it down and have my stamp on it if you want."

"That's probably a good idea." Azricai leaned back in her chair. "So let us talk unofficial involvement."

Telos' brow furrowed. She hadn't seen Azricai like this in ages, and it had never been aimed right at her. Her face was not the friendly smile she had relied on during the founding of the new clan. This woman was impenetrable, and Telos couldn't help but feel she was being challenged on her own throne to a rigged game.

"After an express ban you immediately seek to subvert me?"

"I seek your permission to subvert," Azricai corrected. "And not lightly."

"For Dust."

"Only for her. They pose a threat to her physical and mental health by their very existence. I am not asking you to have them all killed for her by secret means. I am asking if it's fine if a civilian helps her kill them all herself."

"And if I say no?"

"You are my queen. I will not go against you even in secret."

Telos met this stranger's eyes, and slowly a wry smile came to her lips. She sipped her tea, and let the tension leave as the warmth seeped in.

"And here I thought the Gale Wolf was no more."

Azricai smiled humbly. "On the Windswept Plateau, it is believed that gale wolves never die. They only dissipate until the next storm comes."

Telos chuckled, and turned the cup in her fingers. Her eyes flicked back and forth, as though reading a document she'd filed away somewhere in her mind.

"If you wish to do this, it will remove Dust's potential for citizenship."

"Execution of a personal grudge by a guest?” Azricai guessed.

“That's the only legal clause that could see this through with enough plausible deniability."

"I must remind you that she would have to leave here shortly after. Being a child will not spare her that."

"If she's reached her minimum healthy weight and no longer requires specialized medical assistance I don't see how that's a problem. It's not as though there isn’t a very nice coven on the other side of Sornieth in need of one more witch."

Both shared cool expressions that only barely hid the devious mirth in their eyes. It wasn’t as though Telos didn’t want the Ashfall Catoptria dealt with. There were just layers upon layers of bureaucracy to mind, and if she pointed fingers at the clans who lived around them, it would probably be a quick way to make enemies. This offered them all something they wanted, and in Dust’s case, something she needed.

“Which civilian do you want? I heard the girl vying for the Umbra Wolf, but I can’t send her there on an annihilation mission if this is supposed to be unofficial. Someone from Feldspar may be good for this.”

“They have enough on their minds. I want to request Lutia.”

The mirth drained from Telos’ eyes. “Azricai, really? Her?”

“Please hear my case: She is considered a rogue. The last issue of the Sunbeam Sentinel explicitly mentioned she hadn’t approached you, so to the world, you’re still butting heads with her. I believe that she is preparing herself to come see you. She hasn’t seen Ashes yet either. So before she has made any amends with you, let her do this. Let her be what other clans constantly accuse her of being, one last time. Let her make Dust feel safe so that the child can thrive. And then make your amends and reign her in.”

Telos tapped at her cup. The idea was perfect. Unsettlingly so. “I don’t know if I like how good at this you are.“

“So I have been told.”

“You have my permission to approach Lutia with this. On one condition.” She drained her cup of tea, and smiled brightly. “It is you I would like reigned in before anyone catches on that someone this wicked is an ordinary civilian. You denied me when I offered you a place on my tribune, and I will continue to respect your reasons. They were sound, and still are. But I would like you to become this clan’s Head Judge. It irks me to think I ever let you slip out of political affairs.”

Azricai’s stony countenance cracked, first into a smile, and then into a loud bark of laughter. “She compliments my politics as she slips the collar around my neck knowing I am in no position to refuse. I am not the only one who is wicked, my friend.” 

With warm smiles and familiar ease, the two shook hands on their agreement.

@boyonetta

[einokay]

This year

This year has been difficult.

5 months ago my husband and I separated.  It was a long time coming and it was my decision.  He had severe panic attacks and depressive episodes and rather than seeking help through a GP or counsellor, used me as a crutch. His depression was so consuming and became a full time job to manage.  There wasn’t room in our marriage for my own mental health, let alone my own depression and anxiety. Communication slowly eroded. There was just silence. 

I moved out on Feb 22, a few months before our 10th anniversary. I moved into a flat I loved, on a street I loved. I wanted to have games nights with friends, and film nights with popcorn. But there was just silence.

Shortly after, I entered a severe depression.  Several years of pent up anxiety and depression came to the surface and dragged me under like a tidal wave.  I spent days in bed staring, with the blinds closed, cocooned in the darkness.  I didn’t eat. I barely moved. I saw my GP and was signed off work and prescribed anti-depressants.

Eventually, I moved from bed. Then moved a bit more. Then washed my face. Then moved to the living room. Then started checking the post. My medication gradually escalated from 5mg a day to 100mg. I started going to the gym to be ‘out in the world’ as my counsellor kindly put it. My depressive episodes led to a weight loss of a few stone. I still don’t know how much I weigh, but know I went from a size 18 to 8 in less than a year.

After a few month’s off of work, I had another appointment with my GP. How did I feel about going back to work? Cautious, but ready. Did I get along with everyone in my team? Yeah, I had good working relationships, 2 were my best friends. So you’ll have support? Absolutely. I was confident in this. How do you feel you’d like your return to go? Phased return as I was still struggling with the side effects of the medication – forgetfulness, paranoia, anger/rage, trouble sleeping, nervousness – managing these side effects was difficult, but the medication helped and the side effects would eventually fade.

I returned to work. Within a week, very few people in the team were speaking with me. Conversations were….curt. Civilities were gone, and everything was peak professionalism – there was no ‘how was your weekend’ or ‘hows the cat?’. For reasons I still don’t know, or understand and am preventing myself for ruminating about. My medication increased.

I spoke with my manager. We had regular catch ups.  I was unsure if it was my paranoia, but was reassured there was tension in the team – I still didn’t know why, but wasn’t concerned at that point. I was asked how I felt about working in another building – our team ran three buildings. I acknowledged I needed a team environment – the isolation in my marriage was incredibly difficult for me and I actively relied on being around people. Isolation was a clear trigger. Trigger – I used that word. I needed conversation and interaction to keep myself steady – whether with co-workers or customers. I acknowledged I didn’t drive and commuting would prove difficult, especially since becoming the sole wage earner.

By the end of the week, I was told I would be moved to the furthest building (90 minute walk), would be a lone worker and there was no scope to change this.

Again, the tidal wave pulled me under. I raised my concerns. Again. My medication increased. Again. I drew attention to the fact that I clearly indicated isolation was a trigger. There was no scope for change. There was no reasoning given. There was no guidance in the new role. There was no discussion about adjustments to make it less difficult. My mind started wandering and the anxiety returned. My medication increased. Again.

A few weeks later I met with HR and my manager. I assumed it was to discuss my concerns about the new arrangement. I tried to be optimistic. I was self-managing my mental health. I was exercising, I was seeing a counsellor regularly. I was trying to maintain healthy relationships. I was consistently taking my medication. I had been very clear with my manager about triggers and what helps and hinders my mental health. I made sure my communication was clear. I had followed my GP and counsellors advice. I was ticking the boxes.

I was then told I was being moved out of the team. Into a standalone role. Immediately. Furthering the isolation - physically, socially, even geographically. No reason given. No rationale. 

My medication increased. Again. The panic attacks returned. Again. The depression returned. Again. And the isolation was palpable. Whilst in the team, my days were filled with tasks to support the team. Processes. Checklists. In my new role, there was….nothing. No team to support. No tasks to complete. And a 90 minute commute to sit in a room, by myself, doing nothing. Days go by without conversation or meaningful interaction.

One day I tested 200 pens. 8 worked.

One day I pushed in all the chairs.

One day I scanned and shredded hard copies of files from 2003.

I started tracking how many people I interact with. On a busy day, including the post man, its 3. I’m hoping one day it will be 4. Or maybe 5.

After 18 months in my old team, no one acknowledged my leaving. Nor did my manager. There was no goodbye card like the one we gave the intern we had for three months - the one that spun in her chair saying ‘I’m bored’ and deleted 3 years of data. There was no drinks organised like the ones we had for the intern we had for 2 days a week for 6 months - the one that couldn’t use Twitter and was our social media intern. There was no phone call to say ‘sorry to hear you’re leaving’. No one said a word, or has since said a word. No one has been in touch. No one has said a thing. There was just silence. Again.

My dad isn’t speaking with me. He thinks I should have stayed with my husband to support him more.

My mom would like to talk more, but doesn’t want to upset my dad. They’re both retired, so both always home - finding a time where mom is home alone is difficult.

My brother doesn’t understand time zones and tries to call at midnight, my time. 

I have a handful of friends - longtime friends and ‘strangers’ (though I don’t like that term, considering how much support I’ve had from them) who reached out on social media. They’re spread out from Toronto to North Tyneside but support from a distance with waves, cat gifs, or just saying hi. Almost always when I’m at a very low point. They break the silence and it helps enormously.

One of my friends who stopped speaking with me finally replied to a message I sent. I needed to draw a line. I didn’t understand what had happened. I ticked every box. We talked every day. At length. About everything. Then it just...stopped. I reached out one last time to acknowledge how hurtful it was and that the situation was quite painful. She replied. After 4 months of silence, she replied. Only to say she had reasons, didn’t want to say what they were and didn’t want to speak.

The tidal wave still drags me under. When I returned to work, it was usually every 4-6 weeks. I could tell when it was coming and had time to plan for it. I could feel it building and building in strength and knew it was time to stop. To slow down. To take a breath.

Now, it comes without warning. The waters have calmed to give way to a lightning storm. Its now a sudden shock. It stops me in my tracks and incapacitates me. When I wake up, first thing in the morning. Or in the middle of the night. Or when I’m at the gym. Or while I’m going for a walk. Once when I was playing with the cat. Another time when I was making toast. Another time paying for groceries. It is frequent. It is unpredictable and it is horrible.

I ticked all the boxes.

I spoke to my manager.

I sought advice from my GP and counsellor.

I maintained healthy relationships.

I tried to have open conversations.

I looked after my well-being. I exercised, I kept a journal, I made a point of going outside and participating in the world. I got a cat. I got plants. I looked after myself and continue to do so.

I am still getting shocked and I am still incapacitated by it.

Frequently.

Weekly.

Sometimes daily.

I miss the slow build of the tidal wave.

I’m trying not to increase my medication. Again.

I’m trying not to get signed off work. Again.

I’m trying to get myself steady and stable. Again.

I’m still ticking all the boxes.

[essay063hf-blog]

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If you have particular inquiries or you just wish to share your knowledge to help others reach their objectives, you can also surf the consulting Q&A. This is a place where seeking advice from inquiries are asked, addressed and archived for future generations of specialists. Expert witnesses play a crucial function in litigation. Making use of expert witnesses can make or break an instance. What precisely is the duty of a professional witness? Keep checking out to find out! The Functions of a Specialist Witness Educate Counsel As experts in their area, professional witnesses are typically used to supply lawyers with guidance. Specialists help clarify the scenario, offer possible alternatives, help in instance advancement, and identify whether or not situations have benefit. Prepare Evidence Expert witnesses play a crucial role in preparing proof for instances. Professionals are frequently used to examine potential proof, conduct experiments to prove (or disprove) a factor, as well as prepare demonstrative proof. Demonstrative proof is crucial for trials. It is created particularly for tests in order to help demonstrate or explain matters that might be challenging to comprehend. Supply Statements Another essential duty of expert witnesses is to give statements. The professional might be hired to prepare a record of their searchings for to be made use of in settlement negotiations or in link with other court proceedings before test. If the situation is not worked out and there is a test, experts are commonly brought in to assist persuade the court or court. At times they might serve only in the pre-trial stages. Various other times they might only testify at trial. Often a professional witness will certainly play a combination of these duties. 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