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kushielsmercy · 4 years

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Bright and Light and Loud

A little drabble where I project my own depression onto Jaskier. I tend to think people with mental health issues get particularly good at “performing” just to get through daily life, so even though Geralt is a big grump I actually think Jaskier is the more likely of the two to just sometimes...run dry. Anyway, this is mostly for me but I hope someone else enjoys!

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Jaskier looks up from his ale, surprised to find Geralt mid-lecture. He must have missed the build up, which is disappointing.

It is a well worn argument that takes a well worn course. Even without paying attention, Jaskier knows that Geralt started by spending exactly thirty-two seconds trying to bind Jaskier to his chair by glare alone. Then, when he realized he would have to use his words, he spent another ten seconds taking a single slow, deep, breath. Geralt surely sighed, started to speak, aborted, and then five seconds later got going for real.

The absolute predictability is both comforting and infuriating. Jaskier is not convinced that Geralt isn’t just having him on, so he usually tries to pay attention from the start. When the Witcher slips up Jaskier will catch him.

Geral’s lecture is already in full swing, and...oh. There it is. That lovely hint of a growl which colors his voice when he gets agitated. Jaskier idly wonders if Geralt will ever realize that Jaskier might stop baiting him if Geralt didn’t rise to each occasion so beautifully.

“-mated pairs are dangerous, Jaskier. My attention will be divided and for once in your life I need you to listen to me and stay. the. fuck. here.”

Jaskier knows his lines in this script. This is the part where he brushes off the danger, where he whines and wheedles and then finally promises to stay behind. Of course, he will follow anyway. Jaskier will be damned before he lets Geralt bleed out in some field while Jaskier was busy chasing bosom or bottle.

He opens his mouth to say his part, pulling in a low and deep breath as he prepares his monologue. He pushes his breath up from his abdomen, rolls it up his ribcage, and by the time the breath starts to crest his throat he finds he’s already exhausted. He lets the breath out in a rush.

Jaskier closes his eyes.

Geralt is still lecturing at a rate Jaskier thinks he should be flattered by, the man must have been taking notes.

Jaskier braces himself, then shoves the words forward.

“...okay Geralt, okay.”

“I don’t care that you need material, you will stay here where you are --” Geralt breaks off mid-sentence, blinking. He stares at Jaskier, clearly trying to assess if this easy agreement was some new gambit.

After a long moment, Geralt’s shoulders drop.

“...alright, good. That’s...good”.

Geralt keeps staring; small noises rise from the back of his throat as he searches for new lines. But Jaskier is the wordsmith and Geralt a dancer. After another long moment, Geralt meets Jaskier’s eyes, nods deeply, and then clasps his hands on their table and shoves his chair back in one fluid motion. He is graceful even as he strides out the door.

Jaskier’s relief is instant; his guilt a step behind. The smile he’d been holding drops and his vision blurs as he stares at the empty doorway.

He hates when he gets like this, when food is bland and songs are fleeting. What good is a bard who cannot enjoy the spices of life? How can he stir emotion in a stranger when he can’t in himself?

The minutes pass Jaskier by.

His beer is warming, but it is too much energy to lift his arm and drink. Soon, very soon, he knows he is going to have to drag himself upstairs to their room, get his medical kit, and find Geralt. The world may be grey, but Geralt bleeds red. And someone needs to be there to patch him up.

He will bear Geralt’s anger tonight and then head to the city tomorrow. There’s a competition starting next week where the judges will value his perfect pitch, deft fingers, and classic repertoire. Inspiration is not needed when perfection will suffice. Geralt need not suffer him like this, not when Jaskier cannot even bring good coin. A traveling bard who cannot entertain is no bard at all.

Once the color returns to his world he will return to his white wolf. He will make himself large; fill the cracks and crevices in a room until there is no room left for the hatred of strangers. He will be Jaskier - bright and light and loud. Jaskier is sure of his place in this world. But today...Julian is tired.

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milomeepit · 5 years

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An Untitled Document (Roman Angst Oneshot)

Ship: Roceit, background Analogical TW: Depression, anxiety, past abuse mention, unhealthy habits, dysphoria mention, brief eating disorder, death mention, bad family past, brief past mention of violence Word Count: 2k AN: ... yep.

Roman groaned as he tapped his fingers against the keyboard of his laptop. The sunlight streaming in through the window left a blinding white glare on the upper half of the screen, but he didn’t quite care enough to be bothered getting up and closing the curtain. He instead angled it down, sinking lower into the wooden dining chair. His back would surely complain later, but a shower would probably fix any aches or pains from the awkward position.

He wondered if he should get up and walk around for a bit, stretch his legs and give himself a break from his (apparently fruitless) efforts to work. But, then again, it seemed wrong to give himself a break when he hadn’t really done anything.

He had eaten breakfast- if cold leftover pizza and too-strong coffee counted as breakfast- and fed his pets. He’d even played with the cats for a while, and that had left a fleeting smile on his face as he sat down at the dining table with another cup of coffee and a bottle of soda to sip at while he worked.

The last dregs of coffee sat untouched in the cup, now cold and cloudy, while the soda was half-gone already. His teeth felt rough and slimy, coated in the absurd amounts of sugar from the unhealthy drink. The document on screen hadn’t changed since he sat down an hour and a half ago, the cursor blinking and taunting him. Sure, he’d written and rewritten and deleted a few hundred words, but nothing he’d written seemed good enough.

Writing was supposed to be his passion, the thing he could still grab and hold close to his chest when things got rough. It was all he had left at this point. He couldn’t dance anymore, not with the weak knees he’d inherited from his mother, and his own growing ankle issues from several years of working on his feet for whole days with no breaks. He couldn’t remember the last time he performed a song or in a play, the foggy memories of hot stage lights and elaborate costumes and giggling, whispered conversations in dressing rooms now leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. Drawing and painting was an option, still, but they were never really his, not after the ridicule he’d received through highschool from one particularly sharp-tongued art teacher.

Roman’s stomach growled, and he grimaced, glancing at the clock. Only eleven o’clock. He couldn’t eat until one, at the very least. He couldn’t let himself slip into comfort eating again, not when he still had a generously padded belly, not when flab swung off the bottom of his arms, not when his back fat poked unattractively out of the bottom of his binder, not when-

He shook his head, as if to clear it like one of the Etch A Sketch boards his nephew loved. He was in a bad enough headspace right now without spiralling down into a dysphoric, self-body-hating hellscape.

He instead turned his attention back to his phone, which sat on the table between him and his laptop, and continued scrolling blankly through social media. Memes and posts and videos flashed past his eyes, some of them drawing a faint smirk or an amused huff. He sent a few to Dee. He was well aware that his fiance was at work, but some of them would hopefully give him a smile when he went on break later.

He set his phone down again and took an absentminded swig from the bottle of soda. He winced as it grated against his teeth, the sugar almost hurting his teeth as it swirled down his throat. He ran his tongue over his teeth, prodding at them gently. He hissed sharply as he got to the loose one at the bottom of his mouth. Adults probably weren’t meant to have loose teeth, he thought to himself. He probably needed to see a dentist. When he could afford it. If he could afford it.

11:11am. Roman spent a few seconds trying to think of a wish, but before his mind could grasp a solid thought, the clock ticked over, and the moment was gone. It was all rubbish, anyway. Wishes didn’t come true, and life was cruel to those who didn’t deserve it. Dee was one of the best people he’d ever met, and certainly his favourite, yet he was a ball of anxiety and guilt complexes. He deserved to feel confident about himself, to love his laugh and his soft tummy and his small stature that put him at the perfect height for cuddling, to love his loud way of speaking and his passion for those he cared about. Roman certainly loved them, more than words could say.

He was jolted from his thoughts by his phone buzzing with a message from Dee. He must have been on break already. Roman had yet to pin down the break times scattered throughout his shift, so he never knew exactly when his beloved would be online during the day.

snakememesaremadeofthese [11:16]: good morning darling <3 how did you sleep? cocoa_crowns [11:16]: hi, love <33 alright, how’s work going? snakememesaremadeofthese [11:16]: oh, you know, same old same old. It’s.. a day pft snakememesaremadeofthese [11:17]: what are you up to? cocoa_crowns [11:17]: nothing much really, just dishes and laundry

That was a complete lie, but Roman couldn’t quite face telling Dee he hadn’t touched the chores they discussed last night. He fully intended to do them before Dee got home, that was for certain! Just... not right now.

snakememesaremadeofthese [11:17]: so, are you working this weekend or? cocoa_crowns [11:17]: i havent gotten a shift request yet so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ snakememesaremadeofthese [11:17]: all good, that means we can stay home over my long weekend, do some cleaning and stuff.

Roman let out a soft whine. He’d honestly been hoping that he would get a job request for the weekend, between rough finances and missing his older brother. Logan seemed happy to let them stay at his and Virgil’s house over the weekend when Roman was working, though that was likely because Roman was working for Virgil.

At least Dee usually didn’t seem to mind hanging out at their place while Roman was working. He spent most of his time with Logan and Virgil’s three year old son, Patton. Patton, for his part, adored Dee as if he’d hung the moon and stars in the sky with his own hand. It was cute to see, even if a tiny part of Roman stung with jealousy over being replaced as Patton’s favourite. He genuinely did love seeing the two of them cuddled up on the couch together, playing with toys or watching TV or talking.

It made him excited for the idea of having children, in all honesty. Dee had made his desire to one day have kids clear pretty early on, and Roman had to say he agreed. For a long time, he hated the idea of having children- mostly because he didn’t want to be pregnant, the very idea of it set off his dysphoria like an alarm bell- but he didn’t mind the idea of raising a child with Dee.

Speaking of... he turned back to the computer, squinting at the bright white screen. It was meant to be a story about adoption and found families and unconditional love and hope, but... he just couldn’t get it to click. No matter what he wrote, the tone didn’t feel right for what he was trying to hit. It was just... Wrong, and he hated himself for it.

Writing was meant to be the one thing. His thing. But it just wouldn’t flow, no matter how hard he tried, or what tips and tricks he tested out, or how many breaks he took, or what projects he tried to work on. He loved these stories and characters with his whole heart, and he knew people would be interested in this story- after all, he’d gotten a great reception from the first installment in his planned series. He could talk about them for hours, gush about his plans and ideas and characters, but when it came to actually writing them?

Not a chance.

His heart ached. He felt like he was spinning in the same circles as he had been for months. New house, an (ex boyfriend) friend turned vaguely irritating housemate, new pets, a possible new job that would pay well but he was certain he would loathe- despite Dee’s company during breaks- all of these changes were throwing him off rhythm, and while he was sure that they were for the best, and long term, they would help him live a Happy Life, it was upsetting.

A small, shameful part of him wanted to go home. Not home back to the shared house he had been miserable in, despite only living there for a few short months, not home back to Logan and Virgil’s house, but back to the house he grew up in. It was filthy and toxic, and the people there weren’t much better, but it was familiar. It was regular. He knew how to navigate the treacherous landscape of rotting food left piled in the kitchen, of insults screamed over minute irritations, of the stench from medical issues improperly treated, of prescription medications abused and leaving the mother who was meant to protect him in a drug induced haze, of his father bellowing and throwing things and breaking precious objects and walls (and, in some terrifying cases, people), of the two middle brothers fighting and not understanding why it upset him so. He knew how to try and keep the peace, and how to cope when he failed, as was so often the case in that household. He knew who to talk to and who to avoid in that neighborhood, who to run to if he got in a fight, who to stand up against and who to back down from. The scars from knife wounds in his youth had taught him lessons more valuable than his rundown school ever had.

He didn’t realise that he was crying until a fat tear plopped onto the dining table, narrowly missing his phone screen. He hated that he missed it. He hated that he missed his father, despite swearing off contact with him after coming away from their last conversation with a black eye. He hated that both he and Logan were deliberately keeping their mother at arm’s length, trying to save themselves from the pain of her likely-approaching death. He hated that his other brothers were good people, people he loved, and he couldn’t even go near them anymore out of fear for their parents.

Roman glanced at the clock blinking in the lower corner of his computer screen. An hour and a half had passed since Dee had messaged him, and he hadn’t moved from his slouched position at the dining table. He probably had roughly three hours to do everything else he needed to do before Dee got home. That should be plenty of time. Should be.

He noticed numbly that he hadn’t yet changed out of his pyjamas, just thrown on the cat hoodie he’d bought at a convention a few years ago to show it to the kittens and see if they would cuddle up in the large pocket on the front. He probably needed to shower, as well. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d bathed.

... Well, that wasn’t entirely accurate. He knew he’d had a bath at least semi-recently, because he remembered using one of the bath bombs that he and Dee had gotten at the pharmacy near Logan’s house the other weekend.

He twisted a finger into his hair, pulling his fringe down over his eyes to inspect it. It didn’t feel too greasy, and it looked fine. He was probably fine. Though he should at least wash his face, to deal with his blotchy cheeks and red eyes, if nothing else. Maybe slap on some makeup and go for a walk in the pleasant weather outside. Take the dog with him, wander around town a bit.

As he stared out the window at Dee’s dog, who was sprinting wildly up and down her tether, probably chasing some bug or lizard, he felt his heart sink. He knew he wasn’t going to do any of that. Pipe dreams for someone with far more energy and functionality than he possessed lately.

So, instead, trying his best to ignore the looming sense of dread he felt, and the anxiety he could feel building over Dee’s return and subsequent disappointment over his lack of productivity, he turned his still tear-blurred gaze back to the too-bright screen of the laptop, readied his fingers over the keyboard, and attempted once again to write.

Depression, anxiety, past abuse mention, unhealthy habits, dysphoria mention, brief eating disorder, death mention, bad family past, brief past mention of violence

#milo writes #roman sanders #sanders sides #deceit sanders #logan sanders #virgil sanders #patton sanders #roceit #analogical #depression #dysphoria mention #death mention #violence mention #anxiety #fanfic #fanfiction #thomas sanders #fun fact roman cried because i did :)#fun fact the second i pretty much want to die right now :)

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lilith-lovett · 5 years

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Found Families - Home is Where the Hart is

Character Head-canons

Logan Baxter

- Logan is twelve as of the beginning of the story.

- Logan was eight when his parents were arrested, major incident had occurred (I will not spoil it) and the police were called to the house and all of their abuse was brought to the surface.

- Since then he has been to three different orphanages over four years none of which he had any good experiences at.

- He has always had a love for learning often coming up with his own research projects to keep himself occupied. Some of his favourite subjects are astronomy, robotics and human behaviours.

- He also has a passion for reading and is often seen with a book in his hand, reading almost all hours of the day particularly when he can’t sleep and so he will read by flashlight. His favourite book (as of the beginning of the story) is A Study in Scarlet by Arthur Conan Doyle.

- Logan exhibits traits of autism but had never been officially been diagnosed, so when he first discovered the condition and fit the symptoms and traits to himself he self-diagnosed himself.

- He has a list which was created by his parents of extremely strict rules he had to follow while he was still in their care but he still has this list and still follows most of the rules on it.

Patton Hart

- Patton has always wanted to be a dad, ever since he was young and once he finally had a stable job and income he decided to adopt his first child Roman. Since then he has adopted half-brothers Virgil and Declan (Dee) and is now planning on adopting his fourth.

- He was kicked out at age 17 after he came out to his parents as pan-sexual and moved in with Emile Picani his best friend and his parents Dot and Larry until he got onto his feet.

- He works two jobs to support his kids, part time as a teaching assistant for kinder-garden and the rest of the time as a supervisor at an animal shelter he used to volunteer at because of his love for both kids and animals.

- Patton often forgets to take care of himself especially when he is dealing with his kids issues. It got particularly bad after he adopted Virgil and Dee but his kiddos and Emile are always there to remind him that his needs are important too.

Roman Hart (Martez)

- Roman is 12 as of the beginning of the story.

- He was adopted by Patton when he was six years old and he had been in the care system since he was born.

- He was diagnosed with ADHD when he was seven after being adopted by Patton and was put on medication to manage it.

- He was put into theatre after Patton took him to see a show and Roman absolutely fell in love with acting and performing. His first ever role was Link Larkin in Hairspray.

- He is also an avid artist adoring all medium of art especially painting having sketchbooks full of his own works and many of his completed pieces Patton has hanging up in the house.

- He and Virgil argue almost constantly about literally everything they have made improvements having gotten used to each other presence but both still have a long list of nicknames they use to annoy the other. Roman’s favourite for Virgil are Panic at the Everywhere and Jack Smellington.

Virgil Hart (Storm)

- Virgil is 10 as of the beginning of the story.

- He was the second to be adopted by Patton along with his younger half brother Dee who came from the same abusive home as him.

- Because of his past trauma Virgil developed a lot of severe mental issues as a result such as PTSD, depression, anxiety among other which he deals with on a daily basis and has recently began to see a therapist.

- He is obsessed with music and is currently teaching himself to play the acoustic guitar, later writing his own original songs as a coping mechanism.

- He also write almost constantly angsty poetry and high fantasy stories as a form of escapism and self-expression which he swore he would never show anyone for his entire existence when went out of the window pretty quickly when he accidentally let it slip to Patton about a short stories he was really proud of and since then he felt less anxious about sharing his writing with his family.

- Because of his blood relationship with Dee he is naturally extremely protective of him as typically back home he was solely responsible for caring for him the two brother are usually conjoined at the hip and anyone who messes with Dee will have to deal with an extremely angry Virgil.

Declan ‘Dee’ Hart (Storm)

- Dee is 2 as of the beginning of the story.

- He was the second to be adopted by Patton along with his older half brother Virgil as Virgil refused to be separated from him.

- He has a large burn which covers the majority of his right side including a portion of his face which was caused by their parents, he has to wear glow to prevent him from scratching them as they can become quite uncomfortable.

- He has a lisp and has extremely limited speech since he only learned to talk from listening to Virgil.

- He has an obsession with all things snakes and even his half of his and Virgil’s shared room is almost entirely snake themed.

That is all I have for right now, I really hope you liked them. Sorry some of them got really angsty but the more angst the better am I right? I will probably have some more some time soon and I may be introducing some new character and I plan to make mood boards for all of the mains. Also the very first chapter is almost ready to be posted and is going through it’s last read through and then it will be ready. Thanks, hoped you liked my head-canons and stick around for the rest of the story.

#sander sides #sander sides au #adoption au #logan sanders #patton sanders #virgil sanders #deceit sanders #sympathetic deceit #thomas sanders #roman sanders #tw child abuse #tw anxiety #tw depression #tw ptsd #my writing #headcanon #Found Families #Home is Where the Hart is

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bluesfm · 5 years

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( park chaeyoung , twenty two , & cisfemale ) who ? these days , it’s all about blue hyong, who comes from los angeles & ca and is making headlines as a singer . she currently has a fan count of 42k , no thanks to the rumors of them being inflexible ! but , on the other hand , their most devout fans say they’re actually imaginative . last i heard , they caused quite a buzz when she publicly dissed her new record label and the misogynistic treatment she was receiving from their reps ! it’s no wonder they remind me of long rants in the notes app being posted to her twitter account , empty bottles of wine laying at recording studios’ floors & notebooks upon notebooks filled with lyrics she might never use but refuses to let go of .

well hello human friends !! n also hello to the non human friends too , wassup . i’m angie a dumb noodle from the middle of the south american jungle , and i’m here to introduce yall to this mess i call blue who’s a muse i have had for yrs now n carry w/ me wherever i go , with some minimal changes but she’s still the same messy bitch on the inside don’t worry folks ! so i will provide u w/ some background info on her n some possible connections under the cut . issa lil messy but we’ve been away for a while pls bear w me

blue is the only daughter to a couple of south korean immigrants that came to america when they were in their very early 20s n already expecting blue in order to chase the american dream n create a better life for themselves n their family . their life was pretty hard for a big part of blue’s childhood , while they were both studying n working odd jobs to pay for their education all the while taking care of a child . so blue didnt have the best childhood , not that her parents were bad or anything they just didnt have time for her . nowadays , they are a lot more comfortable in life , since her dad became a lawyer n her mom is a nurse , but they definitely didnt have an easy beginning .

ok so maybe bc they werent present durant most of her childhood they didnt notice a lol of signs that might have made things a lot easier for them , bc by the time they were available to emotionally be there , during her early teenage years , blue was already kinda a mess . she had grown up w very lil structure n refused the rules they tried to instill on her n was already used to doing things her own way . that lead to a lot of conflict between them , since they expected her to study hard n do well for herself in a nine to fiver when she was already sure art was the only way to go n while she did ok , she definitely wasn’t as good as her parents expected her to be .

so ... u know her teenage yrs were basic girl angsty she fought a lot w her parents n rebelled frequently n ran away from home like ... weekly , but she never rly had any real hardships . life was reasonably good but she always had something to complain abt ... just as she liked

[ MENTAL ILLNESS TW ]

but then she reached her late teens they all realized there was something going on other than the usual teenage angst she displayed all the time when she had her first manic episode . her parents thought it was a “ blue thing “ at first bc she was usually a very impulsive person n she rly didn’t have a habit of thinking before acting on her impulses , but her mom quickly noticed the signs of a manic episode when she realized how aggitated n restless she was , specially when blue described an hallucination she seemed to be having . they took her to a psychiatrist , she was admitted to a hospital n diagnosed w type 1 bipolar disorder n very quickly medicated . while the medication brought her out of her episode , n she was allowed to go home after her mood seemed to stabilize , blue also noticed it stunted her severely emotionally n decided ( against medical n parental advice [ pls dont do it fam !! take ur meds ] ) to quit her medication , falling into her first major depressive episode a few weeks afterwards . n for abt four years she’s been living w her disorder , n she doesn’t medicate at all . she’s super open abt her struggles n she has a Lot of them , specially w how much drugs n alcohol she consumes . i never said she was smart yall .

[ END OF TW ]

ok so as u probably assume , blue is an emotional mess . she has a very chaotic personality , n most of it isnt even from her illness or anything she just is a very chaotic person in general ? she is one of those artsy ppl who forgets to wash her own clothes so she ends up wearing the same dress for like , 3 days . she’s super outspoken n outgoing n rly easy at making friends if u can get past the dumbass energy she exudes 24/7 ? but yes just a very outgoing person n a outright mess most of the time . she is also soooo stubborn u will never get her to change her mind abt smth she believes to be right about in any way . u just cant . she loves a good time n loves partying n is the lack of impulse Queen soo if u got any bad ideas she is the one u should go for if u need any company . also .... so dramatic . she makes a big deal of everything n has 0 apologies abt that . just catch her crying over high school musical 3 or smth like that .

but yea on the bad side tho , blue takes up n gives up on projects so easily n she can be super fickle abt things in general . like , she will defend an idea for 7 hours but 2 days later she’s already onto smth else n doesnt even remember being so obsessive abt that other thing ? a mess . is also Quite abrasive ? if she thinks ur acting dumb shes not gonna be scared to call u out on it . can also have a Reaally explosive temper . not usually but specially during manic episodes she can be quite easy to annoy ngl . is very unreliable , especially if ur not too close .. tbh that is something connected to her disorder . when she’s on a manic episode , she will be too busy planning things she will never get around to doing or painting her entire house or spending 3 days awake n drunk writing 17 songs by herself . n during her depression is very hard to get her to do anything n even if she feels terrible , she rly cant be an available friend .

in regards to her sexuality , she’s an open bisexual and also is a crazy romantic n falls so hard for literally no reason . but like ... doesnt have the healthiest mentality for relationships ? not like in a toxic way but she will usually give 145% of herself at all times n honestly believes all of the ppl she falls for are the one (1) just wants to make things work no matter what . she’s v impulsive w/ meeting n falling for ppl tho so things dont rly end up working n she always ends up heartbroken over it . Well . At least she’s trying right ?

in regards to her career n art , she’s posted youtube covers n original songs for a couple years and gathered a decent following ? she wasnt huge or anything but she did get a record deal w an actual big label out of it a few months ago . blue was pretty happy abt it but then when the recording process started she realized they werent treating her as she thought she deserved at all ? which resulted on her taking her thoughts to some reps of the label n when she didn’t feel any difference in the way she was being treated she took it to the public ? which definitely caused quite a sitr bc she wasn’t a huge name but she was big enough ? so now she’s in some considerable trouble w her label but Also more famous than ever so they are choosing not to bury her for now ? she’s in some definite trouble though so it’ll be fun to see what happens next n what her moves will be ? spoiler alert : it’ll prob be smth dumb.

i still have so much to say but i’m so lazy wow . dont start ur intros so close to opening time folks thats my tip as an old internet auntie . OK SO ONTO SOME CONNECTIONS NOW

some label mates who she may or may not get along with ?

hookups !! she prob has a few she regrets too bc who doesnt am i right

best friends !! ppl who actually support her n she loves w no restrictions just love all around friends

exes </3 not gonna lie i have some sad ideas abt this one

good influence bc blue is a mess she needs one of those pls someone slap her head n make her drink some water

a fling she has feelings for but may not be requited ... i like my romantic connections to be angsty did yall notice

artistic soulmate !! someone her artistic bitch side just vibes with ? could be a songwriter or singer or anything tbh

some indecisive romantic shit where blue rly knows sh’s too messy n this person is too amazing ? but they still have feels so ... now what ?

this is p mcuh it ?? it has taken so long to finish this i hate myself but HEY if u like blue or dislike her u should hit me up so we can come up w some plot ideas ? i wish i had a quirky goodbye idea but my brain has just quit working guys so u get nothing from me other than a good old fashioned goodbye thanks for ur attention i love u

#cala.intro #sometimes i surprise even myself w how unorganized i can be #i am sorry this is so messy im trying to keep it on brand tm #also i cant believe i actually finished this

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ilovemygaydad · 5 years

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Friends in Dark Places [ch 5]

pairing: eventual moxiety, eventual logince, background eventual remile, background eventual remy/emile/deceit

WARNINGS: mentions of needles, mentions of antidepressants and anti-anxiety meds, mentions of self harm, mentions of depression, guilt, food mentions, possibly something else

tag list: @hufflepuffgirl01 @cocobearthe4th @cas-is-a-hunter@band-be-boss-blog @theunoriginaldaisy

a/n: so i have to repost all of these in a different format! yay fucking me!!!! please consider reblogging these if you’re a fan of this series because it’s all fucked up now

first - previous - next - companions

consider buying me a coffee (please)

Every few hours, a nurse would come in to check Virgil’s vitals and blood pressure and to ask questions about his mental well being. Each time a nurse entered, Virgil tensed. He was terrified that he could say something wrong--that one tiny misstep could see him shipped away to some mental facility where he’d be poked with needles all the time. Luckily, Patton was still there, keeping him grounded and in control of his thoughts. He was extremely grateful for that.

After a particularly intense meeting where they’d asked about self harm and pushed far too hard for his comfort, Patton pulled a small gift bag out of his backpack.

“I had Logan and Roman pick this up from the gift shop yesterday, but I decided to save it until you really needed it.” Pat placed the bag onto Virgil’s lap and watched expectantly. Virgil pulled away the tissue paper and gasped. There was a tiny cat plushie inside, which he took out with careful hands.

“This is awesome, Patton. Thank you.” A hint of a smile spread across his face.

“It’s no problem, kiddo! Now, why don’t we listen to some of that sweet music of yours? I know it calms you down.” Patton reached for the phone, but Virgil stopped him.

“Aren’t you missing a ton of school to stay here, Pat? Don’t get me wrong; it’s nice to have you around as moral support, but I don’t want you to fall behind.” He rhythmically squeezed his new plushie in an attempt to stay calm.

“Roman and Logan will bring me my school stuff tonight, and I can access lessons online for most of my classes. Don’t worry about me, kiddo. Worry about yourself.”

“Alright…”

---

Over the days, Patton and Virgil fell into a simple rhythm. There were three check-ins before lunch, three before Logan and Roman showed up at around 4, one before dinner, and two before Logan and Roman left for the night. Even though they had to stay an extra half-day “just to be sure,” the schedule stayed the same, and Virgil didn’t really worry about it. When he was finally discharged on Saturday morning, the doctor had offered to prescribe antidepressants and anti-anxiety medication.

“It might help with your suicidal ideations,” he’d coaxed. He had the same sugary sweet twinge in his voice that the nurses had as if he was trying too hard to be genuine.

“Um, that’s okay. I don’t think I’ll need them.” Virgil’s voice was shaky. He didn’t want to take any medicines that messed with his brain, especially ones that had a higher chance of addiction. He didn’t need anything like that to top off his pile of problems.

“Alright, but if you ever decide you do, here’s my extension so you can get a prescription.” The doctor handed him a slip of paper. Virgil just nodded as he watched the doctor leave. He’d already changed into his normal clothes and makeup, though his normal hoodie had been swapped out for a deep purple one because his normal one was had been covered in blood and deemed a “biohazard.”

Virgil pushed himself off of the hospital bed and cringed at the loud smack his high tops made when his feet hit the ground. He grabbed his backpack from the floor and waited for Pat to gather all of his things. Roman and Logan had taken the suitcase back to Patton’s house on Thursday, so there were only a few things left to be taken. When Virgil glanced back at Patton, all he saw was a pile of blankets and cardigans walking towards him.

“Um, Pat? You need some help?” Patton’s head popped up from behind the pile.

“Nope. I just need you to push the buttons of the elevator and open the doors for me!” Virgil opened his mouth to say something but stopped himself. Better to not ask any questions.

As soon as they hit the ground floor, Virgil let out a sigh of relief. He didn’t have to be in this damn hospital anymore, nor did he have to answer the invasive questions from the staff, and he certainly didn’t have to eat the gross hospital food (that soup definitely wasn’t made with chicken). Plus, he didn’t have to take the elevator whenever he wanted to get anywhere.

“Hey, Young and Menace,” Roman greeted as the duo got into Logan’s car.

“What’s up, Fancy Pants?” Virgil quipped. It wasn’t his best remark, but he cut himself some slack after being in the hospital for four days.

“Logan,” Patton whined, ignoring the squabbling. “Can we pleeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaasssseeeee go get pancakes? Pleeaaaaaassseeeee?” He sounded like a toddler who was trying to beg his parents to buy him a new toy that he seriously did not need.

“Didn’t you just have breakfast an hou--”

“But Logan! It’s a special occasion!” Logan glanced back at his friend in the rearview mirror, and it was obvious from his face that he’d caved.

“Fine.”

“YES!” Patton screeched and hugged Logan around the seat, much to the latter’s dismay.

After stopping for takeaway pancakes, Patton and Virgil were delivered home. Once again, Pat took a giant mound of things in while Virgil only carried his backpack. He’d had tried to convince Patton to give him some of the items, but he was only met with refusals. Defeated, he shrugged and made his way into the house.

“I had my parents set up a room for you near me. I think it’s all ready, if you want to head upstairs! It’s the door across from mine,” Patton said with a strange hint of excitement. Something was definitely up, but Virgil couldn’t quite think of what could be waiting for him.

Together, they maneuvered around the maze house and climbed the stairs. Before Virgil could open the door, Patton shyly said, “I should probably warn you that I have a surprise for you. It’s nothing big, so don’t worry about it at all, but I wanted to make sure.” Virgil highly doubted that it was “nothing big” since nothing Patton did for his friends seemed small, but he turned the knob anyway. He looked back at his friend before pushing the door open.

Virgil wasn’t much of an exaggerator (okay, maybe he was sometimes), but he literally lost his breath for a moment when he saw the room. Inside, the room had been painted dark grey, with black and purple sheets, a metal desk, a black dresser, and even a few movie posters hanging on the walls. It was incredible.

“Patton, you had this done for me? Seriously? That’s so fucking cool!” Virgil walked in and sat down on his bed, discarding his backpack on the floor.

“Of course, kiddo. I have one more surprise, so wait right there while I get it.” Patton literally dropped all of the stuff in his arms onto the floor and ran into his room. Virgil rubbed his hands on the blanket on his bed, and he found the sheets had an incredibly soft texture no matter which way he ran his hand across it. He was so busy examining the blanket that he hadn’t realized Patton had returned.

“Here’s your last surprise, Virge!” he exclaimed. Virgil snapped his head to look at what Pat was holding.

“Is that… a paper chain?” The teen on the bed was thoroughly confused.

“Yeah! While we were in the hospital, I was researching things about depression and anxiety, and I stumbled upon this thing called the Paper Chain Project. Basically, you add colorful rings for every day you go without self harming, and if you relapse, you add a white chain, but continue the chain each day after without self harming. It’s supposed to show you that if you’ve resisted before, you can resist again.” Patton held out the three-link chain to Virgil, who hesitantly took it.

The first chain was made of light blue construction paper and had “Wed, April 26. To Virgil, From Patton. I hope your journey continues with happiness and success.” The other two, made of purple and pink paper, had nothing on them. Tears welled up in Virgil’s eyes

“I… I…” Virgil’s voice trailed off into a sob. He was so lucky to have been found by Patton that night. For once, he actually saw a pinprick of light at the end of the tunnel.

The mattress next to Virgil sunk down as Patton sat. “I know, kiddo. I know.” Patton’s arms wrapped around him, anchoring him. He took his arms and returned the hug, crying softly into the other’s shirt.

“’When Rome’s in ruins, we are the lions,’” Patton sang. He must’ve been subconsciously learning the songs Virgil had played during their time in the hospital. “’Free of the coliseums. In poison places, we are anti-venom. We’re the beginning of the end.’”

Patton sang until Virgil’s tears had finally dried out. Virgil pulled away and hastily wiped at his eyes with his sleeves.

“Thank you, Patton. For saving me, twice, actually, and for staying with me and for doing all of these really incredible things for me. You’re an awesome friend. Like, the best ever.”

Patton’s normal smile only grew larger. “That’s what friends are for, Virge! Now, I’m sure you want to spend a little time alone, so you’re free to roam the house if you want to, or you can use our extra laptop to go online or do homework. It should be in the desk drawer.” Patton stood up and gave a quick wave before heading to his own room.

Virgil sat on his bed for a few more minutes, twisting the paper chain around in his hands, before standing up to find the laptop. He hadn’t contacted a single one of his teachers about his absences, and he dreaded having to explain that he’d been in the hospital for four days. He pulled the laptop out of the desk, along with a pen and a few sheets of looseleaf paper.

There was no password on the laptop, luckily, so he easily booted it up and opened Chrome, signing into his school email account. He had about fifteen emails from his teachers. Most of them were “Hey! I’ve noticed you haven’t been at school for the past few days, and you hadn’t been planning a vacation, so here’s your homework you’ve missed,” but the ones from his Graphic Arts teacher really stood out.

From Anna Miller ([email protected])

To Virgil Thomas ([email protected])

Subject: April 24

Hey, Virgil! I noticed you were acting a bit down today and wanted to make you’re doing alright. I’m really excited to see your design for the banner project, by the way!

See you tomorrow,

Mrs. Miller

From Anna Miller ([email protected])

To Virgil Thomas ([email protected])

Subject: April 25

I noticed you weren’t in class today, so I hope you don’t mind me checking up on you, Virgil. After yesterday, I’m just a little bit worried about your well being. I hope to see you tomorrow; you always bring a good dose of sarcasm to class, and I’m beginning to miss that.

Mrs. Miller

From Anna Miller ([email protected])

To Virgil Thomas ([email protected])

Subject: April 26

Hey, Virgil. You’ve been missing for a few days, and it’s starting to worry me. I tried to call your parents, but neither would pick up. I’m sure you’re okay, but I just want to make sure. You’re a really good student, but I’m sure you know that. It’s been very hard to keep class on track without your witty remarks.

Mrs. Miller

From Anna Miller ([email protected])

To Virgil Thomas ([email protected])

Subject: April 27

Virgil, although it’s against my better judgement, I’ve decided to stop emailing you after this one. I’m very worried about you, but sometimes people just don’t check their emails. The lessons from these past days are linked below. There hasn’t been any homework since we’ve just been working on banners. There isn’t a lesson for tomorrow, so don’t worry about that.

Mrs. Miller

Virgil immediately clicked the reply button on the last email.

From Virgil Thomas ([email protected])

To Anna Miller ([email protected])

Subject: Re: April 27

Mrs. Miller,

I’m really sorry to have left you hanging these past few days. Yes, I’m okay. I had an accident on Tuesday that put me in the hospital for a few days. I’ll be back tomorrow, but I might be a little out of it. I’ve had my living arrangements be mixed up as well, so I’m trying to get used to the change. I might need a few days to catch up as well, since I don’t know if I’ll be able to do 16 lessons worth of stuff in two days.

Virgil Thomas

Send. Virgil let out a breath that he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding. It had completely slipped his mind that Mrs. Miller would be worried that he’d suddenly disappeared, especially with how close they were. It left a little pang of guilt in his stomach, but he knew there wasn’t much he could do about that. At least he’d eventually gotten back to her.

He clicked around through the emails, collecting assignments and downloading lessons. Virgil was already feeling overwhelmed by the work. He had at least thirty math problems for each day that he’d been gone, plus the ones he’d neglected on his birthday, fifty pages of reading for AP Gov, and he needed to make the set designs for the upcoming show for his Theatre independent study, since they were beginning production soon. He decided the set designs would be the easiest, so he started on that.

They were doing Rodgers and Hammerstein’s “Cinderella Enchanted” for their spring musical, which was really exciting. Although Virgil was all doom and gloom, he really enjoyed making fantastical sets for the shows that really packed a punch for the whole atmosphere. He’d been told they’d have backdrops for the village and ballroom, but they’d need wall pieces for the house and the outside of the house in the garden scene. He needed to pick out furniture when he could actually see what they had in the shop, but pieces they definitely needed to build were a fountain for the village center, the carriage, the pumpkin patch, and the flower arch for the kiss scene outside of the palace. It wasn’t too intense, but it was still a lot. Virgil made rough sketches of some basic layouts, adding labels for clarification.

When he was finished, he felt very accomplished, even though the plans were pretty plain, and the more definite details would need to be discussed once building began. Virgil looked over his work and set them to the side. He checked the time on his phone and was shocked to see that it was already 3:30. He had been so sure he’d spent only an hour at most on the designs, not three. A sigh escaped from his mouth. Might as well go to check in with Patton.

He tidied his desk just a bit before heading over to the opposite room. Virgil lightly knocked on the door and waited to hear a response. After no reply, he knocked again, slightly harder this time. He heard some rustling behind the door, and then the door suddenly opened to show a slightly disheveled Patton standing in front of him. Virgil was slightly taken aback.

“Um, Patton? Are you okay?” He made a sweeping gesture of Pat’s messy hair and clothes.

Patton smiled. “Of course! I’m just having some trouble with some of my Physics homework.” It seemed to be more like a lot of trouble, but Virgil really couldn’t blame him for struggling. Missing four days of school would be hard on anybody.

“Do you need help? I had physics last semester and got a pretty good grade.” Virgil didn’t mention he’d gotten perfect scores on every test, nor that he never missed an assignment due date or extra credit project.

“Oh! Sure, kiddo. That’d be very nice of you. Thanks.” Patton stepped out of the way and gestured inside his bedroom. The two took seats at Patton’s white desk and worked on trajectory and resistance problems until Pat’s dad had come to tell them that dinner was ready.

#sanders sides fic #m writes things #logince #moxiety #patton sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders #virgil sanders

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damienthepious · 5 years

Text

So I Heard You All Like Lizard Kisses

Keep Your Head Above The Blue

[ao3] [Companion piece to Toss and Turn In Undertow and A Little Remedy]

[Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast

Relationship: Lord Arum/Sir Damien/Rilla

Characters: Lord Arum, Sir Damien, Rilla, The Keep

Additional Tags: Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Cuddling & Snuggling, Depression, Suicidal Ideation

Summary: In a relationship, you take care of each other. Before that, you have to learn that it's okay to let yourself be taken care of.

Notes: Extra warnings because I am a nervous bean: there's discussion of medication, discussion of eating habits which might be triggering for people with disordered eating, and a glancing mention of the possibility of self-harm, but no actual self-harm.

The narrative voice in this is very mean at times which is ENTIRELY in the head of the viewpoint character and not my own opinions to be perfectly clear. Also I am in no way a psychologist- I HAVE depression, but I'm not on any medication myself and I can't afford therapy, so like, I did my research but I'm just doing my best here. A lot of the... bad thoughts here are cribbed from my own brain. Projecting mental illness onto your fave fictional characters: it's what ya do!

Title taken from the song Library Magic by the Head and the Heart, 'cause I literally don't know how else to title shit at this point. ]

Arum feels the creep of darkness in his veins, some days. It’s part of who he is; a monster, born of the darkness and belonging to it, and there are times when it crawls beneath his skin and settles there, weighing his muscles until he can’t make himself move from the petals of his bed.

The world is too loud. Too full of conflict and pointlessness and chatter, and he wants the weight within him to seep out and curse the world dark, and silent, and easy.

In the time since Damien and Amaryllis, the feeling hasn’t lasted more than a few days at a time, thankfully. Arum, for the most part, can always wave it away as a bad mood or momentary distraction. Eventually, though.

Eventually it lasts. Eventually it creeps in, and it settles down to nest. He manages a few days without arousing suspicion in his mates. He is too curt with them, too distracted, but he apologizes and they believe easily that he only made himself over-tired, working late into the night and then oversleeping. They still have enough difficulty parsing his reptilian expressions that he can convince them that it is nothing more than exhaustion. Only exhaustion, and not a hollowness as if he is a termite-infested tree. For a few days longer he responds too slowly and they pull a little harder, trying to draw him out. Amaryllis holds his hand across the table when they eat together, an anchor he feels very distantly through a sort of fog. Damien recites a poem when they finish eating and Amaryllis laughs beside him at all the moments she should, and Arum can’t even remember the words the moment they are past.

They are so bright, his humans. They look right together, and Arum is-

He thinks, out of nowhere, that Damien would have been better off if he had only carried through with that knife in the cell. If Damien had merely taken the blade, and pushed. It would have been better for everyone. The two humans could go back to how they had been before Arum interfered. The Keep would have produced a new familiar and the new creature would certainly have done a better job than Arum had; they would not work the Keep to killing itself, would not be so filled with conflict and casual cruelty and this dull, unending weight-

The thoughts pass as easily as Damien’s story, when they are done, and he doesn’t mean any of it. Not really. He knows the Keep would have died if he and Sir Marc had not been here to protect it, and even if he does not feel it he knows that Amaryllis would likely have not forgiven Damien his murder, but there is a small, heavy part of Arum that remains convinced that it would have been easier to just let go.

If I still had the Hermit… he thinks, sluggish even in his own head, but he does not allow the thought to close. It is a pointless hypothetical, and it’s not as if there is any guarantee it would work even if he did.

He slips off alone, finds a shadowed corner for the Keep to grow him a place to rest, curls into the petals and wills himself unconscious.

When he wakes, Damien’s hands are pulling the petals back open, filling his dark little space with dappled green light, and Arum can barely summon the energy to blink the stars from his eyes. Damien says something, curious, and it feels important, but Arum simply… can’t.

Damien says something else, quieter, and then he’s climbing into the petals as well. He’s too close for Arum to ignore, suddenly, warm-blooded heat and blessed softness and he cups the sides of Arum’s head in his palms. He gently settles closer until their legs are tangled together and they are pressed forehead to forehead, and Arum feels just a little more solid, a little more real.

“What’s wrong?” Damien murmurs, his voice finally piercing the fog, and Arum hates himself because he has no answer. Nothing is worse than it has been, he has no reason for this grayness that clings to him, no curse and no cause-

Arum curls his tail around Damien’s back to pull him closer, giving a rumbling purr deep in his chest to let the knight know that he has been heard, even if Arum can’t make himself respond.

Damien relaxes into the embrace, though Arum can still taste the worry on him. “Arum,” Damien begins softly, “I don’t wish to- to overstep. You aren’t ill, are you?”

Arum smiles wryly, dishonestly, then just barely shakes his head. They are close enough that Damien can feel the movement anyway. “Not ill,” he manages in a dry, cracked voice. What he wants to say is that there is nothing wrong with him at all, but- clearly that isn’t true. Clearly he is flawed in some way, or he could just- rise, speak, become more himself again. “Nothing physical.”

Damien nods, as if somehow this is the answer he was expecting. “Rilla has been… worried,” he says, and Arum pretends not to wince. “She said that you- you had a look in your eye like you did when you were on trial. When you refused to defend yourself.”

Arum supposes that he felt similarly then, when he thought that both Amaryllis and Damien were lost to him, when he thought that he would be personally responsible for their deaths as well as the deaths of their entire species if all went according to the Senate’s plan- but at least then he had reason. Now, the weight is formless.

He can’t understand the shape of it, and so he cannot lift it.

Expressing any part of that feels exhausting, though, not to mention too embarrassing to stand, so Arum only sighs.

“I am worried about you as well,” Damien admits.

“Don’t, takatakataka.” Arum growls low in his throat, clutching him closer.

“I do, though. Of course I do. I…” Damien pauses to laugh, a little roughly. “I know what it is like, to fight a battle with yourself that no one else can see, even if my own thoughts plague me quite differently than I believe yours plague you.”

Arum thinks, this does not feel like a fight, and shakes his head.

“Arum… both Rilla and yourself have been… instrumental in holding me steady when my fears betray me, in keeping me from succumbing to the falsehoods with which my mind tries to torment me. I only hope that you will trust me- trust us to care for you in return, when you so need.”

Very distantly, Arum thinks that he should be riled to offense by the very idea that he needs help, needs care, but he can’t grasp the anger in his claws, can’t make it stay. Damien’s body heat is radiating into the space inside the flower, permeating Arum’s scales, making him sleepy again despite the many hours of rest he must have had between dinner and now.

“I only wish for you to be safe, and happy,” Damien says, a keening note in his voice. “And for you to know that you are loved.”

Arum’s throat suddenly feels tight, his eyes hot, his ribs constricting around his thudding heart, and he reflexively closes his eyes before they can do something ridiculous. Damien must have felt his body stiffen, though, because he makes a sympathetic noise, one arm wrapping around Arum’s waist and the other cupping his jaw just gently.

“Oh, my lily,” Damien says in a whisper, “I wish I knew better how to help you.”

Arum grits his teeth and growls, as if that will make it better when he feels the tears at the corners of his eyes.

“Anything you need from me, anything at all-”

“If you say another word I swear I will bite you, honeysuckle,” Arum says in an embarrassingly uneven voice.

“If that helps you in any way, so be it,” Damien declares, and Arum chokes on a laugh that devolves into something else. He nips Damien’s ear so as not to make himself a liar, then presses his snout into the crook of Damien’s neck where it is warm warm warm and he is surrounded by the scent of leather and vanilla and the faint hint of Amaryllis that clings to his skin as well, where he can just breathe as his poet holds him and pretend that he is not debasing himself with something as ridiculous as tears. Damien makes a humming noise and Arum is close enough to feel the vibration of it, soothing and overwhelming at the same time. “There, love, I have you,” he says in a gentle sing-song, stroking his hands down Arum’s back. “I have you. You are unpracticed, I think, in allowing others to take care of you, so I do not hold your reluctance against you. You must know, however, that I have learned from the very best in the art of care and comfort, and so you may take from me whatever you need. I will still be here when you are yourself again, and I will love you the whole way through.”

“And if I-” Arum’s breath hitches and he buries the noise in a more intentional sounding hiss. “If I cannot lift this fog from my mind, honeysuckle? What then? My entire long life this has sat on my shoulder like a parasite and struck whenever it pleases, and then I am merely- this. Wretched and empty and unshakably tired-”

“Do you love me less when my tranquility leaves me, Arum?”

“Of course not,” Arum growls quickly, buffeting his cheek against Damien's. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I do not ask for the purpose of coaxing comfort for myself,” Damien says, “but only to make the point. You are suffering, Arum. It is not your fault, and it does not change how I feel about you. I love you even when you are unhappy, my lily. I love you when you are tired, when you are irritable and stubborn, when you are distant, when you need affection but are too proud to admit to it.” Damien chuckles when Arum growls at that. “I love you, and nothing will change that.”

Arum breathes slow, the tightness in his throat easing as Damien’s hands stroke gentle circles on the scales of his back.

“Is there any more room in there, or is it a bit too crowded?” Rilla says, muffled from outside the flower-bed, and Arum jolts in surprise. Damien smiles, putting a hand on the petals around them and pushing until the flower blooms wide, allowing Rilla to quirk an eyebrow and smile down at the two of them tangled together. “Looks cozy,” she says.

“Amaryllis,” Arum mutters, eyes flicking nervously away. It’s bad enough for Damien to see him acting this atrociously weak (he can still feel the wetness of tears on his face, ridiculous), but for his shortcomings to be laid bare before the both of them-

Rilla’s smile softens, and she lifts a little tray he hadn’t noticed yet. “I brought coffee and breakfast. Thought some caffeine might help, at least a little. Keep?”

The Keep gives a short soft song and raises a little shelf of vines beside the flower so Rilla can set the tray down, and she thanks it before she climbs onto the petals beside the lizard and the knight, gently shoving them to make room. She pushes until they’re halfway sitting, Damien sideways in Arum’s lap, an arm around his back. Then she slots her own arms neatly around Arum from the other side, kissing his shoulder and humming softly.

After a moment she pulls a hand back and grabs one of the steaming mugs, and then she presses it firmly into his hand. Ordinarily he prefers tea to the bitter beverage Amaryllis enjoys so much, but… he is tired, and he trusts Amaryllis to know how to mend things. He flicks his tongue through the steam and takes a mildly begrudging sip.

“So,” she says after a long moment of quiet, sliding her fingers through his own and squeezing his hand. “Do you want to talk about what’s been going on with you lately?”

Arum takes another sip to delay answering the question, but she’s still looking expectantly at him when he finishes. “Not particularly,” he grumbles, and then he hugs the knight in his arms possessively. “Our little poet said more than enough for the both of us already.”

And Arum is grateful for those words; they feel like bright spots amid the grey, points of light he can summon back through memory, but Arum does not know how to put that gratefulness to words of his own. He does not share Damien’s skill.

“I think…” Rilla sighs, “I think you should try to talk about it anyway, Arum. I know it’s difficult, I know you’ll hate to do it, but… I think it could help. Or, at least it will give us an idea of how we can help.”

“There isn’t anything wrong,” Arum growls. He winces the moment the words leave him.

“That… does not seem quite true, my love,” Damien says gently.

“I cannot tell you how to help me,” he exhales, ducking his head. “because I do not know what is wrong with me.”

“Okay,” Rilla says. “Okay. So- what are your symptoms, Arum? There are a few things I can infer, but I’d rather not assume anything.”

“Symptoms, I’m not ill-”

“Humor me,” Rilla says, her thumb pressing lightly on the back of his hand. “Please.”

He hisses out a long breath. “I… it…” he cannot find the words to explain the grayness, the weight. Instead, he tries to think what came with them; how other parts of his life have suffered when this thing strikes. “I have been… having difficulties keeping my mind attentive, I suppose. I cannot work on my projects, and I… I don’t care much for any of them. I have eaten because you expect me to dine with you, but I have not felt hungry, though I know I should have. And I am weary, Amaryllis.” His eyes slip shut, defensive. Saying all of this – admitting this much weakness – if this were anyone but Amaryllis and Damien he would sooner cut out his tongue. “I am weary to my bones. Even now, despite all rest. Too weary to lift my head, at times.”

Rilla inhales, deep and steady, and when she exhales she breathes out, “Thank you. I know that’s not the easiest sort of thing to talk about.”

Arum grumbles noncommittally under his breath, then finishes the coffee and sets the mug aside so he can ensure that two of his hands are free to hold each of his loves.

Rilla squeezes his hand after another long pause, almost like a warning. “I think you have depression, Arum,” she says, her tone blank and professional.

“What?” Arum says, spine going rigid, and then, “Don’t be ridiculous.” And then, “It’s not- I couldn’t possibly-”

The Keep warbles a triplet of dawning realization, and Arum scowls as his tail lashes a denial.

“Mental health might not be my exact area of expertise,” Rilla admits wryly, “but I do have a little experience at least, and I can recognize common symptoms easily enough. Have you-” she hesitates, “have you been thinking about- hurting yourself?”

He flinches, genuinely surprised. “No, of course not.” He pauses. “I- not hurting myself. Nothing- nothing so- nothing so active.” Arum can feel Damien’s posture going bit by bit more tense in his arms, but- “Only- only I have perhaps been thinking of- of moments when- this is impossible, Amaryllis. I can’t talk about this.”

“Take your time, my lily,” Damien murmurs roughly, his face hidden against Arum's shoulder. “We aren’t going anywhere. Take your time.”

“… I have been thinking more than is normal about death in the general sense,” he admits in a detached voice. “About times when I was close to death. About- about what would be different, if I…”

“Arum,” Damien breathes, his hands warm and steady against Arum’s chest. “Oh, love-”

Rilla nudges Damien’s shoulder with a hand before he can get too carried away. “All of what you described just now lines up really solidly with depression.”

“But there is no reason for me to-”

“That’s not how it works, Arum.” Rilla smiles, the expression a little strained, a little pained. “Sometimes the brain just- doesn’t function the way it’s supposed to, same as can happen to the body.”

“As we all, by now, are aware,” Damien adds wryly.

The Keep sings a trill of trust, of hopeful warmth towards Amaryllis and her skill, and Arum sighs deeply.

“If that is your diagnosis, doctor, then I must trust to it,” he rumbles quietly, and Amaryllis breathes a laugh at the word doctor. “But what does that help? I- so I know the name, but-”

He can know the shape of it, now. That thought makes him pause, brow furrowing.

“There are some pharmaceutical treatments of varying effectiveness for depression in humans,” Rilla says, voice slipping back to professional for a moment, “but trying to figure out how to modify those for the brain of a reptilian magical construct is- it would be a bit much, even for me. Too far outside my usual wheelhouse, unfortunately. But,” she says when he tries to turn his face away, “but knowing will help, Arum. Knowing, and talking about it, which- don’t make that face at me!”

“I simply don’t see how demeaning myself will be of any use at all.”

She flicks the tip of his nose and he gives a little snarl automatically. “If Damien got stabbed when he was out doing his knight nonsense it wouldn’t be demeaning himself to come tell me he needed me to stop the bleeding and treat the wound, Arum.”

“You said not moments ago that you don’t have a way to treat-”

“I said that I probably wouldn’t be able to make medication that would work for you. That doesn’t mean that we can’t figure out ways to help you. And telling us when you’re hurting is only way for us to even begin that process.” Arum huffs, and Rilla scowls in response before she stops herself, taking a breath and then quirking a small smile. “See? Even this. You’ve- you’ve been so- I’ve missed arguing with you.” She pauses. “I’ve just missed you. I know you’ve been here, it’s silly, but-”

A pained noise slips from Arum’s mouth without his say-so. “Amaryllis. I- I apologize. I did not expect… I did not think this would persist for long enough that either of you would notice. It was not my intention to- to cause you worry.”

“We’re always gonna worry about you,” Rilla says softly. “That’s part of the deal. You care about someone, of course you worry about them.”

“That…” Arum scrapes his claws lightly, carefully down Damien’s back, and nuzzles his snout against Amaryllis’ temple. “Yes. I have learned that quite well.”

“Promise you’ll try to talk to us when it gets bad like this, Arum?”

“I will… try,” he says, wincing. “As our poet so gracefully put it, I am unpracticed in allowing others to care for me. But I will try.”

“And we will do what we can to help,” Damien says. “If you need be reminded to keep yourself fed, if you need be be told that there are people who care about you, if you wish to sleep for hours in the sun and have meals and affection brought to you, if you need distraction from darker thoughts…” Damien lifts his head just enough to press a kiss to Arum’s jaw. “Anything at all, if you only ask. We love you. If there is anything we can do to make your life less difficult- that is what love is for, my lily. Love is a path walked side by side, a journey you ease by taking it together, step by difficult step.”

“And step one, I think,” Rilla says, “is for the three of us to actually eat the breakfast I brought before all of it gets cold. And I don’t care if you’re hungry, Arum, you need to eat too.”

“No, I…” Arum gives a single breath of laughter. “I do feel somewhat hungry this morning, as it happens.”

Rilla smiles, bright as morning, and Arum can’t help but nuzzle against her cheek until she chuckles and places a kiss at the corner of his mouth. She taps the tip of his nose again, then, teasing, before she untangles their limbs and starts passing her loves the food she and the Keep prepared.

Damien asks a question about one of Rilla’s experiments as he blows across the top of his tea to cool it, as if this were any other morning, and Rilla sighs dramatically before she launches into her answer. Arum eats, and listens, his mouth curling into a slow smile of his own.

There is warmth and sunlight and laughter, there is the gentle pleased song of the Keep, there is filling food and a long unmapped day ahead of all of them, and Arum feels-

Arum feels more than he has in near a week. More than he knows what to do with.

He is not fixed, his mind is still unmended and may sink down again without warning. He knows that none of this will be easy-

Not easy, but Amaryllis and Damien are determined to make it easier, to hold out their hands for Arum to lift himself with. That is better than was true yesterday, Arum thinks. It is one more step, a stumble and catch, down this path they are walking together.

[End Notes: Hope you enjoyed! I'm going to count this as complete, but there's a chance there will be two companion pieces to this one, because I want to see each of our flowers being taken care of lovingly and tenderly. I just related most to the way Arum needed it, so his came the first and easiest.]

#elle's fanfic #the penumbra podcast #second citadel #lizard kissin' tuesday #rad bouquet #lord arum #sir damien #amaryllis of exile #things will be better

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surveys-at-your-service · 6 years

Text

Survey #131

“demolition woman, can i be your man?”

Do you know if you were a planned child? I've no clue. What's your favorite gem? Mexican dragon's breath opal. Do you like Oregon Trail? I loved that game. Although I only won like maybe once or twice lmao. As an adult, do you want to live in an apartment or house? I wouldn't mind an apartment if it was just a starting point, but once my spouse and I were financially stable, I'd definitely want our own place. Do you like the stem or leafy part of the broccoli? Steam. Do you believe in the "innocent until proven guilty" idea? As far as imprisoning someone goes, yes, I believe you shouldn't be put away until there is substantial evidence you are indeed guilty. This sadly doesn't get all criminals, but I think just saying "this guy is guilty because I say so" is far more dangerous and more people would see jail time. Do bats frighten you? No no no, they're high on my list of favorite animals, especially flying foxes. <3 Does Paris appeal to you? I'd loooove to visit! What’s the song that reminds you of your special someone? I think maybe above all, the acoustic version of "If You're James Dean, I'm Audrey Hepburn" by Sleeping With Sirens <3 Are you a KPOP fan? No. Who is the 6th person in your contacts? My friend Jax. Do you believe in the phrase "If it’s meant to be, it will be"? Honestly... I don't think so. You can't tell me a young child dying from a disease is "meant to be." How long was your longest relationship? Three years and seven or eight months. Considering it was a legitimate trauma, I'm very surprised I don't remember the exact date we broke up... I just know it was August or September. First time you kissed the last person you kissed? We haven't kissed on the lips yet, but the first time I kissed her cheek was because she was crying. Do you have to really know someone to kiss them? Me personally, I think you should love someone before kissing. S/os, family, friends... Were you anyone's first kiss? No. Will you keep your last name when you get married? If I marry a man, no, but if I marry a girl, depends. If I marry my current girlfriend, nope. Which would be more meaningful to you: I love you a lot, I love you so much? The latter. Where was the last place you held hands at? In a car. If you could live in any home on television, what would it be? The Munsters' house. <3 If you had to be named after one of the 50 states of America, what state would you WANT to be named after? Dakota. What is your heritage? I know mostly German, Irish, and a bit of Polish, but I think that's only Mom's heritage, I think. I wonder if Dad has Scottish roots because our last name is Scottish. Do you think morals are universal or relative to the beliefs, traditions, and practices of individuals or groups? Universal. Is torture ever a good option? If no, why not? If yes, when? No. It's just... excessive to me. Even criminals, just kill them quickly. What do you think is one of the most undervalued professions right now? Teaching. Have you ever seen anyone have a heart attack? NO THANK GOD. Have you personalized your answering machine/voicemail? No. Have you ever had Fiji brand water? No. What’s your favorite horror movie? The Crazies, The Blair Witch Project, and The Blair Witch Project 2: Book of Shadows. Would you say you have a high sexdrive or not so much? It's normal, I guess? What animal is the scariest in your opinion? Hmmm... I'll put animal phobias aside and acknowledge those with legitimate danger. Probably African killer bees. Fucking terrifying. How do you feel about people wearing fur coats? are you for or against it? I am completely against that shit unless you're like an Eskimo and need to wear animal coats for survival. What’s the worst thing a friend has either done or said to you? Preach me the "pick yourself up by your boot strings" mentality while I was fucking suicidally depressed. What’s your favorite memory with one or both of your parents? Ha ha oh boy, this question just made me remember this... With Mom, it was probably that one time we drove to Chick-fil-a at night, got some milkshakes, and rocked out hardcore to Judas Priest. A lot of laughs... As for Dad, hm. Probably childhood fishing trips. Something you feared as a kid but don’t anymore? Uhhh... unsure? Well, my phobia of dolls isn't as bad as it was when I was a kid. What’s your opinion on girls who become obsessed with their boyfriends? DO NOT DO IT, but I understand it much too well. Are you biracial? No. What was the most unique pet you’ve owned? Probably my champagne ball python I have now. Do you have a fence? In the backyard. When was the last time you got mad and broke something? I've never done that, but I've come close. How long do you think you will live? I don't know the average life span of my family, but maybe like... early 80s? Idk. I don't WANT to live past the point where I can't care for myself. Favorite nonliving musician? Uhhhhh... probably Ronnie James Dio. <3 WAIT NO. FREDDIE MERCURY. Favorite album? "Black Rain" by Ozzy Osbourne. Introduced me to metal. What color dress did you wear to prom? Sophomore year was maroon, senior year was black Ever have an ultra-sound performed on you? What was it for? Yes, on my liver. Apparently nothing was wrong. How many people of the opposite sex do you fully trust? Only my dad. Does your family use coasters? Is anyone in your family excessively tidy? Nope. Do you still have your tonsils? Yeah. Do you think making out is slutty? No...? Do you have any traits that you obviously inherited from your parents? I pace like my dad. Have you ever hit your significant other or ex-significant other? Has he/she ever hit you? No to both. Would you say that you have a nice smile? No, I will without fail look high. Do you get motion sickness? Never have. Are men more attractive with longer or shorter hair? Long. *swoons* Would you ever keep your favorite animal as a pet? No, they are not meant to be pets. I have an acquaintance in the U.K. who has two and they're perfectly loved, but it's just not right for them. They in general are very destructive pets, too. If you had the power to end the world right now, would you? No. Have you ever been in an ambulance? No Have you ever had the flu? Thank goodness, no. What's worse: Depression or anxiety? My answer hasn't changed: "WOW that's a hard question. But. Depression. Because imo it's easier to become suicidal when depressed. And I'd rather be afraid than wanting to die." Have you ever made out with someone you weren’t dating? No. What’s one of the most difficult things you’ve ever had to do? Get myself to see holding onto Jason was the most detrimental thing I'd done in my life thus far. If you were reincarnated as a sea creature, what would you want to be? A bottle-nosed dolphin. What is the wallpaper of your cell phone? My lock screen is Sara and me, and my home screen is Markiplier. What's your favorite high school memory? Art class with three friends. Should ANY country be allowed to have WMDs? N o. Should schools give out condoms? No. Should all people have access to medical marijuana? All people, no. I have mixed emotions on anyone having medical marijuana. Ever considered cannibalism? No. o_o When’s the next time you will consume alcohol? *shrugs* Do you address older people by their first or last name? It depends on the person and what they prefer. When I first meet the person and I know their last name however, I'll use Mrs./Ms./Mr. Whatever. What is your guilty pleasure (make it SFW)? Markiplier in dresses kms. Do you want children/how many? At the time I'm taking this, I'm questioning if I do, but I HIGHLY doubt it. I would NOT want more than two. Maybe even just one. You find out your wonderful one-year-old child is not yours because of a mix-up at the hospital. Would you exchange for your own? Yeah, honestly. One year old is still young. Are you a good kisser? Idk? Ever made out in the bathroom? No like that sounds so uncomfortable and unsanitary. On the floor? @_@ Who was the hottest teacher you ever had? Omfg so I had a band teacher that all the girls were crazy for, but then a good number of years back, he got charged for sexual relations with a student o o p s. When's the last time you've been sledding? E o n s ago.

#survey #quiz #questions

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agapeeternal · 7 years

Text

I’m

Chester Bennington’s suicide has made me think a lot about my own attempts in the past.

Like a lot of people who gravitated to Linkin Park, and Chester in particular, I suffered from undiagnosed depression and suicidal ideation as a child. I had abuse in my childhood from a family member (though not to Chester’s degree). I never told anyone, because I was scared no one would believe me, so I held it in.

School was a hell I had to endure every day until the middle of 8th grade, when my depression spiraled. Years of bullying and not understanding why things were so hard for me study wise, I lost it. That was my first serious suicide attempt. I took a whole bottle of prescription strength ibuprofen and waited. I’m not sure if I passed out or if I just fell asleep, but I woke up and projectile vomited all over my bed. I didn’t feel that shame or the thankfulness that I had survived. I was pissed. I was pissed because not only did this not work, but now I had to completely strip my bed and throw everything into the tub until I could put it in the washer later. I ended up staying home from school that day, I mean, I was “sick”. It took an assembly about bullying and mental illness that happened at our school, a skit performed by a traveling anti-bullying project, to admit to my parents that I was depressed. But there was nothing I could do about it. I didn’t think at the time.

My depression didn’t get any better, it just got worse. Some odd happenings went on in school which included an absolutely outrageous suspension and a teacher who hated the shit out of me because she got caught in a lie. And that was the point that I left public school and went into independent study. I actually loved it; for once school wasn’t hell, it was just challenging. But the help I got there as well as the help I got from my family, it worked great. Sure, I still had to do summer school every year, but it wasn’t that bad. I thought, “I can do this now, I’m ready.” So, I tried high school, but three months later I was back in independent study.

I thought I was prepared to handle the demands of a 6 period day, and maybe actually make friend’s, or at least catch up with the people I had hung out with since first grade. But I wasn’t. The reaction I got after returning was less like “girl where have you been?! We kinda missed you.” and was more like “oh you’re back? Wow. Okay. Hi. I guess.” That combined with the depression that never really left, and how exhausting going to class was, I couldn’t do it. I failed at trying to come back and experience high school. People who I had known called a few times, offering to take me to football games or other things, since being in independent study allowed me to have a parent school and all activities and classes were open to me. But somehow they neglected to tell me that they couldn’t go or changed plans until minutes before the events happened. And those were the times I wished I hadn’t survived. I hated feeling disposable, I hated feeling like no one cared about me. And they didn’t. I meant absolutely nothing to them, at least nothing more than birthday cupcakes and valentines cards and field trips when we were in grade school that my mom would help give kids that couldn’t afford it. But after grade school, I wasn’t worth anything, and it stung. But I tried to shove that down, along with everything else, and just concentrate on school. I managed to graduate on time with a 4.0 and walk with my class. It was bittersweet, but at least that was done.

All that was okay, I even managed to hold a job until after I graduated. I took a semester off and when I started college, things went sideways on me, as it usually does when mental illness rears its ugly head, and that led, eventually, to more self-harm and finally, to therapy. By the end of my first semester, I realized I couldn’t do this anymore, without help. It was hard to say, “look, I can’t handle this anymore. I can’t do this on my own, I’m crumbling.” But I did. When I made my first appointment, I didn’t experience the embarrassment at first, that came later. I was like, “fuck it, it’s either this or…it’s this.” I saw my first psychiatrist and after a couple of meetings, he dropped the bomb I was hoping to hear; a diagnosis.

I was bipolar. II to be exact.

After all these years, it had a name. Bipolar Disorder. It was scary but also a big relief, to know that all that inner turmoil I was going through wasn’t just my imagination, it was REAL.

It turns out, all this time, I had been exhibiting symptoms, even as a child. It all made sense, all the ups and downs and tantrums then crying spells, all the trouble concentrating and daydreaming in school. Everything clicked. And now I had to figure out what the fuck to do with this.

I started medication and went through every possible cocktail. I lost my first two psychiatrists to retirement and went through one therapist. Somewhere in there, a breakup happened that disturbed both the process and my recovery, and I went through another therapist until I found my current one. They say you should click with a therapist, that, even though it isn’t easy, that your relationship should help you work through whatever you need to work on. Easier said than done, but I’m more than happy with her.

I was still feeling the depression more than the hypomania, that visited every once in a while, the mixed episodes that visited far too often. But I was doing okay. My baseline wasn’t great, but I knew where it was, and I was doing as well as I usually did. Until everything went sideways again. In late 2015, I went through a horrible breakup. It was messy and painful and I lost it. Again. My therapist had suggested group therapy for me for years, but I didn’t like the idea of having to talk to a room full of strangers. But I finally went to group, and later, to IOP. The little bit of work I had been doing seemed to slide completely backwards. I was actively suicidal, and I tried.

I literally couldn’t take it anymore. I was so depressed and dealing with the breakup combined with other messy things going on and my down cycle, it just snowballed. I didn’t want to die, I don’t think most people to commit suicide do. I wanted to end all the pain and depression and just be able to BREATHE. I wanted to get away from my own head. So I took a mix of my meds and just passed out. It left me mostly drugged out but semi-conscious, hardly able to do anything other than just lay there. I couldn’t walk in a straight line if you paid me. But I was alive. Fortunately, or unfortunately. I was still around.

So when does Linkin Park come in? 7th grade. I saw “One Step Closer” on CMC (California Music Channel) before MTV or VH1 had picked them up. The DJ was a friend of a friend of Mike’s I believe, and played it even though CMC was mostly–almost entirely–hip-hop and r&b. At that time, the only thing outside of hip-hop and r&b that I was listening to was pop music that was playing everywhere else. Papa Roach slipped into the mix shortly, but that was it. Linkin Park wasn’t something I would’ve been interested in. At all. But I didn’t change the channel, I just watched that ridiculous video, and as weird as it was, I found myself really hearing the lyrics. I liked them. They were different.

Then ‘Crawling” and “In The End” came out, and I had never connected with lyrics on that level. Even though I was only 12-13, they still hit home. Hard. I didn’t know how to address what happened to me when I was younger, I still hadn’t told anyone. It haunted me, especially having to see the person. It was only once in a while, but it brought everything back like a freight train. Dealing with that and the painful reality of not having friends, of being constantly bullied, I was confused and hurt. I felt like I didn’t have a voice.

But “Crawling” became my voice. I knew what it felt like to literally be crawling in your skin, to hate seeing your reflection, to despise everything. I felt the endless discomfort and insecurity that was all consuming. Every single line in that song, I felt.

Linkin Park became the outlet I needed. I needed to be heard, I needed to be understood. I needed someone to LISTEN. But I didn’t have to explain anything, everything was there for me, in black and white. I saw my feelings, I saw what I needed. I saw it all. And I was grateful.

Unfortunately, I lost touch with them for a while. Somewhere after Meteora, I strayed. There was no reason other than new songs and artists came out and my musical interests shifted some. But when I found myself in a hole, they were there. They were always there.

In 2017, my musical taste still hadn’t shifted back to them, not completely. I hadn’t heard most of their recent things. But I got into Kiiara. And when I watched her video for “Gold”, on the side it recommended a Facebook live with Linkin Park and Kiiara which threw me a bit. That didn’t seem like a combination that would go well together. But I also saw the video for “Heavy” and I clicked on it. It was hard to watch and I cried the whole time, because 2017 had, up to that point, fucking sucked (and would, inevitably end up being one of the worst years of my life). My head was a mess, everything was heavy, and I wanted to let go. The paranoia and heaviness was everything I was feeling. Once again, they became my voice, and I fell back into them for a bit before drifting away again. I still held onto “Heavy”.

On July 20, 2017, I was packing for my family reunion. I saw that “Talking To Myself” had gone up and watched it, dancing to it as I tried to remember everything I needed with me.

A few hours later my mom called me into her room and asked if I remembered Linkin Park. Of course I did. Then she dropped my worst fear; Chester was gone.

I couldn’t speak for a minute. It literally felt like someone had punched a hole in me. I felt that in my soul, like something was ripped away from me. It was like I lost my breathe (and still haven’t caught it). Chester had brought me so much comfort and peace. He had helped me through times when I was actively suicidal. He helped me when I just needed to put words to my feelings. He did that. He made everything less heavy and helped soothe the hurt. Without him, I don’t know if I would be here, I truly don’t.

I immediately downloaded the new album and listened to it, crying the entire time. The person who had been my voice for so long was suddenly silenced. There was hurt and pain in listening to the music, but at the same time, it was strange comfort. Because, even though he wasn’t here, he would always be.

There was never anger on my side. I understood that feeling, I understood how being in that moment was. It’s horrible. But there was a strange sense of pride. A pride in that he was still here, he made it as far as he did. Most people would’ve completely given up years ago. But he kept going, he kept finding a way. A lot of it was obviously the support system he had, but a lot of it was support that we didn’t see.

We didn’t see every aspect of his life, but what we did see was someone who was both strong and vulnerable, someone who kept going, even when he didn’t want too. He didn’t give up. He was going to fuse his armor back together, he was going to pick himself up if he fell. And he did, he picked himself up until he couldn’t. We’ll never know what happened, what that final catalyst was, what those last moments were like. All we know is that our hearts are a little heavier and the world a little dimmer without him.

There’s now a tattoo on my arm of the Suicide prevention ribbon, and at the bottom are the flames that Chester had on his wrists, along with the words “One More Light”. It’s both to honor and remember Chester, but also to acknowledge my own struggles and remind myself to keep going, to remind myself that my journey isn’t over, that I still have growing and changing to do. It’s hard, when mental illness is there to tell you “NO”, to try and keep you from living, to keep you from enjoying life until you think you only have one choice. But I can’t do that. I owe it to myself and to Chester to keep trying. To hear my Battle Symphony, to not give up, fuse my armor back together and pick myself up.

You’ll always be missed and always be loved Chester. I hope you’ve found the peace you’ve always deserved.

(This is my journey. It’s not over, not by a long shot. I’m still growing and changing, I’m still trying to figure everything out. I have a lot of work to do, but I’m trying, and that’s all I can do.)

#Suicide #fuck depression #Chester Bennington #make chester proud #Linkin Park #tl;dr #makechesterproud #fuckdepression #take care of yourself #be kind to yourself

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ju1ian · 7 years

Note

evens for julian and odds for your legion courier (b/c i hate you)

thanks im on my way to your house to kill you !!!!

evens are gonna be for my Sole Survivor Julian who has a tag on my blog i dont feel like linking but its OC: Julian if yall wanna read up on thatand odds are gonna be for….. Julius, the worst ever!! i regret giving them similar names now !

Which Fallout game are they from?-Fallout: New Vegas !! a real trash courier !!

Which faction(s) did they join and which did they destroy? Why?-Julian joined the Brotherhood of Steel and also the Minutemen and he destroyed the Railroad, because he didn’t like them, and The Institute, because he was pissed the hell off at his son. He joined the Minutemen because he wanted to do something nice, and he joined the Brotherhood of Steel because he needed that familiar military aesthetic.

What is their S.P.E.C.I.A.L.?- S 10, P 2, E 7, C 10, I 2, A 5, L 1 (something like that i cant remember and im not looking at it rn)

Give us a summary of their backstory.- Julian gets discharged from the army for an injury in his shoulder two weeks before the bombs fall, he’s suffering from depression when he returns home and his marriage is sort of going south. He’s also really afraid of being a father because he thinks he’s a bad person incapable of doing anything good.

What’s their full name and does it have a meaning? Do they have any nicknames and how did they get em?- Julius Septimus is his full name and Caesar gave it to him because he didn’t know what his name was and was just going by Courier. He doesn’t have any friends to give him nicknames but Vulpes calls him Degenerate a lot and he likes it.

What’s their sexual, romantic, and gender orientation? Do they feel comfortable telling other people?- Julian is Bisexual and Biromantic, he identifies as a male and before the war he was closeted and was very afraid of telling anyone but after the war he is out and proud !

Do they have any mental illnesses? How do they cope?-Julius suffers from Bipolar Disorder and he does not cope very well.

Do they have any medical conditions? Is medicine/ treatment available for them?- Julian has a bad shoulder but it doesn’t bother him too much. He has depression but there isn’t any real medicine to help him besides chems.

How much do they care about their outer appearance? What’s their “beauty routine”? How often do they shower/ bathe?- Julius bathes when Vulpes bathes. he likes his hair to be combed without knots but thats all. His outer appearance doens’t mean very much to him.

What do they fear the most?- Julian fears himself the most.

They’re biggest flaw? Do they recognize it as a flaw?- Julius’ biggest flaw is his stupidity, and he does not see it as a flaw.

What are they most insecure about?- Julian is insecure about his lips, they are large.

What Wasteland threat do they fear the most? (ex. Deathclaws, super mutants, raiders)- GOD JULIUS IS TERRIFIED OF DEATH CLAWS AND CENTAURS

What’s their zodiac sign or which one do you think they relate to the most? What are their placements (if you know them)? (ex. Aries sun, Taurus moon, Aquarius Venus)- Julian is a taurus because im a tuarus and i dont know who he would relate tot he most because i dont know that much about zodiac signs

What’s their Myers–Briggs Type? (ex. ENTP, ISFJ)- i have no idea what this is tbh.

What Harry Potter house would they be in? (ex. Gryffindor, Ravenclaw)- i didn’t real harry potter !!! all i know is that i myself took the sorting hat thing and got slytherin and since i project onto Julian A LOT he is probably also a slytherin.

Which Pokemon Go team would they choose? (ex. Instinct, Valor, Mystic)- Julius would have chosen Instinct.

Out of the nine forms of intelligence (rhythmic, spatial, linguistic, mathematical, kinesthetic, interpersonal, intrapersonal, naturalistic, and existential) which one(s) are they really good at and which one(s) is(are) their weakest?- Julian is good at: rythmic, inguistic, mathematic, and kinesthetic and weak at all the rest.

What natural alignment are they? (ex. Lawful Good, Chaotic Evil)- Julius is chaotic evil without a doubt.

Do they have any hobbies? What are they?- Julian collects magazines, and also dogs. He loves to spend time with all 8 of his dogs, he also loves to build things with Danse.

Do they have a favorite holiday? How do they celebrate it?- Julius has no idea what a holiday is.

What’s their favorite season?- Julian likes winter time.

Do they have a temper or are they level headed?- Julius has the worst temper out of anyone in the Legion and that is a statement.

Do they express their emotions freely or hide their true feelings?- Julian has a hard time expressing his emotions and tends to let them pile up until he has a breakdown.

Are they a leader or a follower?- Julius is a follower for sure. But only if he likes you.

How do they come off to others? What first impression do they usually make?- Julian comes off as a good person because that’s how he wants to come off. People tend to take a liking to him really easily.

Do they prefer to travel alone or with company? Who have they traveled with if any? Current companion if any?- Julius preferred to travel with Arcade who was his only companion in the whole Mojave until he tried to leave him and had to die so now Julius stays alone when he’s not at The Fort with Vulpes.

Would you describe them as selfless or selfish? Does it depend on the situation?- Depends on the situation.

What do they find most attractive in others? Name at least one psychological and physical trait. (doesn’t have to be romantic attraction)- Julius likes pale skin, and smooth thighs. He also likes bossy, and thin.

Do they flirt often? How easily do they fall in love?- Julian doesn’t exactly ‘flirt’ often but he does end up having a lot of sex. he didn’t really fall in love with anyone besides Danse though.

What’s their love life like? Are they interested in anyone or in a relationship?- Julius is obsessed with Vulpes and would do anything for him. He hasn’t even thought of being romantically involved with anyone else

Do they prefer to solve things diplomatically or using violence?- Julian resorts to violence more than he’d like to admit.

What is their combat style? What range do they prefer? Do they sneak?- Julius’ combat style is hard and loud. He doesn’t sneak or really plan he just sort of barges in swinging.

What weapon(s) do they always carry with them?- Julian always has Righteous Authority with him and also the Railway Rifle

Their most prized possession?- A Light Shining in Darkness

Their thoughts on power armor?- Julian loves to wear Power Armor.

Favorite armor/ outfit?- Julius likes to wear the clothes Joshua Graham gave him but Vulpes always gets mad at him for wearing them EVEN THOUGH Caesar told him he LIKES when he wears those clothes and he doesn’t even care. (he wears the boomers outfit too)

How’s their aim? Do their hands shake while pointing a gun?- Julian has super good aim from his military training. Could probably be a sniper.

What are their thoughts on having to kill on a daily bases in order to survive? Does it take a toll on them? Or do they shake it off rather easily?- Julius has no problem killing on a daily basis. He gets agitated if he goes too long without violence.

Thoughts on death if any? (ex. Fear it, accept it)- Julian accepts death.

Do they move around a lot or prefer to have a place to call home?- Julius moved around a lot until he got his own tent at The Fort.

What’s their favorite location?- Warren Theatre in downtown Boston !! nice and quiet !! also Starlight Drive-In becuase that’s where he lives !!

Their opinions on ghouls, feral and not feral?- Not Feral are fine, Feral are scary and gross to him.

Do they scavenge for their supplies or simply buy them?-Julian has more caps than he knows what to do with so he buys supplies.

Are they the type to get distracted and go off to an unknown nearby location or do they stay on track?- Julius gets distracted and wanders off and Vulpes has to go find him.

How do they sleep? Are they picky about where and how or can they sleep basically anywhere?- Julian isn’t picky but he prefers to sleep in his home at Starlight. He can make-do anywhere though.

What’s their favorite radio station and song? (post-apocalypse)- Mad About The Boy because it reminds him of Vulpes.

What’s their favorite post-apocalyptic food? Are they a picky eater? Do they know how to cook?- Julian don’t know how to cook !! he likes Dandy Boy Apples because he’s a fool who isn’t bothered by radiation poisoning until its severe !

What’s their favorite beverage? Do they drink alcohol?Julius will drink 30 Sunset Sarsaparillas in an hour and not even be bothered by how unhealthy it is. he isn’t supposed to drink alcohol but he does it in secret !!

Do they have any tag skills?- i dont think so?

Anything they like to collect? (ex. Unique weapons, Bobbleheads)- Julius collects eyeglasses. like really, he has so many. he doesnt even wear glasses he just always picks them up.

Are they good at disarming traps or do they constantly miss them?- oh my god Julian is shit at disarming traps. like so shit. he just sets them off and he doesnt even care.

#long post/#long fucking post my god !!!#oc: julian #courier: julius

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starlabsforever-blog · 7 years

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Dude, I have so many. So here's a bunch for Killervibe :) Location (Freelance Whales), I Can't Help Falling In Love With You (Elvis), Hold My Heart (Sara Bareilles), Issues (Julia Michaels), I Dream and Ocean (Charlene Kaye)

I went with Location. The song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JqIz5_qbxrA

Also, kudos to @mosylufanfic for giving me someone to bounce ideas off of for this one

I Am Sensing Your Location

The first time it happened, Cisco was right in the middle of a fight. He was taking down a couple of rough customers with Cindy, and needless to say, it was a very inconvenient time to be rendered incapacitated on the ground by a headache.

When he came to, even the scumbags Cindy had cuffed were concerned. Cindy brought him to Julian, much to Cisco’s annoyance (“You realize you just swapped out one migraine for another one, right?”). Julian diagnosed Cisco with a serious case of off-his-meds and referred him to someone who would write him a prescription of dubious legality.

It wasn’t getting better. On the contrary, it was getting exponentially worse, but Cisco hid it from the others as best he could. They had enough to deal with.

At first, he thought it was just the vibing circuits of his brain throwing a fit because of some electrical anomaly, and he didn’t think there was any sort of significance to the vibes. After all, it had been a long while since he’d had random vibes of any importance. Thanks to Cindy, his skills were becoming honed enough that he could see things at will when he needed to. When he had the migraines, it was usually the visual equivalent of static- flashes of light and color, occasionally punctuated by a shape or a blurry image if his brain was feeling generous, but they were disjointed and never made sense. Until he had the fourth migraine, and he saw Caitlin.

It wasn’t a very clear image; it had the the same cobalt tint and smear around the edges as the rest of his vibes. He saw her face clear as day, but where she was or what she was doing he couldn’t tell.

It happened a few more times, but it was always the same- too blurry, too vague. He was tempted to vibe in on her intentionally, to see if he could clear up the picture, but he didn’t. He told himself it was because of the migraines. Really, it was because he was terrified of what he might see.

“You just couldn’t wait to see me again, huh? You know, if you wanted my attention, you didn’t have to go to such extremes.”

“Shut up.” Her hands misted dangerously.

“Actually, I’m kinda inclined to do the opposite of that. You’ve done nothing to convince me that you’re not gonna Frozone my ass as soon as I stop stalling.”

“I’m not going to kill you, Cisco,” she said, and for a second, her eyes were murky blue-brown, like the bottom of a lake.

He stepped forward, hands up.

Then her eyes glinted, and she said in that horrible, inhuman voice, “I’m going to put you through hell.”

Cisco woke up screaming.

When his voice gave out, he pulled the covers over his head, bunching his hands up in them, trying to calm down with the breathing exercises Caitlin had taught him a millennia ago. He was drenched in sweat but at the same time he felt cold clear through. He told himself that it was just a dream, that it wasn’t the right shade of blue. It had had the distorted, trippy feel of a hallucination, so it must have been a fever dream or else just stress.

That goddamn fight in the woods. Infantino Street wouldn’t leave him alone. He clutched onto his phone, his fingers hovering over Cindy’s contact, but he ended up dropping it on his nightstand. She was great and she cared and all, but she hadn’t seen him having a breakdown of this magnitude, and he wasn’t sure she would know what to do with him. He wasn’t sure she would be any comfort at all.

What he really wanted was Caitlin. Not the pale, distant woman who’d left H.R.’s funeral, and certainly not the hell maiden he’d just seen in his nightmare. He wanted his best friend Caitlin, who watched The Walking Dead with him, who hated when he stole her pizza pockets, who had spent nights sleeping on his couch just to keep her company. He wanted her so badly and it made him want to cry.

He sat up and leaned forward, resting his head in his hands. He didn’t need any help from his nightmares or his vibes to worry about Caitlin. He had no idea where she was or what she was doing, or if she was even alive, and his overactive imagination had been more than happy to remind him of all of the horrible fates that she could have suffered. That was all this was, was his overactive brain and his anxiety, and the sleep deprivation certainly couldn’t be helping.

With his nightmare fresh in his mind, he was weak. He just had to know that she was safe, that she was okay, that she was alive somewhere. Then that would give him enough peace of mind to sleep. He hadn’t slept much for the last three weeks.

He rifled through his dresser and found what he was looking for, folded up in the bottom drawer. It was a blue t-shirt that said Trust me, I’m the doctor. He had bought it, but she was the only one who ever wore it. The last time she’d worn it must have been months ago, the last time he’d gotten badly hurt enough that she’d insisted on going home with him. He hoped it would be good enough.

He held it with both hands, close to his face. It still had the faded scent of her lavender shampoo. He breathed in lavender and closed his eyes, trying to concentrate on Caitlin.

Nothing.

He huffed, frustrated, and tried again. He knew how to do this. These days, he didn’t even need an object, so why couldn’t he do it now? Maybe he needed to be in the right mindset. Okay, be zen. Calm down. Deep yoga breaths. He picked up the shirt and tried again. Still nothing.

He tossed the shirt to the ground, frustrated. He scoured his apartment, hoping he’d find an old earring of hers or something that would have soaked up her presence, but there was nothing any better than the t-shirt, not here.

He drove his truck to STAR Labs, because the migraine nibbling at the nape of his neck threatened to split his skull in two if he tried to open a breach. He raced to the elevator, his pulse still humming from the adrenaline of his dream.

He tore her desk apart, but everything felt felt too trivial or impersonal. The things he’d used before, Barry’s suit, Zoom’s hat. Dante’s car keys, were more than just a favorite pen or an earring left behind. It had to be something special.

He saw it in the corner of his eye, just a glint at the bottom of her desk drawer, and it felt like a godsend.

Her wedding ring.

He scooped it up, hands trembling, and closed his fingers around it.

Nothing happened.

He put his foot through the drawer and got a splinter in his leg.

Cisco kept trying to vibe her, but either he hit the same wall of blocky static or he was seized by an unbearable migraine. He took to wearing the wedding ring on a chain around his neck, just to keep it close to him. He decided Ronnie wouldn’t have minded.

He asked Cynthia if she’d ever not been able to vibe before. “Um, like, hypothetically. Have you ever had a block for a specific person?”

She looked at him a little suspiciously, but didn’t ask. She didn’t ask him for much these days. “Once. My partner. He was in serious trouble and I was trying to- to make sure he was okay.”

It was a striking parallel, but it just made him more frustrated. He never asked for these stupid brain-splitting powers, okay, and the one time he really needed to use them, the omnipotent power of the multiverse had decided, nah, you don’t need to know whether Caitlin’s alive.

“How did you get past it?” he asked Cynthia.

She stiffened. “I never got the chance,” she said, and turned away.

The migraines basically kept him from sleeping, ever, so that’s why he was slumped over his couch at 3 AM and at least a little high on pain medication. He was tightly clutching Cait’s wedding ring, his hand loosely over his heart, and not quite on the upside of the spectrum of consciousness when his world sputtered into blue.

This time, there was no migraine, and no acid trip. He saw Caitlin, with her shock-white hair and pale skin. She turned around and her eyes were brown, they were brown. She wore all black and red lipstick, and she was in a room he’d never seen before. He tried to look around to find maybe a window or any distinct feature that could help him locate her, but there was nothing. Lonely white walls and a depressing beige carpet. She sat on a bed in the corner, playing with something in her hand.

“Caitlin,” he whispered, even though he’d never tried that before. Predictably, she didn’t look up. He tried to focus on the shiny, silvery object in her hand, and his heart stopped when he realized what it was.

The pieces of the necklace he’d made her.

He had no idea where she’d found the remnants, or why or how she’d kept them. That didn’t matter to him nearly as much as the fact that wherever she was, she still had it and she apparently spent a lot of time looking at it.

Something he’d once made to protect her.

He focused on her face, trying to make out her features through the blurry unfocused lens. Her eyes were downcast and her face was lined, tired. She was slumped against the wall behind that bed, hugging herself.

Even though he was almost positive it didn’t work this way, he tried to project thoughts to her- Caitlin, Cait, where are you? I miss you. I need you. I still want you.

He wasn’t sure it was him calling out to her so much as his heart bursting out of his chest, mourning for her, yearning for her. His hand closed over the ring.and the atmosphere changed.

It was as sudden as a flash of lightning but as subtle as a heat wave. For a fleeting moment, he thought he saw her eyes lock with hers. Then the necklace slid out of her fingers.

He came to on his living room floor, still clutching the wedding ring tightly in his fist.

Caitlin stared at the broken pieces in her hand. Its purpose was purely sentimental. Even before Killer Frost, she hadn’t been much of a sentimental person, but having your life turned upside down and fundamentally shaken had an effect on you.

She didn’t know why she brought these. She shouldn’t have. She needed to spend this time with herself and reflect on herself and if and when Central City ever fit into that picture again, she would go back. Everything around her had changed, and she was changing, too. She had to.

But she could only be so strong for so long. When she felt this helpless and hopeless, she just held the biggest remnant of the silvery snowflake in her hand, thinking of the hands that had made it for her. She closed her eyes and imagined his strong, warm hands, his smile, his voice, his arms.

If she allowed herself to, she missed him so badly that it hurt. She closed her hand around the necklace.

I need you

She jumped and glanced around wildly. Hearing things, definitely. She was alone.

And then for a split second, she wasn’t.

Cait

She wasn’t sure if he was there, exactly, but she felt him. She felt his presence like a burst of warm sunlight, like a sudden summer storm, like two arms wrapped around her.

Then like a crack of lightning, she was alone again.

Cisco slept with the ring around his neck that night. He decided Ronnie definitely wouldn’t mind.

The next morning, his head was full of cotton, but the migraine was gone. He didn’t feel as lonely as the last night before, or as desperate. Something had shifted.

He held the ring against his chest and closed his eyes, thinking with all of his might, Cait, I’m here. Wherever you are, I’m here.

Somehow, what had felt like an unnavigable chasm between them was just the tiniest bit smaller.

#mine #flash fanfic #killervibe #caitlin snow #cisco ramon #swallowthewhale

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queerteenwitch · 5 years

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10 miligrams

When I call to make the appointment I have already written out a plan for myself--a list of things to do to address depression. I keep writing it and saying it and testing the waters for all around me because there’s this feeling of deceit. Like the fact that four years ago I was diagnosed with it somehow means it no longer exists--like every bout of it can still be reduced to just feeling low.

I remember then when I made the choice to stop taking the pills. I was so worried that my identity was being warped by being medicated--and that the fact that masturbation become hard was too big of a loss in my form of coping. And if I am being honest, I was so scared of gaining anymore weight. I had already dealt with this awful physical, violent rejection and I associated all of it with my fatness and my mental health. To me it felt easier in the mind to believe that if I was thinner than my mental health would be relieved and I would be more desirable to others. The aim was always to be more desirable for others because others would make me feel whole.

And at this time--this time of utter rebuilding and confusion, I was caught up in the pursuit of being desirable for this one person who plopped back into my life, as if by design. She made me feel incredible just by wanting to be near me again. She relayed to me in my darkest hours how wonderful I was and recounted her woes to me. All I wanted to do was feel everything with her.

And it wasn’t like my parents were keen on the doctor anyways, and no one else was going to hold me to a standard of staying on medication. So just as quickly as I had started, I stopped. Barely a month. I assumed I could solve my own mind. Or really, that the love this person provided would help me be better.

Inevitably, she rejected me and pursued her “straight” friends with an abandon that shocked me. I took it hard but still did the foolish thing—followed her to a place of work. Convinced myself it was the trees and the children that brought me there, but indeed I was there for her. And just like everything else I did in her name, I found that it wasn’t sustainable for my heart.

When she drove me home that one last ride, she had no idea that I stayed up the night before crying in a way that I had come to expect as natural. No idea that I had already determined that I would never talk to her again. No idea that I would blame her for so many things and continue on.

The years since her, I managed to live off of advice from my friend’s therapists, deep discussions with loved ones, poems that spoke to rebuilding again. I did online therapy for a few months and left as soon as money got tight. I learned about entitlement from my friend’s voice on a podcast, I clung to songs as coping mechanisms, relied on television and movies as teachers, and found a TV show that felt all too similar to me. I wrote what I could and analyzed my own brain and patterns. I tried to date multiple times and found that I had no interest in making it work, even when I was interested in someone. I continued to put others first without knowing I was doing it--gave the reigns of my happiness over to loved ones without their knowing. I taught children what I could but saw them more as extensions of heart strings than a profession--little friends to play with, to dig into our emotions with, to create warm spaces with. And even as I loved this, I knew in my heart I was not for this job.

In that time I also heard for the first time how fatness wasn’t a moral evil and began looking at my body without disdain. I began sharing my writings and found them received in a light I had never expected. I read what I could of the stars and of the cards, and ever so slowly saw how this magic revealed itself to me. I poured myself into political agendas to remove me from my own world. I danced, I sang, I went outside. I wrote words and shared them aloud with strangers turned friends. I began to understand who I was and who I am in the same breathe and build a love for being both. I saw myself in love and came to understand my own magic. I saw my gender for what it was and not what had been projected onto it all my life. I did all the things they tell you to do. I took every spout in stride.

But I still didn’t see a future for myself. Never planned one out never built myself into an existence I was never guaranteed. Didnt dream beyond my fingertips even though the views became ever more expansive. And even though I am a stranger to the human I was before, that doesn’t mean I became a person without depression.

it didn’t evaporate--it was the motivator of so much of the writing--it was the second teacher in the classroom--it was the undercurrent of every deep conversation and the builder of every pedestal I put someone on. And when it darkened again--when it revealed itself plainly in a year where I did everything to keep it at bay--I thought this was just how life would be.

And then a friend came out and talked to me about their SSRI with a passion I hadn’t heard. And the show I adored had that same character that I so related to begin medication of her own. And maybe it is because I have always seen friends and television as better teachers than anyone, but it was then that I realized that I didn’t have to romanticize this anymore. That maybe that diagnosis from four years ago meant something more than what I can only assume is me “bootstrapping” my mental health.

When I called the appointment human they asked the standard things about wanting to harm myself and I find myself reassuring them in the face of my truth. They apologize for something neither of us have any control over. I thank them in a chirpy voice, of course, because I want everyone to feel as good as they can immediately. And then it’s done, the appointment is made and I am alone in a bathroom at work and I feel that sense of accomplishment i love when I take the first step.

When I go to the appointment I find that the whole thing is different from years before--I tell the receptionist why I am there with a brazen voice, I stare at the 229 lbs on the scale with a smile, I receive the numerous compliments about the glitter on my eyes with my traditional jovial response. And I am armed with the love for myself that brought me here--armed with the knowledge that fatness is not something to fear, hate, or manage--armed with the love of my friends who have recommended this as a route--armed with the understanding that this will be a process for a lifetime and not some quick fix for a fleeting feeling. The meeting with the doctor is what I expected years ago--circling how I have felt in the last two weeks and found out that I have moderate to severe depression. Oh and anxiety which I laugh at how very of course it all feels. And in a manner of very honest minutes, I have a prescription of Prozac in my bag and a mind that is looking 6 months ahead.

It’s just the beginning. This I understand even as I write this. An aries season decision--to begin something in the face of death. So many parts of me have died and transformed already--my relationship with my body, my understanding of myself, the joys of being me, of being human, of being. But I cannot do any of this alone--I cannot just love my brain back to health. I need help.

It took me years to realize that I came from a family of fat humans with mental health challenges. But instead of addressing either truth, my family encouraged dieting, vigorous exercise, and prayer. And instead of just looking at that truth and letting it sentence me--I have all twenty-eight years of my existence doing something about it for the first true time.

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dgtashgill-blog · 6 years

Text

Boys Don’t Cry.

There are many popular phrases that portray how men are expected to be strong whilst girls are weak and emotional.; ‘Man up’, ‘boys don’t cry’ and ‘don’t be such a girl’ are a few that assume men are supposed to hide their feelings to be ‘manly’ and if they don’t then they’re acting like a girl (which apparently is a bad thing). The song ‘Boys Don’t Cry’ by The Cure (1979) points out how it can be difficult for men to show emotions and cry during a break-up. The chorus illustrates the struggle of heartbreak after a breakup and how he can’t express his sadness due to gendered expectations of it not being masculine, therefore he pretends that everything is okay and laughs it off, “I try to laugh about it, hiding the tears in my eyes, ‘cause boys don’t cry”. This can cause devastating effects for men as they feel unable to talk about their problems and holding onto these emotions can cause their mental health to deteriorate.

Video clip: ‘Boys don’t cry’ – The Cure (1979).

youtube

Traditional views of males tend to state they are strong, independent and are the breadwinners of the family. American Sociologist Talcott Parsons (1956) portrayed this in his work, stating that females play the ‘expressive role’ and should care for the family, which allows them to be more emotional, whilst males play the ‘instrumental role’ where they’re expected to be the breadwinner for the family and therefore be strong and not be emotional. This can leave men feeling emasculated if they don’t live up to these traits and can lead to other men mocking those who don’t fit into the male stereotypes.

In season 9 of the popular T.V series Friends, ‘the one with the male nanny’ (2010), Ross is left feeling uncomfortable with having a male nanny, mocking him and claiming that he was ‘too sensitive’ for a man. When Racheal decides to hire him as a nanny for their baby he states that it’s ‘weird’ for a man to have a job for a nanny, as it’s more commonly seen as a feminine job, due to the caring and emotional role, which challenges the traditional gender expectations.

Clip from Friends: ‘The one with the male nanny’.

youtube

These macho images of men such as ‘strength, dominating positions of power, the hunter-gatherer, the idea that strong and silent is alluring/attractive’ make it hard for men to show poor mental health as they’re expected to comply with these masculine norms and not show signs of weakness (Cambule, 2017), it also leaves men feeling as if they’d be judged for showing emotions as it not ‘masculine’.

It was revealed by the Mental Health Foundation in 2016, that men are much less likely to seek medical support for mental health issues compared to women; 28% of men haven’t sought help for mental health compared to 19% of women. Is it fair that men are left to struggle on their own whilst women are able to speak more openly about their mental health without fear of judgement? Dave Chawner (2016), a comedian who lived with anorexia and depression for 10 years before seeking support, argued the importance of discussing gender expectations in relation to mental health. He told the Mental Health Foundation (2016):

“I think it’s important to talk about gender when we talk about mental health, because the ways we’re expected to deal with things is different. It is more accepted for men to deal with stress, emotions and situations with anger and aggression. Anything else is interpreted as vulnerability and shut down.”

Noah Brand (2013) claimed that men are taught not to show their emotional side as ‘a man is strong […] and emotions are weak’ and these emotions get in the way of men fulfilling their roles as a protector and a provider. He suggested that men suffer from a ‘social-capital gap’; men are left feeling disconnected from their social group and have a lack of support from them as they’re unable to speak openly to one another. The male population are led to believe that admitting their feelings and talking about any mental health problems they are facing will lead to them being mocked by their peers. As they feel unable to speak out about how they’re feeling, men are much less likely than women to seek psychiatric help for their problems.

Contemporary society is moving forward on these issues, encouraging men to talk about their emotions and ask for help when they need it, by providing better support systems for men, therefore challenging the outdated view that men should have to hide their feelings to appear strong and masculine.

References:

‘Clip from Friends: The one with the male nanny’ (2010) [Online] [Accessed 07/11/2018] https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9hmWCH3JXqU

‘The One with the Male Nanny’. Friends. (2010) [Online] E4. 20:00 08/01/2010 Available through https://learningonscreen.ac.uk/ondemand/index.php/clip/134103 [Accessed 07/11/2018]

Ali, M. (2017) Image of boy surrounded by negative phrases. [Online image] [28/10/2018] https://blogs.tribune.com.pk/story/59702/why-hypermasculinity-is-ruining-the-boys-and-men-of-today/

Brand, N. (2013). Get Over It. Men and the Cost of Emotional Repression. The Good Men Project. [Online] [Accessed 24/10/18] https://goodmenproject.com/featured-content/get-over-it-men-and-the-cost-of-emotional-repression/#_ftn6

Cambule, L. (2017). “Man up”? Getting more “men” in mental health. Mind. [Online] [Accessed 24/10/18] https://www.mind.org.uk/information-support/your-stories/man-up-getting-more-men-in-mental-health/#.W9B-G_ZFyS5

Mental Health Foundation (2016) cited in Doward, J. (2016). Men much less likely to seek mental health help than women. The Guardian. [Online] [Accessed 24/10/18] https://www.theguardian.com/society/2016/nov/05/men-less-likely-to-get-help--mental-health

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