#not even the closest friend could help me with what i need therapy for- professional expertise is essential in my treatment

[nanogono]

generally I do agree with listening to your friends and caring for one another- but then you get those people who think all friendship is, is venting and y'all aren't even close- like i still want to help, but there's a limit. plus, frankly i've gone through so much worse i have a hard time empathizing especially bc she exaggerates to try to elicit sympathy- i don't know how to tell her she'll find more friends if she can just be chill the first few times she meets someone. anyway, personal rant. also, therapists aren't actually for venting at. all y'all whining about your 'stressful' days are why people with actual disabling mental health conditions can't get therapist. thanks y'all've flooded the market and it's much easier to help someone feel better about being nervous about speaking up more than it is someone who is a skitzo or manic and dealing with unmanaged hallucinations. Plus, the pay's the same so who do you think gets the boot? gets the seek help somewhere else? gets the have you tried [mentions the first two obvious resources out of the 40 i've looked into] therapist don't even treat people with "serious" mental health conditions anymore, smh. And it's all thanks to people like you probably.

? where am i

[bluemoonlagoon94]

World Mental Health Day was six days ago. Today I had lunch with my friend’s mom who’s son(my friend) had committed suicide eight months ago. We talked for hours about them, then about other things, then back to talking about them. I knew this friend for twelve years. I didn’t know then, what I know now about potential signs of suicide.

I tried to convince them that they didn’t have to live with these thoughts, that those thoughts could be resolved through treatment, that they weren’t normal thoughts to have, that with the right treatment they could live without them. Talk therapy, medication, mediation, exercise, gaining weight(because they were wasting away getting thinner and thinner each day). But their depression was like a void, a black hole in some way, the gravity so intense it made others closest to them just as sad and exhausted as they were.

We fixate on these thoughts, after so much time has passed, these thoughts become a pattern, it feels normal to obsess about this void, this black hole, the gravity these thoughts have. The future becomes non-existent because we start surviving. Surviving each day from ourselves, and the truth is, after so much time living in this constant inescapable void, you adapt, it becomes some sense of normalcy. And you’ve talked about it so many times, the people that love you the most won’t, don’t, and can’t listen anymore.

You know this. It’s a broken record, playing over and over again, that people don’t want to hear anymore. Not that they don’t care but because they need to focus on something else because nobody can live in that constant state, that void, that gravity very long. But some do, so they learn to hide it, resist talking to others about it, because they know nobody really wants to hear about it. That’s why we pay therapists and psychiatrist to listen, because the gravity of those thoughts are exhausting. It’s a fair exchange and they truly care, that’s why hopefully they chose to do what they chose to do.

We beg these people to seek treatment, but these health professionals are booked out a month, two months, three, in advanced. By the time you get to see them, these feelings and thoughts have passed, so you cancel your appointment you waited so long to have. Because you must be getting better, it’s a phase. Until it happens again which always happens. But you canceled, now you must wait again. Yet people wait, and wait, and wait to make another appointment until it’s too late. This is even harder when one is in the middle of this black hole, that we’ve created.

Mental health professionals exist for this reason—they provide space when it feels like no one else can. But the reality of our healthcare system makes it hard to access help. With appointments often booked months in advance, people cancel when they feel a bit better, thinking they don’t need help anymore—until the cycle repeats. And by the time they try again, it’s too late.

Many hesitate to seek care from hospitals, fearing outdated practices or stigma.

Mental health treatment should feel as safe and accessible as treatment for a broken bone—where dignity and respect are given freely. But too often, mental illness still carries labels that dehumanize. The man with the broken bone gets sympathy; the person with the broken mind goes unseen.

It’s important that we recognize the signs of

someone in crisis:

1. Giving away personal belongings

2. Expressing hopelessness

3. Saying things like, “I wish I weren’t here” or “The world would be better off without me”

4. Showing no thoughts or plans for the future

Be kind. Mental illness is not a choice, and many people are struggling with illnesses that remain invisible. Awareness, empathy, and timely support can make all the difference.

[pompadourpink]

Bonjour! Do you have any advice on preventing work burnout? It's only my second day at a new job and there is so much to learn and I want to keep up but I dont want to seem needy. People say that I can ask for help if I need it, but I think they just say that and dont actually mean it to seem polite. I dont think anyone has time or patience to hold my hand rn and want to do their jobs without interruptions. I'm overthinking everything I do and overanalysing my performance and I'm so tired already

Hey darl (I wrote too much again),

First I recommend you take a look at this post and then this one; I believe they are the most important ones I've written.

Work burnout is a symptom of insecurity. It tells me that you see your value in obedience, in productivity, in discipline. That you were probably a tortured student. That you spent entire nights rewriting conversations because you didn't like your performance.

However, darling girl, you are not a puppy at a show dog and no one is asking you to be that. Well, for you to be like that now, maybe your parents did when you were younger. They should not have.

Your manager didn't hire you to carry the whole company on your shoulders. No one is asking you to be Atlas or Sisyphus and to sleep at the office and to tattoo their logo on your forehead. Your colleagues know that beginnings are hard and deciding that you know their "true" intentions is only going to make your life more difficult.

Before doing this, I worked at two big companies and hated my time there. The second one was objectively terrible, but the first one could have been a better memory if I hadn't been stuck in a type-A/eldest daughter mindset that drove me to take on too much and make promises I couldn't keep, which led to exhaustion and a mediocre to bad relationship with most colleagues as they felt judged and threatened by my attitude.

So, short-term answers:

Find a couple of people you like and get in touch once you have several questions. If it's an option, skype them asking if they have five minutes and either drop by their office or call them. Be pleasant and eager, not apologetic (I found that acting like you have a broken paw makes people aggressive because you have no reason to be afraid of them and are still acting like you're expecting the worst from them).

Do what you are asked, ask for feedback, be on time, present well, have a courteous but professional relationship with your supervisors and closest colleagues, go home. No extra unpaid work, no parties, no social media (and don't explain yourself). Protect yourself. Don't give ammo to the angry.

Breathing exercises and yoga. Have lunch alone, outside, in silence. Listen to the birds. Prioritise socialising and the things that make you happy.

Long-term answers:

Have a friend come over during the weekend and do three things: declutter the whole house, spring clean, meal prep dinners + freeze them. I remember very well how exhausted I was back in 2018: I'd go home, slump on the couch, put on some Golden Girls in the background and rot the entire evening. I wasted a lot of money on takeout. Make your routine as effortless as possible and rot away if that is what you need. And you do.

Therapy. Easy answer but remember what I said: this is not a personality trait, it's a symptom. You need to revisit the way you see yourself, your definition of happiness (if you have one at all), your goals, your relationship with work and duty, the weight of your education on your current lifestyle.

Self-love. I don't know how long you've been a reader but I beat depression in 2020 after battling it since I was a teen; although cutting ties or therapy helped, the real key was found in love. Get some pictures of yourself when you were a kid and talk to that little girl. Tell her how you feel about her. Tell her the amazing things that happened since the pic was taken. Tell her about your dreams. Give her the compliments she's been wanting to hear this whole time. Apologise for treating her like crap, starving her, calling her ugly, neglecting her needs, whatever it is. Put those pictures up in your flat, keep one in your wallet, make one your phone's background. And every time you feel like being mean to yourself, look at her and ask yourself if she deserves it. And every time you make eye contact with a pic, tell her "I love you". Out loud. Treat yourself how you would treat her if you had custody. Hug her when she's sad, put her to bed when she's tired, get her snacks and a show when she's sick, surround her exclusively with people who understand how special she is. Because she really is the best little girl.

Good luck, darling. It's a long way but it's worth the hassle.

Much love,

Mum

[be-havioralhealth]

World Mental Health Day was six days ago. Today I had lunch with my friend’s mom who committed suicide eight months ago. We talked for hours about them, then about other things, then back to talking about them. I knew this friend for twelve years. I didn’t know then, what I know now about potential signs of suicide.

I tried to convince them that they didn’t have to live with these thoughts, that those thoughts could be resolved through treatment, that they weren’t normal thoughts to have, that with the right treatment they could live without them. Talk therapy, medication, mediation, exercise, gaining weight(because they were wasting away getting thinner and thinner each day). But their depression was like a void, a black hole in some way, the gravity so intense it made others closest to them just as sad and exhausted as they were.

We fixate on these thoughts, after so much time has passed, these thoughts become a pattern, it feels normal to obsess about this void, this black hole, the gravity these thoughts have. The future becomes non-existent because we start surviving. Surviving each day from ourselves, and the truth is, after so much time living in this constant inescapable void, you adapt, it becomes some sense of normalcy. And you’ve talked about it so many times, the people that love you the most won’t, don’t, and can’t listen anymore.

You know this. It’s a broken record, playing over and over again, that people don’t want to hear anymore. Not that they don’t care but because they need to focus on something else because nobody can live in that constant state, that void, that gravity very long. But some do, so they learn to hide it, resist talking to others about it, because they know nobody really wants to hear about it. That’s why we pay therapists and psychiatrist to listen, because the gravity of those thoughts are exhausting. It’s a fair exchange and they truly care, that’s why hopefully they chose to do what they chose to do.

We beg these people to seek treatment, but these health professionals are booked out a month, two months, three, in advanced. By the time you get to see them, these feelings and thoughts have passed, so you cancel your appointment you waited so long to have. Because you must be getting better, it’s a phase. Until it happens again which always happens. But you canceled, now you must wait again. Yet people wait, and wait, and wait to make another appointment until it’s too late. This is even harder when one is in the middle of this black hole, that we’ve created.

Mental health professionals exist for this reason—they provide space when it feels like no one else can. But the reality of our healthcare system makes it hard to access help. With appointments often booked months in advance, people cancel when they feel a bit better, thinking they don’t need help anymore—until the cycle repeats. And by the time they try again, it’s too late.

Many hesitate to seek care from hospitals, fearing outdated practices or stigma.

Mental health treatment should feel as safe and accessible as treatment for a broken bone—where dignity and respect are given freely. But too often, mental illness still carries labels that dehumanize. The man with the broken bone gets sympathy; the person with the broken mind goes unseen.

It’s important that we recognize the signs of

someone in crisis:

1. Giving away personal belongings

2. Expressing hopelessness

3. Saying things like, “I wish I weren’t here” or “The world would be better off without me”

4. Showing no thoughts or plans for the future

Be kind. Mental illness is not a choice, and many people are struggling with illnesses that remain invisible. Awareness, empathy, and timely support can make all the difference.

[therapistinwpb]

Depression Therapy saving millions of lives

I can still vividly recall those days when the World seemed like an impossible place for me to live in! No matter where I went, I didn’t fit in, didn’t belong! I could never comprehend what it was like to have real true friends, providing you with comfort and a safe space to express yourself, rather to be just yourself, without pretending. It’s hard to remember a time when I felt safe enough to be who I am rather than being what others expected me to be. Yes, this World is a death – trap for introverts like me. Yes, people are ready to pounce at and eat up people like me alive! Yes, there are times when it no longer seems worth it to continue living such a horrid and lonely life! Yes, this is not just the story of my life but of millions of lives out there! And yes, there is a way out! Visit any depression therapist in West Palm Beach, and you will know what I’m talking about.

For many introverts, reaching out for help can be a daunting and intimidating experience. We often prefer the comfort of solitude over social interactions, making it challenging to seek support even when we desperately need it. I was one of those introverts who struggled with depression in silence for years until I finally mustered the courage to seek help from a depression therapist.

The Silent Struggle

Growing up as an introvert, I was always the quiet one in the room. While I thrived in solitary activities like reading, writing, and painting, I often felt overwhelmed by the demands of social interactions. My introverted nature made it difficult to express my feelings and emotions to others, even to my closest friends and family.

As the years went by, the weight of my unexpressed emotions and self-doubt began to take a toll on my mental health. I found myself trapped in a cycle of sadness, anxiety, and isolation. The thought of seeking professional help seemed terrifying, as it meant stepping out of my comfort zone and opening up about my innermost struggles.

Taking the Leap

After a particularly challenging period where my depression had reached its peak, I realized that I couldn't continue to suffer in silence. It was time to seek help. With trembling hands, I reached out to a depression and relationship therapist in West Palm Beach, recommended by a trusted friend. I scheduled my first appointment, not knowing what to expect but hoping for some relief.

The Therapeutic Journey

From the moment I entered the therapist's office, I felt a sense of understanding and empathy that I had rarely encountered before. My therapist created a safe and non-judgmental space where I could express myself freely. This was especially important for me, as I needed the assurance that my emotions would be respected and valued.

While it was initially challenging to open up however, over the course of our therapy sessions and with the help of a patient and compassionate approach, it was gradually easier for me to share my experiences.

The Take-away

My journey with the depression therapist has been transformative. As an introvert, the decision to seek help was daunting, but it was also one of the most courageous steps I've taken. Through therapy, I not only found relief from my depression but also discovered a deeper understanding of myself and my nature. If you're an introvert struggling with mental health issues, I encourage you to take that leap of faith and seek the support you deserve. Therapy can provide you with the tools and guidance to navigate your unique journey towards healing and self-discovery.

For more information, please visit: https://www.therapistinwestpalmbeach.com/

[traumasurvivorshelpingsurvivors]

Purple again. Unsure what I'm looking for. Suicide mention.

So a few days ago I got offered the closest I'm going to get to help right now, which was talking with a friend of my mother in law's who is a professional psychologist. I'd already met this person a couple times, so she'd have been close enough to not feel like a total stranger but not close enough to be biased in my favor or anything, so I was honestly, seriously thinking of trying it. Starting out small obviously to make sure she'd be confidential like she promised, but still I was really considering it. Better than waiting at least six months to see the exact same therapist my wife does which I'm sure is some can of worms.

And then a bunch of negative things happened with my wife over a couple days and I ended up having a breakdown in which I opened up about the suicidal thoughts I've been having. She absolutely lost it, down to trying to force me to be admitted. I managed to talk her out of that but it was terrifying, and I was still stressed and crying a lot through the next few hours. I don't remember how we got on the subject but she got mad at me for not talking to this family friend yet, to which I said I wanted to but I was scared since I didn't know if I could avoid talking about the ways my wife has been abusive to me through the years, since while that's far from my only trauma it's a recent and painful one that definitely contributes to why I'm not doing well.

She...got pretty mad about that, and said that I wouldn't be able to talk about it from a non biased point of view and that I'd just try to make myself look like a victim and that I just needed to stop being delusional and thinking of myself as the victim in events in my life.

That...well it fucked me up pretty badly. Originally, she'd encouraged me to get therapy to finally work through some childhood trauma, especially csa, but also some neglect and bits of physical violence. I'd finally opened up to her about it just under a year ago, mostly because I needed someone to tell me if they thought my memories were real or I'd just made them up to seem like a victim and get pity. Even after she said she believed me, I was still terrified that one day she'd decide I'd made it up to seem like a victim. I mean, she's dismissed my responses to her physically hurting me or sexually assaulting me before so it wouldn't be surprising if she dismissed this too. And while she never fully said that in regards to my childhood, she did say that was how I saw our relationship (she's never fully just said all of it was my fault, but has definitely implied it a lot) and also went on about how I actually had a really good life with everything handed to me. It just...really hurt. I'd told her the worst things that have happened in my life, told her about growing up largely ignored and with a mom who's hoarding was so bad I basically lived in a dumpster. I'd only recently started to accept how crap things have been most of my life, how much that messed me up mentally and that I needed help, and then she had to tell me everything was good actually, and on top of that I just wasn't grateful for the amazing life I've had and I deserved absolutely nothing.

I don't know where I'm going with this. I want to leave her but I can't. She barely knows how to do...anything required for an adult to function and refuses to go back to work and says she'll die if I leave, but I want to leave so badly. Even with her trying to change over the past few months there have still been some pretty bad times, and I'm always either on edge or dissociated around her, but I know I can't leave now. But now, after what she said, even though all I really wanted from therapy was learning to deal with stress better and not make people angry all the time, I can't even reach out for help. I hate it. She said she didn't mean it and got all sad when I tried to bring it up, but it's stuck regardless. She knew I was afraid of hearing all those things. Even without her saying them I've had panic attacks about that fear. It had finally been starting to abate some and then she had to say all my fears out loud, all at once. Who am I kidding she's probably right and I should just accept that. It all either didn't happen or it was all my fault or both I don't know

I don't know where I was going with this, really, but I just hate that it seems like I officially have to get better on my own and I don't know if I can do that. I'm sorry.

Hey Purple,

I'm so sorry to hear about what's been going on recently. Please know that you don't deserve to be talked to that way, and I can imagine how hurt that must make you, having already shared such tender details with her.

It's great that you potentially have an opportunity to be seen by a professional psychologist, and it's definitely better than nothing at all. However, something I learned in counseling class is that a psychologist and a therapist are two different people. A psychologist is typically someone who diagnoses clients or conducts research, rather than providing therapy. So do consider that this person may not actually be a therapist in any capacity. They may be a professional psychologist, but they may not be a LMHC.

That aside, I wish your wife were more understanding of the factors that can complicate seeking professional help. It sounds like she puts multiple layers of unrealistic expectations on you, ignoring what you've been through and how it shapes who you are today. It's incredibly dismissive of her to accuse you of trying to look like a victim as if you aren't, and I can understand how this comment must've deeply hurt you.

It can be really hard to know how to feel about someone who has harmed us in the ways you've described, especially when it's someone we're extremely close to or are even legally bonded to. It sounds like she is manipulative in many ways and puts unrealistic pressure on you to stay, insisting that she would die if you left. It can be hard to internalize but please consider that your wife's decisions for herself are her responsibility only. It would not be your fault for respecting your boundaries and yourself by leaving, even if she chooses to make matters worse for herself because of it. You don't deserve to be guilt tripped into a relationship that has caused you immense pain. You also don't deserve to feel trapped in a relationship with someone who refuses to take accountability for insulting, hurting, and assaulting you.

Therapy and healing is ultimately something to be done to yourself, but not alone. You deserve to be surrounded by people who can support you in your healing journey, and I hope that we can be an example of that.

I hope I could help, and please let us know if you need anything.

-Bun

[eternally-writing]

better days | jjk

genre: angst and fluff

rating: PG-13

pairing: Jungkook x reader

theme: idol!au, boyfriend!au, one-shot

word count: 881 

warnings: themes of depression, mental health issues, ANGST 

Synopsis: Jeon Jungkook doesn’t know how to carry on, and you would do anything to try and help him.

banner by me!

--♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡--

Jeon Jungkook wasn't just tired, he was exhausted. 

His smiles never quite reached his eyes, the bags under his eyes were getting too prominent to be corrected with concealer, and he felt his muscles ache every time he tried to take a step.

It wasn’t the first time he’d felt this feeling, and he was sure it wouldn’t be the last (which definitely made it worse). 

After yet another performance that would be labelled as a “shining success” by the media, Bang PD, and the other BTS members, Jungkook still felt like a failure. He could still put on a shiny smile for the crowd, but for every second that his alluring charm was painted on he could feel his energy draining. 

Jungkook couldn’t remember the last time he genuinely laughed, or felt joy when eating his favorite meal, or went to bed without crying, or got out of bed without feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders. 

Jungkook couldn’t remember the last time he went on a happy date with you.

He knows he loves you. Somewhere, deep down under whatever was going on, he knew he appreciated everything you did for him, even if he couldn’t quite show it . He worries that you’ll get fed up at some point, that you’ll leave him for someone that could actually brush their teeth twice a day and brush their hair in the morning. 

But no matter what, you’re always here. Even today, after working a 10 hour shift and staying up until 1am the night before to help him fall asleep. You always show up for him.

Curled up against Jungkook in the backstage area of Seoul Olympic Stadium, you watched your numb boyfriend stare into oblivion. The silence between you two was somehow both comforting and tension-ridden at the same time, and you kept rubbing circles into the palm of his hand to remind him of your presence. 

Slowly, Jungkook began to speak.

"I love it so much, and I love ARMY but I can't get through doing these shows every day without feeling myself wearing down. Can I love and hate what I do at the same time?"

The tears that Jungkook had welling in his eyes for hours now were then freely flowing down his cheeks. 

You pulled him into a tight embrace, letting his tears soak through your shirt. You could hear Jungkook mumbling words through his sobs, but they were muffled by the fabric in his way.

"i'm so tired. i'm so so tired. i can't do it. i can't do it without you.”

Hearing Jungkook's words made the tears start falling down your cheeks instantly, despite your attempts to stay strong for him. You wanted to be strong for him, but he looked so fragile, and more than anything you were mad at yourself for not being there for him as much as you wished you could.

Soon, both of your sobs started to fade, and instead Jungkook's soft snores echoed throughout the room. You couldn't fall asleep though; you kept running her fingers through Jungkook's hair, keeping him safe in your arms and watching him sleep. He looked so peaceful in that moment, which was a stark comparison to how he was mere hours earlier, and you wanted nothing more than for him to be happy.

You pressed a kiss to his forehead. “I’m always gonna show up for you Koo, no matter what. We’re gonna get through this together.”

As Jungkook kept sleeping, you heard the hustle and bustle of workers cleaning up post-concert starting to die down and you knew Jungkook would have to head back with the boys soon.

A knock was heard on the door, and Hoseok's face peered into the room. 

"Is he okay?" Hobi asked, startled by the maknae's sleeping figure curled up against your body.

Boy, was that a loaded question. You had so many thoughts swirling in her head based on tonight's events, and in you wavering voice, barely holding back tears, you said:

"he's just really tired right now".

Not noticing the weight behind your words, Hoseok asked you if she could wake Jungkook up so they could all travel back to the hotel.

At that moment, you were so worried - you didn’t know how Jungkook was going to get through this, or if your relationship was going to survive it . You wished you could’ve pressed fast forward on your life to see what would happen next. 

If you could’ve seen the future, you would see how 15 years later, after a social media break, a short hiatus from BTS promotions, and a LOT of therapy, you and Jungkook would be at your daughter Jangmi’s fifth birthday party, smiling and laughing surrounded by your closest family and friends. You never regretted a single moment of being with Jungkook - you had both been through a lot of highs and lows together, and it had only made you stronger. You and Jungkook had gotten married, travelled on that amazing Europe vacation you had always dreamed of, and settled down in a quaint house in Seoul which was only a short walk away from the rest of the Bangtan members’ families. 

I guess the moral of the story is, things do get better.

--♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡--

Remember to reach out to a professional if you ever need help. You are worthy♡

https://checkpointorg.com/global/ : this website has links to mental health supports around the world.

If you enjoyed what you read, please interact/follow! Thank you for reading♡

- Emily

[firelord-frowny]

i swear i can remember shit in such comprehensive and specific detail RIGHT up until the moment where i actually need to use the information omfg

that said, imma make a List lmfao for the things i wanna mention in my next therapy session.*

Too Scared To Learn To Drive (because i fear my inability to regulate my attention will inhibit me from being able to drive safely)

2. Afraid of ~overcoming my anxiety~ because i feel my anxiety is the only thing that has protected me from making the risky/dangerous choices that people who share certain traits with me are likely to make (mostly drugs/alcohol/dumb reckless shit). like lmfao in my current state, i could NEEEEEEEEEEEVER become addicted to narcotics bc there is absolutely no way in the world that i am going to go out of my way to seek out, and initiate contact with the kinds of people from whom i could obtain drugs.

3. imposter syndrome?? i mean i know that's not a totally Real Thing but I am hellaaaaaaaaaa beholden to and held back by a persistent belief/worry that i'm not actually as good at anything as i think i am and that everyone sees through me and knows i'm a fraud.

4. fear that i'm doomed to never ever ever make any real, life long intimate (both the romantic and platonic kind) relationships with anyone in close proximity to me for as long as I'm stuck living in the region that i am, and even if i ever DO get to leave here and go someplace where my values are shared by a significant portion of its other inhabitants, by the time that happens i'll have long since forgotten how to even form/maintain friendships and it will be impossible for me to relearn :(

5. absolutely cannot stop myself from making the habitual choices that i know are detrimental to my health/safety/success/future. like. i flat out do not have the ability to say no to a habit that makes me feel good In The Moment and i have no idea how to build that skill in my brain.

6. super talented but struggle to turn any of my talents into a means of financial gain??? just in terms of talent/ability, there's no reason why I shouldn't be a successful author, musician, artist, screenwriter, etc... no reason why i shouldn't be able to sell my fanciest knitted items for top-of-the-line prices. i have absolutely nothing to show for what i'm capable of, and it makes me feel so fucking embarrassed/pathetic.

7. i've HELLA pulled away from most of my closest friends solely because i feel like their lives are probably better if i'm not around because i have nothing positive to offer anyone and the biggest favor i could ever do anyone at all is to stay far away from them.

8. the previous so-called ~therapist~ who irreparably traumatized me a few years ago. i mean i know ~irreparably~ might be overstating it, but i guess what i mean is that i feel like i won't ever ever ever not feel permanently and constantly wounded from it until i get Professional Help for it.

9. my HELLA emotionally/mentally abusive former violin teacher who also left me traumatized to the point where even the SLIGHTEST tense/non-positive interaction i'd have with her would trigger extreme anxiety to a degree that might possibly qualify as some sort of manifestation of ptsd

9.5. the honest to god fucking RAGE i feel when i think about all the ways that that woman fucking screwed me in my music education/career.

10. suck at keeping my room clean :(

[606writings]

Could i request a Saeran and Saeyoung scenario where the MC has been secretly going to therapy for her mentally abusive mom and didn't wanna tell them because they had it way worse? Or just Saeran, whicherver you prefer. I could use something like this rn haha

SC: Therapy [Saeran]

Genre: Fluff.

Word count: 2,434.

You were coming out of your therapy session later than usual; you had a heavy and very emotional session and things dragged on way longer than what you expected. Your eyes were all swollen and your face was completely flushed because you had spent the last two hours crying non-stop.

Fuck, I’m late.

You thought to yourself, looking at your phone to check the hour. It was already 2:45 p.m., you were supposed to be home by 2:30 to receive your boyfriend.

I hope I don’t look like a mess by the time I get there…

While running down the street, both your hands were busy tying up your hair in a bun, sniffling and trying to regain your composure. You didn’t want Saeyoung or Saeran asking why you looked like that when you were “just buying groceries”.

You had to admit going to therapy wasn’t an easy thing to do, but what made it much worse was the fact that no one knew about it and you had to keep it a secret from your closest friends and even your boyfriend.

It wasn’t something you were ashamed of, in fact you always tried to encourage everyone around you to reach out for help when they needed it. And, of course you wouldn’t be ashamed of getting professional help when Saeran, the love of your life and the most important person to you, was going through the same thing.

You always tried to show him all the love and support he needed throughout his process of recovery, you were happy to be by his side and help him. But that was exactly why you hadn’t told anyone about your own problem; you didn’t want to be a burden to him or the rest of the RFA, you felt that it was not necessary.

Since you were younger, you were used to take care of yourself and be responsible of your own health –physical and mental health—. That’s why it wasn’t something new for you to go through difficult processes alone.

After another 15 minutes of bus ride, you were finally a few meters away from the home you shared with the Choi twins.

You stopped for a moment in front of the door trying to catch your breath and act as if nothing ever happened, but the moment you extended your hand to reach the front door you stood frozen.

I forgot the groceries! You screamed internally, realizing you had no excuse to why you arrived home so late and empty handed.

Usually, you got out of your session early enough to go to the supermarket and buy some things to prepare a special dinner. Every week you did Saeran’s favorite dish knowing it must have been a rough day for him.

Even if you two were going through the same process of recovery, you wouldn’t dare to compare your own trauma to his. You were convinced he had it much worse. Sure, you had a mentally abusive mom and a frustrated childhood due to your parent´s negligence, but at least you could go out of your house without gangsters hired by an important politician going after you every second.

Saeran didn’t have to deal with your problems, he already had enough by himself.

The moment you were back into your senses, you thought of walking to the nearest supermarket and buy at least frozen food and some ice cream, you could invent some sort of excuse on your way back home. But your plans were ruined by the motion sensor camera, that had already alerted Saeyoung of your presence in front of the house.

The door opened suddenly showing a confused red head looking at you with expectation.

“MC, why are you so late? You should have called me to pick you up.” Saeyoung asked, leaning his head lightly in confusion.

“Ah… I—I forgot my purse, and I…” Your eyes suddenly lit up when the perfect lie crossed your mind. “And I thought I left it at the store, but then after a long time looking for it, I realized I forgot it at home.”

With your head nodding fervently trying to look convinced, you pursed your lips to avoid any more words to come out of it and ruin your excuse.

Saeyoung looked even more confused, and with furrowed brows he pointed at something below you:

“Your purse is on your right hand.”

You looked down and, once again in less 5 minutes you froze in your place, amazed by your stupidity.

“Well… I…“ With your eyes still locked on your right hand, you searched in our head looking for any explanation, before being interrupted by a calmer voice.

“What’s going on? Why aren’t you getting in?” Saeran asked, walking passed his brother and reaching out to take your hand and guide you inside.

Saeyoung locked the door behind you still looking cautiously at you.

“MC… You didn’t even go to the supermarket, did you?” He asked kindly.

You avoided his gaze with your hands still holding firmly Saeran’s, when you felt your boyfriend stop abruptly in front of you. He turned around and looked at you, noticing how you had brought nothing, and then looked at his brother.

“I did! It’s just that… Ummm, it’s just…” Your voice started getting smaller and smaller as you spoke, no excuse arrived on time to your mind to get you out of the current situation.

“MC…” A soft and cold hand took your chin and gently made you look at the loving eyes in front of you. Saeran was analyzing your face with a calm expression on his. “I can tell you’re lying. If there’s something going on, you can tell me.”

Looking at his noble expression, you started feeling bad for hiding something from him. Even though you thought it was better this way, you didn’t like it a single bit.

Since there was no believable excuse for you to tell them, you resigned and considered telling the truth.

“You know if there’s something you need to tell us we’ll help you with anything you need.” Saeran spoke once again, giving you the reassurance you needed to take the final step and tell them the truth.

“Uh, I feel like this is something you need to talk just the two of you, so I’ll be in my room until you need me…” Saeyoung said switching his stare between you and his twin, sensing his time to step out of the conversation, and then walked out slowly.

You witnessed as he left and then looked back at the expecting eyes before you. Clearing your throat, you prepared yourself mentally to talk about the truth:

“Ummm… You know I don’t have a good relationship with my parents…”

“Yes, I do remember that…” He raised slightly a brow with confusion.

“Well, I think the situation with the is a bit more serious than just ‘not getting along’… You could say I was abused by my mother and neglected by my father…” You explained yourself the best you could with all the nervousness flowing inside you. “Oh! But I was not abused physically! They rarely touched me…”

Saeran closed his eyes and made a disgusted grin, showing how he was getting angry about what you were telling him, so you hurried and kept explaining the rest:

“That was a long time ago! I mean, my mom is still as shit as ever but since I don’t talk to her anymore it’s all in the past… That’s why I decided to go to therapy…”

Saeran was listening with his eyes still closed, until you said that last part. It took him by surprise and he wasn’t sure how to react.

“I’ve been going to therapy since we started dating, I wanted to be in my best condition so I could help you too, you know? When I met you, I wanted to be a strong and reliable person for you, but I wasn’t, I had too many things inside me that were holding me back…”

You took a step closer to him and grabbed both his hands, as if that would help you share your emotions and thoughts better.

“I didn’t tell anyone about it because I thought it would be a burden for you, you had enough things to deal with already.” A wave of regret invaded you now that the truth was coming out of your mouth finally. “I’m so sorry for lying and inventing such stupid excuses, but I was convinced it was better this way.”

You stood silent for a few minutes, just holding Saeran’s hands tightly while he looked at you scrutinizing ever word you said.

Finally, after what felt like hours, he opened his mouth to respond with honesty and a bit of hurt in his tone:

“I’m a bit disappointed, MC.” Saeran looked down at your hands holding his, and then looked up at you again, his words taking you by surprise but at the same time, you knew it was a normal reaction.

“I’m slightly disappointed because all this time I’ve been sharing the deepest and darkest parts of myself with you, and I chose to be honest and talk about my past. But you’re still hiding from me.”

His words made sense. He always talked with you about the progress he made every week, even if it was difficult or painful, he wanted you to hear how he was slowly becoming a better and stronger person. That meant a lot to him.

That’s why it saddened him hearing you say you were “a burden to him”, he didn’t expect you to tell him every single detail about your past, but he expected the same level of confidence and honesty from you.

“I know we didn’t go through the same experiences, MC, but please don’t belittle your struggles like that. The reason why I’m trying so hard to get better is because of you. I want to protect you and be with you the rest of my life, making you happy. But I can’t do that if you’re not ready to share things like that with me…”

The weight of his words pierced through your heart. A small part of your chest started burning due to the arousal of emotions waking up inside you. You were speechless to his sincerity and his pained voice, and could tell he was really hurt because of your choices.

“Saeran, I’m so sorry…” Was the only thing you could say in that moment, instead you decided to step forward and pull him into you for a tight embrace, being that the only way you could show him how much you cared for him and how sorry you felt.

He was noticeably surprised by your actions at first, but after a few seconds he raised both his arms and wrapped them around you with gentleness. The moment his hands were placed on your back, all the emotions and tears you had been trying to hide came out suddenly, and between tears you spoke once again:

“I love you so much, I just wanted you to only see the good side of me…! I wanted you to think of me as someone strong enough to help you, but how can I do so if I can’t even deal with my own issues…?”

Your boyfriend sighed at your words.

“MC, I can’t tell you how much I disagree with you.” He replied, taking a small step back just enough to have you two face to face, so you could see the seriousness in his eyes. “You’re the strongest person I know, not because of how much you endure your pain, but because no matter what happens or how much you go through, you always manage to stay bright and see the good things in the world.

“Despite everything, you still smile cheerfully and laugh, you are a loving and caring person and I admire you so much because of that. And now that you tell me about your past and the way you’ve been dealing with that on your own, I admire you even more.

Look at me, I needed your help and my brother’s to realize how wrong and how damaged I was in the past. But you only had yourself to rely on, and still made it through and reached out for help.”

His feelings and thoughts were calming the deepest fears buried in your heart, making you feel thankful for having the most awesome boyfriend ever and being able to be beside him no matter what. Your tears wouldn’t stop falling across your face as he kept talking:

“I don’t need you to only show me ‘your good side’, I need you to show me all of you so we can grow together and become the best of ourselves for each other. I want to know the darkest parts of you so I can light them up and help you through them, just as you are doing with me.”

With his right thumb he gently brushed your tears off, caressing your skin as a silent message of support. Everything he said was leaving a huge impact on you, but his last words sealed any doubt that could be left:

“I love you more than anything else; I love every single thing about you. I want to keep discovering more and more of you, so I can love you even more.” Saeran leaned his face towards yours slowly, his breath warming your wet cheeks as every word left his mouth. “MC, will you let me love you even more from now on?”

Only two seconds passed before you nodded with shyness to his question, giving him the confirmation he so much wanted just before he closed any space left between the two of you to kiss you deeply.

It was as if that kiss erased the fears even you didn’t notice were there, letting you finally be at peace with yourself and be able to admit you needed his help too to go through the journey of recovery. You even felt relieved for finally talking the truth.

This was a new step in your relationship, you were ready now to ask for his help and support from now on, and show him your deepest struggles and fears knowing he would be by your side until you find your own answers.

You sighed in relief after separating your lips from his, and cleared your throat before speaking:

“Thank you, Saeran…” He smiled at you with love. “Let’s do this together from now on, okay?”

[itmighthavebeenintentional]

Shadows and Pills - 2

Summary: Some people come away from the Battle of New York with scars and broken bones. Some come away with nightmares and years of therapy ahead of them. Some don’t come away at all. Alexa comes away with a shadow.

18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT PROCEED

Warnings: RAPE, Torture, Abuse, Self Harm, Negative Images of Psychological Services/Mental Health Professionals, Hallucinations, Stalking, Supernatural Horror, Prescription Drug Use and Eventual Abuse, Mental Illness, PTSD, Flashbacks of Violence, Flashbacks of Tragedy, Starving Oneself, Isolation, Physical and Mental Exhaustion, Denial, Self Neglect, Gaslighting, Mental Spiraling, Mental and Emotional Abuse

18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT PROCEED

Author’s Note: This is not a happy story in any sense, at any point. I could only write this at my lowest places, emotionally and mentally speaking, and I had a hard time coming back from it. This is dark, and it does not at any point get lighter. I relied heavily on my own experiences with mental struggles and took a few pieces here and there from my own experiences with mental health professionals. MY EXPERIENCES ARE MY OWN AND ARE NOT TYPICAL, NOT EVEN FOR ME. If you need mental help of any kind, please DO NOT HESITATE TO REACH OUT TO GET IT. This story was an exercise in mental exorcism, in a sense.

For all the Loki lovers out there, I do not shine him anything like a good or redeeming light here. He is evil incarnate, more or less. I love Loki, I love good Loki and redeemed Loki and misunderstood Loki and just about every incarnation thereof. I needed a villain, and he fit the story.

Above all, please be kind. This was one of the most difficult things I’ve ever written, and it took me years to work up the courage to post it.

A massive thank you to all my friends for support, especially to @glassjacket and @thoughtslikeaminefield . I say it a lot, but you need to know I love you.

18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT PROCEED

Word Count: 1 - 3785; 2 - 3513; 3 - 1068

In Case You Missed It: Part 1 ItMightHaveBeenIntentional’s Masterlist

...

Shadows and Pills

2

Morning Routine: Already woken up. Shut off alarm with a shriek of terror by heaving it across the room with enough force that it shatters against the wall. Breathing exercises for thirty minutes to lower accelerated heart rate. Shower until the hot water is long gone and hypothermia is close to setting in, but she still can’t get clean. The thick, mucus-like sensation won’t leave her skin, glue and ashes spread thick over her flesh in a foul assault to her tactile senses that leaves her dizzy and faint if she considers it for too long. Throw out every scrap of food in the apartment; just the sight of it makes her gag and retch. Choke down the meds (the only thing she can stomach, at this point). Throw on clothes she’s mostly sure are on the correct end of her body. Grab her keys, and…

Where…

She always puts her keys in the same spot. Dish on the tiny table by the door. That’s her key dish. She knows she put them there. They are always there. She can remember putting them there; it’s one of the precious few things she knows she can do right these days.

So…

Why aren’t they there?

Thirty minutes turning the entire apartment upside down looking for the keys, ignoring the shadow that follows her from room to room, skittering to a far wall whenever the shadow runs too near, pretending that she is still alone, searching, searching, where the hell are they, I always put them in the dish, I know I dropped them in there, I can hear the clink from when I put them away yesterday where could they possibly have got to it’s not like THEY’D WANDER OFF BY THEMSELVES WHERE ARE MY GODDAMNED KEYS-

A searing, ripping pain tears her from her spiraling thoughts and back to the present where her hands are clenched in her hair, her nails dug into her scalp, and something slick and hot slides between her fingers. She releases her clenched fists, but her fingers come away smeared with blood and clumps of hair, and her shoulders begin to tremble, her mouth quivering and eyes stinging with unshed tears.

“I just...need my keys. I need to breathe. I need my keys. I need-”

<clink>

Her head whips toward the sound, and there they are. In their dish. In the same dish she knows she left them in last night. Where they absolutely were not sitting seconds ago.

“But. I didn’t. They-“

No.

She snatches her keys and flees, followed closely by her personal nightmare.

...

The silence stretches out longer than even Alexa is comfortable with. The constant scratching of the doctor’s pen has quieted, and still Alexa sits, unnerved but unwilling to speak without direction. Answering questions is fine, but if she speaks on her own, she’ll start babbling. And there are a few things she needs to not say.

Like how she’s averaging about an hour of sleep a night, according to her clock. The nightmares start every time she falls asleep. She remembers less and less about any of them, to the point where the only way she knows she was even asleep is the inevitable rip back to consciousness.

And she’s not just missing parts of her dreams. Her days are beginning to blur, individual moments bleeding into others until she’s lost whole chunks of time, hours that are a smear in her memory with no real details. The loss, both of her days and nights, shakes her more than the lack of sleep. What else is she losing, along with her memory?

She can’t tell him why she’s wearing a hat or how she has to set reminders on her phone to stop tearing at her hair, how she has to clean her scalp and hold pressure at least once a day to stop the bleeding and try to repair the damage done by digging nails and ripped follicles.

She can’t tell him about how she can’t look in mirrors anymore. Two days ago, she was brushing her hair out into a ponytail with the intention of wrapping it into a skull-aching bun that might help hold everything inside her head and maybe possibly help her keep her fingers out of her hair, and then suddenly the eyes looking back out at her weren’t her own. Brown bled into ice blue then green in a flash; a wicked, cruel smile curved her lips, and she could feel herself smile, but she wasn’t smiling, and-

So, no, she shouldn’t lead the conversation today. Today Alexa needs a little guidance.

She feels the doctor’s gaze, but there’s less scrutiny than usual. His eyes feel a little more sympathetic than she’s used to, but she still won’t look up. He’s good at getting her to talk, and she needs every ounce of self-control just to keep herself held together and not exploding across his polished, pristine desk.

“Alexa, you don’t look like you’re...How have y-”

She must look pretty wretched if even the doctor is at a loss for words. She wouldn’t know. She has actively avoided all reflective surfaces for two days and has no idea of the state of her appearance. She can’ remember the last time she ate. What’s left of her hair is tucked under a knit cap; she’s cold all the time now, anyway, so the cap is a constant accessory. And it helps keep her hands out of her hair. If her looks are anything as bad as the state of her thoughts-

“I’m sorry it’s so bad for you right now.”

The statement is quiet, sincere, and wholly unexpected. Alexa almost drops her guards, almost meets his eyes. Her hands quake with the effort of maintaining her silence, clutching the edges of her chair with aching, creaking fingers. Her control is as brittle as her nerves; she wants to share, wants to not be alone with the shadow that’s her only company these days, but if the doctor knew…

“Are you sleeping anymore at all?”

She nods once, a sharp, staccato gesture that leaves out more than it says. It’s not a lie. One hour, however broken up in however many fragments, is still one hour, and sleep is still sleep.

“Are you following your medication schedule?”

Another single dip of her chin. She gives herself a little credit for not leaving anything out of this answer. She’s even remembering to follow the dosage increases. Maybe even a couple of increases of her own. Anything to numb, to shut out, to keep...it...away.

“Alexa, are you still with me?”

God, she wishes...everything feels muffled and thick, like her existence is coated in petroleum jelly. She's just so tired, and everything is so heavy and...and difficult…

“I can’t help you if you won’t communicate with me. Help me help you. Anything. Just the basic facts.”

Where to even start? Maybe getting locked up would be worth it if he really can help, can really make this...stop…

“I can ease your pain and get you on your feet again.”

She’s pretty sure nothing can help at this point, so really there’s no need to keep anything back. Being hospitalized can’t be any worse than living like this…

“Relax. Can you show Me where it hurts?”

No.

...no...not here, not…

“Your lips are moving, but I can’t hear what you’re saying. Is there something you wish to confess? The good doctor can’t reach you now, but I am ready to receive your prayers. Speak, Alexa. Tell Me everything.”

Get out, get OUT, I have to go, I can’t, you can’t this isn’t - GET OUT!

“ALEXA! Wake up! You’re safe! Come back!”

Fingers, firm in their grip, but warm and clean and so very present, clench around her hand, pulling her out of her mind and back to the office. The rushing noise in her ears fades until she realizes it is the heaving of her own panicked breaths. She clenches her fingers, catching the doctor’s hand before he can pull away.

She hasn’t touched another person since she left the hospital.

“Please...I just need...a minute.”

He sits in the chair closest to her, holding her hand resolutely, despite any personal protocols to the contrary that he has demonstrated in previous sessions.

“As long as you need.” There is no eagerness, no exasperation, only concern and calm, and it soothes her raw nerves in a way nothing else has. She focuses on the warmth, the sheer thereness of his grip, and breathes, squinting her eyes against the afternoon sun filtering through the blinds.

Too bright, too warm, too…

The fingers in her palm chill suddenly, their embrace tightening painfully. Her hand feels slick, not with sweat, and her teeth begin to chatter. Her eyes squeeze shut as her stomach shatters, and a pitiful mewling escapes her lungs.

“Take all the time you need. I possess the patience of millenia.”

Breathe. Breathe slowly, you’re asleep. You’re exhausted, you just fell asleep. Wake yourself up. You can do this. Just...just breathe and wake up.

And then her hand is free of all contact, and the air in her lungs comes easily. The warmth of the filtered sun returns to her frozen limbs, not overly bright in the least.

“I think our session was particularly productive today.”

The therapist's voice comes from farther away, and she opens her eyes to find him back at his desk, pen in hand, legal pad full of fresh notes. She blinks, swallows, and sits up a little straighter.

“You seem to be making excellent progress with your strategies. Go ahead and up your dosage to the next step. Remember, I’ll be out of town on Thursday and Monday, so I’ll see you again in ten days. You have the emergency number if anything goes wrong?”

She nods numbly, unable to process anything beyond the basic requirements of behavior needed at the moment. He eyes her, his forehead wrinkling in sudden concern.

“Don’t hesitate to call that number at any hour,” he finally says, his fingers steepled to show just how serious, how sincere, he is. “Anything at all, whatever you need to talk about, call that number. The nurse will transfer you immediately if it’s an emergency. Will you call if you need to?”

She nods, a little more vaguely than she intends but her throat is paralyzed, her tongue nerveless and useless. He accepts the gesture at face value, though, and dismisses her with wishes for “continued progress and a good weekend.”

…

Afternoon routine: Stay out as late as possible, put off the inevitable. Stay out all goddamned night if she has to. There’s no point in voluntarily returning home; she knows this with a sense of dread as acute and sharp as the pain in her scalp. So she shuffles on, unseeing and unseen in the city that never sleeps, one of a numberless mass who denies reality for the sanity that fantasy provides, pretending that she isn’t being stalked, that she isn’t haunted by a continuous loop of ghosts and flashbacks of the dead from that day reminding her over and over that she survived while they didn’t, that she must remember them, that she isn't losing her mind, that the shadow isn’t constantly whispering to her, commanding her over and over and over to simply let go.

She pretends that she isn’t blacking out and waking to find herself in bed, night after night, in the midst of torment and debasement that her ragged mind can neither handle nor shut out. The shadow rips at her in a thousand ways, and she feels all of them, every shred of her consciousness pulled apart and examined and manipulated until she can’t remember who she was before this fundamental desecration.

Release yourself. I can break you completely, help you forget the pain and the misery. Let Me shatter you, remake you in My Glory. Only then can you truly be free from pain.

She fights. It’s all she has left, this battle of wills, and she clings to the tattered bits of her remaining self with a tenacity that impresses even the shadow.

How you shine, even in My darkness. Let me turn your burn to an icy one, let Me freeze your pain, let go and drift in My adoration. I shall raise you up; only grant Me entrance, give Me leave, and I will bless you, bring meaning and solace to your piteous existence.

God help her, she’s starting to slip. She just wants everything to end. No one will miss her, no one is depending on her. The only noise her phone has made in weeks are the reminders that she has set. She hasn’t sent in an assignment for nearly a month, and no one has so much as emailed. What is she holding on for, anyway?

You have fought so long and so hard. I can reward your valor, provide you a balm for your suffering. I will keep you safe from pain, from truth, from choice, from other poison devils. I can take the very memories from you, just as I did before, save you from yourself.

What?

And then her mind is flooded with a scene, a memory of the attack, but she sees it from outside herself, as if watching a film with herself as protagonist. She flees as debris falls all around, narrowly missing pipes, concrete, and office furniture as it rains down mindlessly, destroying life after life. By the time she reaches the ground floor of the stairwell, everyone is packed tight and covered with blood, dust, unspeakable filth, and the wretched crowd bursts into the lobby in a blind panic. They reach the street in the same state and turn as one to flee in the direction of least resistance.

Alone in the crowd, Alexa is jerked to a halt, nearly losing her feet as bodies plow around and nearly through her, but she is frozen as if glued to the pavement. There is no safety anywhere. A battle rages around them, monsters everywhere, incomprehensible and terrible, and then the glass lobby doors behind them explode, and Alexa knows the brief but exhilarating sensation of flight.

And then she crashes, and she knows the timeless and terrible sensation of fire. And pain. And crushing weight.

Watching the scene passively, she remembers everything, she feels everything even as her other self does, but now she is also an outside witness to the anguish. She knows the lines of suffering etched on her face and knows that she wears them even now. She feels the words echoing through her mind from that day, a thought, a plea, a silent prayer to someone, anyone who can help, can end her suffering.

How long...minutes...hours...years...just help, please…please, I don't care how anymore, just...end it.

And then a figure drops from the heavens, it seems, falling from one of the monsters’ flying vehicles, and it crosses the street and sidewalk as if drawn straight to her by the waning strength of her silent screams.

An impossibly cold hand grasps hers, pulling her up from the rubble, sliding her from underneath the bits of building as if they aren't present and pressing the life from her, bringing her face to face with darkness. The sun dissolves, shadows descend, and she decides that, as deaths go, hers could be worse.

She is lifted as if she weighs nothing, the fingers pressing into her face. A bitter, gelid frost flows through her veins, and the pain is mercifully dulled, lessened to a mere phantom, and then the god (for surely her savior can be no less to have such power at hand) pulls her into an icy, terrible embrace.

I find Myself in need of a conduit. Grant Me some small space of sanctuary, and in return I shall heal your broken body. Allow Me entrance, now, woman, before you depart this plane entirely. I am your God, your only chance of salvation. Do you accept Me?

His voice is black velvet, midnight shadows slipping across the moon, and she can’t find the will to say no. Giving in is so much easier, hurts so much less, and she feels as if she’s been hurting forever, spent her whole life being crushed to death.

“Yes.”

His lips press to her, but there is nothing tender in the kiss. Ice, death, absence rushes into her, infecting a small fraction of every cell, sinking deep into her psyche before erasing all remembrance of its presence.

Alexa thrashes under the weight of the memories, the weight of the phantom debris crushing her down, only to find the man, the god himself lies atop her, pinning her emaciated form to her ruined sheets. His pale skin glows in the night, his ebony hair falling around their faces in an blasphemous mimicry of a halo. His painful beauty rips one last thing loose within her, and she remembers.

I would that you should allow Me leave to heal you once more, to form you into a proper vessel. I shall alleviate your anguish, and you may sink into My worship with euphoric, blissful abandon.

She is tempted, more so than any other time in her existence. She thought her imprisonment under the shattered building was horrible, but now she knows true torment. And yet, she resists.

Why do you continue to battle? You cannot prevail, and submission will bring you such pleasure as you have never known. Am I not your own personal God to worship? Do you not wish to drown in My blessing, to submerge yourself in My oblivion?

But he is the author of her suffering, as well, this would-be god who attacked her city, killed thousands of people for his ambitions and family squabbles. Who is she to tarnish the world’s grief for her own personal relief?

But he knows what is in her heart and her thoughts; it was there he planted the seed that has grown to strangle her sanity and reality, and he sends pressure through the roots of this vine to dig into her very soul. She shivers beneath him with wordless agony.

His face presses against hers, tongue snaking out to trace a tear track up her cheek, back to its source. Frozen lips ghost over her clenched eyelids, and she swallows the miserable moan that rolls up from her stomach.

I saved you once when I could so easily have allowed you to continue your half-life under the rubble until your flame sputtered and died, as it was meant to. And I shall show Myself once more a merciful, benevolent God. For you, My pet, a gift.

And suddenly there is a space in Alexa’s mind, a blank where something, someone, important once lived, someone vital stripped away. She gets a last glimpse of a smiling woman, proudly showing off a photo of a swaddled infant, of a filing cabinet collapsing, of a curling hand, before Brenda is ripped from her mind like so many strands of hair from her scalp. The pain of Brenda’s death, the horror of her last moments, yes, but also every bit of the love between them.

And then the name is gone, too.

Have I pleased you? Do you see now what relief can be had with submission?

“That...wasn’t...she wasn't yours to take-” But even the memory of the violation is fading, leaving only breathless, panicked horror and dull, aching want in its wake.

The shadowed god frowns, displeasure pressed into every line of his face, and his fingers tighten until the bones in Alexa’s wrists shriek in protest.

Must I nail Myself to a cross or rip out My eye to be worthy of your reverence? I grant you one more gift, then, of choice. One day to consider. Embrace My oblivion freely, willingly, joyously, as you know you should, and feel My pleasure. Or suffer in your belief that this pale, pointless realm offers you anything like what I can give. This shall be My last offering. Submission is sweetest when freely given, but so, too, can I revel in seizing what you so stubbornly withhold.

His lips seal over hers, stealing air and screams alike, and she feels him everywhere at once, emphasizing his threat, his promise. Her traitorous flesh, craving any tourniquet to stem the endless flow of pain, cleaves to his frozen form, curving against his body in a mockery of love making that leaves her stomach heaving.

And then he is gone. His presence, his pressure, his shadow, even his laugh lingers, but his form vanishes with her next thought. She falls from the bed, a perspiring, retching, wailing mess. There is nothing left within her to eject, but her digestive tract makes a resounding effort.

It’s hours until the sun comes up, and she counts every second from where she shivers, wedged tight between the bed and the nightstand. ...

3 (end)

[petri808]

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30-Epilogue

Lucy POV. TW: Panic Attack, Mental trauma/coping, PTSD

The university and Lucy’s professors had been really wonderful about everything, even offering to convert her classes to an online option so she could continue. She wasn’t happy about the idea of taking a sabbatical from college, but there was no way she could manage. Not only was it difficult for her to leave the apartment because seeing anyone that remotely resembled Touka sent her into a panic attack, focusing on anything at all was a struggle. Night after night it haunted her dreams and spilled into her waking moments. She’d run scenarios through her mind, all the what if’s, should haves, could haves, often leading to horrifying outcomes. They’d survived, yes, but at what cost?

She didn’t feel the same anymore as if a part of her did die in that apartment or fled to a hidden part of her brain too scared to come back out. The once happy, positive person had become a nervous wreck unable to control her emotions or outbursts. Lucy’s bedroom became her safe zone from everyone, even those closest to her, ashamed and insecure of their judgement. In her heart she knew friends like Levy or Natsu wouldn’t judge... but tell that to her broken mind, because her brain was the one in control at the moment, and insisted they’d look down on her.

All the irrational thoughts. It was her fault for not being careful, her fault she was kidnapped. Lucy knew Touka was growing dangerous, yet walking alone, at night... utterly stupid. She should have been overzealous at protecting herself, but oh no, stupid girl didn’t want to believe anything would actually happen. Until it did. And now she was even more pathetic and weak for not getting a hold of her emotions, for not controlling it instead of it controlling her. The danger had passed. They were alive. Touka was in jail. It should be over, but it wasn’t. Lucy couldn’t move past that night, stuck in an endless loop of fear. So many nights she’d wake up in a panic covered in sweat, the fading images of red... blood... like dripping down a tv screen in a horror movie. It was Natsu’s blood she saw and his screams when the knife had sliced him open.

The first week after the event had been difficult, sitting through an interview with Gajeel, and reliving all the mental wounds. It took several hours to get through it all despite the man doing his best to go easy on her. Each time painful parts came up, Lucy felt the anxieties rise, the mental blurring, the shaking, literally a physical shaking of her body in an effort to dispel the rise of adrenaline coursing through her veins. Interviews are best done without any other potential witnesses in the room to avoid cross contamination, but after Lucy’s first two attempts to talk to investigators failed, Gajeel was forced to allow Natsu in with explicit instructions to sit quietly and say nothing while the woman talked. Of course, Natsu’d been fine with that, he’d do anything to help, even if it was just holding Lucy’s hand. But it only added to her embarrassment. Surely Natsu will eventually tire of having an unstable girlfriend.

Then there was the therapist Levy helped Lucy to find which she hoped would help her to quickly get over the events and move on. So, when the woman explained that such traumas take patience and time to process, Lucy was devastated. It almost felt like nothing was going her way anymore, falling dominoes with no end in sight. She felt so ashamed for having to see the woman in the first place, and now she’s told it would be a long journey towards recovery. Just great! What’s next?!

“Lu?” Levy knocked before opening the bedroom door. “Are you gonna eat your dinner in here again? It’s ready.”

With the curtains drawn, Lucy’s room was dark and the only light available was a small desk lamp next to the bed set to a low setting. She peeked out from under her blanket. “I-I’ll come out in a minute, thanks Lev.”

As soon as her friend closed the door, Lucy exhaled in relief. She knew Levy was worried about the amount of time she stayed holed up in the room, so to dispel some of those concerns, Lucy would join her roommate for meals. She quickly applied a gauze wrap, threw on her long sleeve hoodie, and left the room. It made her feel safer to be shrouded and covered up, so gone were her skirts and tank tops, and hello to long sleeves and pants. If she could cover her face from the world, it would make her happy. Even her overall hygiene suffered. Lucy would forget to bathe or wash her hair for days on end, and it took Levy or Natsu with gentle prodding to get her to do it. She would wear the same clothes for a week if it wasn’t for Levy who made sure she changed at least every couple of days. Hell, she’d starve if her roommate wasn’t feeding her. This was a frustrating cycle, not having the mental energy to take care of herself, then feeling bad because they had to help her with things, which made her feel even worse.

It tore at Lucy’s heart to watch Natsu going through this process with her. She knew he was going through his own struggles, not just mental, but physically healing from his wounds. And here she was, the basket case of instability. Bless him, he never gave up no matter how distant she grew, but after that night, Lucy really didn’t want to talk about anything out loud, not that night, and certainly not the true extent of her pain from it. Both Levy and Natsu knew only what she couldn’t hide from them. Like the panic attacks, and since she really didn’t want them to see her go through one or what she’d resorted to, to calm herself, so the safest solution was stay quiet and not trigger them in their presence.

To show his dedication, Natsu even went with her to her therapy sessions and waited outside the office. Lucy knew it was costing him money to do this, because she couldn’t ride a train which meant cab rides every single trip. It bothered her a lot, but she did her best to hide it, and besides there was one small measure of security in having him at her side when she needed to venture out into the public.

“So, the nightmares are still a problem?” the therapist questioned Lucy. “Are you sure you don’t want to try a medication? It would help to ease them until we can get things under control.”

Lucy gripped to the hem of her sweater. “I just don’t wanna become addicted to that stuff...”

“That’s understandable. But not all are addictive, and I’ll be here to make sure it doesn’t get out of hand.”

“I... I don’t think I’m ready.”

“Okay, that’s fine,” the woman smiled. “Remember I’m just here to help you, at your pace. I won’t force you take anything you don’t want to.”

“Thank you.”

“What about the breathing and relaxation techniques? When you feel the anxiety rising, are you trying out the steps?”

“I try... I don’t think I’m very successful at it.”

“Does it work sometimes?”

Lucy pauses for a few seconds in thought before nodding yes.

“See, that is progress!” The woman encouraged excitedly. “Two weeks ago, it didn’t help at all, and now it works sometimes. It’s a big step forward Lucy.”

“Doesn’t feel like it is...” Lucy mumbled.

“I know it’s hard to see it for yourself, and that’s okay. These things take time and practice. Do you remember what I said about these things?”

“Not really.” Which was true. During the first week when the therapist explained the processes, Lucy had stopped listening as soon as the woman said it would take time.

“Let me ask you a question. You like to write stories, right?”

“Yeah.”

“When you first started, were you able to just write perfect stories.”

“Pfft, no.”

“Then how did you get better at it?”

Lucy rolled her eyes, knowing where this was going. “Practice.”

“Yes! The PTSD requires learning new coping skills as well as unlearning irrational ones. To do both takes practice. The more we work at it, the easier it will get, I promise. One day you’ll be able to look back at this experience and feel stronger for it.”

She really wanted to believe the woman, but it was so hard to see the light at the end of the tunnel! Tears well up in Lucy’s eyes, seconds before they start to flow down her cheeks. “Why is this so hard?! I just wanna get back to normal!” She could feel her anxieties rising. “I... I-I don’t wanna talk about it anymore! I just wanna forget it ever happened!”

The woman reached over and took Lucy’s hand, applying a strategic amount of pressure while rubbing her thumb over the webbing in a counter stimulus. She softened in tone. “I wish I could say that would work, but in order to get past it, you need to confront it. Together we’re gonna turn the boogieman into Casper the friendly ghost.”

It was such a weird way of putting things, it caused Lucy’s mind to snap out of the anxiety and snort a sniffling laugh in response. “Casper the friendly ghost?!”

“It was the first thing to pop into my mind,” the therapist laughed too. “The point is, we’re going to work together and slowly bring you to a place where this no longer scares you.”

“O-Okay...”

The rest of the session was tough, and Lucy had come close to a panic attack several times, but as a trained therapist, the woman stepped in at the right times to bring her levels down again using breaks and breathing routines. Sure, with a professional in front of you, it wasn’t as bad, but doing this on her own, the attacks were still winning. At the end of the session, the woman suggested a new technique to try out based on Lucy’s love of writing.

“You’ve heard of art therapy, so just think of this as a different form of creative therapy. Writing a diary is helpful to get out your feelings out in a healthy way. But let’s take it one step forward to use your skills in fiction writing. I want you to try before the next session, writing a story where you interject your emotions, feelings, whatever you want into the characters and story. Kind of like your character becomes you, but now you get to control what happens to them after the trauma they endure.”

“Wait, so you want me to write about a character that goes through what I went through?! Like torture my own character?!”

“Yes, to put it bluntly. Take your pain and unleash it onto the fictional character. It’s a much healthier way of releasing your anger or frustration in something that can’t really be hurt. Do whatever you want to them. But remember you also get to give them the ending you want to. It’s about utilizing a tool you’re already comfortable with and taking back some control. It’ll be normal if you cry, scream, and get upset through the process, but that’s okay, because instead of holding it all in, you’re getting your feelings out.”

Lucy slumped back in her seat. It sounded strange, yet at the same time made a bit of sense to her. Angst type stories were not really her forte, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t do it, especially since pain is all she was channeling at the moment. She sighed. “I’ll try.”

“And that’s totally okay. All I ask is that you give it a try.”

[south-park-meta]

How would you describe Stan and Sharon’s relationship? Would you say that Stan is Sharon’s favorite? It seems this could be the case at least according to Shelly in the season 19 episode “PC Principal Final Justice” when she said, Why are you always taking Stan's side? You're always acting like Stan can't do anything wrong.

I'll start with whether I think Stan's her favorite: I wouldn't exactly say he's the favorite as in she loves him more but I think both his parents are closer to him. There's definitely a reason that Shelly feels like they love Stan more than her. In part it's because he's the baby of the family. It means he gets more attention, gets more leeway, basically gets a lot of benefits for being born second. The second thing is just that, well, frankly he's easier. It's kind of weird to say that since Stan's life is absolutely bonkers and outside of the home he chases adventure. So the wacky adventure stuff has to be taken out of the equation a bit.

In a daily life way, Shelly's more likely to yell, beat up her brother, slam doors, that kind of thing. Stan's purposefully taken on a 'don't worry about me' role in the family while a lot of Shelly's home behaviors are deliberately attention-seeking. Stan has conversations with his parents. He tells them what's wrong and takes steps to fix it himself. He's emotionally mature, but in ways very childlike-- like he's still happy his mom reads bedtime stories to him.

The attention he wants from his parents is arguably too 'kiddy' for a lot of kids his age. It's certainly not like he never complains/whines to his parents. We've seen him do that. But a lot of the attention he seeks from his parents is just 'please spend quality time with me'. No solving his problems even if they listen to them, no yelling, no rants about friends at school. When he discusses his problems with them it's often pretty straightforward and stamped with a 'But I'm fine!' disclaimer. Not only that, but like I mentioned with my analysis for Stan and Randy, Stan's been in a parental position of taking care of Randy himself since he was a little kid. So he doesn't talk back THAT often (particularly before moving to Tegridy; he's definitely gotten snippier), the attention he wants is often the easy book-reading/watching sports games together kind, he works to solve his own problems, AND he can be depended on to solve his parents' problems a lot of the time, too. The reason they have more of a problem connecting with Shelly is because Shelly actually wants parented instead of the weird thing Stan's got going on where he takes on a parenting role himself a lot of the time.

I think Stan and Sharon's relationship is good, though. Stan's a lot like Randy, but he's a lot like Sharon, too. He tempers things with logic and reason. He cares about people being wronged even if everyone else shrugs and says it's normal. Stan has a lot of her sensibilities tied up with his dad's drive to get things done.

He has the ability to talk to both of his parents about his problems, which is something the other kids don't have-- Kyle was the closest to having this in earlier seasons, but Gerald's ruining his relationship with his kids and doesn't even seem to like Kyle. But Stan can talk to his dad despite having to expect off-the-wall responses. He can talk to his mom despite wanting to protect her from having to really take care of his problems. He might keep his emotional hurts from them, or meet them halfway in fixing things if he needs their help, but he rarely actually LIES to them about things going on in his life.

His relationship with his mom isn't perfect. Sharon is someone who relies more on shame than guilt, i.e. the difference between ‘I am/you are a bad person’ and ‘I/you did a bad thing’. Stan's deeply internalized that doing things wrong marks him as a bad person. And you can see that in the words Sharon chooses when she chews people out and the fact when she thinks Stan does something VERY bad in Spookyfish her instinct is to hide it to keep him 'good', that she operates a lot through shame. This isn't healthy for him, and feeds into him wanting to do things just to prove he's good, strong, capable, and hiding or not talking about things that he finds bad about himself (including his depression).

The things that Stan doesn't think will be a huge inconvenience for his parents, or the things that he doesn't think will mark him as a bad or weak person, however, he doesn't have a problem sharing. And that does put him LEAGUES above a lot of the other kids in South Park. He actually loves his parents and DOES actually want to talk to them about things more than he doesn't. I think most of his problems with his parents are actually fixable, but it would take a lot of work.

That said, Stan's family and Sharon in particular very actively supports putting the work in. They whisk him off to the doctor if he has a complaint. When they think he has Asperger's in Ass Burgers, they quickly pop him into therapy, and I think this is more Sharon's doing than Randy's. Personally I think Randy's influence was the awareness tour that was more about getting attention for himself than for Stan, similar to Stan's behavior in Butterballs. But anyway. They get him into therapy immediately when he has hoarding problems. They have apparently instilled in him to talk to counselors on his own as well, since he actually does open up to Mackey pretty quickly even in the cases where he's 'forced' to go see him. They, and I'd say primarily Sharon, are all for Stan getting whatever professional help he needs when he says he has a problem. It's just that the help that's available in South Park is crap.

So I think there's a lot of good in Stan's relationship with Sharon. They can turn to each other when things are fucked up and have someone they need to be strong for. Stan's willing to share MOST of his problems with her. When he talks back, she apparently checks in on him later to make sure he understands where she's coming from as seen in YGO. When he actually expresses a problem to her, she will try and fix it by taking him to whatever professional necessary. She does facilitate discussion and actively listens to him. She reads him bedtime stories, cares about his day, engages in his school projects and extracurricular activities, and wants to spend time with him.

She's also a part of the family dynamic that makes Stan reluctant to really be a kid and not have to be forced into a parental role at a very young age. She also-- unintentionally-- helps feed into his belief that he's fundamentally a bad person who needs to hide things about himself to appear good so he can still be liked. In thinking Stan's just being a good, responsible kid, she's helped put him a position where a lot of his childhood has been eaten up by trying to be an adult to help his family function.

Most of Stan's relationships are loving but dysfunctional.

[damn-behzinga]

A Painful Memory

Ethan Payne (Behzinga) X Reader

summary - The Sidemen Roast is all fun and games until someone jokes about Ethan’s friend who passed away two years ago.

warnings - mentions of suicide, death, therapy, swearing, my terrible writing

request - hi hope your well idk if you are doing requests right now but if you are could you do an ethan or harry one where u are in the audience at the sidemen roast and one of them targets a roast at u but it’s really mean and triggers something?! :) thank you xx

masterlist & request info

The Sidemen decided to do another Sidemen Roast but with other people. They had gotten a bunch of new friends to roast them but needed one more to complete the set. 

They all chose their audience members, close friends and girlfriends to watch the scene play out. Whichever of their closest friends were available really.

The evening had gone well, a few roasts that made the crowd and the Sidemen burst out into laughter and a few that made them cringe or gasp. But overall it was going well. Until Louis stood up to start his roasts. He was a newer friend and they thought it would be interesting to have him, roast people, he had only just grown close with.

It was already a little off when he made a race joke that JJ and Tobi managed to awkwardly laugh off. But no one was expecting the words, "No wonder Ethan's mate killed himself, I couldn't bear to deal with Ethan either.". 

It wasn't a secret between his close friends that Ethan lost a friend to suicide. Ethan was very lost after it happened because he was the one that found them. But Ethan kept it a secret not wanting the public to know or anyone outside his close friends and family. So how the fuck did that guy know?

Everyone sat in shock and Ethan didn't know how to react. He picked up his bottle of water and took a shaky sip, Tobi touched Ethan's shoulder to show his support but Ethan flinched away.

JJ was the first to speak up, kicking the guest off stage and announcing they were taking a short break. Ethan quickly ran off stage and you immediately stood up and chased after him.

"Ethan?" You called after your boyfriend but Ethan continued running.

Ethan suddenly stopped and looked around the room, making eye contact with you, a loud sob escaping his lips. You cupped his cheeks and stroked them softly, a small way to calm him during the tough times. Ethan continued to cry and you helped him slowly lower himself to the floor.

"It's okay, love. I'm here, I'm here." You whispered, rocking him gently after you pulled him into your chest.

The words kept repeating in his head, the entire crowd knew now. Everything hurt.

"I didn't know he was hurting!" Ethan sobbed. "I didn't want to find him."

You closed your eyes to stop the tears from falling and you continue to stroke his arm and head, trying to soothe him in any way you could. It happened two years ago but Ethan had never fully gotten over it. Nightmares plagued with the image of his dead friend's body, and days where Ethan would go into a deep state of mourning, not knowing where he went wrong.

"No one is going to judge you." You muttered lightly. "None of this is your fault."

"It was my fault, I didn't help him." Ethan cried into your neck.

"Ethan what happened to him was not your fault, none of this is your fault." You said sternly. "The crowd aren't going to say anything about you or your friend, not anything negative anyway."

"Now they all know," Ethan whispered

"Ethan, Jacob was an amazing guy. He was so funny and he was creative and handsome. What happened to him was tragic and we can't let that constantly hold you back. You are strong and you shouldn't have gone through that but you did and we can't change the past. Let's just look forward to the future ahead of us. Remember him for who he was, not how he ended." You said honestly. "Seeing you so beat up over him hurts me so much."

"I just wish it wasn't him," Ethan said quietly.

"I know, I know." You replied, rocking him softly. "But we need to move on because you are hurting over this and you can't even say his name without being upset.

"I think I need to talk to a professional," Ethan said softly.

"I think you should too." You agreed honestly. "But we can sort that out tonight after the shoot. You are going to go into the bathroom and take deep breaths and you are going to go back on that stage and get roasted by your true friends. Sound good?"

Ethan nodded and you smiled at him, helping him up and pushing him into the toilets.

Simon entered the hall soon after a frown evident on his face.

"Is he all right?" Simon asked.

"He will be." You stated back. 

"We've kicked Louis out. None of us knows how he found that out." Simon explained. "Thankfully, everyone in the audience is our friend so they know that Ethan can take a joke and that he doesn't want to talk about Jacob." 

"He's going to go see a therapist." You said. "He thinks it'll be good for him."

"That's good. That's good." Simon sighed almost relieved.

Ethan exited the toilets and sent Simon a small smile.

"You got this," Simon whispered.

Ethan nodded back at him, a small smile of thanks decorating his lips. The three of you walked back to the main area before you gave Ethan a quick kiss and returned to your seat. Everyone watched Ethan walk in, none of them knowing how to react. It was quickly replaced as Freezy started clapping for Ethan and soon everyone else joined in. The shoot quickly continued as normal, the roasts becoming funnier by the second. Ethan quickly went back to his happy mood, feeling a new sense of joy as his friends continued to joke and laugh.

[mycptsdstory]

Trigger warning; this is about attempted murder and server abuse.

I will always celebrate this day because this is the day that I left my family. I had no spare clothes with me, I had no pjs, no medicine, no nothing! All I had was the clothes on my back, my bag with my purse with no money and my phone with no charger.

Not gonna lie, every time I look back on this day, it was super emotional. I couldn’t stop crying, there was a lot of emotions going through my head. There was a lot of betrayal that I had to come to terms with, I was in denial with the abuse and I had to leave or else I would of lost my life.

I never said this on why I left and my tumblr is the safest place I can say why; my mother tried to kill me with poison.

For the previous months, I didn’t understand why I was so sick. It was like I was getting sicker each day, I had no energy, my face was pale and my hands were turning yellow! The doctors didn’t understand either; I was checked for gastroenteritis nothing. My liver was okay (even tho I was alcoholic back then, it still came out okay) Then I was I checked for other diseases (that I can’t remember on top of my head) and still came up with nothing. I just had this weird cold like flu symptoms that no one could explain and this was yyyeeaaarrrsa before covid happened. One day, my doctors gave me tests on my blood, poo, urine and food from my teeth (since I didn’t brush that day and I had food left over from the previous night that my mum cooked for me). You guessed it right, she poisoned me with the food.

One day, I had a call from my doctors saying I needed to come in urgently, I didn’t feel very well and they persuaded me to come. So I did. I got dressed (dirty clothing that I wasn’t allowed to wash) and I got there. The receptionist told me to visit my doctor now, i thought ‘well, this is strange, they normally ask me to wait’ so I went to see her. Then I got the news, they told me that I was being posioned and I nearly died. I was poisoned with arsenic, cyanide and other medication that my mother, my mothers bf and other medication that wasn’t prescribed to me or my mother or my mothers bf (they guessed it was my family’s meds). If they didn’t caught it in time, I would of died. I was in disbelief. They contacted the police and put me in a safe place. Since my home was a prison, I had no friends to go too and even if I did go and see someone, no one would believe me. I would be sent back to my mother and then she will try and kill me again. So me and my doctor had a plan to talk to my therapist the next morning and refuse any food that my mother and her bf gave me. It was hard not to eat, that night I couldn’t sleep. I never dreamed on leaving the next day, so I didn’t pack that night because I didn’t want my mother to be suspicious of me. During this, I had to secretly call my bf and told him everything when my mother was asleep at night, he was worried about me and told me everything was going to be okay. It was horrible.

The next morning, I saw my therapist and told her everything while my mother was waiting outside. We could see her watching us while I was in therapy (my mother did this all the time). So my therapist told me to go to my old home town and go to the Women’s aid, since I knew where their refuge is and not their head office, so I could see them and they can help me. After the therapy session, that’s what I did. I went to my old home town and persuaded to my mother that my birth dad was going to attack me and I need the Women’s Aid for them to be updated. But my mother took me to a drugs den first, thank god I can persuade anyone out of anything and acting dumb that I got the wrong door, they let me go and I went straight to refuge. My mother drove off in a huff and I persuaded her that I will call her when I wanted to be picked up. When I got the refuge, they told me where to go, I knew my old home town like the back of my hand so my mother couldn’t follow me. When I got to the women’s aid, I told them everything and burst into tears. They had to call up the police and even social services to tell them I was safe, that’s when I had to make a decision on where I was going to live. But the refuge I was offered, wasn’t ready and the women’s aid was terrified that my mother knew where their refuge was and I would be in danger. So I had to call up an old ex family friend that my mother had fallen out with years ago. That night, I talked to my bf and told him that tomorrow was my ticket to freedom. He wished me luck and always be on guard. I stayed with her over night with the ex family friend and the next morning I had to leave and make a fresh start on my own.

It was then I moved to the refuge on the little town where I live now. I still cannot believe that I was 6 years ago. Fucking 6 years ago. It was then that I started to calm down, not cause any drama and just live my life. I lost friends during this but I also gained some of my closest friends that I’m still friends with them today. Before when I lived with my mother, I couldn’t have friends. She would either ruin them or I ruined them because I didn’t know what friendships where like, I couldn’t think straight and my thoughts where my own down fall. Now I’m out of there, taking private therapy, it’s been the best. I would never ever go back to the place where I once called home. I stopped talking to my family and the family friends and started to my live my life to the fullest.

I’m now retaking my English and maths. When I first started, I was entry level 1 (which is nursery level) now I’ve passed my level 2 English (nearly GCSE level) and I’m on level 1 in maths (hopefully pass that soon, so I can start my level 2). I couldn’t of never have done this, if I hadn’t had left.

I’ve accomplished so much, like I got to perform at a professional theatre in my home town (the town where I moved too) and I met some of my amazing friends through acting. Life is fucking great, I really cannot wait for the future.

Even tho my life didn’t have the best start, when I left those 6 years ago, it’s been the best. It’s where my life officially started. Now I can look forward to the future and not have to worry. I wouldn’t of done it without my doctors, my bf, social services and the police; I wouldn’t be here.

I know this past week has been rough, but I’m not gonna stop them from living my life. Fuck that noise.

[jamaiskookie]

mutuals (pjmxreader) [bonus:celibacy]

~mutuals~ [youtuber!reader x idol!jimin] social media AU

synopsis: park jimin is a (slightly problematic) idol singer, and he becomes completely smitten with a youtuber after stumbling upon her dance cover to his own song.

genre: fluff, a good dosing of cracK, literally two seconds of angst blink and u miss it

word count:  2.3k

[A/N]: thank you for all the love you’ve given mutuals! can’t believe it’s only been like one week since this blog has been up hehE enjoy this drabble of thirsty!jimin after he found your video. if you have no idea what i’m talking about gO READ THE FIRST CHAPTER

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           When JinHit first hit record sales with the success of Jimin’s mini album, and RAPLINE’s first title single a couple years ago, Jin finally gave in to Jimin’s begging and gave all the artists their own personalised studio in the JinHit building. It’s where all the greatest hits on the charts are written. It’s practically the modern eighth wonder of the world, considering the names and talent that have graced the walls. 

          Jimin, Yoongi, and Namjoon all have their separate studios to write, produce, and record in, and all three of the small rooms are located next to each other. Partially because of design and common sense, but also so all three friends can conveniently annoy each other when needed. Jin’s office isn’t too far away either, just across the floor. Usually, if they’re all working in the studio, they’ll walk over to Jin’s office during lunch hour and leech off his amazing personal pantry in his office. The office is much, much bigger than their studios, and Jimin never fails to remind Jin that. 

          All three artists have grown a little attached to their studios. It’s where they do what they all love most, after all. Yoongi barely lets anyone into his ‘Genius Lab’, and ever since a staff member accidentally messed with his coffee machine, he hasn’t let anyone step foot in. Nobody’s even allowed to come inside Namjoon’s studio during what he calls his ‘namjoon talent time’ which is basically just a period of time before comeback season where he locks himself in the studio, writing music 24/7. 

          He occasionally asks Jimin to listen to his unreleased files for suggestions, but other than that, noone except Yoongi goes inside his studio during ‘namjoon talent time’, and Namjoon only reluctantly lets him in as his bandmate. Not that Jimin minds, he hasn’t been let inside since he accidentally mistook Joon’s studio for his own and brought one of his one-night-stands over. Joonie was horrified, and made Jimin sanitise, wash and clean every part of the room, all while he cried about how his ‘baby was molested’. It was traumatising for both parties. 

          Out of the three, Jimin’s the least protective over his studio, even though he’s the one who put the most effort into it. He’s spent years perfecting it, making it the best place for inspiration and writing music. Everything in the studio has been personally chosen and thought out by him. The snacks and custom mini fridge, the wall of his entire discography, trophies, music awards, and his personal favourite, the official JIMIN logo sign above the couch. 

          It lights up in purple.

          Despite being a pretty stereotypical assholey partying douche idol, Jimin’s likes to think he’s actually quite talented. He’s been named ‘Most professional idol’ on every single online survey he can find (He’s also always voted for ‘Most handsome’, but that’s besides the point), and it’s true. Jimin never sells himself short. He is a professional musician, singer, and producer. He writes his own music, choreographs his own dancing, and uses his platform to spread positive, meaningful messages. There’s a reason he’s so internationally successful, and it’s because he’s talented. 

          Maybe right now isn’t a great example of his talent. Jimin was in his studio, holding his head in his hands. Sure, he’s a globally recognised and accomplished songwriter, but to be honest, he hadn’t written a single piece of original JIMIN music since he wrote ‘Filter’ with Namjoon months ago. He was in the biggest creative slump in his entire career. He had tried almost everything, co-writing, exercise, music samples, playing around on instruments. Hell he even tried music therapy. Whatever melody he tried to create, whatever lyrics he tried to write, it all came out sounding like garbage. 

          Yesterday was a little bit of a blow to Jimin’s ego. It was three in the morning, and he’d been in the studio for seven hours, with only one verse written. 

I love to let loose,

Have you ever tried eating moose?

It’s all so bananas,

Tony fucking Montana. 

          Yeah, it’s pretty embarrassing. It’s not even a verse, it looks more like a kindergartener’s attempt to write poetry. For the first time in his life, he doesn’t really feel like writing music or putting his thoughts in a song. Jimin is just plain out of ideas. He has nothing to write about. And if he doesn’t have good content to put out, he’d rather not put anything out at all. 

          But he still hates it. All his life, he’s coped by writing, singing and dancing. This writer’s block has been too frustrating. Too many sleepless nights and crumpled papers have been wasted over it, with no progress or music in result. Plus, Jin might be one of his closest friends, but Jin was also a boss, and he still needed more tracks for Jimin’s big comeback, happening end of the year. 

          He can���t help it. Jimin has nothing left to write about. He opened one eye when he heard the distant ding of his phone coming from somewhere in the studio. Grumbling incoherently, he opened the notification, to find… you. 

          Jimin’s mouth was hanging open the entire video. His eyes twitched the tiniest bit and he almost dropped the phone when you said his face was “decent”, but he had to watch it again, because the first time around, he didn’t hear a word that came out your damn mouth. He was otherwise… preoccupied. No matter how much he tried, he just couldn’t tear his damn eyes off the screen. Curse Min Yoongi for sending him this. 

          He even cringed when he had to bring his sleeve up to wipe the tiniest bit of drool off his face. Practically salivating. What the fuck? How old was he? He was Park Jimin, why was he popping a boner from watching some stranger on the internet dance to his songs? He’s been in the industry for way too long now, he was practically immune to scantily clad women prancing around him. So why he completed concentrated on your stupid little crop top? Not to mention, you were practically insulting him at this point. What was so special? 

          For one moment, Jimin forced his eyes off the screen, wondering if the sleep deprivation had really affected him that much, or if this was another side effect of the writer’s block he’s been having. It’s the partying ‘clean act’ ban Jin’s been forcing me to go on, he thought, even though Jimin wasn’t totally convinced of that. (Despite swearing not to, he looked straight back to down at his phone afterwards to reply the video.) 

          He was so fixated on the screen, he didn’t even notice when Yoongi flung the door open and walked inside. Jimin only lifted his head when he heard Yoongi’s obnoxiously loud groan. 

          “What- When did you get here?” Yoongi recently went back to a fan-favourite hair colour of his, and Jimin was still not used to seeing him with bright mint coloured hair. In his opinion, he looked like a highlighter, but Yoongi seemed to not mind it. 

          “I’ve been standing here for the past two minutes, drinking my coffee. The fuck you watching on your phone that’s got you drooling?” 

          “NOTHING.” Yoongi narrowed his eyes, and before Jimin could even move away, he managed to snatch the phone away from Jimin’s hands. 

          “What the fuck- how? You know, this is why your fanbase thinks you’re a cat.” Yoongi ignored his words with ease. “Oh my god,” He said. “Are you watching the video I sent you? I didn’t expect you to actually watch it.” 

          “I always watch my fan’s videos after a comeback!” Jimin insisted, clawing upwards to steal his own phone back, but Yoongi kept slapping his hands away. 

          “Yeah, but this isn’t a fan. This is just like, one of your fanboys and a girl roasting you.” Yoongi stared back at Jimin suspiciously when he tried to defend himself. “Why were you watching this girl dance like a starving man, Chim?” 

          “Just, because- what- I was nOT watching her like a starving man. Don’t look at me like I’m some kind of a pervert!” Jimin finally managed to grab ahold of his phone again, and he threw it behind him on the couch, away from Yoongi. 

          “Hyung,” He sighed. “I think maybe it’s Jin’s new ‘clean, good boy’ rule. Along with this stupid fucking slump I’ve been having these days, I just don’t feel great, okay? So don’t be so fussy with me. I can’t write, I can’t party… If I want to ogle over some random girl on the internet, I will.” Jimin cringed once the words came out of his mouth, but Yoongi slowly nodded, sitting down on the couch. 

          Min Yoongi may be a little too gay to understand Jimin’s womaniser ways, but the frustration behind not being able to write music, that, he understood. “You’re trying to justify being a perv by using your mental problems, but I’ll talk to you about that later on.”

          “Chim, we all have our slumps. It’s honestly a wonder that this is your first serious creative block. Me and Joon, and every single artist in the world, is bound to go through that at some point. It’s not the end. You’ll still be able to write good music soon, you’re a good writer.” Jimin refused to meet Yoongi’s eyes, even if what he was saying did make a little sense. He just chose to stay silent. 

          “You just have nothing left to write about. You can’t keep living like this though, Chimmy. It’s unhealthy.” 

          “What do you mean, unhealthy? I’m perfectly fine, thank you.” 

          Yoongi stared at him deadpan, gesturing to the entire state of his studio. “It’s a complete mess in here,” He said. “Plus, I don’t think you’ve left this studio for days. The others may not want to say it to your face, but we’re all a bit worried about you. Stop forcing yourself to ingest all these redbulls to try to keep writing.” 

          “When inspiration comes, it’ll come. You can’t force it, it doesn’t work that way. What you need, is a break. Go back home for once, maybe visit your mom. And for god’s sakes, take a shower please. Trust me, okay?”

          Yoongi doesn’t like admitting it, but he’s the most caring one out of their friend group. Anyone can tell from the look in his eyes right now, that he’s genuinely concerned about his friend. He’s also the one with most sense, but Jimin will never tell him that, because his advice, no matter how sensible, is useless. 

          All he’s known is singing, writing, and throwing himself in work. To just stop? Even if it’s to take a short break, it doesn’t feel right to Jimin. Instead of telling Yoongi his problems, he just poked his tongue in his cheek. If lightbulbs actually popped up above people’s heads when they had a good idea, a massive one would’ve appeared on top of Jimin’s. 

          “I’ve got it!” He said, excitedly. Yoongi sat up straight. “You’re going to take my advice for once?”

          “No, of course not, Hyung. Don’t be silly.” Yoongi slouched his back again, closing his eyes. 

          “I’ll just hit this girl up!” Yoongi’s eyes snapped open. 

          “What.” 

          “Yeah! Who knows, y’know? Maybe I’ve been keeping myself to Jin’s rules a little too well. It won’t hurt the company if I let myself go just once. Blow off some steam, come back fresh and recharged.” Jimin rubbed his hands together like a bad Disney villain. 

          “It’s too early for this.” Yoongi whispered, pinching the bridge of his nose.

          “It’s three in the afternoon.” Yoongi ignored him. 

          “You really aren’t going to take my advice, huh.” 

          “Nope!” Jimin said, popping the ‘p’ annoyingly. 

          “You promised Jin you’d go celibate.”

          “I said I’d clean up the partying act. I don’t recall taking a vow of celibacy.” Yoongi just sighed, and fell back down on the sofa, mindlessly sipping at his coffee. 

          Jimin hesitated. “You’re not going to… tell me not to? Or give me another one of your eco-feminist speeches again?” Yoongi shrugged. 

          “You’ve heard it too many times. Plus, I have a feeling this is going to be funny.” 

          “Funny? Hyung, what part of this could possible be funny to you?” There was a brief pause filled with awkward silence, before Yoongi blinked slowly. 

          “When she rejects you, of course.” Jimin threw his jacket, aimed straight for Yoongi’s head. His stupidly fast cat-like reflexes managed to dodge it, but Jimin scowled at him nonetheless. 

          “She’s not going to reject me.” Jimin walked over, picking up the very same jacket he threw at Yoongi, before plopping his sunglasses back on his face. “No woman has ever managed to reject me before, and I intend on adding her to that list.” He pursed his lips. 

          “Plus, she’s super hot. Great ass. Attractive people attract attractive people.” Jimin turned his phone back on once more to sneak one last peek at you in the thumbnail of the video, before stuffing his phone into his back pocket. “I just need to get it out of my system. This might be what I need to get me out of this creative rut!”

          He could’ve sworn Yoongi muttered something under his breath, something along the lines of ‘fucking asshole’, but he chose to ignore it. 

          “Alright, well, see you, Yoons!” Jimin practically skipped out of the studio, startling the producer’s assistant outside with his slightly disturbing enlarged grin. 

          “Don’t come crying to me when she refuses to get in your pants, you fucking diva!”

          Jimin continued walking towards the elevator, but he threw up his middle finger behind him. 

“DON’T RUIN MY EXIT, BITCH!” 

[taglist:] @notmontae97​​ @lucedelsole97​

[schoolfullofmorons]

petey lowkey having a crush on gary for a long time bc hes a pretty bad boy, but it takes some actual therapy and a small reunion for gary to feel some actual LONGING to have petey in his life again. he becomes surprisingly soft and supportive, in his own way, with their renewed friendship, and it takes jimmy casually promising to kick his ass if he messes up with petey for gary to realize he might actually have developed some romantic feelings for their friend. cue panic and breathing exercises

July, 2007.

Here he stood, on the threshold of hell on Earth, about to talk to Satan himself, and he still wasn't ready to run.

Well, maybe that wasn't entirely accurate. Pete Kowalski, rising junior of Bullworth Academy, was very prepared to run from the menace that had tortured him last year. Gary Smith, the mentally unstable asylum patient, waited for him just on the other side of this door.

His palms had grown hot with sweat, and he nervously wiped them off on his clean, ironed jeans. Pete hated having generalized anxiety disorder. It made him nervous even about this, even about coming here, which was literally his own choice to begin with. The thought of facing his once best friend filled him with a mounting dread that made his throat burn with the urge to cry.

But Pete wanted this. He was determined to get the answers he wanted, because Jimmy and him had been fucked over. And Jimmy might have brushed his hands of Gary, Jimmy might have decided that he was done caring, but Jimmy wasn't Pete and Pete cared way too much. He needed to know why Gary had ditched them, betrayed them, left them to rot. He wanted to know the cause of all this.

And, deep down, maybe he missed Gary, too.

He had been standing there too long, staring at the door. Pete knew if he didn't act soon, the orderly that had trailed behind him would get annoyed. Licking his lips and swallowing down his own anxiety, he pushed open the door, letting the orderly shut it behind him.

And there he was, the mastermind himself.

Gary was so... different, in here, but in reality he still looked like a Smith. All sharp jawlines and piercing stares. When Gary rose his head to look at him, hair that was growing slightly shabby due to a month of no cuts falling into his face, Pete felt his heart skip a beat.

And then a grin passed over his face, his eyes lighting up with genuine joy. He launched himself off of the small white cot all asylum patients had been provided, and sauntered over to Pete with slow, calculated steps. Too proud and too arrogant for someone who was incarcerated.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here? Did Petey Kowalski decide to pay lil' ol' me a visit? The big, bad, awful wolf, Gary Smith?" Gary's words cut into him, and Pete felt the urge to wipe his hands off on his jeans again. His friend's eyes bore into him.

Why'd you do it? Was the question that sat on Pete's tongue, but instead he cleared his throat and avoided Gary's eyes. "I... wanted to check up on you. Y'know, see how you were holding up."

"Oh, look at that! He cares about me!" Gary reached out to sling an arm around him, bringing Pete in close with a sharp jerk that had Pete yelping. "Did somebody miss me? Just couldn't sleep at night knowing I was away, could you?"

"No, I-"

"I already knew you weren't straight, but this is taking it to a whole new level."

The protest died away on Pete's tongue and he swallowed as the familiar burning sensation hit the back of his throat. When he didn't get an answer, Gary huffed and shoved him, hard. Pete stumbled, hitting the cell wall and sliding down it.

"God, you're pathetic." Gary spat.

"Why do you have to be an asshole all the time, Gary?" Pete snapped, and in one sudden rush, angry words bubbled up and out of him. "For once in your life, can't you just accept that you're the one in the wrong? You're in a cell, for god's sake! Don't you realize that I'm the only one left who doesn't want you to drop dead? Half the school pities you and the other half hates you! You destroyed our lives! You took away our peace! You don't get to be calling me the pathetic one!"

The room fell silent enough to hear a pen drop. The air around the two boys grew thicker, and thicker, and thicker still with tension. Pete risked a glance at the boy who stood looming in front of him. He had to swallow back fear as he noticed Gary's hands were clenched so tight that the skin was starting to turn white.

Pete pushed himself to his feet, slowly, unwilling to startle Gary. If he moved too fast he was afraid that Gary would snap. A predator in a hunting crouch, moments away from delivering the killing bite. That's what Gary was.

"You know, I used to like you. I used to want you around. I used to think you were smart, and funny, and cool. But now you just remind me of a... a walking toddler, who throws a temper tantrum when he doesn't get his way. I hope you get better, Gary. I hope you get the help you need so you can finally grow up."

Pete sidestepped Gary, who had yet to move except for his head, his eyes slowly following Pete back towards the doorway. Pete opened the cell door and looked back one more time, meeting eyes with the person he once considered his best friend.

And then he left.

-

September, 2008.

To the parents of Gary Alexander Smith,

I am writing to you to inform you that your son has completed rehab. According to his court order, this is the final step needed in order for him to be released back to the public.

Please note that he will still have to check in weekly with a nurse that will ensure he is still taking his medication. This will no longer be a requirement after his 100 hours of community service is over.

With this in mind, we will be releasing him on the 8th at 3 PM. We require a signature before his release in order to ensure that he is in the proper hands of his guardians.

Thank you for your time,

Happy Volts staff.

-

The reunion with his parents was about as happy as you'd expect with parents as terrible as his. Really, they didn't talk much through the entire thing; it was pick him up, take him home, and let him clean himself up before they had dinner.

It was the first meal that he had had in a long ass time that was actually good, instead of being almost edible. He really did have a newfound appreciation of his maids after that, though he'd never admit it to them out loud.

The thing about spending a year away from home is that it caused him to reflect on things he could have done differently. It also made him realize that a lot of the shit he had done his sophomore year simply didn't... matter. Maybe it was the medication, and the advice of actual doctors from the state after being transferred from Volts and their terrible medical department, but Gary was beginning to see things in ways he had never thought to see them in before.

For example, he was pretty sure Jimmy had never said anything all that terrible to him. Where had he gotten that idea from? Yeah, some of it was an addiction to power, but he was pretty sure the other part was perceived rejection. Learning about rejection sensitive dysphoria really did help him out in a lot of ways. He just wished it had been explained to him sooner, before, y'know, he betrayed all of his closest pals because of an inexplainable fear that they hated his guts.

(Which now they probably did. Go figure. Pete's words still ate at him when he tried to sleep at night).

That didn't matter as much now, anyway. He wanted to know what he'd be doing. He wasn't trapped anymore, with only medical professionals and other patients that had, admittedly, been really kind to him when they weren't Bullworth Branded(tm). He wanted to know what his future would be like, now that his head was much clearer.

When he asked his father, the response he got didn't surprise him much.

"We've decided to respect Crabblesnitch's decision and homeschool you. It'll be best, in order to prevent anymore... incidents."

And so began the process of sleeping, waking up, eating, being immersed into various studies by a freshly hired tutor with a bitchy voice that Gary tried very hard not to snap at, eating again, and going back to sleep. This pattern only broke on days where he had been assigned community service, or had an appointment with his psychologist.

As the days went on, he began to make the effort to expose himself to the outside world. Being locked up made him unusually skittish around people, and he was still having trouble getting used to the crowd that was his father's staff. This led to him climbing onto the roof of his father's house as he watched the sun dip steadily over the horizon after a long day of studies.

Being in high places had been a huge comfort when he was a child. He liked to watch the world, and he liked to feel in control by being able to see his surroundings. His friends would occasionally join him. He had many memories of Pete's smile catching on the sunset, or his nervous expression watching him as Gary got too close to the edge.

This was their place first, before it became his and Jimmy's. He wondered, briefly, if Jimmy still thought of their battle as often as Gary did, or if Gary just did that because it was the last substantial thing he had ever done with himself before the lock-up.

He really missed those two.

He got it, though. He couldn't have them back in his life. They had both kicked him out, and that was his own doing. He had hurt them, and he might regret it, but he had to let go.

He just didn't know how, when he didn't have anyone else.

-

December, 2008.

He finished his community service. Christmas break came, and since he had been working so hard on catching up with his junior year studies, his father had allowed him to take it off for himself. He was grateful at the idea of a break; he had been working tirelessly, and was nearly three quarters of a way through his junior year. He wanted to catch up to his senior year already, so that he could graduate in May like the rest of the Class of 2009.

Suddenly filled with free time that he did not want taken up by family, Gary found himself wandering into town more than he had previously. At first he didn't go far, but as the days passed he found himself going on longer strolls until he found himself deep in the heart of Bullworth Vale.

He should have known it would be easy to be spotted there, considering the gym was a hotspot for prep activity. Jimmy's lighthouse was also down here, causing Gary to avoid that spot as much as he could.

It was a smart idea, by all means. Unfortunately for Gary, however, Jimmy was king, and the preps told him everything. Especially Gord, who he'd had an on-and-off relationship with for a few years now.

That's what led to his peaceful stroll being interrupted by a massive fist slamming his head into the side of a brick wall, so hard that his ears rang.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here?" Came a familiar voice in his ear, and his blood ran cold.

"James." Gary grunted into the brick wall. He tried to lift his head up, but was deemed unsuccessful when Jimmy's fist jerked him back down, causing him to wince. "What is it you want? I was busy."

"Busy doing what? Making the smiles of tiny children disappear?"

Gary had to remind himself that Jimmy was completely justified in this reaction, but it was hard when his cheek was beginning to fucking bleed.

"Get off."

"Not until you tell me what you're doing out of jail where you were supposed to rot."

"I got released! I finished the stupid program, okay? Let me go!" Gary hissed, and to his surprise, Jimmy did.

"What program are you talking about?" Jimmy asked, crossing his arms. Gary rubbed the grit off his face and took a moment to let his eyes wander over Jimmy's freckles.

Jesus, he forgot just how many James had. He was like a freckled forest.

"Technically a bunch of different programs... rehab was one, and I went through some community service hours." Gary shrugged. "Does it matter? I'm out now."

Jimmy's face contorted into three different expressions of confused anger, and Gary had to stop himself from laughing out loud at it.

"Like hell you're coming back to Bullworth-"

"I'm not, actually. I'm being homeschooled." Gary replied, smug at his one-up despite his best efforts not to be. It was just easy to feel smug around Hopkins.

(He wondered, briefly, why he wasn't downright pissed at Jimmy for sophomore year; but it had been a long time since then, and Gary was different, more different than he'd ever been).

"What? How long has that been going on?"

"Since September." Gary told him.

"Oh. Wow."

The two of them stood in an almost awkward silence, and Gary flicked his eyes over to watch the road as cars passed by. He had almost zoned out when Jimmy spoke again.

"So, what? Are you scheming to get back in?" When Gary turned his eyes back to Jimmy, the shorter boy was squinting at him, looking suspicious.

"No." Gary said, honest. "I'm not going to bother you, either, if that's what you're going to ask."

"Why? Not that I don't appreciate your kindness or whatever. I'm just trying to understand."

"I get it, don't worry." Gary shrugged and sighed, turning on his heel to face the road. "Honestly? I've had a lot of time to think. And... I messed up with the two of you. Bad. I don't want to pressure you into having to deal with me again, because, well... I fucked up your lives. I understand that now, I understand how bad it was back then for you. I wasn't going to seek you out, but I suppose thinking that I could hide from you forever wasn't necessarily the brightest idea."

"I can't believe this." Jimmy mumbled. "Gary Smith? Showing remorse? Who would of thought."

"Yeah." Gary said, quietly. "Wild idea, for sure."

The two boys stood looking at the cars in a slightly more comfortable silence. It had started to lightly snow, and Gary rubbed his gloved hands together to create the idea of warmth before he half-froze to death.

"I don't know if I forgive you, you know." Jimmy spoke.

"Yeah, I figured." Gary murmured. "And you don't have to."

"I think if you're putting in the effort, I'd like to forgive you." Jimmy told him, and Gary turned his head, regarding him with surprise.

"What you did was... terrible, to be frank, but I've seen worse. You weren't all that bad, back before the fight with Russell." He shrugged and Gary continued to stare. Jimmy had liked their friendship? It felt like a crazy idea.

"And I think... I think Petey really misses you, too." Jimmy shifted to glance at him. "He... told me, about your fight."

Gary didn't like thinking about it, much less talking about it. He clenched his hands into slight fists and let out a small huff. "Really? Man..."

"Its fine, really. I mean, I was pissed at the time and so was he, but I think he just misses you now." Jimmy turned his whole body towards Gary, suddenly furrowing his brow. "Hey, give me your hand."

"What?" Gary frowned. "No, get your own hand to hold."

"I'm not tryna flirt with you, dumbass. I'm gonna write Pete's number on your arm."

"Pete's - what?"

"You should apologize to him." Jimmy said, matter-of-factly. Bewildered, Gary handed Jimmy his hand. Jimmy took a pen out of his pocket and uncapped it, scribbling a hasty number on his wrist, just above his glove.

"Pete's parents had enough money to get him a cell phone. He can answer texts but texting back is a slow process so he prefers to call." Jimmy pocketed his pen. "I'm sure you two can work it out for yourselves though."

"Why are you giving this to me? I thought you hated me." Gary asked him, pulling his arm back to run his fingers over the messy digits that were gracing his skin.

"I never hated you, to be honest." Jimmy told him. "I was mad, but I never hated you. I was always rooting for you, Gary."

"I see." Gary replied. "Thank you, then, James."

"Of course." Jimmy clapped him over the back, causing him to stumble. "See ya around, crazy man."

He went home with black ink on his wrist and the words I was always rooting for you stuck in his head on repeat.

-

January, 2009.

Gary procrastinated all of Christmas break away thinking about calling Pete.

He didn't know why the task was bothering him so much. It hadn't been difficult to apologize to Jimmy, but then again, he knew he had been wrong about Jimmy going into it. Admitting to himself that he had no idea what Pete thought of him was a different challenge that was taking a lot of effort to push through.

There was also the part of Gary that had finally, finally let him accept that he missed Pete. And now he was getting a second chance with him, to fix things. To make things right.

He really, really didn't want to screw things up. That's why he was having so much trouble with this one, stupid, idiotic phone call.

(Rejection sensitive dysphoria, thou is a heartless bitch).

He was once again by the house phone, twirling the wire around his finger as he held it up to his ear. He chewed on his lip as he continued what had become a daily debate in his head: to call, or not to call?

Fuck it, he said, and dialed the number.

Pete picked up on the third ring. "Hello?"

Gary took in a sharp breath as the static in his head got louder. Was this a good idea? Probably not. Why did he trust Jimmy? Jimmy was a moron, how would he know what Pete thought?

"Hello? Is this a prank caller?" Pete asked, sounding slightly annoyed.

"No!" Gary spoke and then cleared his throat. "No, uh, its-"

"Gary? Is that you?"

"Yes! Yes."

"Holy crap, I thought you were still in-?"

"No, I got released a few months ago. I ran into Jimmy and he said you've missed me, so-"

"If this is going to be another teasing session about how 'homosexual' I am, I swear I will end this call right-"

"No no no, its the opposite actually. I wanted to apologize."

The line fell silent, and Gary shifted from foot to foot as nerves raced through him. Pointless restless energy. Only ADHD things.

"Look, I really messed up with you."

"Uh-huh. I know."

"And I wanted to say I really, really regret it. You were one of my best friends."

"And?"

"And I'm sorry. You deserved so much better than how I treated you."

Another silence. There was a noise as if someone had sat down a dish. "Listen, if you expect me to just accept, then I don't think I can do that."

Gary's finger twitched and he rested his head back on the wall. "I understand."

"But I'll give you the chance to prove that I should accept." Pete's voice was quieter now. "You just... you just have to prove it to me through actions, not say sorry and go right back to being a jerk."

"Yeah." Gary said, equally as quiet.

"Do you want to meet up sometime? To catch up?" Pete asked, and Gary had to fight to keep down the grin spreading over his face.

"I'd like that," he answered.

He might not have been forgiven yet, but he'd take what he could get.

-

They made plans to meet at a small cafe just outside of Bullworth Vale that following Thursday.

-

Pete Kowalski, senior of Bullworth Academy, sat in the quiet coffee shop that he had recommended for his and Gary's little "outing."

He had brought his laptop, as he had an essay due for his current English class and like hell was he going to pass up an opportunity to write it in a quiet space. He had actually arrived early in order to start it, since he knew Gary liked to ramble on, and he wanted to get some work done before he was interrupted.

He also wanted to think, which he had been doing between writing paragraphs analyzing the societal symbolism in The Scarlet Letter. His thoughts were turned towards the boy who he was currently meeting today, his good friend, Gary Smith.

He had missed Gary, if he were being honest. That didn't make him any less bitter about the things Gary had done to him, but it was still a cemented fact nonetheless. Gary Smith just... felt like his own addiction. Once you were around him once, he wouldn't get out of your head, and you wanted to see him again and again.

So Pete had decided to meet him here.

Of course, Pete wasn't stupid by any means. If Gary showed up acting like he had the last time they met, Pete would end all arrangements here. But Gary had shown... actual remorse. It was more than he had seen from him in a long time.

He just, really hoped it would work out well.

When the time came for him to show, the small bell over the door rang, signifying that someone had entered the coffee shop. Pete lifted his eyes and was immediately faced with the boy he had been crushing on for a good few years now.

Gary Smith, although he looked significantly less Smith(tm) now, his facial features softened but what could only be newfound maturity. Gary's brown eyes scanned the room and landed on him, and Pete swore his heart fell into his throat.

He was just so handsome. It wasn't fair, when Pete was supposed to be angry at his dumbass.

Gary approached the table, a lot less intimidating in his stride but still as confident as ever. The closer he got, the more his face cracked into a grin, sporting the gap in his teeth.

"Petey. Long time, no see!"

Pete couldn't help but smile faintly. "Hey. Go ahead and take a seat."

Gary slid into the table opposite from him and reached over to grab Pete's cup of coffee without warning. "What are you doing?"

"I could ask you the same. That's my coffee, Gare." Pete huffed and watched as Gary froze halfway to putting the cup to his mouth. A red blush spread over his face and he grumbled, setting the cup down.

"Yeah, sure. Don't share then."

"Don't be a dick. And I'm working on my English essay, to answer your question."

"Essays aren't too hard to write as long as you can focus on them."

"Well, yeah." Pete shrugged and looked down at the computer. He knew Gary had pretty much a natural talent at anything academic. "It just takes up a lot of time."

"What's the essay on?"

"The Scarlet Letter. You ever read that book?"

"Duh? Everyone in our grade has read that stupid ass novel. Its notorious for being boring." Gary rolled his eyes and Pete cracked a smile.

"Yeah, it honestly is. Doesn't stop the teacher from assigning it, though."

"Did you get Galloway again?"

"Nah. Got an actual competent teacher who makes us do stuff."

"Oh, I bet Bullworth isn't taking that one well." Gary smirked and leaned forward. He practically radiated smugness. "How has it been, with ol' James Bitchfucker Hopkins there to rule it?"

"You know, you could be nice to him for once instead of insulting him every other sentence." Petey chastised and rolled his eyes.

"Its our dynamic, Peter. Gotta insult him before the weirdos think I'm getting soft on him." Gary laughed. "Now answer the question."

"Yeah, yeah. Bossy." Pete looked at the words on his screen and then sighed, closing his laptop. Seems his work time was over. "Things have calmed down a lot, actually... the cliques all kind of kiss up to Jimmy, and in turn he settles all their disputes for pocket cash before they can get too violent. Its honestly kind of nice?... A lot of people have, uh, come out recently, and Jimmy's been beating up people who make fun of them."

"Come out?" Gary eyed him. Pete wasn't sure if he was making up the accusation in the burning stare or not. "As in...?"

"Gay, of course." Pete's cheeks burned. He almost wished he hadn't brought it up. "Jimmy is - he's bi, you know? He's been talking to a lot of kids who have come to them about their sexuality, like, um, Mandy-"

"Mandy??? The girl who is always clinging to a guy?"

"She doesn't do that anymore. She even talks to the nerds now, sometimes. As in, like, nicely." Pete shrugged and shifted. "She, she came out as a lesbian."

"What the hell." Gary furrowed his brow. "Did Jimmy put queer shit in the water?"

"Gary, don't say that, its rude. And no, Jimmy just..." Pete chewed his bottom lip and smiled. "He's supportive."

Gary pursed his mouth into a tight frown and Pete narrowed his eyes, his smile falling. "If you say something homophobic, I will cut you."

"Jesus, Pete, I leave you alone for a year and a half and you turn into the sass master. No, I wasn't going to say anything homophobic." He scoffed and turned his head to the side, purposefully ignoring Pete. Pete felt his cheeks burn.

"Okay, well, I just - wanted to make sure. Since, you know. I'm bisexual."

Gary snapped his head around to stare at Pete, and Pete felt his cheeks grow darker. "Stop looking so surprised. You already suspected it."

"I thought - I didn't - what?"

"Weren't you the one to call out the fact that I stared at boys for too long, repeatedly, for years?"

"I never thought you'd actually admit to it."

"Yeah, well, I wouldn't have if I'd had stayed around you." Pete said, coming off colder than he meant to. When Gary's face fell, he blushed and put his hands up. "I- shit, I didn't mean it like that, don't get upset. I just... you weren't the most accepting, Gary. I needed someone who would be so that I could experiment without feeling dirty."

Gary stared at him and then glanced out the window, huffing and setting his face in a tight line. "Yeah, okay. I get it. You don't have to explain."

"So... are you okay with it?"

"Obviously." Gary turned a glare at him, looking annoyed at the implications, and Pete smiled softly.

"Cool."

-

The two boys fell into a familiar routine after that, with Gary visiting the coffee shop after class on Wednesday to talk. On weekends, when he had nothing to do, he would call up Pete or Jimmy - sometimes even both of them - and they'd walk along the train tracks, talking as they relaxed in the quiet wilderness.

It was nice.

-

February, 2009.

"So I was like, dude, can you shut up already and give me the dang pencil? I don't care if it has MLP on it."

Gary snorted. "Is it really that surprising that Trent was into MLP?"

"No! That's why I didn't give a shit!" Pete laughed from beside him, and Gary couldn't help the chuckle that escaped him. Pete's laughter was infectious.

Their shoes made crunching noises on the gravel as they walked along the train track. They had been walking like this for a good twenty minutes as they caught up on their week.

"Valentine's Day is coming up." Gary mused. "Do you have a date?"

"Who? Me? Pete Kowalski, the quiet kid? Please." Pete chuckled softly, but it sounded sad more than anything.

"Hey, I wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt." Gary teased and gently shoved him. "Do you have anyone you want to date?"

"What, like a crush?"

"Yeah."

"Well..." Pete hesitated.

"You do have someone." Gary grinned as Pete returned to his side. "Who is it? Don't tell me its MLP boy."

"Trent? Ew, no. I'm not Jimmy, man."

"Is it Jimmy?"

"What?"

"Is it Hopkins?" Gary rose an eyebrow. Pete blinked, seeming caught off guard.

"No, of course not. I mean, Jimmy is cool and all, but..." Pete shrugged and glanced away. "I just, like someone else."

"Who, then?"

"Why do you want to know so bad?"

"Because I'm curious. Bite me."

"Curiosity killed the cat."

"Satisfaction brought it back. Just tell me, Pete, please?"

"I..." Pete stopped abruptly and Gary turned, alarmed as a frown made its way on Pete's face. "I don't want to talk about it, okay?"

Well, that's not weird at all. Gary let his eyes roll up and down Pete's figure, reading his body language (which screamed I'M SAD! in all caps), and then sighed. "Okay."

"Thanks." Pete smiled softly.

Gary wondered just why it bothered him so much in the days to follow.

-

Gary finished his junior year assignments and started his senior year courseload, feeling a lot happier now that he was in the proper grade level, even if he was behind by a small margin.

Despite that, his thoughts were mostly on one person: Pete.

For some reason, it bothered him knowing that Pete had a crush. Especially one that he wouldn't tell Gary about.

It felt like... this strange mix of anger, worry, and sad that Gary wasn't quite able to process.

Mostly because it felt an awful lot like jealousy, and he was not going to be jealous over Pete Kowalski, especially considering that had even deeper implications such as the idea that he might not be as heterosexual as he once thought.

Not that he had ever been attracted to girls, which... honestly, confused him more. Did that mean he was gay? But it couldn't. He hadn't ever been attracted to anyone except Pete. Maybe he wasn't... anything. Maybe he was just Gary.

Did sexuality have to be as labeled as Pete and Jimmy's? And, fuck, why was he even considering this in the first place, he so totally did not have a crush on Pete because he was NOT jealous.

A loud snap brought him out of his thoughts, and he realized he had broken his pencil. Fuck.

-

March, 2009.

February passed with little to offer. Valentine's Day found Gary wandering Bullworth Vale - Pete said he didn't feel like leaving the house, and Jimmy had a date. Overall, it was uneventful, except for the fact that Gary couldn't stop thinking about Pete.

Spring break would be coming up, the first week of April. Jimmy had suggested that they go camping by the train tracks. Gary had agreed, trying to ignore the pounding of his heart when he thought of Pete being there, sharing a tent with him.

-

April, 2009.

"Tent building is hard." Gary breathed out heavily as he leaned across a nearby tree.

"Lazy ass." Jimmy passed him with some firewood in his arms, hitting Gary lightly over the head. Gary rose an arm to shove his hand away.

"Shut up. Pete's complaining too." Gary pouted.

"Pete's different." Jimmy passed said boy, who was sitting on a treestump, and gave him a friendly smile. Gary felt jealousy pulse through his veins.

Okay, so he had accepted he was jealous. But that didn't mean anything. So.

"Pete's a loser." Gary retorted and playfully smirked at the boy, who rolled his eyes.

They had spent the first hour or so setting up camp before the sun went down. It had made two out of three of them tired, with Jimmy being unable to feel exhaustion ever.

As Jimmy began to build the campfire, Gary moved from the tree he was leaning against to settle next to Pete. His heart beat hard in his chest as their knees brushed.

"So, little Petey, are you ready for a night with the creepypastas?" Gary teased and shoved him lightly.

"Shut up. Its bad enough that you've been trying to get me into them without mentioning them here." Pete huffed at him, putting one hand up to shove his face away. Gary laughed, ignoring the tingle that ran through his skin where Pete's hand made contact.

"They're fun! Come on, your gay ass can't tell me you don't find at least one of them attractive."

"They kill people!"

"So?"

Pete opened his mouth to respond, then seemed to think better of it, pouting instead. "Shut up."

Gary felt his face slip into a familiar grin. He let his eyes trail over Pete's face as the boy turned away to watch Jimmy, taking in his soft brown eyes. When he smiles he gets dimples...

He felt a burning stare pierce through him, and slowly turned his head to see Jimmy giving him a knowing look with a raised eyebrow. Gary felt panic shoot through him, but externally he kept his face in the same grin.

"Done yet, James?"

Jimmy studied him curiously and then looked back at the fire. "Yeah. Should be enough for the night."

"I brought stuff for smores." Pete smirked and moved away from Gary. He tried not to be disappointed at the distance.

"Hell yeah, we like, gotta roast marshies. That's the first fuckin' rule of camping." Jimmy smirked and sat down by the fire. The sun wasn't down yet, but it was steadily approaching the horizon - it would be sunset soon.

"Marshies?" Pete laughed. "Are you in grade school?"

"Hey, don't diss my flow. Marshies are the bomb, man."

"You're so weird." Gary rolled his eyes and Jimmy shrugged.

They spent the next few minutes unpacking the food, preparing to make dinner. The campsite they had picked out had a grill nearby, and Pete had brought burgers for them all to eat. Jimmy lit the grill and left Pete to cook as Gary stayed by the fire just a little ways off.

"Hey." Jimmy greeted, his voice quiet as he sat down next to Gary, moving to rest his hands on his knees. "I need to talk to you."

"What is it?" Gary rose an eyebrow. "Does Pete need help with something?"

"Nah, that little dude's got it all figured out. I was gonna grill but he insisted. He's had a fascination with cooking ever since his parents decided he was old enough to touch the stove." He chuckled and shrugged.

"Then what?" Gary pulled his knees to his chest, eyeing Jimmy out of the corner of his eye suspiciously.

"Look, man. I don't want to pry, since I know it isn't any of my buisness, but... I see the way you and Pete look at each other."

Gary felt his blood run cold, and he turned his head to look at his friend. "I don't know what you're-"

"Earlier you spent like fifteen seconds staring at his face man, you were practically swooning like a stupid schoolgirl. Its so blatantly obvious that you like him."

"I..." Gary was at a loss for words, panic rising up in his chest. "No, no no no I-"

"I'm not going to tell him or anything." Jimmy held his hands up. "I just want to say... if you mess up with him again, I'm gonna have to kick your ass, alright? So, don't."

"What?" Gary breathed out. No, no no, it can't be that obvious. I thought I was hiding it better than this, I can't like Pete, I can't.

"I'm rooting for the two of you. You two deserve to he happy and its obvious he likes you back, so..." Jimmy shrugged and then furrowed his brow. "Are you okay?"

Gary realised then that he was hyperventilating. "What? Yeah."

"Gary, man, take it easy." Jimmy reached out, hesitated an inch away from him, and then gently allowed his fingers to snag around Gary's wrist once he was allowed. "Look at me. Focus on my hand. Breathe in, breathe out."

Gary took in a deep breath, letting himself focused on the calloused feel of Jimmy's hand around his wrist. He released his breath, and looked at Jimmy. Breathe in, breathe out. Repeat.

When he was calm enough, Jimmy let him go and nodded awkwardly. "You good?"

"Yeah." Gary muttered, embarrassment pooling in the pit of his stomach.

"So did I assume right?..." Jimmy murmured, keeping his voice low. Gary nodded, looking into the fire. The heat coming off of it soothed him.

"Really? Does that mean you're gay?"

"I... have no idea?" He could feel his face flushing. "Look, don't tell him, okay? I've only figured it out recently-"

"Recently? You've been looking at him like he's your princess ever since you came back into our lives."

"Don't tease me Hopkins, okay? Fuck you. I was in denial about it, it isn't every day that I actually like someone, let alone like them in that way."

"Yeah, yeah, you're an emotional robot, we get it." Jimmy rolled his eyes. "I won't tell him. But you should. He likes you back, I can tell."

Did he? Gary pursed his lips together and stared into the fire, choosing not to comment. But why would he?

He spent the rest of the night in bewilderment as they roasted "marshies," told horror stories, and eventually went to sleep in the tent. It was weird, sleeping beside Pete with the revelation he had just been presented, and he tried very hard not to freak out.

Eventually, morning came, and Gary got up, groggy from anxious sleep. They had to pack up and then they'd be heading back.

He really, really hated the disappointment he felt because of that.

-

May, 2009.

Gary decided that emotions were not something he was very strongly suited for.

He had been avoiding Pete, unsure how to feel about his conversation with Jimmy. Part of him still did not want to accept that he was capable of a crush, let alone a crush on a guy. (God, his father would be so pissed). The other part of him wanted to accept it and let go, because Pete was cute and smart and kind and... well, Pete.

As the month went on, Gary found himself missing Pete more and more. It was easy to cancel plans under the guise of schoolwork, but it was becoming excessive. And, well...

Maybe it was time for him to admit to himself that yeah, he was queer. He wasn't sure of the proper term (gay? bi? who knows) but he knew he was LGBTQ+ of some origin. And...

Well, Jimmy had given him a vote of confidence. Maybe he should just go for it.

He held off for a few weeks, but Gary was never one to deny himself what he really wanted. And he wanted Petey to look at him, more than anything.

He decided that he'd have to do this. It was time. And, readying himself, he began to devise a plan.

-

Pete had a burning frustration for all days dedicated to couples. He had always wanted to be a part of a relationship. It wasn't that he hated being single; he just... wanted to know what that connection was like. And, well, he also wanted to like someone that was actually obtainable for once.

Because of this, he tended to lock himself in his dorms during those days. And, here he was once again, in his dorm.

It was Prom Night, and Peter Kowalski had bought a new book to read to distract himself from the painful torture that is Being Single.

A knock on the door distracted him from Pip's adventure into newfound wealth. He stood up and went to answer it, curiousity pumping through him. Jimmy was the only one who ever came to his dorm, but Jimmy had told him he had a date tonight.

He opened the door to find Gary Smith there, a grin on his face and a suit in his hand. He was dressed in formal attire of his own, making Pete's heart skip a beat.

That is, until it hit him. "Gary? What are you doing here? You aren't allowed on school property."

Gary shrugged. "It isn't like the Prefects will care anyway. Its prom, Pete."

Okay, he had a point. "Still... do you have a date or something?"

Gary's grin widened. "Yes, actually." Abruptly, he shoved the suit into Pete's hands. "Get changed, we're going out."

"What?" Pete furrowed his brow. "But... what about your date?"

"Do I need to spell it out for you? We're going out. I already bought the suit for you and everything."

It clicked in Pete's head, and he flushed a bright red. "Oh!" He squeaked. "Okay!"

He went back in his room and quickly changed. He had not been expecting this, and part of him was still sure that it was a prank? (If it was, well, he'd deal with it later).

Pete stepped out of his room in the new suit. Gary's eyes scanned down over his body, and Pete flushed red, fidgeting nervously. "Is this... okay?"

"Its perfect." Gary told him, reaching out to grab his hand. Pete could see the faintest traces of red blush on Gary's face. "Let's go."

"Wait." Pete stopped him. Gary turned to him, looking annoyed. "For clarification. Are - are we dating now? Like, um, boyfriends."

Gary narrowed his eyes. "Ugh, that's such a stupid term."

"Well?"

"I guess. If you want to be b-words then I'm here for it." Gary glanced away from him.

Pete broke into a grin. "Okay." He said, very quiet, as happiness settled in his chest.

"Are you ready now?"

"Yeah. Yeah, let's go."