#so my brain was like to cope with anxiety lets make it WAY MORE DRAMATIC AND ADD A WHOLESOME BOI TO MAKE YOU FEEL BETTER

[joycieillustrations]

20 questions for fic writers

Thank you to @the-reading-lemon for tagging me over on my main blog and also for encouraging me to get back into fic writing in the first place ❤️

1. How many works do you have on Ao3?

A humble five! Though I plan on writing many more.

2. What's your total Ao3 word count?

158,634, of which 112,023 belong to Ex libris

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Currently, I just write for House of the Dragon, though I do have a couple of unfinished Gallifrey fics (and a few more that are unpublished) that I really do want to continue some day.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

I only have five, but in order they are: Ex libris, Salt and Smoke, Office Hours, Causal Sequence and Stress Fractures

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Generally speaking I do not, though not because I’m not grateful for them! I have checking OCD, which I’m still trying to understand and develop coping strategies for, and unfortunately one of the ways it manifests is repeatedly checking emails, messages, texts, etc. to make sure that I haven’t ‘done something wrong’. It might sound dramatic, but it usually takes me a day to recover from the anxiety spike of just posting a chapter and I don’t have the energy to also deal with the repeat compulsions I would have if I responded to comments too, especially as I feel that if I respond to one, I should respond to all! Instead, I like to leave a note at the beginning of each chapter to let everyone know how much their comments mean. I really wish I could engage more, but currently this is what I can cope with!

In the last year, I’ve only responded to one comment and that was because I found the tone of it rude and upsetting and I wanted to let the author of the comment know.

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Bold of you to assume I’ve finished a fic. Currently the one with the angstiest content is probably Salt and Smoke, though I promise the ending will have a happy note!

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Again, not finished, but I think Ex libris will have by far the happiest ending - after all, we all know Corlys and Rhaenys are married with two children at the start of House of the Dragon!

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Not really. I have the best readers ever and I get such joy from seeing both familiar names and new ones in my comments! I’ve only received one bit of hate thus far, which I think is pretty good innings.

9. Do you write smut?

I do indeed! My smuttiest one thus far is my modern AU for Corlys and Rhaenys, Office Hours, though there is a sex scene in Salt and Smoke and I have plenty of scenes up my sleeve for distant chapters of Ex libris and future fics too ;)

10. Do you write crossovers?

Not really, other than some oneshot AUs I have planned - Corlys and Rhaenys as Han and Leia, for example.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not as far as I’m aware! I only started writing fic again about a year ago, so maybe it’s a bit early for fic theft. I have had my art stolen though!

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

I haven’t, though I would consider it the absolute highest honour! I’m a translator myself (German to English) and I know how much love, time, and brain power translation takes, so if it ever were to happen, I would be the happiest fic author out there!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Other than plotting out an elaborate HP fic with my best friend when I was 11? Not really, though Office Hours came about after throwing some AU scenarios around with my friends, so they definitely helped inspire that one.

14. What's your all-time favourite ship?

Currently it is obviously Corlys x Rhaenys, but I’ve adored Han x Leia for as long as I can remember. Twelve x Missy also dragged me back on to this website, so definitely have to give them kudos for that.

15. What's the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

About 10 years ago I made a very basic Romulan conlang for a school project and, while I was doing that, plotted out a fic focused on Sela, the half-Romulan daughter of Tasha Yar from TNG, so that I could see the language used in context. I think I only ever wrote a couple of thousand words, but it would be cool to take this relatively small Trek character and build up the world and culture of Romulus around them, especially since we now have a lot more material to work with since Star Trek: Picard aired.

16. What are your writing strengths?

My dialogue gets mentioned a lot in my reviews, which makes me really happy! I think it comes from doing a lot of theatre and listening to a lot of audio dramas! For me, there’s nothing more satisfying when you’re writing fic than when you read through what you’ve written and you can hear the rhythm and cadence of the actor.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Making my sentences overly wordy or overly complicated. It’s something my teachers pointed out to me at school, I have a tendency to meander before I get to the point!

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I actually do this already for my House of the Dragon fics! I love, love, love High Valyrian and it’s so fun to sink my teeth into a new language (especially as, seeing as it’s a conlang, there’s way less pressure to be perfect all the time). I did a degree in linguistics, so it’s been a blast from the past dusting off these old skills and learning about grammatical concepts I haven’t used before (such as the vocative, locative and comitative cases). I’ve never been so thankful I suffered through three years of Russian because it’s given me such a head start when it comes to a highly inflectional language like HV!

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Like most people my age, it was HP. I wrote mostly about Bellatrix, Andromeda, and Narcissa: what can I say, I love a messy, mildly incestuous family.

20. Favourite fic you've ever written?

Probably Ex libris, though Salt and Smoke is very close to my heart. Ex libris has just grown into this absolute monster of a fic - I originally thought it would only be seven chapters! - and I’ve learnt so much in the process.

I am tagging @backjustforberena and @youleavethetardisbrakeson and you, the reader, if you’d like to have a go answering these too! 🥰

[icedmetaltea]

Health anxiety: something is wrong Me: no dude lol you're being dramatic everything is fine Body: randomly develops a nut allergy (?) Body: blood pressure consistently 130-150/80-110 at night for some reason Body: suddenly can't tolerate yogurt- including lactose free Body: Mysteriously loses 1-2 lbs per week when not on diet past month Body: constant anxiety even when not pmsing Health anxiety: come on man Me: EVERYTHING IS FINE EVERYTHING IS FINE EVERYTHING IS FINE WE'RE DEFINITELY NOT GETTING CANCER OR HEART DISEASE OR ANYTHING AHAHAHAHAHAHA

(incoherent venty stuff below, tw for suicidal thoughts and just... idk weird psychosis type stuff ig)

I can't even go to the doctor cause agoraphobia and like... even then they just blame everything on anxiety. Even when my BP is this erratic, anywhere from 110/60-156/110, and I can't make a telehealth appointment for some goddamned reason that they won't explain

And I don't know if they'll sign that form so I can get ebt and ya know not starve (I sent it via email but I got said email from a static-filled call so I don't even know if it's the right address or if they'll do it digitally)

And from the sounds of things they won't make me a note to file for a tuition appeal so I'll be saddled with a $700 fine that'll go to collections if I can't pay it by december WHEN I HAVE $600 IN MY BANK and I need it to pay for basic living essentials till I can get approved for SSI IF I even can which will take at LEAST 6 months

and everything adds up, toothepaste, paper towels, laundry soap, dish soap, sponges, trashbags, pads... the list goes on and it adds up so fast

And nobody aside from the therapist has shown any goddamned empathy for me when I've made calls, it reaaaally feels like the doctors and nurses just hope I kill myself, cause it'd be easier for them, cause I'm a burden, cause it's easier for me to die than for them to make me a telehealth appointment or sign a goddamned 1-paper form so I can fucking feed myself and not be saddled with debt

it'd be so much easier for everyone

I've been thinking about blowing my brains out all day. it used to be just when I was pmsing but it's been pretty much all month when my imaginary friend isn't distracting me with stupid shit and/or age regressing to cope

I just think, sure the gun would be expensive but then I wouldn't have to worry about money anymore, or panic attacks, or being a financial burden to my mom, or being a disappointment, or PMDD, or sleeping till 4pm when the depression gets bad, or anything

Nothing at all. Just blackness. Or maybe there's something after death, idk. Maybe I'm going to heaven or hell, but either way hopefully things just... are different there. No more capitalism. No more mental health shit. No more jobs and school and people working just to work and then die, no more of your worth getting judged by how smart you are or how valuable you are as a wage slave

No more heart pounding, no more gasping for air for the 20th time as I try to sleep, no more walking around in dreams where I feel like a ghost (and yet I look forward to it bc at least it's... different. It's somewhere than isn't here) no more waking up disappointed that I even woke up

No more thinking about how my parents are gonna die someday and then I'll really be alone

No more thinking about how my sibling left me

No more thinking about how my best friend left me

No more anything

I don't expect to make it to the end of this year. I don't know when I'll do it but it's kinda a given. I should've just let myself freeze to death back in December like I'd originally planned. At least I could die to something I loved. Why'd I bother sticking around? What have I gained? I'm just living to live

What, to finish all those books? I have hundreds, I'll never finish them all

To finish that game? I'll never finish that either

To get on SSI? I probably won't even be approved before trump takes power (be honest with yourself, you know he will. A war's coming and it ain't lookin good for people like us. He wants people like us dead)

It's so dark and lonely tonight. I have a billion thoughts in my head and it's supposed to be better now bc it's not my luteal or follicular phase... I can't even have the one good week I'm supposed to have PMDD-wise

I just can't stop thinking about how much better everything would be without me. And idk I feel kinda in a way like said imaginary friend is like... idk shutting down my body somehow. Cause even they know it's for the best. I know that's just psychosis brain talking cause they're not real but at times like these I wonder

But man, I wish if that was the case they'd make it quick and painless. A gun would be easier, just saying. Oh but it'd be too loud, make too much of a mess, blah blah blah... it's quick and effective. Sure it might not work and turn me into a vegetable. Prolly wouldn't though. It works more often than hanging/blood loss/jumping. I know they don't want me gone but even they have to admit it's about time. They've known it for a long time. I should've frozen to death. It would've been quick in 0 degree weather. We could've listened to music. Mom and dad wouldn't have found us till morning.

But no. Just had to chicken out

Ugh

[dirt-cup-draco]

Pietro x Reader Part 1/2

Warnings: Stalking, asshole can’t take no for an answer

It started with a “Hey baby, can I get your number?” 

He was tall and tanned, green eyes like you’d never seen before and a blinding smile that made you sick. Maybe it wasn’t the smile so much as the black, grainy mist around him that seemed to suck the breath from your lungs. Going out into public was hard enough when you had to deal with people’s auras bombarding you every time you took a peak in their direction. All you’d wanted was some damn cheeto puffs. 

“U-um sorry, I have a boyfriend,” You finally choked out, averting your gaze and trying to mentally block him out. You’d been getting a lot of help to ease you into being around others without it getting overwhelming, but this man was sick, rotten to the core and you weren’t strong enough yet to block him out. 

“Where is he then? You can’t tell me he’d let a pretty little thing like you out all on your own?” I’m not a thing, asshole. You thought venomously, looking around at the convenience store surroundings. He’d backed you to the corner of the store while you’d been looking at the sodas. Damn your need for fizzy drinks. You looked up and could hardly stop yourself from wincing. Your stomach turned. He was bad news and you wanted to get the hell away from him. His aura felt like it was leaving a stain on you. 

“He’s in the bathroom, he’ll be out in just a moment, I’m sure,” You lied through your teeth trying to shuffle to the side to excuse yourself. 

“I’ll keep you company then,” He persisted, stepping along with you. You were going to scream. 

“I’m alright, thanks,” You said ducking under his arm as you bolted from the store. No cheeto puffs and no soda. How disappointing. 

Three days later you were walking your dog in the park. It was a sunny day and you felt great. You’d had a great breakfast after sleeping in, the first day of the weekend was rejuvenating. You walked at a slow pace on a trail surrounded by trees. Angel sniffed at everything she passed and it made you even more fond of her. She always stopped to smell the roses, and the grass, and the lost children’s sock, and some other dog poop, well the point was, if she stopped to notice the beauty in things, so could you.

As you slowed for her however you couldn’t help but catch something out of the corner of your eye that caused your heart to drop. That suffocating black aura was jogging around the bend and you tugged at Angel’s leash. “C’mon sweetheart, lets go,” If he caught up to you, the roses would wilt and so would your mood. “Angel, come on!” You hissed, feeling bad as her ears flattened to her head but you were already feeling sick and you needed to go. 

“Hey cutie! Fancy seeing you again,” You heard him call out and you froze, limbs tense and you wondered if you could start walking again and pretend you hadn’t heard him. You decided too late and he was beside you, Angel wagging her tail. Traitor. If only she could see what you could. Your shoulders raised in defense. 

“Yeah... crazy,” You said noncommittally. Your legs wanted to take you as far away as possible.

“I didn’t catch your name last time, you ran off,” He stated, taking a step forward. You took a tentative step back onto the grass behind you but kept one foot in front to hopefully put some distance between you and his sickly smile. I want to leave, i want to leave, i want to leave. Your mind chanted. 

“O-oh yeah sorry, had to get back home to my boyfriend,” You fibbed.

“I thought he had been in the bathroom.” He said coolly, like he’d known you were lying before.Of course he did, you’d mentioned a significant other and then left the store without one look back. 

“W-well-” You began.

“Don’t worry sweetheart,” I’m not your sweetheart, “I’m not mad.” He stated with a smile, tugging his phone from his pocket. “You can make it up to me by giving me your number. Lying doesn’t suit pretty girls,” You could gag. You were choking. His aura darkened the more you stood around him and it seemed to curl around him while reaching out the things around him. Poisoning his surroundings. Poisoning you. 

You knew you were safe from harm, at least from the colored mist that originated from him. Yet the hair on the back of your neck stood at attention and you couldn’t help but fear this man. His persistence was alarming and even more so, the fact that he remained unfazed by how you responded was frightening. Couldn’t he just get the hint? 

You cursed yourself that night as your phone pinged with a notification and you jumped. You hadn’t known what to do. Just to get him to go away you’d given him your number, saying you needed to take Angel home. It had seemed to be the only way to get him off your back and for the past couple hours you’d been sick and nervous, pacing about and trying to distract your mind but you weren’t sure how you were going to respond to him when he did text.

Peaking at your phone you were relieved to see it was a text from Wanda. 

Coming over tonight? She asked.

You let yourself feel some relief. You were going to the tower to have a movie night with your friendly avengers. It didn’t happen as often as you wished, you cared for all of them and their busy schedules kept you from being kept up to date with their lives but they did still find the time to keep in touch when they could and tonight everyone would be home and you were ecstatic. 

Absolutely! Give me 20. You quickly responded, kissing Angel’s head as you got up from your spot on the couch.

 You threw on a jacket and touched up your makeup. You didn’t have to impress anyone there, but you wanted to. Looking nice for the world’s protectors seemed like the thing to do but you were especially happy to see Pietro. He was your sunshine and you were in desperate need of some. He had the most beautiful aura you’d ever seen. All yellow and bright and sunny, hence the nickname. After dealing with that black cloud hanging over your head you were more than happy to be around him, he was your peace of mind. You shoved your phone in your pocket and stepped out of your small apartment, locking the door behind you. 

The air was cooler than it had been all summer and you could nearly smell the seasons changing. The air was damp, like it might rain and the leaves rustled gently as mother nature set to turning them and setting them free from their branches. But for now it was still warm and the leaves were vibrant green. Showing off before they were blown away and forgotten for a few months. It was relaxing and you let your guard down as you walked down the few blocks you had to cross before arriving at the tower. 

But tonight the walk seemed longer. The streets seemed oddly bare too. And yet you didn’t feel like you were alone. Stop being silly, you’re just spooked from earlier you big baby, you’re fine. You scolded yourself. You peaked over your shoulder and nothing jumped out at you but you couldn’t get rid of the feeling like you were being watched. Your pace quickened and the air seemed to bite at you now. You only slowed suddenly for a moment. Maybe you could fool them, hear their footsteps. Stop it Y/N! There is no them. 

You nearly sobbed when you saw the tower come into view. You safely crossed the street and walked up to the front doors, light shining down around you. You breathed in relief and opened the door, letting the feeling of safety bring your limbs back to life, chasing away the numb fear that had been spreading steadily throughout your body. 

Yet as you entered the elevator, turning around to press the number you couldn’t help but notice a pair of bright green eyes beyond the entrance. Your blood ran cold and your eyes widen. The elevator doors closed slowly even as you jammed your finger against the close button. He just smiled, lifting his hand to wave at you. Your breath was caught in your throat, like you’d forgotten how to breathe. The only thing that snapped you out of it was the sound of your phone going off. 

Assuming it was a text from Wanda you happily sought out the distraction. But what you saw made bile rise in your throat. A text from Adam, the mystery man. Tears sprung up into your eyes and your hands shook, that fear creeping back in. You felt like you were being swallowed whole, like his aura was in the air, following the distance between you two as you rose up, up, up in the elevator. 

Glad you made it safely, walking at night can be dangerous. 

Your eyes were glued to the screen even as the doors opened. It was only Friday’s voice asked you if you were leaving at this floor that snapped you to the present and you managed a quiet yes, stumbling out of the elevator while you tried to turn your phone off. It took a moment, your hands shaking too badly but you managed it. 

You had to take a moment to breathe and realize that you were in the safest building anywhere probably and you were with gods and assassins but most importantly you were with friends and they would never let anything happen to you. 

[oitommothetease]

Invisible String (4/?)

Pairing:  Bucky Barnes x Female reader (Modern AU)

Description: James Buchanan Barnes, the owner of the most expensive-looking club in town and your new apartment. He was a dick and you hated him. What could possibly go wrong when you, the new girl in town, start bartending at his club to pursue your dreams?

Word Count: 2.6k words

Warning: 18+ (discussion of assault, nervous breakdown, anxiety attack, just don’t read this whole series if you are a kid)

You woke up to a night of dreamless sleep like you always did, but then the events of the previous night hit you. You wished it was a dream, but one look in the mirror and a bruise running along your cheek was enough to confirm. Not only that, but you remembered asking your boss to stay over, but you didn't expect him to. The blanket on your living room’s couch and the bowl of fruits and a glass of juice situated out for you on the kitchen counter proved that he did stay.

And then the reality sunk in, you have a decision to make. You can either go to the cops or let that guy get away. The latter sounded not so great, but you knew going to the cops isn't going to be great either. You've seen enough detective shows to know that. You've had enough, and you just wanted to forget it. 

What did Mr. Barnes mean when he said you were going to talk about this? Are you supposed to visit him before work? Is he going to come to your place?

You decided to work on your book but ended up not being able to concentrate, so you started watching a show and fell asleep while watching it. Maybe some Chinese take-out could make you feel better. It didn't. Nothing made you feel better. You wished you had some friends in this new town because you didn't want to burden your work friends. 

After a horrible day of trying to cope, when you finally made your way to the club, you noticed the security was increased. Usually, security guards weren't present inside the club, but today it was different. Everyone was so vigilant and you felt a little safer. If you didn't know any better, you'd think Mr. Barnes did it for you, but again he would have done the same thing for any other employee. 

"Boss wants to see you," Pietro told you. You were about to head for Clint's office when the blond twin spoke again and pointed his finger towards the stairs." The boss."

Okay, well maybe playing naïve couldn't avoid this meeting, so you slowly walked upstairs. How bad could this go, it's not like he saw you in your most vulnerable state? Oh, wait, he did. 

You knocked on his office door, wanting to rip the band-aid and get over with it. 

"Hey," you said, faking a smile. "Thanks for getting me home last night and for breakfast today. I didn't even know I had fruits and juice at home because let's be honest, I'm a toast and coffee kinda gal."

Mr. Barnes didn't say anything, he just looked at you as if you were a confusing puzzle that he couldn't solve. He raised a hand towards the seat in front of him and you took it, nervously fiddling with your fingers under the table.

“You do that a lot, you know?” he asked, it wasn't a question, it was merely an observation.

“What?”

“Deflecting a serious issue by using a joke.” Mr. Barnes observed as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“What are you? My therapist?”

He arched an eyebrow, indicating that you were literally doing the thing he pointed out. 

"Yeah, well, it's called having a healthy coping mechanism. You should try getting one, brooding is only gonna help you this far."

 "It's not healthy if you're not dealing with it," Mr. Barnes pointed out. 

You scoffed in incredulity and you felt very, very attacked. 

What is it? Attacking y/n day?, you thought. 

"Anyway, I think I want to press charges," You changed the subject to a more serious conversation to avoid him calling you out on your bullshit. 

"Okay, I understand.” 

“You do?” You asked, bewilderment clearly written all over your face. “I mean, letting an employee go to the cops is not gonna be great for your club's reputation and yours too. And, you know, considering the shady business, you do-” 

"What exactly do you think we do?" He asked.

And that's when it hit you, you didn't know what he did or mob bosses do in general. All your knowledge about it came from movies and Wattpad, both of them are not a great place to gain knowledge.

“What exactly do you do?” you pondered.

 He obviously wasn't expecting you to directly ask him, nobody has directly asked him or even made it known that they are aware of his work. It was kind of like a silent pact that everybody signed for, everybody except you, apparently. 

“Um, you know, I've been working for almost 2 weeks here now, and I haven't seen any drugs around here, so it's obviously not drugs. You don't look like the sex trafficking types-”

 "Jesus, woman!" He exclaimed, offended by your assumptions. 

"Then just tell me what you do."

You expected him to tell you something, but he just kept looking at you with a face void of emotions.

 "Fine, don't tell me," you mumbled, raising your hands dramatically in defeat. 

“So you don't mind me ruining your reputation by going to the cops?” 

“I told you I don't care. Your safety is my utmost priority,” your face might have given away the surprise you felt because he quickly backpedaled. ”I mean, the safety of my employees.”

“The safety of my employees is my utmost priority,” he told you, providing an extra emphasis on the word employees. “Anyway, one of my people would take you to the police station near-"

You cut him off immediately. 

"No, you can't tell anyone else. I don't want everyone hopping on the pity train. I'm already ashamed that you know about it," you pleaded but your voice was firm, telling him that this was not up for a discussion.

At this, his eyes and features softened. Bucky didn't want you to feel guilty or ashamed for somebody else's actions, but clearly, you did. 

"Okay, then I can take you. You just had to explain to the officer last night’s events, and they'll ask you to recognize Rumlow and then we can-"

Mr. Barnes’s voice faded into the background when it finally hit you.

"You know what, I changed my mind. It's too much. I don't want to press charges anymore. I didn't think this through," you backtracked. You did think this through, but now all the factors were adding up in your brain. You'd have to explain the details to a cop who is probably going to be another man and a stranger, and then they'd ask you to identify the guy. You didn't think you had it in you to face him. At least not now. 

He interpreted your thought process and promptly changed the topic. "Okay, we can work with whatever you want, and at least let Peter escort you home after work."

"What? No!” You quickly declined.

“It's for your own safety,” Bucky tried to reason. He wasn't letting you get off this easily.

 “I'm a strong, independent woman and I'm not scared of anything.” 

That was a lie. You were scared of many things like heights, dark, spiders, confrontation and the list goes on and on. 

You remembered all the lectures your mom gave you telling you that women should be scared because men are monsters, and you'd lose your honor if you are reckless and some other patriarchal crap that you didn't pay attention to. But you weren't scared, you were just always careful. You'd always put the keys between your knuckles when you went home alone. In your previous job, you used to laugh it off whenever your coworkers made a sexist joke. You'd ignore the subtle shoulder touch that your previous boss did. You told yourself that this is what it takes to make it. If you were to run away every time someone eyed you in a wrong way, then you'd spend your whole life running. 

Women usually shrug this behavior off as it is what is, but the truth is it shouldn't be like this.

“Please, I insist.” 

“I'm very capable of taking care of myself. Just because one bad incident happened doesn't mean I'll fucking break!” You stated, your voice louder than your regular voice to get across your point.

That was also a lie. You were walking on a thin line and you were ignoring your emotions. You were one outburst away from a breakdown, and you just couldn't bring yourself to feel anything. 

Mr. Barnes tried to call your name, but you were already bolting out of his office. 

You needed a drink. No, fuck that. You needed multiple drinks. It wasn't exactly wise to get drunk during work, but it couldn't get any shittier than this, right?, you thought.

Right?

 Wrong. It could get way shittier than this. Now it was almost midnight, you were kind of tipsy, and you could see two Mr. Stark, your regular customer, in front of you. 

Did he have a twin? Is he and his twin brother one of those identical twins that dress up the same? Because that's what it looked like.

 “Earth to y/n," Mr. Stark said, or was it his twin? It was getting hard to keep track anymore.

 And that's when you noticed. 

“Holy, Shit. You're triplets, Mr. Stark," you announced. 

"Okay, kid, close my tab.”

“Hey, y/n. Are you okay?” Peter asked, noticing the concerned look Mr. Stark gave him before leaving.

“Yes, I'm fine. Absolutely fine.”

***

Turns out you were not fine. You've been pretty much hammered for the past week, and you could barely get a sentence out without giggling or slurring. Your colleagues took notice of your state and whenever someone pointed it out, you'd just shrug it off as a bad day or a bad week. There was no concept of time in your drunk state.

You couldn't concentrate on your book, you could barely look at someone without squinting, and you've been eating takeout and leftovers for the past few days. 

James would have fired if someone working under him was this irresponsible, but he knew your reasons. He knew you clearly weren't coping with the trauma well. Your work ethics were shoved down the trash that even Clint asked why you weren't fired yet.

Bucky didn't want to talk to you, he thought that maybe giving you some space would do you good, but clearly it wasn't working. Usually, the mob boss didn't interfere in the affairs of his employees, it was Clint's job, but when you smashed a bottle on the head of a customer, he had to interject.

“I TOLD THIS FUCKER NO!” you yelled, Peter’s hand around your middle from behind. Another empty beer bottle was in your hand, ready to be smashed across the face of the drunk dude in front of you.

Pietro and Wanda were enjoying the show. Peter, being the peace lover he is, held you back when you smashed a bottle across a drunk customer's face. Even though Peter was younger than you, he was stronger, and he was not only holding you back but also himself. He didn't want to cause a scene and that is why he was mulling comforting words in your ear like, he's not worth it, you're gonna kill this guy.

Damn right I am, you thought.

It was ironic because everyone in that club had killed someone except you.

When Bucky walked into the room, the drunk guy turned towards him and pointed at you. ”You are hiring crazy bitches now? Just called her baby girl and she went psycho!!!”

Bucky didn't understand what was happening. He told the security guards to take that man outside his club and he walked towards you. He firmly yet gently took a hold of your left arm, signaling Peter to let go of you. Without a word, he started walking in the direction of his office, dragging you along with him.

Once near his office, he lightly yanked your hand and shoved you inside, making you stand in front of him.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" he inquired, having had enough of your incompetence.

You were seething with rage. "Wrong with me? I told him no, but he didn't listen."

Bucky stepped forward, his anger dissipating into sympathy. " I know, he mumbled, "and I'm so-"

 "No, you don't know!" you yelled, body trembling and tears welling up in your eyes. "I told him no multiple times, I even tried to push him off me, but he just kept coming back."

Bucky's eyes furrowed in confusion. He didn't understand your words, the drunk customer didn't touch you. And that's when he realized, you weren't talking about the drunk customer. He cognized that the drunk guy purely triggered something that you've been suppressing for days now. Bucky was aware that you needed to get it out of your system to cope healthily.

“I told him no, you know? But he just wouldn't listen,” you stated, trying to convince yourself that you didn't lead him on. ”And he was so…. so strong and… and then he hit me and everything just went blur, I couldn't see but... but I could still feel him with me.”

Not realizing that you were not in that place anymore, you wrapped your hand around yourself to seek some sort of protection and comfort, bottom lip quivering, the welled up traitorous tears were streaming down your face and all you could think about was that night. 

“I… I can't get his touch out,” you stammered. ” I shower, multiple times a day, but I still can't get his touch out.”

With that, you broke down completely and shattered on the floor, sobbing ferociously. Your knees ached because of the position you were situated in, but the emotional pain was enough to overshadow the physical one.

For once in his lifetime, Bucky did not know what to do. Cautiously, he made his way towards you and knelt down in front of you. He did not know what to say or do to make you feel better.

You launched your body towards him, snaking your arms around his shoulder to settle on his neck as if he was the only thing grounding you. You lurched onto him like he was your anchor, and maybe he was. It took a minute for Bucky to register your actions, and when he did, he wrapped his arms around your middle and closed the minuscule distance separating you.

He surprised himself with the way one of his hands automatically reached for your hair and whispered words of comfort in your ear. He caught you as you crumpled physically and emotionally. 

”You're going to be okay, doll,” he whispered and kissed your temple with sincerity. ”I will make sure of that.”

The second part was barely audible, it wasn't meant for you, it was a promise he made to himself.

Bucky held you tightly yet gently while you sobbed on his shoulder.

 He didn't know how long he held you, it felt like an eternity to him with the way he could feel the guilt and rage inside him. When you passed out in his arms, he gently placed you on one of the comfortable couches in his office and draped a blanket around you that he had for when he would work late at night.

An office chair might not be the most ideal place to spend the night in, but it didn't matter to Bucky. All that mattered was you.

TAGS: @bananapipedreams​ @akkinda10​  @rivers-rambles21​  @emmabarnes​@goodcleanfunsis​ @valsworldofcreativity​

[bangfantanfic]

Our Own World: Chapter 4

Warnings: Mentions of anxiety, restrictions/COVID

Type: Hybrid/Yandere/Romance/Fluff/Angst

Authors Note: Hey~ again, so sorry I took so longI apologise! I hope you guys enjoy. As usual, I’d you’d like to be tagged for future updates, DM or comment 🥰

“As cases continue to rise officials have announced as of 12am tonight a nationwide lockdown will be enforced.” 

Six pairs of eyes were glued to the large screen, most of them worried-- yours however only showed off pure irritation. 

“-- in order to minimise rising case numbers President Moon announced a country wide travel ban. Non Korean residents will have paid flights back to their home country, Korean residents outside the country will not be let back in until further notice--” 

Your stomach plummeted. You're stuck here for as long as your brother is stuck in the Netherlands.. 

“Y/N?” 

You could hear the men around you calling out to you, but it sounded muffled, like your head was under water. 

The five men around you were panicking at your frozen state, you were like a statue-- even Jeongguk was unable to hide his worry.

Taehyung was sitting by your feet whining, his arms wrapped around his own torso. He had tried to hug your legs, wanting to provide some comfort to your shaking form but Namjoon had nudged him away, sending a warning look before crouching by your side and trying to pull your attention back. 

“Y/N, you need to breathe--relax.” He cooed, his hands balled into fists on his thighs. It was taking all his energy to not reach out and touch you, to hold you and promise everything was okay. “Jay will be fine, he’s safe with Mila.” 

Unfortunately, the boy's sweet attempts to console you only made you feel worse. They didn’t know you were panicking about being here longer. They thought you were worried for your brother's safety. 

But you were only worried about your own.

“Y/N, do you think I could come to the store with you?” Seokjin’s voice asked shyly, his hands tightly gripping one another. “I just thought since I know the boys well— and my ah, physical differences are easier to hide—“  

You raised an eyebrow, smirking at the babbling hybrid. You had grown much more confident with the polar bear hybrid, and even a few of the others thanks to being locked in 24/7. You had still yet to meet Hoseok and Yoongi, and Jeongguk was more than happy to keep as much distance from you as humanly possible, but otherwise, you were somewhat comfortable in your surroundings for once. 

The few occasions you were able to leave the house was to get groceries and other essentials, but otherwise being caught out of the house without solid reasoning would land you a hefty fine and you weren’t exactly financially stable enough to pay thousands of dollars. 

Your brother had been in contact with you, making sure the boys were all doing fine and that you were coping with the news and long term adjustment. He had been supplying you money, and you weren’t sure where he was getting it from. His clinic had been shut since he left the country so it wasn’t from there, but you were too deep in your self pity to question it.  

“Sure, I don’t see why no—“ 

“No fair. If Jin Hyung can go out I wanna too!” Taehyung whined, appearing from thin air. His dark hair hung over his eyes, still dripping from his shower. 

“Your tail is too noticeable.” Jin shrugged, wrapping a long arm over your tiny shoulders. 

The brunette glared at the blond, stomping over to pull you away. Lightly grabbing the pocket of your white hoodie and tugging you into his chest. You wriggled, trying to pull out of his grip but it only seemed to make it tighten. 

“You’re always selfish with her!” The younger complained, resting his chin on the crown of your head.

A dramatic groan came from behind you as Jin, no doubtedly, rolled his eyes at the monkey's words. “I can’t help it if I’m her favourite.” 

Taehyung stiffened. You could feel him grinding his teeth, the sound of his teeth dragging made you feel nauseous. 

“She doesn’t have favourites.” Namjoon cut in, carefully pulling you out of the monkey's arms and wrapping his own around your shoulder. “And Jin Hyung is right, your tail is too noticeable.” 

Taehyung’s wide eyes narrowed, his arms crossed over his chest. “You’re the only one who can’t keep it still!” He argued. 

Namjoon’s face flushed pink, his jaw jutting out. It was true. Like animals, hybrids often displayed their emotions and moods through tail movements, and while the others had passed with flying colours in emotional control, Namjoon had always struggled. 

“Be that as it may, we can’t risk it. Hyung will go with Y/N and help pick out foods best suited to each of us.” He said sternly, sounding confident despite the pink tinge to his round cheeks. 

You smiled apologetically at the monkey hybrid. He was clearly biting his tongue, arms tightly crossed and eyes squinting. 

“Fine. But when you get back Y/Nie is playing with me.” 

Grocery shopping had always been easy. You only had yourself to think of, but now you had seven others depending on you. You weren’t sure about allergies, or even just what everyone liked and disliked. 

You still needed to get around to those files… 

Thankfully your brother had left behind a card for shopping, knowing your pathetic bank account would ever be able to handle more than one shop. 

With Seokjin leaning on the handles of the shopping cart he directed you where to go, what to grab all while letting you browse and pick out your own snacks. 

“Yoongi and Hobi will be joining us tonight, I’ll need to get more meat. Yoongi practically inhales it.” The hybrid sighed, voicing his thoughts aloud. 

You glanced over your shoulder, smiling softly at the sight of Seokjin. He was dressed comfortably, washed out blue jeans, a white sweater and a red cap. Round glasses sat on the bridge of his nose as he read over packaging, his plump lips pouting as he considered every item. 

“Do you think we could get lamb, Y/N?” He piqued up, dropping three packets of snacks into the cart before waddling to catch up to you. 

“I don’t see why not, it’s my brothers card after all.” You shrugged, grinning. You held back a laugh as his cheeks turned pink, attempting to hide the bright colour he rushed forward to avoid your gaze. 

You had noticed the boys were all easily flustered, you found it funny. Sometimes Jimin or Jin tried to say something flirty, and when you countered back the two turned red and made excuses to run away. Sometimes you just had to talk to them and their faces would turn redder than an apple. 

Taehyung was a little more difficult, most of the time he was rather clueless with what he said, or at least that’s how he played it off to be. 

Namjoon just didn’t try. He just preferred to leave cute gifts for you on your bed; Flowers he had grown that were in season, fruits and clumsily made origami. 

Jeongguk completely avoided you, and Taehyung the little asshole, made sure to tell you the youngest hybrid liked you, telling you how the youngest was always staring at you or asking his brothers about what you were doing. 

“The look that the cashier gave you was so rude!” Seokjin huffed, closing the passenger door. 

You rolled your eyes, starting the car. You didn’t blame the poor girl, you had bought so much food it caused a huge back up, the line running down the isles . You couldn’t even look at the cashier, too embarrassed. 

The car ride was pretty quiet, the only sounds were Seokjin humming along to the radio and the crinkling from the candy packet. He seemed to be deep in thought, and as much as you wanted to ask what was on his mind you forced your mouth to stay shut. 

Sure, you were somewhat comfortable around him and you assumed he was comfortable around you, but you knew that there wasn’t any friendship foundation, you had no right to pick around his brain— no matter how intrigued you were. 

So you stayed silent, while the hybrid beside you happily chewed away at the gummy bears he had begged for. 

As your brother’s neighbourhood approached, Seokjin finally decided to talk. He wriggled around until he was angled enough to look over your smaller body. 

He thought you were pretty. Very pretty.

The way you smelt was enchanting, always leaving him dizzy and fumbling for words, just like now. 

He felt like a fish out of water, his mouth opening and closing, eyebrows pulled together in frustration as he tried to spit out words, any words. Just something so he didn’t look like an idiot for another second. 

“Don’t freak out.” 

When your head shot over, a crack sounding from the joints making him cringe, he wanted to melt into his seat. He felt his neck and cheeks turn red, an awkward laugh forced passed his lips. 

“Sorry— sorry. I just meant, don’t let Yoongi make you feel uncomfortable.” He clarified, mentally kicking his abrupt outburst. When you raised an eyebrow he took it as a signal to continue. 

“Yoongi can be stiff?” He paused, considering his words. “He can be two ways, blunt and sort of arrogant— which he isn’t I promise!” 

“Or, he’s cocky and imposing. He’ll try to push your buttons, find out what makes you uncomfortable or mad.” He explained, clicking his tongue as he thought. “But don’t worry, Hoseok and Namjoon keep him in line.” 

When the car fell silent Seokjin felt his veins turn to ice. The last thing he wanted was for you to be uncomfortable, or scared. He’d leave yoongi out in the cages before he allowed that. 

“I grew up with Jay, I’m immune to annoying boys.” 

The smile on your lips, although forced, relaxed him slightly. You really seemed to be trying, even if it wasn’t for them and more so for your brother, he appreciated it. It made his insides feel like marshmallows. 

He watched your fingers tap on the grip of the steering wheel, your lips sucked in thin between your teeth as you thought. A cute habit of yours Jin had picked up on almost instantly. 

“I’ll be next to you, I won’t leave your side!” He promised, a hand over his heart and the other up in the air. “Scouts honour— and I can say that.” 

The proud grin on his plush lips made you break out into a small smile of your own. 

“And the other boy?” 

Seokjin dropped a red candy into his mouth, chewing twice before speaking. “Hoseok?” He looked to you for confirmation, seeing your curt nod he continued. 

“Hobi is playful, he gets along well with the younger boys. He can be a bit much, he’s loud. But he’s a good guy, you don’t have to worry about him.” 

“Hoseok— oh for Christ’s sake! Get off! All of you out, they’ll be back any minute now!” 

Namjoon’s scolding voice could be heard throughout the entire house, not that it mattered. Everyone was gathered in the one tiny space. 

The tiny office space that had been converted into a makeshift bedroom was bursting at its seams with the six men all huddled in. 

The youngest three, Jeongguk, Taehyung and Jimin had snuck in to play on the PC’s while you were missing. Jimin hadn’t been interested in playing, so instead he took the chance to snoop through your belongings. 

Hoseok, lonely after a week of separation, found his brothers quickly. But his original mission, finding the maknaes, was abandoned the moment your scented room hit his senses. Your perfume and natural musk stuck to everything in the room, almost as if you had lived in the space your whole life. 

It was mouth watering. 

Ignoring Jimin, who watched the bigger hybrid worriedly, Hoseok joined in the snooping. Mostly just looking through books and sniffing sweaters before getting bored and collapsing onto the fold out bed, an excited laugh filling the quiet room as he rolled over the unmade sheets. 

It didn’t take long for Hoseok and Jimin arguing over the small bed to wake up Yoongi. But unfortunately he got to the mess a little late, arriving just as Namjoon did. The younger boy practically tore out his hair as he tried to remove his pack from the room. 

Failing, obviously. 

The situation was quite funny to the sleepy hybrid. Yoongi’s snickering was infuriating the Wolf hybrid further, his anger and panic almost over powering the soft feminine smell that you had left behind. 

“— Jeongguk you know you aren’t supposed to be in here! Taehyung, you’re supposed to be making sure he doesn’t cause trouble, not helping!” Namjoon groaned, head in palms. 

The youngest two barely looked away from the screens, their eyes only momentarily flickering over to Namjoon. So instead Jimin piped up, stepping out from behind the much taller hybrid. 

“We just thought since she was gone we could take advantage—“

“You thought it would be okay to sneak through someone’s personal belongings!?” 

The fox hybrid turned bright pink, his ears flattening to the top of his head. Guilt flooded his features as he practically dislocated his fingers behind his back. 

“That wasn’t my intention—“ 

Their leader was livid, and not even for being disobeyed. He was familiar with the feeling— jealousy. They all smelt like you, and now your room smelt of them. 

You smelt like someone other than him— and to make it worse, your musk had been mixed with multiple other male hybrids. It made his stomach churn. 

“Your intentions don’t matter anymore.” He snapped, pointing to the door where Yoongi rested. “Out, all of you.” 

Not a single person made an effort to move, all five pairs of eyes locked on their leader almost as if they were daring him to try and remove the group. The whole situation was amusing to Yoongi who still hadn’t said a word to his brothers, just watched everything as he usually did. 

But the sound of your tires crunching on the gravel driveway sent the boys flying for the front door before an argument could breakout, much to his disappointment. 

Yoongi and Jeongguk were the only two that waited in the living room, not reacting to your arrival with enthusiasm. 

“Y/N! You’re home!” Taehyung cheered, running out the front door, ignoring the stinging pain of the sharp rocks stabbing into his bare feet. 

Before the monkey hybrid could pull you into his body for a hug he was yanked to a halt by Jin. 

“Help with the bags first.” He scolded, shoving the heavier bags into the younger boy's arms. 

Whining Taehyung obeyed, his knuckles turning white as he practically ran to dump the bags in the kitchen. Namjoon and Jimin followed in Taehyung's direction, arms full with heavy bags until everything was unpacked. 

 It was after everything was put away where it needed to be that Taehyung engulfed you in his arms, nuzzling his nose into the crook of your neck. He was breathing in so heavily you felt like the boy was about to inhale your skin. 

“You were gone for so long--” He paused, his arms tightening on you as he shuffled around. Your back was now facing everyone so Taehyung could glare at his elder. “You hogged her on purpose!” 

Seokjin groaned, the younger boy's accusation not even bothering him. He knew his brothers had grown attached to their temporary carer. He was however beginning to worry that everyone was experiencing the same feelings. Your original four weeks of house sitting was officially up tomorrow, and he felt selfish knowing you were stuck here until the government decided otherwise, and not only their government but the Netherlands too. 

He had been so excited the moment he heard you step out the car. The moment your car tires had stopped crunching on gravel and your door swung open the strong scent of Spring hit him-- despite it being WInter. You smelt fresh, like flowers and pollen, and yet sweet like sugar. You smelt perfect. 

The first time he saw you, the night you come out with their meals he almost dropped to his knees to worship you. Long (H/C), wavy hair hung down your back, messy and slightly knotted from your hands attacking it. Your glasses were dangerously low on your nose as you struggled to drag the chunk of elk meat across the ground. Your lips were pouted, but he could tell that even if you weren’t sulking they would look nearly the same. You were pretty like a doll. Small, petite shoulders and rounded hips and plush thighs he dreamed of falling asleep on. 

You were perfect, and his. 

Until he realised, maybe you weren’t just for him. 

[logically-asexual]

Hold me like you mean it

summary:

Logan’s feelings for Virgil and the fact that now Virgil barely notices him are stopping him from getting any work done. Janus offers a way for Logan to cope, by disguising himself into Anxiety. but is this really what Logan needs? and what’s in it for Janus, anyway?

Alternatively, an angsty story about rejection, denial, and manipulation.

warnings: (for the whole fic) unrequited love, rejection, manipulation, unhealthy relationships, gaslighting, dependency, dubious consent and non consent for kissing, sad ending, depression (vaguely described), angst in general, nightmares, self harm. let me know what else i should add.

taglist: @gummibearbullet @chara-07 @the-sympathetic-villain

Read on AO3

Chapter 4

| First | | Previous | | Next |

words: 1281

important: i added another warning (self harm) because of something that happens very briefly later in the story. stay safe!

In spite of his lack of rest, Logan’s day went on without difficulties. He felt almost disappointed in himself for not being able to take full advantage of the effective communication he had established with Virgil, needing instead Deceit’s assistance to keep his own mind under control, but he reminded himself that he was Logic. He couldn’t control everything occurring in the world, he could just try his best to make sense of it, and to find a way to work with it. He managed to go through the day finding tasks to distract himself from speculating about his appointment with Janus later, until the hour finally arrived.

When the alarm rang five minutes before six, he stood up from his desk and picked up an empty notebook and a pen. After all, he couldn’t miss the opportunity to gather data about Deceit’s room, he couldn’t help but be intrigued by the effects it might have. Once ready, he made his way to the selfish Side’s door and knocked.

Janus opened the door, showing a pleased smile upon seeing Logan. “My, my, what do we have here?”

“We agreed that I would meet you at this location and time.” He deadpanned.

“Right, of course. Come in.” He said, gesturing dramatically with an open hand towards his room.

Logan walked in, carefully studying the place, although he couldn’t see much of it. Once the entrance was closed, the space seemed to be even darker than Anxiety’s room, leaving visible only objects around one meter or closer to where he stood. It didn’t help that the black-tiled floor was so clean that it reflected the furniture on it, making it even more difficult to orient himself. Thankfully, Janus noticed the hesitancy in his steps and offered an arm for him to hold on to.

He was guided to a dark grey loveseat, where they both sat down. Logan went to pull out his notebook from his pocket, but realized that he didn’t have it. It was an odd occurrence, but perhaps he forgot it. He’d have to rely on his memory.

“First of all,” Logan began, “we need to agree on a measure for me to be able to distinguish between you and Virgil.”

“Aw, but where’s the fun in that?”

“This isn’t for fun. The objective of this activity is to clear my mind of the unwelcome thoughts and emotions that hamper my work. I thought I made that clear.”

“Fine.” He rolled his eyes. “What do you propose?”

“Considering your past failed attempts to impersonate us, I think the most logical option is that you wear Virgil’s old jacket.” This would also help the act be more credible, since Virgil and Logan’s relationship was closest when he used to wear that hoodie, but Logan thought that argument was too emotional to confess in front of Janus.

Janus gave him a knowing smile, before he shifted into Virgil’s old appearance, including the less intense eyeshadow. He leaned closer, resting his elbow on the back of the couch, and whispered. “So, Logic. What do you want to do?”

Even though Janus’ impression was unnervingly accurate, Logan felt awkward, and found it hard to let go. Nevertheless, he leaned back and made an effort to believe the lie.

“We could watch together one of those troubling documentaries about paranormal events that- that you like. I enjoy pointing out the inconsistencies and misconceptions in them.” He replied timidly.

Virgil smiled at him and materialized a laptop. He laid it gently on Logan’s lap and pressed play on the documentary as he sat closer, extending his arm on the back of the couch behind him. It was a little too close for Logan’s comfort, moreso after a few minutes, when Virgil moved his hand to rest on his shoulder.

“Um... Vir- I mean, Janus. I would rather take this slow, and keep the relationship strictly platonic, so that the experience isn’t too overwhelming.”

“Sure thing.” He replied, with no trace of Janus’ voice or tone, but the only movement he made was to withdraw his hand to the back of the cushion.

Gradually, Logan was able to feel more at ease, snickering occasionally at the other’s commentary on the film. He didn’t notice that the hand had been back on his shoulder until he felt it rubbing circles soothingly, but at this point he didn’t mind. He still felt somewhat nervous, but he attributed it to being in Anxiety’s room. Virgil had been very kind to invite him into his personal space, so he wasn’t going to protest now.

He didn’t protest either when Virgil hugged him tighter, moving his arm from his shoulders to his waist. The documentary had ended and they started a second one after laying the laptop on a small table in front of them. Logan was captivated by the mystery in this story, but Virgil seemed less focused, directing his attention to Logan’s face instead.

A sensation of unease kicked in as he felt a cold kiss being pressed to the side of his forehead. His mind reminded him weakly about Deceit, but the thought was easily pushed away by the satisfaction and warmth he felt about his affection for the other Side being reciprocated. A second kiss followed and his cheeks flushed immediately. Logan turned away slightly, hoping to convey that he wasn’t confident about this kind of intimate display. Virgil gingerly moved his free hand to hold his chin between his fingers. There was no strength in his hold, but Logan felt his head turn on its own to face the other’s. He registered that the volume of the laptop had lowered, and that his field of vision became narrower, making only the side in front of him visible. His deep brown eyes were half-lidded as they looked into his own.

After his previous two experiences with being this close to Anxiety, Logan was wary of what would follow. However, this was still what he had wanted, what he needed. He was now convinced that this was the only way, and once again closed his eyes and tilted his head forward.

This kiss felt different to the one in his dream, it was more present, more real (logically). There were many sensations and textures that Logan’s brain hadn’t been able to imagine in his sleep, like the surprising coldness of the other’s lips, or the softness of the wet gliding of their mouths. Most remarkable, though, was the drive Logan felt to keep going. This impulse was unexpected, and unlike any other non-physical sensation he had ever experienced. He had always been analytical with his actions, driven only by a clear, meaningful objective, but in this situation there was no goal, only the necessity of maintaining contact.

Even so, he had to pull away after a few seconds, because the overwhelming new experience had left him out of breath. Virgil allowed him to take a minute to collect himself and decide if he wanted to continue, but before he could make a decision, both were startled by a beeping sound. It came from Logan’s watch, apparently it was already eight, and he had to move on with his scheduled activities.

Logan quickly turned off the alarm, feeling like he had just been woken up from a dream, and turned back to Janus, who looked once again like his regular self. Embarrassed, Logan stood up and excused himself, before clumsily making his way towards the now slightly visible exit on the other side of the room. He closed Janus’ door behind him with a little too much force, eager to be back in his own room as soon as possible.

| First | | Previous | | Next |

notes: it's begun!

this chapter is a bit of a mess but it's supposed to be like that because my boy logan is confused.

[mannien]

Mornings in Sheffield Park | TH - PROLOGUE

The one with graduation, daisies and carnations, and a hopeless emotional addiction.

Word count: 3.1k

Warnings: some stress and anxiety here and there

Some feelings are addictive. It’s easy to get used to the way something tingles with excitement, warms up with passion, or stings with powerful adrenaline rush. People get comfortable with feelings known and desired and more often than not, they turn them into coping mechanisms. Whatever sticks their wobbly pieces together the longest, is the ultimate solution. Feelings don’t need to be entirely positive or with pure intentions behind them. As long as they cover up the shattered pieces, they stay. They may enhance some experiences, especially when someone decides to stick with something as simple as joy. But some make life more difficult than it seems; they mess up the timeline and allow people to feel so many wrong things before reaching the truth.

An array of emotions weaves through fresh university graduates. A sense of freedom and relief is somewhat clouded by fear or excitement. Someone has an internship lined up, their friends take a year to travel across Europe, a roommate has an apprenticeship at their next job. Others might take things slow and see what the future holds, while some students get prepared to have a fresh start. The overall unknown seems to be the underlying tone in the speeches during the graduation ceremony, but each person in polished shoes and with a rapid heartbeat subconsciously sticks to a feeling that makes them feel more at ease.

Students of each program are called on stage. Every little success along the way is cradled into slippery hats and fitted gowns with the university’s subtle emblem on the front. The audience is sitting on the large balcony above the graduates. People clap with appreciation at each young person walking across the wooden floor and shaking the chancellor’s hand. Some receive a more enthusiastic applause, sometimes even a roar of cheers. As the long queue of journalism graduates makes its way through the hall, the names are listed rapidly. Students walk as if they were a part of an assembly line, trying their best not to delay the process of the nerve-wracking hand-shaking and walking without tripping. The last are always graduates with exceptional results, so the crowds are encouraged to clap vigorously. And that’s what’s heard when the eyes of two women in the audience are focused on the proud figure walking on stage: the loudest cheers of the afternoon so far.

“Remind me, why aren’t we screaming for your boyfriend, and the whole department of journalism is?” A questioning voice surprised Millie so much that she jumped in her seat.

“I’m nervous, Thea. That’s why.”

She stated the obvious. Millie Beaver was the one to frantically fix the sleeves of her gown as a nervous tick. She got up early that morning, dreading the day full of polished festivities and exaggerated elegance requested upon a bunch of tired, educated enough people. The pride in successfully finishing her studies was yet to come; her body was rather keen on reacting dramatically to the large crowds of scholars, pupils and their families. The dread of participating in an unrehearsed event like this clouded her brain and made her focus solely on not loosing it. Though she wouldn’t dare admit it to the smiling man, who was just about to shake some hands on stage. The confidence he wore on his face was something she was used to seeing, even in the least favourable scenarios.

“I still don’t get it, how some people are born so talented that they don’t need to work their asses off to get somewhere,” she shrugged, making her tight black curls shake with her head, “I mean, the hours we spent on reading and researching…”

“I guess we’re just different.”

“Different? It’s not fair, that’s what it is. Patriarchy at its finest.”

The comment made Millie laugh and release some of the tension. Her eyes followed Franklin into the side corridor, where a little crowd of his friends formed a circle around him – the star of the department - before continuing into their seats. His cheerful stance made her bit her lip in excitement; for a moment, she tried to forget about whatever was said through the speakers. She genuinely wanted to be feel happy for him and his academic achievements. After all, she spent previous months on watching him get to the top of their classes almost effortlessly, as if he was born to be talked about by the teachers.

Millie felt her heart speed up at the thought that he might start searching for her for a little cheer, or even a tiny wave of support. But Frank sat down and continued to enjoy his fame, and Thea started to pull her up from the wooden chair.

“Come on, it’s our turn.”

She followed her friend and attempted to smooth out the heavy gown. Her light brown hair flowed as she walked, making her nervously fix it every now and then. She turned to the very end of the queue to find Jane, who wore a wide smile. They made eye contact and the blonde sent her a half-smile, knowing that they are almost through the tough part. It calmed Millie to know that she had her support system, not only up in the balcony, but also somewhere among the students of literary and media studies. At one point she feared that her nightmare of falling off the stage will become reality, but as a surprise to her and her close ones, clumsy Millie walked gracefully and with pride painted across her face.

Mission accomplished: she made it through college without falling.

The main floor of the event hall once again filled with students, their peers, and families. Loud chatter was heard across the building as people were celebrating the achievements of the year’s graduates. Some of the groups moved outside and took in the chilly London air. It smelled of rain and freedom, clouded with light grey pillows in the sky.

The three girls tried to make it through the crowds of chatting people in search for the perfect spot to take pictures together. Jane wore the highest heels of them all, so she was designated to lead them to the wall with the logo of the university. In a tight weave of pinkie fingers, they rushed through the hall just as they would through a college party. Millie felt dizzy from the sea of the same black gowns surrounding them from every angle. Some people waved at them, so she kept her smile wide and left Thea – with her one hand free – to the waving back duty. Their secure escape led them safely to the back wall on the side of the entrance, where some of the students usually found peace between classes and sat down on the floor, watching over the busy entrance to the building during the semester. The carpet remembered a lot of spilled coffees and teas in the wobbly little cups purchased from the cafeteria inside. Millie let out a breath of relief, seeing that only a couple of students found this spot perfect for keeping the memories.

“Hey, congrats! We’re graduates!” Jane welcomed the group that was finishing their poses in front of the wall.

Thea laughed with them, but desperately waved her hand in front of her reddening face to cool off.

“I hate your speed in heels. That was too fast!”

“Don’t worry, at least you don’t have to run to the Linguistics ever again.” Millie pulled her little bag from underneath the gown and looked for a sheet of paper with old notes. As long as Jane was busy chatting up other students, the other two tackled the makeshift air conditioning to prevent Thea’s makeup from running.

“Okay, are we ready for some iPhone memories?” The sound of a snapshot stopped Millie from frantically fanning their friend’s face.

“You sound ready. Do you have a tripod or a selfie stick, though? I want to have a picture with all of you.”

“We could still catch that group and ask someone to snap a few?”

“I’m not running anywhere, I’ve just fixed my face!” Thea puffed her cheeks and did a few more waves around them, certainly for an enhanced dramatic effect.

“Then don’t run anywhere, I’ll call my mom to come here, she’s probably out for a smoke anyway.”

“You really want to have your graduation pictures taken by your mom?” Thea and Millie chuckled at Jane’s resigned sigh. “Maybe Frank could come here? I trust his steady hands more.”

“He was supposed to go to the student’s office after the ceremony. Honours and stuff.” Millie pursed her lips.

“Right when we need him! What a boyfriend.”

“Jane!”

“Do you need a hand, girls?”

A sudden male voice stopped the rising argument and made the three of them look into the corridor. He welcomed them with a warm smile and soft wrinkles by his eyes. With a small bunch of colourful flowers, he stood out in casual, non-graduate clothes, yet with similar youthfulness to him.

“I’m not my brother but I can take a straight picture in focus.”

“What the fuck?” Millie covered her mouth in shock. Hesitantly, she took one step away from Jane and Thea, afraid of her next reaction. “What the actual fuck are you doing here?”

“I came to my friend’s graduation, fancy seeing you here.”

“I’m serious!” She raised her voice and made her way over to him, meeting his steps somewhere in the middle of the distance. He was smiling at her stupidly and she couldn’t stop herself from mirroring his reaction.

“I’m serious too, you made it! That’s so cool!” He opened his arms and invited her in, with a small encouragement of his waving hand.

One of the most addictive feelings are those of an utter comfort and safety. This teasing sparkle making your insides warm up and encouraging you to be a little more positive. That’s precisely what Millie felt when she was engulfed in a tight hug by her childhood best friend. Tom held her tightly across her back and swayed them side to side, earning a hearty laugh from the girl who was now, shining. She felt a sense of genuine relief once he squeezed her in reassurance; her brotherly figure showed up, so she was finally able to relax. Suddenly everything felt easy and perfect. All of the stress, fear of the unknown, anxiety about the grand event of the day, and the rest of damaging emotions slowed down their tempo in her veins, simply because she was home. Her smile swiftly changed into more prominent and definitely brighter by a shade or two. As he held her close, he could feel Millie’s warmth suddenly radiate through his body, making his eyes twinkle with joy because of this very girl.

“Congratulations, Minnie Mouse, I’m so proud of you,” he whispered next to her ear, cautious of what others may hear from their little exchange. She did not need any more nerves weighting her down, so he decided not to make a big scene – even though he definitely wanted to tease her worrying head and make sure she’s having a good time. “you’re all grown up now, so I got you flowers.”

“Oh, so otherwise you wouldn’t?” Millie shook his head, but accepted a small bouquet of carnations and daisies.

“Nah, I know you hate flowers.” He winked at her and put his arm around Millie’s arms, tucking her into his side a little too tightly.

“Absolutely. Thanks Tom, I’ll throw them out after the pictures.”

“Go ahead,” He tucked her in even more, making her squirm in discomfort. It was one of their things, to squeeze one another too tight. It made them feel connected as if they were siblings. They knew how sibling love worked, Tom having three younger brothers and Millie being the youngest of three sisters, but it was refreshing to have it a little spiced up. She let out a shy laugh and pushed him away before taking the delicate bunch from him. She lost the smell of his familiar perfume and took a breath. Once he extended his hand to Millie’s friends, he was back to his public confidence and charm. “Hey! Thea and Jane, right?���

They took an intimidating number of pictures; some of them good enough to share with people, other more fitting into a private photo album filled with silly, heart-warming memories. The group shared a lot of easy laughs together; Millie’s girlfriends eased into the lightly flowing chatter with Tom in no time. It made her sink into the bubble of comfort and light; she was smiling brightly when they reached the entrance to the building. Tom opened the glass door for all of them. A slightly chilly air hit Millie in her blushing cheeks and slowed down the pinky glow spreading across her cheekbones. Somewhere in the distance she noticed her parents lurking excitedly at the group and waving them over expectantly.

There was this heaviness slowing her down and taking up an excess of space in the back of her mind. As they were making their way across the university’s main square, Millie slowly turned her head to the side. She perked up at the sound of loud cheers and noticed a familiar group of students. Among them, there was Frank—laughing and hugging people from his department—and he definitely enjoyed being in the centre of attention. She was sure he didn’t even notice her walking by, but she didn’t want it to affect her as much as it was going to.

In turn, what she didn’t think of was the attention someone would give to her best friend: the smiling, cheerful young man, who was shamelessly chatting up Millie, Thea and Jane.

“Oh my God, is that Tom Holland?”

This simple question, raised somewhere from the group of journalism graduates, didn’t surprise Tom. However, it definitely rose the hairs on the back of Millie’s neck. Though he brushed it off and sent her a reassuring smile, Millie felt panic flowing through her veins. They both knew it could happen, but Tom seemed to be focused more on making her a priority, rather than fearing being recognized as the famous actor. He watched her reaction, now fully aware of her boyfriend emerging from the crowd and skipping towards them.

“Hey, I was trying to find you earlier,” he brushed his hand through his dark blonde hair and gave her a brief smile, before turning excitedly to Tom. “Hey man, I didn’t know you were coming!”

“We just went to…” she paused, seeing as he was already extending his hand towards her friend. “…take pictures.”

“The girls had a nice little photoshoot back inside.” Tom cut short his smile, raising the side of his mouth only to her. He accepted Frank’s handshake but didn’t allow it to turn into a bro-hug. It was fairly easy to read their body language; Franklin tried his best to seem friendly with his girlfriend’s celebrity friend, but the said celebrity was too kind to allow his cheekiness outshine Millie’s comfort zone. Jane and Thea turned their heads away at the sight of palms squeezing a little too tight for a friendly greeting. Frank’s friends and a couple other bystanders watched the exchange with prying eyes, and Millie let out a frustrated groan at the unnecessary tension.

“Cool, cool. Can I steal my girl for a moment?”

Frank didn’t wait for an answer, but rather just took her hand and pulled her to the side, hiding slightly behind the group of people. He fixed the tinsel attached to her hat and winked at her, giving her his full attention. He looked at her with his gleaming blue eyes and made her smile at the intimate moment.

“You good, sweetie?”

“Yeah, just fine.”

“Good. I’ll see you tonight, yeah?”

“Are your parents here? I haven’t seen them.” She looked around, trying to find his mom’s flowing blonde hair.

“They went to get the table at the restaurant nearby. Wanna join us?” He searched her face and leaned in closer, brushing his nose against hers. Millie laid her hand on his shoulder and allowed him into her little space.

“Why are you asking me to choose between our parents?” She chuckled, but patiently waited for his reaction. “Could we all spend time together, at least once?”

“I told you, it’s not a good idea,” Frank brushed his lips against Millie’s, slowly easing her into him and making her return the kiss. “you can ask Tom to come to the party tonight, it’ll be fun.”

“No promises.”

They shared a few more kisses that left Millie breathless - Franklin wasn’t usually the one to publicly show his affection, so she craved anything he willing to give her. She smiled up at him and let him go, happy that he took the minute to catch up with her.

With one last wave of his hand, Frank joined his party. Although he was instantly pulled into celebratory pictures, he couldn’t help but watch Millie walk away; she joined Jane and Thea in a heart-warming group hug. She was just sweet like this: sticking to her people, making sure everyone’s happy, and embracing all the kindness in the simplest actions. Franklin smiled to himself at the sound of her cheerful laugh and turned back to his friends, but then he noticed the source of her laugh. Her and Tom did a barely-there joyful dance, raising their hands and curtseying to her parents. Alfred, her dad, patted him on the back and shook his hand vigorously, while Millie was being squeezed by her mom.

People from Frank’s department praised him for having any kind of relationship with Tom Holland. Frank watched Tom’s joyous exchange with his girlfriend. Tom was proudly paying attention to his best friend, and Millie’s cheeks were hurting from the smiles. She was content and felt at ease. She was sure that her heart was filled to the brim with love and comfort.

Yes, being addicted to feelings is difficult. It holds people hostage in the arms of the sole premise of positive emotional experiences. It’s also blinding for the addicts, making the loss of certain feelings hurt more than it should. Addiction feeds off the weak, the confused, and the uncertain. It eats them up alive and strives to receive more and more satisfaction. It allows for the illusion of reality, so that the addicts can project certain feelings onto their consciousness. They live in their bubbles of unruly contentment and often forget to look into their souls and perform a regular check-up.

Millie was an addict.

***

Please let me know what you think!

tagged: @peeterparkr @katieraven @kozybear @sunsetholland @hey-marlie @lauras-collection @cunaeparker @constellationsv @heyhihellowhatsup0

[reeeyachi]

Thoughts: KilluGon Confession, Gon’s Emotional Control

Okay, so, this is a follow up post to my response/reaction/emotions on Tele’s post about KilluGon potentially canon explicit romantic confession. (Her detailed explanation was wonderful and beautiful and excellent, I just wanted to make a separate post on my thoughts because my brain is screaming into the void rn.)

Ok disclaimer: I’m working with the remainder of my caffeinated braincells right now so everything I say will be 100% subjective and just *thoughts* aka *mush*.

So…

I’ve also had/believed this headcanon that Gon fell first since I started watching hxh years ago because it’s too obvious, right? Tbh, I never thought of Killua being gay for Gon until recently (like 8 months ago-recently) because it’s always Gon who’s explicit about his thoughts on Killua. It’s too obvious. We could never miss it. So him confessing his love for him would make so much sense. Everything falls into place in my head.

Lea said some really good stuff about Killua’s character arc and how it sends a positive message to all the readers and everyone who identifies with him, a child who suffered from years of abuse. And him receiving love, accepting it and giving it in return would complete his growth process (I’m basically just summarizing here; please read Tele’s post they’re much more comprehensive and well-written).

A dramatic romantic confession to happen in canon would be the one to seal it – from Gon, a complete stranger he randomly met at the Hunter Exam, the first person to call him a friend, the person who went out of his way to save him from his family’s tortures, the boy who accepted him for who he is, wholly, unconditionally.

It would change everything. It would end past traumas.

Not only Killua’s, but also Gon’s.

Please allow me to lay down my 4am thoughts about what I think confessing his feelings for Killua would mean for Gon as well (with regard to his own character arc and self-worth issues).

Okay so before I go into that I want to try and explain how “confessing love�� feels like / what it means to the person SAYING it. It’s nerve-racking. The tension. The pressure on your shoulders. The block in your throat. Your shaky hands. Your shaky voice. The fear of getting rejected. The fear of saying the wrong words or doing the wrong thing. The fear of jumping into the unknown. It’s a leap of faith. An ending and/or a beginning. It’s that line you cross where you can never go back. Once the words are said, BAM, it stays forever, and the very thought of that, the anxiety, the overthinking, nips at your brain.

The very thought of confessing to a person you like/love FOR THE FIRST TIME is fucking terrifying (Idk about you, but it is to me. And I feel like, for TEENAGERS, it would feel like hell’s pulling them to the earth’s core. Just. The thought of it.)

What I’m trying to say here is that, expressing genuine *romantic* feelings takes courage. And in this headcanon, with Gon being the one to SAY IT FIRST, he would probably go through all of these. But him being ABLE to say it would mean MORE THAN overcoming a fear of expressing. “But Gon doesn’t have any problems expressing his emotions.” Actually, you’re not wrong. But, for me, this isn’t exactly right.

Let’s jump first to me explaining my take on how Gon handles emotions:

For me, Gon has a hard time expressing what’s in his heart. Idk how to explain, but it’s just that, it’s so easy for him to say what’s on his mind all the time. But he has a tendency of neglecting negative emotions and hiding his true feelings; or letting himself feel it for a while but then he finds something that would make him forget about it. We’ve seen him breakdown. Emotions. Just piled up. And he exploded.

He said some bad things to Killua, he did some bad stuff. It’s all in the heat of the moment. And for me, I see it as lack of emotional control (bc he’s 12 and has abandonment issues and witnessed his father-figure severe his arm and basically dead in front of him give him a break YOU BREAKDOWN AND SAY BAD THINGS TO PEOPLE YOU LOVE AT 23Y/O DO NOT DENY IT) because he doesn’t know HOW to control it when it gets to him.

He’s afraid that he might break. And in effect, he would feel weak and helpless and useless. (Or even vice versa.)

Gon, unknowingly, protects himself from breaking by inserting the good things in his head. He protects himself from feeling useless by lending a helping hand, because he feels that he’s valuable that way; he feels that he’ll be loved and validated that way. He’d feel that he has purpose. It happens to people, which isn’t a bad thing at all, but it’s something that Gon could learn how to cope up with as he grows and matures.

(Read Tele’s wonderful meta about Gon Freecss here. I haven’t finished reading but I’m loving every bit of it so far.)

Ok back to the confession take:

Having said that, I feel that Gon would find it difficult to express what it is he’s feeling in his heart. But here we have to recognize the fact that Togashi threw him back in Whale Island, nen-less and Killua-less, doing homework and chores and good ‘ol Islander stuff. The beauty of this interval is that it would give him MORE TIME and the SPACE and PEACE he needs to get into his head and heart and just think everything through, learn how to deal with his emotions. Since he already experienced a peak of his emotional catastrophe at 12y/o, he would look back at everything and just… realize what it is that he has to.

Part of it is his feelings for you-know-who catboy. <3

And he wants to tell him. I also think that he would want something to happen after telling him. But, he doesn’t know if or how he could say it freely, unlike before when they were stargazing and he suddenly told him that he happy when he’s with Killua. At that time, it was a spur of the moment; at that time, him and Killua haven’t experienced the trauma that is CAA; at that time, it was simple. But now? How could Gon face him and tell him that he loves Killua after everything that had happened? Something would hold him back. He would hesitate. Something like…

So, again, him being able to say it (for me) would mean so much more than a simple get-together. Here’s a short list because I love lists!

Self-discovery and self-affirmation. You know how we see Gon as this sunshine boy who just wants to follow his dad’s footsteps to try and figure out what being a hunter is like / what’s great about being a hunter that Ging chose to not stay with him. At the present timeline, he already met Ging, he fulfilled his goal. What would he do now? What does he truly want? For me, him knowing that he *loves* someone dearly and *wants* to stay with that person would mean that he’s discovering which path he intends to go, for the long-term, and that sticking with that plan by expressing what he feels would simply affirm this self-discovery. It’s kind of related to that post by Tele here, of Gon following a path that’s not his dad’s footsteps. He’d have his own thing. He’d be his own person. Confessing your true feelings to your BEST FRIEND in the whole world would be a BIG STEP and Gon should know that it shouldn’t be taken lightly. It’s a very mature thing to do! When this becomes canon, idk, I’d cry because I’d be so proud of him for realizing what he feels, taking that emotion carefully and maturely, and expressing it lovingly – which brings me to my next point.

Being open to give and accept love again. Emphasize on the “again” because he went through a traumatic episode in his young life. You know that saying that you can never give what you don’t have? Well, folks, I think this is also applicable to Gon’s character now, like, after CAA, and after everything basically. We always see him giving love to OTHERS. Do we see him give love to himself? Gon endures pain and suffering because he thought it’s what he deserved. He’s willing to die in his best friend’s place so that he’d live. He’s willing to die to atone for something he didn’t even do. Gon needed to love himself. He had to learn how to take care of himself. You can never give a love you don’t have – so him dropping everything and professing his love for Killua would also mean that he DID it, finally. He’d have so much love for himself to give. He’d be ready to give all the love he stored for himself, and I think that’s really pretty.

Overcoming past trauma / getting back up on his feet. Having said all those, it all boils down to overcoming and ending past trauma – everything – because it would be a start of something new and fresh and beautiful. It would be a beginning of a new world for him, bright, spotless, unadulterated. When you fall in love, everything falls into place somehow, and all you see are beautiful things. I think this is meaningful because, while he’d seen beautiful things, Gon experienced abandonment, he experienced trauma and all the awful things we saw so far. So, with this confession happening, this new beginning, he’d look at the world with brand new eyes, he’d look at Killua, and think that it’s not so bad after all, because he’d have this overflowing love stored in his heart. It would cancel out the bad. He’d have another reason to live and stay alive. He’d have that one thing he wants more than any material thing – and that is love and happiness. Confessing is a choice. And by doing it, Gon chooses love and happiness over any material thing he wished to hunt.

I don’t know if that made sense but there! lol This might be reaching but just imagine the symbolism. It would mean so much. <3

[heartate-aa]

but yeah no on a serious note. since i feel like my hand has been forced, i’m going to be more open about myself regarding like my mental health. i usually don’t like to put it out there, not anymore since the majority of us have moved past the “tell the entire internet all of your mental health problems and list them where we can all see or else you’re lying” but. i struggle with bipolar disorder, depression, anxiety, paranoia, and adhd. if you know anything about these things, you’re going to know how difficult it is to deal with them, especially their combined effects together. bipolar + adhd together literally feels like they are holding hands and skipping and singing songs together while holding me at gunpoint to conspire against me and ruin my life and it’s difficult like. the adhd executive dysfunction on top of the lethargy and mood drops that come with depression + my severe depressive episodes make it almost impossible to function sometimes and it’s why i disappear out of nowhere and i shut down and i don’t talk to anyone.

like that incident in may 2018 where i was literally so suicidal that i really did try to like my mental health was so bad and it’s disgusting that my 4-5 days of silence are being painted as me suicide baiting and also “making them think i was dead” like i understand how shitty it comes across. the way it must have felt to worry about me. but perhaps for a moment, could you understand how awful my mental health had to be that i deleted my existence from the internet for a week and said nothing, even to my own boyfriend who was trying to check on me? the fact that i couldn’t even tell them that hey, i am fine now, i’m recovering, i’m doing better, speaks volumes to HOW i was struggling and how low i felt because my bipolar disorder takes me to the extremes and sometimes things feel life or death and world ending and it’s dramatic and it’s awful and it’s not fun. i didn’t do it on purpose. it seems cold because yeah at the end of the week, when i was starting to feel better, i was playing aram games on the PBE because i was trying to find some semblance of normality and do something i enjoyed to make myself feel better after being in such a horrible pit. am i proud of that? no, because if i was starting to feel better, i could have messaged raphael first. that’s true. but i was still not in a place where i felt like i was ready to talk to anyone. i wasn’t. i was spoonless, upset, depressed, recovering from trying to die, and i still wasn’t ready to talk to them and it’s unfair to twist this situation and paint it as me being evil and malicious when i was simply struggling. it’s not fair. i understand the way that it hurt raphael. the desperation and worry and anxiety that they went through in trying to make sure i was ok because they thought i was dead. i cannot even begin to imagine what they were feeling, but i can try to because they scared me several times. i don’t think they were suicide baiting me and i will not say that it was because that’s shitty and it’s NOT what it was but, they scared me a lot and i thought a lot of times things were very dangerous. i won’t speak up on the incidents themselves bc it’s not my story to tell and i will not break the privacy of these situations, but i was scared a lot that raphael was going to hurt themself and i was panicked and upset and i can understand, in part, the similar feelings they must have felt. anyway i will discuss all of this at a later date.

the point of this post was. i am mentally ill. severely so. i’m not in a position where i can seek professional help but i do things every single day to try to cope and better myself and grow as a person so that i don’t let my issues negatively affect the people around me. i still slip up, i know that, i make mistakes, but i am trying my best to be a better person. i am trying to be more conscientious of the things i say and do because with my adhd + bipolar comes a lot of impulsivity and that gets me into a lot of trouble. but like, it’s disingenuous to try to accuse me of taking the time to make malicious schemes but in the same beat note that i’m ... impulsive and it’s because of my impulsivity that i fuck up? pick a story. please. my brain is not wired that way. i couldn’t scheme even if i wanted to like it’s just. malicious to say that?? my bipolar gets triggered easily sometimes. sometimes it’s not so easy. sometimes i don’t even see an episode coming, i’m just suddenly in a pit of irritability and depression and i don’t know how i got there and i’m in my extremes of everything sucks the world around me is coming to an end. but sometimes i’m manic and happy and excited but at the same time i’m still just as irritable. anyways i’m saying all of this because. my mental illnesses aren’t excuses. i’ve never tried to use them as a crutch or make excuses. every time i bring them up, i’m trying to provide a reason and explanation from how/why i got from point a to point b. i never tried to use them as a crutch. i just wanted to be understood. i just wanted people like raphael to understand my reasoning, my mindset, and my point of view. it was never meant as a “im using this as a shield and that’s why you can’t yell at me.” it was a “hey this happened because i came to this conclusion due to my anxiety/paranoia and i acted impulsively.” i never used anything to justify my actions. me being mentally ill doesn’t put me in the right. i have NEVER used it to excuse myself. i just wanted to be heard, for raphael to see from MY point of view and try to understand HOW i came to a certain conclusion, even if it was wrong. i never tried to say i was right. i just wanted them to understand HOW and WHY i got to that place, even if my judgment + actions were in the wrong.

[the-edge-of-great]

tw: panic and anxiety

yeah ok the breathing exercises from other characters and the “i know you don’t like to be touched but i want to grab your hand just so you know you’re safe, okay?” and the “five, four, three, two, one list” things in panic/anxiety fics are great and all (and is totally valid if that’s actually how you deal with attacks)

but how come no one ever writes the distraction method where character A starts talking about something to get character B’s mind off of whatever they’re about to stress about

(there’s a scene exactly like that in Alexa & Katie on Netflix—which is simply an amazing show overall; highly recommend—that i really adored)

or how disorienting it is sometimes when you have an attack because it’s like you have tunnel senses: you can only hear the thoughts inside your own head or can only really focus on your bed post

or how the world moves in slow motion sometimes, like you want to bolt to the window to grab fresh air, but you feel like your legs are barely moving

or you say something in your head that you think you say out loud as well, but you’re not sure because your throat is constricting, and you can barely get air through it, let alone words

but also, at least in my experience, attacks don’t have to be so scary and dramatic, you know? i’ve had plenty by now to know when it’s coming on, and i actually tell myself “calm down, please. this isn’t even—you’re literally overreacting. chill.” i make jokes a lot too; it’s a coping mechanism of mine. and like i mentioned earlier, distractions can be talking about your day, or they can be gossiping about the neighbor downstairs who slept with the landlord to get an extension on his rent. you know?

it’s just, every fandom that i’ve been in that has anxiety/panic attack fics (which eventually becomes all of them, let’s be real, it’s a popular theme), have the first three storylines. i’ve really only read one fic that had an attack that i could relate to—i actually had to take a breath at the end of the chapter because the writing was so well done.

and i’ve felt in the past year, when i began to actually write things how i’ve experienced them or based on others’ experiences, and not on symptoms i’ve read online, that my writing has become stronger. this might be an odd thing to say, but i like writing attacks and traumatic experiences if needed because i feel like i can do them justice now. anxiety sucks. panic/anxiety attacks suck. experiencing something that actually shuts down your brain until later when you begin remembering things that happened sucks.

but, i’ve received a few comments from people who have experienced attacks the same way i have, and they’ve told me they could actually relate to the story. so, it’s a silver lining.

my whole point here is to write based on experience, whether it’s your own or other people’s. online forums are great places to get actual stories. ask a friend too! there are more than three ways to describe an attack. explore them

[andiandyandee]

Chicanery Ch. 2

Ayyyeee, Look who’s finally fucking posting lmaoo For the RECORD This has been Written for like 4 months and is on my ao3, and I’m a MORON

Preface  Ch1 Ch2 (You are Here) Ch3

   Remus and Roman were… weird. That was probably unfair to say since Janus had really only known them for a few days and had spent even less time than that actually around them, but they had a dynamic that he couldn’t figure out. They either hated or loved each other, he was sure, but it seemed to vary from moment to moment. Case in point, they were currently arguing, insults flying, but they were still sitting across from each other at the kitchen table, working in tandem on their homework. Neither Logan nor Patton seemed phased by this in the slightest, but Janus was. There were constant disagreements that seemed totally nonsensical, but they also occasionally came off as a two-bodied single-cell organism. One would start laughing, and the other would know why, despite it having nothing to do with the topic at hand, or they would be humming the same song in different rooms, or they would sit together, quietly, not acknowledging each other at all but their legs would be pressed together or they’d be back to back or one would be laying across the other in a way that any other kids in the homes would have lost their minds over. Janus did not understand. But even beyond that, fake arguments were what always set Janus on edge. Case in point, The colors of English.

    “Look, Prince Pudwhacker-”

    “Oh, that’s a new one, nice.”

    “-Thanks, I read it somewhere- You can NOT tell me that English is red. That is the most imbecilic, idiotic, incongruous… Nah, that one doesn’t really make sense, does it? I’ll ask Logan about it later. But anyway. English is YELLOW.”

    “It’s red and you’re wrong.”

    “A compelling argument.”

    “It is, isn’t it?” Roman smirked, and Remus dove over the table, snatching his English book on the way. Not only was their homework scattered across the dining room, but Remus was also somehow now sitting on top of Roman, textbook raised. Janus wanted to stop him, but panic cemented him in place, and all he could do is watch in horror as Remus… gently hit Roman in the chest with it.

    “English,” Thwack, “is,” Thwack, “YELLOW,” Thwack, “you,” Thwack, “monster,” Thwack. They were both giggling. Remus seemed to notice Janus then, and clearly mistook the horror and panic for general confusion and anxiety because he grinned dopily and said, “Don’t worry, we’ll clean it up! As soon as Ro admits English is yellow!”

    “It’s red, Remus!”

    “You only think that because red is your favorite color and English is your favorite subject! You know objectively that it SHOULD be yellow!”

    “Objectively? Oh my god, we’ve been back four days and you sound like Specks squared again! You make ONE pun, and I will hide glitter in your beanies.”

    “I’ll sew your socks shut again. Bet.”

    “Jay! Tiebreaker! What color is English?” Both twins looked at him expectantly. He thought back to his English book, which had a brown paper cover on it. What color even was it? Purple?

    “I think my English textbook might be purple.” He said, timidly.

    “Nooooooo” Remus groaned. “Not the book, the subject! If you had to pick a folder and notebook for your English Class, what color would you use?” Janus felt like this was a test he was about to fail, but… he actually did agree with Remus.

    “Probably yellow? I guess? I think Math would be red.” Roman groaned dramatically while Remus cheered.

    “Jay is my new favorite, you’ve been replaced,” Remus smirked at Roman.

    “I can’t believe you betrayed me! In my own home! You wound me, sir!” Roman cried dramatically, gesturing at Janus. The front door opened then, and all three teenagers were met with a look of exasperation from Logan.

    “Anyone care to explain, or?” Janus tried to apologize, but he was cut off with a continuation of the conversation.

    “Nerdy Wolverine! What color is English?”

    “Yellow, obviously” And then, hell broke loose. Again. Because Remus began laughing, and Roman flipped them over, and somewhere between him grabbing a cushion from the closest chair and hitting Remus, Janus lunged forward.

    He had no idea what his plan was, because Remus had clearly not hurt Roman with a textbook, and a pillow wasn’t going to do damage, anyway, but he had jerked himself forward just enough to be noticeable. He hadn’t even made it across the room before he stopped himself. At most, he had moved three steps, but Remus, Roman, and Logan were all staring at him. But then Remus snorted.

    “He grabbed the cushion, not the chair, Jan. Take a deep breath.” And Janus did. Did he think Roman was going to grab the chair? Probably not. But that was a good excuse, and so he nodded.

   “Sorry, I…”

   “Don’t worry, Duke Doomwatcher always assumes the worst too.” He waves his hand vaguely “It’s a... What, panic response? Right? No worries. I solemnly swear I am not actually going to bash his head in for miscoloring his English folder.”

    “Wouldn’t that be fun though?” Remus grinned wickedly, “Grey matter everywhere.” He swung his hands out in a sweeping gesture.  “Maybe that’s the correct color for English.”

    “No brain goo on the dining room floor, I’m not cleaning that up.” Logan rolled his eyes, placing a hand on Janus’ shoulder and guiding him into the kitchen with him. “And besides, that’d clearly be the Anatomy Folder color. Now clean this mess up.” He added over his shoulder. He shook his head at Janus, guiding him to a seat at the breakfast table. “I will never stop apologizing for those two, I’m sure. I promise, they’re great kids.” Janus actually laughed

    “I can’t tell if they like each other”

    “Oh, they’re best friends.” Logan shrugged, “Insofar as I can tell, the insults and fighting are signs of affection and bonding? It’s apparently quite common amongst most biological siblings. According to my parents, my brother and I behaved similarly as children, though we had outgrown it by our late teens.” Logan sat tea in front of Janus. “Are you alright? You seemed a bit panicked.”

    “I.. I’m not sure. Their dynamic stresses me out.” Logan nodded, not looking surprised.

    “You will unfortunately get used to it. I just hope they don’t pull you into it, too. The last thing this household needs is three of you having a good time, however will we cope?” Logan said with a deadpan expression, sipping his own tea.

    “Ha, ha. You’re hilarious Mr. Sanders.” Janus snarked, rolling his eyes. “Is the subject argument a common one, or?”

    “Oh, once every five to seven months it comes back up in conversation. I haven’t the faintest idea why.” Logan shrugged. “They usually have it in class though, so I’m at least grateful I don’t have to pretend to give them detention this time.”

    “Pretend?”

    “Well I’m not really going to punish teenagers for acting like teenagers, but I do typically like to let the class think they’re getting in trouble so they're less inclined to misbehave in general,” Logan explained with a shrug. “It’s not really necessary, these kids are as a rule well behaved, but it’s good practice and makes the board happy anyway.”

    “I’m pretty sure a kid once set one of our science teachers on fire and didn’t even get like, chastised,” Janus said mostly conversationally, but Logan looked mostly horrified. “I mean, the teacher was fine. But the detention room has mold in it so they really can only suspend you, expel you, or pretend like it didn’t happen, so usually, we just act like it doesn’t happen.”

    “Can I ask you a question, Janus?” Logan had an ‘about to make an offer that gave Janus anxiety’ look on his face again.

    “I.. guess?”

    “Is there any particular fondness you hold for your current school that keeps you there? Would you be opposed to transferring?” Janus’ brain was short-circuiting again.

    “Like, to the school where you teach? Where the twins go?”

    “Presumably. There is also the Vocational School, if that’s more your route, though you don’t seem to be much for physical labor.”

    “I mean.. I guess? That would be fine? I don’t mind staying at my current school, either, though.”

    “Transferring will mean you will get to sleep in slightly on weekdays, as you’ll be able to ride with the twins and me, or if you so desire you could ride the bus I suppose, plus you would be in a better-funded school with more extracurriculars, more specialized classes, and plenty of opportunities for you to find peers that partake in your interests. You don’t seem to enjoy any of your current classmates and frankly, your school's ratings are abysmal. And beyond that, we need more students for the debate team and I think you will make an excellent candidate” He said that last sentence very quickly.

    “You want me to transfer schools so your debate team will... Be better?” But Janus could see the humor in Logan’s eyes, and realized he was being teased.

    “And also so you will have a better education!” Logan insisted with a grin, trying and failing to maintain the charade.

    “Well, I have always wanted to be a professional arguer.” Janus shrugged. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

[alittlebitgoofy]

When life gives you Lemon (lemonjuice)

Juice is an anxious person and finds it hard to communicate it, Lemon can see straight through her and they have some mutual feelings to deal with. 

ao3 link

It was easier to hide behind a guise, Juice had figured that out quite quickly. No one questioned it. She didn’t know how she would deal with people unwrapping all her anxieties and knowing all of her problems. The flash of fear every time someone asked if she was okay, was telling of something she didn’t want to dive into. Only ignore it and deal with it alone. It was easier that way.

That didn't mean no one would see through. It took someone to pay close attention, to really get to know the blonde then notice the subtleties in her behaviour that tipped off a low mood. Lemon had experience with it, although she knew it was hard for Juice to be open about emotions. She would just go on, joking with the girl, offering a distraction from whatever was bothering her that was almost always accepted quickly. Almost.

Lemon could spot when things were really bad, and with Juice barely acknowledging anything said to her, soon excusing herself to go to the toilet, she knew something was wrong. She felt something stir in her, it clenched at the idea of Juice quietly going through something, not wanting to bother anyone with her problems. Before she could think, Lemon was following her, earning questions from Priyanka who was sitting next to her. Dismissing it, she continued on Juice’s trail.

Entering the room, she heard soft crying. She felt bad listening in, but there was only one stall locked, so it had to be Juice. The soft crying turned into shaky breaths that made Lemon’s heart ache for her friend.

A light knock on the door penetrated the fog in Juice’s head. She held her breath, almost hoping the person wouldn’t notice her existence. As if they hadn’t already.

“Juice, you okay in there? It’s just me, nothing to worry about.” Lemon’s voice was soft, trying not to make the other girl jump.

Knowing it was Lemon made Juice feel somewhat lighter, at least it was someone she trusted. But how could she show herself like this? The idea of Lemon seeing her like this and questioning it spurred her anxiety more. She felt a sudden need for someone to comfort her, this was too much to deal with alone. She unlocked the stall door, tensing up when Lemon immediately pulled her into a hug.

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m here with you, okay? Do you want to talk about what caused this?”

Juice paused, gathering her words for fear of looking like more of a mess than she already was. Lemon only seemed to care and want to help but expressing herself wasn’t something that familiar. It was always easier to bottle it up, not have someone earnestly trying to help.

“I just, my thoughts move a little fast sometimes and I over analyse situations. Then it all builds up and suddenly I’m telling myself all these negative things and I don’t know how to cope with it.”

Lemon’s expression morphed from concern to understanding and compassion. She seemed to be formulating a response in her brain. Watching the cogs turn was a good distraction for Juice, anchoring her to the current situation and not back into her head.

“Juicy, you gotta get your brain to stop drinking the haterade. It’s hard, I know, and if you need to talk to anyone about it I’m here for you. You’re great and don’t let anyone or yourself tell you otherwise!”

Juice couldn’t help but laugh at that, of course, Lemon would say something helpful and comforting but lace it with something stupid like haterade. That was part of her charm and in the moment, the blonde could not be more thankful for it.

Lemon joined in the laugher, glad she managed to crack through the sadness of her friend. Her yellow hair bounced as she laughed, and a new emotion took its place in Juice’s chest. Not the tightening hold of anxiety, but the softness of love.

That was something to unpack later, for now, she just wanted to stay in this state. Being stupid with someone she adored. Lemon pulled her into another, tighter hug that made her feel safe. If only the little yellow-haired ball of chaos could be with her whenever this happened.

----

Moving on from that moment had been difficult. The little voice in the back of her mind that said Lemon would take pity on her, or not want to talk to so many issues was there, but it wasn’t as loud as before. Things were easier with Lemon's understanding and checking-in regularly about how she was doing.

Lemon and her usual chaotic stupidity was the most fun thing to watch, whenever or whatever was actually happening.

“I’m not that short!” Lemon crossed her arms and huffed childishly. That was a hard thing to agree with. She was easily the shortest of all of them, apparently having an issue with it. “Lem, you’re like 2 foot tall” Priyanka patted her on the head as you would with a small child, everyone laughing at the act. Lemon was less than amused, swatting at her hand with a pout.

“Hey! I’m 5 and a half feet tall!”

“You’re still tiny!”

Lemon seemed annoyed at the revelation, turning to Juice and mumbling something about her not being rude about her height.

“They’re just mean because they’ve been drinking that haterade, don’t take it personally, Lem.” Juice whispered to the smaller girl who let out a giggle that immediately drew attention to the pair. Priyanka looked at them, with a smirk that sent the pair into worrying.

“That’s kind of gay.”

“You’re kind of gay!” Lemon immediately shot back, leading the laughter to be directed at Priyanka this time. Although Juice noticed Lemon’s tone rise a bit higher than normal, sounding a lot more forceful than was expected for jokes between friends.

“Woah, we got a sour Lemon over here.”

Juice wasn’t too sure who said that but it seemed to be the last straw for Lemon, who stood up, ready to leave. Her attention was held on the yellow-haired girl, seemingly genuinely angry.

Lemon noticed a surprised expression on Juice’s face and felt something inside her recoil. Everyone was used to her dramatic nature, she liked to play things up for the drama. Her attitude did a 180 flip, immediately settling back down and whispering something to Juice.

“Hey, didn’t mean to get so heated and startle you, sorry princess.” The pet name had slipped out, with Lemon not taking much notice of it. Juice didn’t comment on it so she didn’t think about it too heavily.

“You’re fine, don’t worry yourself, Lem. It’s kinda funny watching how dramatically you react to things.” Juice heard Lemon call her princess, she couldn’t ignore it, it made her heart flutter despite not knowing what the intention behind it was. She absentmindedly put a hand on her shoulder, making Lemon smile.

It was an interesting scene for everyone around them to watch unfold, but even Priyanka knew to leave them and mock them for it later.

--- Things were normal, the rest of the day went as usual. Soon enough it was Lemon’s favourite part of the day, going home. Totally not because she walked home with Juice but because school was over for the day.

“How’ve you been doing recently. Just with life.”

“I’m fine, nothing like the other week, don’t worry.” Lemon raised an eyebrow, seeming not to buy it.

“Hey, you always check in on me but when have you ever talked to someone else about your feelings.”

Lemon seemed avoidant at the question. She was never all that open about her emotions past the surface level and didn’t want to get into it. Juice had a way of getting things out of her though. There was always something different about their bond. It had nothing to do with the fact that Lemon had a painfully huge crush on the blonde. Absolutely not.

“Well, that’s cause I…” Lemon drifted, clearly looking for a distraction to not get into this conversation.

“I don’t need to talk to anyone about things, I'm fine dealing with most things on my own and nothing ever comes up that I need support for.” Juice was now the one with a raised eyebrow, not buying it for a second.

“Sure, nothing ever happens to throw you off? Nothing like when you get super distracted at random points in the day. I’ve noticed it, Lem. I do wonder what you’re thinking about all the time.”

Lemon blinked, processing what Juice was saying, then avoided the eye contact they were previously holding.

She let out a few incoherent mumbled words before glancing back up to Juice. Should she just tell her? It was Juice, she could tell her pretty much anything. She didn’t have to mention who it was. What’s the worst that could happen.

“Okay fine, sometimes I'm just sitting there and I start thinking about someone. She’s really sweet and pretty. I can’t help but think about her a lot.”

Juice felt conflicted, on the one hand, Lemon actually being open with her was a rare opportunity but the knowledge she liked someone, a girl. It was possible their feelings were mutual but she wasn’t optimistic enough to believe it.

“Oh, my little Lem has a crush? That’s cute!”

Lemon seemed flustered by the comment, muttering something under her breath before Juice spoke again.

“Would you tell me who? Or are you not ready?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, princess.” Lemon laughed, loving the surprise on her friend’s face. “When I tell someone, you’ll be the first one I tell, okay Juicy?”

Juice smiled, the implications of her being the first one to be told warmed her heart. Lemon wasn’t one to be that open with people, being the one to have her confide her feelings in meant a lot.

“Well, no matter who they are, they’d be stupid to not like you back.”

“You really think so.” The softness in Lemon’s tone was a departure from her usual confidence, it melted Juice’s heart to her.

“Yeah, you’re an absolute catch. You’re cute, funny, kind of dumb but it’s adorable. I can’t think of a reason someone wouldn’t jump at the chance to date you.”

Lemon felt her face heat up at that. Juice had a way of rendering her speechless and now was no exception. She could only look away and pray the blonde didn’t notice how flustered she was.

Juice did notice, it made the already soft feelings inside of her grow stronger. Lemon was adorable and that was a fact. But she’d never seen her particularly flustered before and was enjoying every minute of it.

Both of them felt sadness, noticing they had made it to Lemon’s house. Their walks were always interesting, this one being no exception.

Lemon paused, not walking inside right away and instead, turning to Juice.

“Hey Juicy, come here for a sec.”

Juice came closer, not knowing what was happening. Her heart hammered in her chest as Lemon inched closer, placing a soft kiss on her cheek with a soft smile.

“See you tomorrow, princess.” She winked along with her words, trying to ignore the nerves at making such a bold move.

She turned to leave, but Juice softly grabbed her hand. She pulled Lemon into a soft kiss. It didn’t last long, but it succeeded in getting her point across. The yellow-haired girl stared at her. Her face was flushed with a flustered blush, clearly shocked by it but a small smile held itself on her lips.

“Yeah, can’t wait to see my little Lem tomorrow, bye.”

With that, Juice turned to walk off, leaving a flustered and confused Lemon staring after her, not quite knowing how to react. She’d form a more vocal response tomorrow, but for now, she was going to try and recover from everything that just happened.

[blackaquokat]

The Song You Might Have Been (Chapter 6)

Link to Chapter 1 and Chapter 5 !

A/N: This one is a little short, my apologies. And this is around the point I got stuck back during NaNoWriMo, so I can’t promise consistent updates from here on out, but I promise it’s not over yet.

The poem quoted at the end is called “Wild Duck” by Lola Ridge. It’s a lovely piece.

And I’m a horrible person, because I keep forgetting to credit @timelords-13 as my beta for this fic. Your help is greatly appreciated, my dear, and I apologize for falling off the wagon!

---

When you wake up, feeling strung out and dried of all the moisture in your body, you realize you’ve been tucked into your bed. You blink the sleep out of your eyes and see Yancy at the foot, legs crossed underneath him, reading the Sound and the Fury. 

“Have you been there all night?” you croak.

“Not a bad book, this one,” Yancy says.  “A little...boring, but the writing’s nice. Confusing--”

“It switches perspectives a lot,” you agree. You wipe the crust from your eyes. “You...why did…” You sit up, slowly. “You stayed down here with me?”

Yancy shrugs. “Youse asked me to.”

“No, I didn’t. Not really.”

Yancy looks sheepish. You’d dare say vulnerable. “Don’t push youse’s luck, we’ve got plans to make.”

His reminder pulls you further into the waking world. “I assumed you were joking, last night, when you said you had a plan.” You lean closer to him. “You were joking, right?”

“Does this look like the face of a joker, to you?” Yancy winks. “Listen, youse was right. This is big. I can only do so much to keep you safe if even the guards can be turned by this guy youse investigating. So, best bet?” He shuts the book dramatically and tosses it between the two of you. “I get you back on the outside, youse take down the guy trying to kill you, and I get no more assassinations I don’t order myself in here.”

You roll your eyes. This is mostly a cover to keep you from outwardly freaking out over the fact that Yancy just said he’d break you out of prison. “You are so lucky I’m off the clock. So where do we go from here?”

Yancy taps his fingers against his chin. “I need to get some...affairs in order. But we should be good to go by tonight.”

“So soon? You don’t need more time to plan?”

“Eagle, I know every single nook and cranny in this place. Getting out’ll be a piece of cake. Just gotta wait for nightfall again.”

You nod. “Enough time to...to say good-byes. Or, well, I imagine you don’t want me giving away the plan, so...I’ll be subtle.”

“Eh.” Yancy waves his hand dismissively. “I think some of them suspect. They’ll help you get ready, no worries.” He leans forward to whisper conspiratorially, “Might wanna give them a refresher on that library system youse trying to set up.”

---

It catches you off-guard, the realization that you aren’t going to get to hang out with Yancy’s group in this capacity ever again. (What does it say about you that you have no doubts that Yancy will get the two of you out without a hitch?) Here you are, standing with them in the yard, wondering how the hell you can cope with saying good-bye.

Oddly enough, they make it easier for you. Jimmy pulls you right in for a hug. “Yancy may not have wanted to see it, but we knew you wouldn’t stay here forever. Good luck on the outside, Eagle.”

You receive similar farewells from Sparkles, Shithole Hank, and Bam-Bam. Tiny, on the other hand tackles you hard into a much harder hug than Jimmy’s. “Don’t die out there, Eagle.”

“I’ll do my best, Tiny.” You hug her back. “Look, I’m going to get that volunteer program for the library set up as soon as possible. Every third Sunday won’t be enough to see all of you guys. You all better stay safe too, okay?”

And then, later, when you’re heading back to your cell, Rex passes by and nudges your arm gently with his club. “I’ll miss seeing you in that cell, Eagle. But I better not see you in there again, you hear?”

You can’t help but laugh, despite how serious he looks. “I hear you, Rex. I’ll try to get more poetry sent to you, okay?”

Rex turns away and strolls down the hall, but not before you hear him sniffling.

Yancy is waiting for you in the cell, on his top bunk. “You ready, Eagle?”

You suck in a breath and let it out, taking one last look around the cell. The one that was decorated after you started reading poetry to the inmates every night. 

This was very close to a home for a long time. You won’t forget that.

“Yeah, I think I’m ready.”

“Good.” Yancy pops up and holds up a long length of black cloth. “Now, before we do, I need you to put this on.”

“...I’d like to remind you of my trust issues--”

“Listen, Eagle, much as I like you, I don’t need anyone else knowin’ the way out of here. You think it’d be so good for peoples in here to be breakin’ out when they shouldn’t be breakin’ out? Didn’t think so, now put the blindfold on and we’ll get started.”

You take in a breath through your nose and take the blindfold from him. “It’s cute that you think I’d broadcast the path out of the prison.”

“I’d rather not take my chances, Eagle, now youse wanna be free or what?”

---

“And here we are!”

The blindfold drops from your face and you take a step back in utter astonishment. 

You’re outside. On the other side of the prison gate. The free side. Just yards away is the woods.

Yancy’s still inside, looking ridiculously pleased with himself. “Told ya I knew all the nooks and crannies, didn’t I? Oh, and uh, one other thing.” He flicks his hand and the photo of your mother suddenly appears between his fingers. “I took a little detour by the warden’s office for a ‘chat’ and thought I’d swipe this back for youse.”

So the warden is most likely dead, you think. I’ll need to work on my surprise when it pops up in the paper later.

Your thumb traces over your mom’s face. The lump in your throat grows and you try to clear it so you can speak again. “Thank you.” 

It doesn’t hit you until that moment. You’re out. You’re free. You’re not out of the woods (literally or figuratively), but this is a start. You can seriously get to work on your case and get your name cleared.

And yet...you can’t bring yourself to look away from Yancy.

When you don’t immediately run off, Yancy’s brow furrows. “Everythin’ alright, Eagle? Freedom is just a gander-on that way.” He points behind you. You can’t tell if you’re imagining the slight trembling in his hand or not.

“Yancy,” you start. You don’t know if you’re just stretching out this last moment together or if you’re honestly hoping he’ll accept the offer you’re about to make, but here you are. You can’t help but feel like if you don’t at least mention it, that you’ll regret it later. “Do you want me to look into your case? See if I can get you a parole hearing scheduled?”

You try to make it clear that this is his choice. That you aren’t presuming what he wants. That you aren’t coming from a place of pity. Lord knows this man has a big issue with pity and presumptions.

Yancy seems floored by your offer. But the next moment, he shakes his head. “I’d...nah, don’t do that. I’ve done bad things, Eagle. A lot of them. And...well, I belong here.” He gestures back at the prison. “This is home.” He doesn’t sound as sure as he normally does. “I...it is for now, I mean, I don’t...”

You nod your head slowly and pocket the picture. “Well...if you change your mind, or if parole comes up without my help and you decide to take it…my guest room is pretty cozy.”

You can’t bring yourself to look at him. You’re offering the human equivalent of a semi-feral street cat a place to live and somehow you are not questioning your sanity at doing so. 

(The last person to live with you besides your mom was Damien, but those days are long past. Maybe...maybe it’d be nice to have a housemate again.)

Eventually, you look back up and, to your surprise, Yancy looks as if you just plucked the moon from the sky and handed it to him. 

How can I say good-bye to you? How can I just leave you here? I know it’s what you want, that you’re taking responsibility for your crimes, and it’s one of the reasons I think I--

No, no, cut that thought off at the roots, do not even let it linger--

“I’ll, erm…” Yancy clears his throat. “I’ll keep that in mind, Eagle.” His hand rubs anxiously at the back of his neck. “Maybe when parole comes around, I’ll...maybe…” He shakes his head hard, then, and forces a grin. “Anyway, I better get back. Don’t get arrested again, and hey, don’t forget about visitation! Every third Sunday, Eagle, you hear?!”

“Yancy, wait--!” 

But he’s already faded back into the shadows. Back into the prison.

The gaping ache of regret in your chest threatens to swallow you whole. Out of nowhere, you remember Lola Ridge. 

So my soul...emptied of the known you...utterly... / Is yet vibrant with the cadence of the song / You might have been…

You swallow past the tumor in your throat. You force your hands to release the bars of the gate. One step back. Another. Another. Another. Until you manage to turn away and scurry into the woods.

The last line of that damn poem drops into your brain like a feather, but no less devastating than a comet crushing and burning you to ash.

A word that rattles well in emptiness: / Good-by.

---

Thank you for reading! Please reblog/comment! If you want to be tagged/untagged for the rest of this series or this pairing, please leave a message in my inbox!

@starcrossedforever87 , @dontworryaboutanything , @beereblogsstuff , @falseroar , @intemperantiae , @memetoyoko , @soul-wolf , @marki-dumb , @withjust-a-bite , @raimeyl , @scribbeetle , @its-dari , @neverisadork , @silver-owl413 , @sassy-in-glasses , @chelseareferenced , @sketchy-scribs-n-doods , @axolittle-boi , @wildfandom , @shrinkthisviolet , @purple-anxiety-blog , @conceitedink , @skidspace , @missksketch , @day-dreaming-fox ,

[ionlyeatcomfortfood]

Together Forever

A/N: Yo! I’m writing again! Hallelujah. Yes, before you ask, I will be continuing the Selection story and the soulmates au. I’m working on both right now, actually. But with the way my brain works, I need to bounce around with projects to get anything done, so here’s my entry to @stop-it-anxiety ‘s writing competition. The prompt was ‘Together Forever’, so here’s my angsty Roman fic because what do you expect?

Here’s a link to the page if you want to participate.

A/N 2.0: Holy shit, this got darker than I thought it would. Like, I planned Delcan being a not so great partner, but I didn’t think it would get this bad. Please, read the warnings and if anything there triggers you, DON’T READ THIS. It’s okay if you just can’t read this. I want everyone to be safe, and if that means you don’t read this, then it’s okay.

Word Count: 1747

Pairings: Abusive Rociet, Prinxiety, Background Logicality

Warnings: (There are a lot, so bear with me) Remus, Deceit (Delcan), abusive relationship, drinking, throwing things, keeping person from friends/loved ones (?), lack of consent, non-consensual... personal activities (only mentioned, not in detail), ace phobia, cheating. If any of this makes you uncomfortable, then don’t read it. It’s okay, I’ll live.

--------

Together forever.

It was a dream Roman had since childhood. To be with someone for their entire lives. For forever.

His twin brother (who was unfortunately older by 6 minutes and 9 seconds) Remus was constantly saying that it was a useless dream. That there was no such thing as true love. That love was a made up fairy tale that adults told to make them be quiet and go to bed.

And he wasn’t wrong to have these doubts about love. The twins parents split when they were five, and their dad left them. Their mom then started drinking to cope with her loss, and she stopped acting like their mom.

Remus had lost faith in love. But all those unfortunate events made Roman even more convinced that true love was what he needed. He just needed to find the right person.

-------

Roman thought that Delcan was his true love. When they met at an audition for Guys and Dolls, flirting back and forth like there was no tomorrow, Roman thought he had found the one. 

After they had both made it into the show, Roman playing Sky Masterson and Delcan playing Nathan Detroit, Roman finally gathered up the courage to ask Delcan out. To Roman’s surprise, Delcan said no. Roman had to ask three more times before Delcan finally agreed to go on a date.

The date went swimmingly. They played off each other, witty banter common. This time, when Roman asked for a second date, Delcan automatically agreed.

They dated for three months before Delcan began to really show his true colors. The first time was closing night. The cast was going out for drinks after, and Delcan and Roman agreed, despite Roman not being a drinker. Turns out Delcan was. He took rounds and rounds of shots, till he was so far gone Roman had to practically carry him out of the bar.

When he dropped Delcan off at his apartment, Delcan begged him not to leave. Roman insisted that he had to get back to his house, and Delcan got angry. He grabbed a lamp and chucked it at Roman’s head. Roman managed to dodge it, but just barely. 

Roman left after that.

The next morning, Delcan texted him, profusely apologizing, saying that he was always different when he drank, that it would never happen again. Roman, being the fool in love that he was, forgave him.

But it did happen again. And things got worse.

Delcan gradually started to ask Roman to hang out all the time. Roman barely got to see his friends anymore. Delcan would ask (demand) to see his phone to make sure that he wasn’t texting or calling anyone Delcan didn’t know, or that Delcan didn’t like.

Delcan asked Roman to move in with him, and when Roman showed hesitation, them only being together for four months at this point, Delcan made a big deal out of the fact that Roman was the first person Delcan had ever asked to move in, that he should feel special. So Roman did feel special. He moved in. Things got even worse from there.

Delcan would drink and get upset, throw things, mostly aimed at Roman’s head. He would always apologize, but Roman was starting to doubt those apologies and how genuine they really were.

He would leave for long periods of time, never telling him where he was going. When Roman asked him about it, he would tell him to fuck off and mind his own business.

Later in the relation, Delcan would force himself on Roman and make him do things he wasn’t ready for. Roman was asexual, which he told Delcan, but Delcan told him he would grow out of it, that he just needed some special treatment from him. Roman grew to believe him.

One day, Roman got the announcement that two of his best friends, Patton and Logan, were getting married, and he was invited. Roman begged Delcan to let him go. “Just this one time, then I won’t ask again, I promise.” 

Delcan agreed, but he was never to ask again.

Roman got dressed up and went to the venue. It was a beautiful. Patton looked lovely in his dress, and Logan looked dashing in his suit. When they kissed, Roman cheered the loudest.

At the reception, Patton came and gave Roman the biggest hug.

“Ro! I can’t believe you’re here! It’s been so long!” Patton squealed.

“Yes, it has been quite some time Pat. It’s great to see you.” Roman hugged Patton back just as tight.

“Logan. How are you?” Roman asked when Patton released him.

“I am extremely happy right now, Roman. Thank you for coming.”

“Of course! How could I miss something this important?” Roman said.

Patton and Logan share a glance before Patton said “Well, we weren’t sure that you were coming, Ro.”

“What?” Roman asked incredulously. “Of course I would come! What would make you think-”

“You have been spending all of your time with your boyfriend, Roman. That’s why we didn’t think you were coming,” Logan interrupted.

“I haven’t been spending all of my time with Delcan.”

“Ro, when was the last time you hung out with us?” Patton asked.

“We... we hung out a couple months- and it’s bad that I have to go that far back,” Roman realized.

“We’re your best friends. We understand if your busy, but spending all your time with one person is not healthy,” Logan said.

“No, I don’t spend all my time with Delcan. I-I’ve just been busy,” Roman’s mind was racing. Did he spend all his time with Delcan? He hadn’t really done anything since Guys and Dolls. Maybe he was spending too much time with Delcan.

“Ro, maybe... maybe Delcan isn’t the best partner for you,” Patton rested a hand on Roman’s shoulder.

“No! He loves me, and I love him! We’re fine!” Roman snapped. Patton drew his hand back.

“Roman...” Logan placed a hand on the small of Patton’s back while speaking to Roman.

“Sorry, but I have to go. It was a beautiful service, and I’m happy for you two,” He couldn’t think. He needed Delcan. Delcan always knew what to think.

“Ro, wait!” Patton cried, but Roman was already out the door.

-------

Roman was thinking all the way back to his and Delcan’s place. Sure, he realized he spent way too much time with Delcan. He would change that. He would spend more time with his friends.

But Delcan wasn’t a bad person, he thought. Delcan just had a temper. He made mistakes. He always apologized.

By the time he got back, he had almost completely convinced himself that Patton and Logan were just paranoid and overthinking.

That all changed when Roman walked in on Delcan making out with a stranger on their couch. 

Roman didn’t remember a lot from that night. Everything was a blur, and all he really remembered was how he felt.

First anger. Red hot, fury of hell anger. Then sadness. The utter sadness that comes with a broken heart. Then, finally, fear.

He broke up with Delcan that night. Roman grabbed his stuff, Delcan’s screams a background sound, and left, a teacup smashed on the door as he walked out.

-------

There were only who people who knew that story: Logan and Patton. He had explained it to them when he begged to crash at their apartment, because he had nowhere else to stay.

That is, until tonight. When his boyfriend, Virgil, made an inquiry about his past.

It had taken Roman awhile to get back on the dating scene after Delcan. Honestly, he didn’t think he would ever mount that great beast ever again. But then Virgil came around. At first, they were enemies. Virgil was sarcastic and rude, always pushing Roman to be the worst version of himself, over-dramatic and egotistical.

But when he found Virgil having an anxiety attack, he shed all his previous grudges against him and helped him get through it. From that, they got closer and closer, till one day, Roman finally gather up the courage to ask Virgil out. And this time, Virgil said yes on the first try.

They had been dating for over a year. They had fallen into an easy rhythm, and Roman had never been happier.

Virgil never pushed him. He knew Roman had some deep shit from his past, but he never pressed Roman to talk about it. And Roman loved him for it. But tonight, he decided that was going to change.

They were having their usual weekend movie night, when Virgil asked a small question. Nothing big really, but to Roman, the question meant everything.

“So, I heard from a friend that you were in a production of Guys and Dolls with Delcan Rose. Is that true?”

Roman paused for a moment. He knew if he started to talk about Delcan, his whole story would come flowing out. Was he really ready for that.

“Ro?”

For Virgil, yes. He was ready to tell this boy he loved with all his heart a story know by very few,

“Yes. I actually dated him for awhile.”

Virgil’s eyes widened. “You dated Delcan Rose? What was it like?”

Roman sighed. “Awful.”

And the story flew from his lips like a murder of crows. All the abuse and heartbreak he had to deal with, all the hurt came out of him.

When Roman had finished, Virgil let out a breath and said “That is utterly disgusting.”

“Yeah.”

“I am glad that you told me about that, Ro. I’m glad you trust me enough to tell me. But holy shit is that dark.”

Roman just nodded.

“Hey. What happened to you is not your fault. I want you to know that. Everything that Delcan did was horrible, but that was on him. Nothing that happened to you was your fault.”  While Virgil was speaking, he rubbed his hands through Roman’s hair, knowing that he would like it.

“I love you.” Roman said.

“Love you too, Ro.”

Roman pulled back for a second to grab something out of his pocket. It had been a year of bliss and happiness. Slowly, Virgil helped him heal, even if he didn’t know it. Delcan had made his life a living hell, but Virgil had changed it into heaven.

So Roman pulled out a little box, and asked the question he had been thinking about for a couple weeks.

“Virgil, will you marry me? Please?”

----------

TAGLIST (Let me know if you want to be added!)

@redistooviolent

@loginceismyjam

@steampunkicarus

@jellopuffs

@hekking-happy-nonsense

@a-trans-ghost

@chaotic-sinnabun

[guardiandae]

obligatory “sorry i haven’t been productive” life update:

I’m still going through the gigs re: my mental health. 

The fullblown paranoia phase has passed, thank fucking god. The night terrors have also passed, although occasionally my brain keeps trying to poke at the topic and tap on the glass to see if it’ll break and I’m like can you please fucking don’t do that? 

So what I’m left with is my usual anxiety + renewed depression, but with lowered ability to cope and risk of relapse. There’s a constant tug of war between, “I need to let other people know I’m Not Okay so that they know because my friends care about me and it’s good for people to know in case it gets worse” and “oh my god why are you such a dramatic stupid bitch, please shut up, your friends will think you’re crazy and annoying and a stupid baby” so that’s fun.

Trying so goddamn hard right now to stay positive and productive in other ways, like just explore new fun things and hobbies (there’s so many!!!!!) but it’s just hard (my renewed depression means that none of the things that should be fun, are anymore, and also I’m too mentally exhausted). 

The insomnia thing is still ongoing... Technically I sleep like 7ish hours even on my low end but I feel like I need ~11 to feel normal lmao. Love that for me. 🙃

I really wanted to write the other day, but sadly when I opened my favorite wips, I was hit over the head with the feeling of, “oh my god this is all cringey and bad and you should feel bad” to the point where I knew it was irrational but not going to go away so I put it aside for now. 😞 I’m so tired of my brain lol. 

I’m still working full time, and while I’m grateful (honestly I’d rather work than sit at home all day with my thoughts) the extra stress bc of the pandemic and no time off work is kind of exhausting. Quarantine hasn’t changed my normal routine at all but it’s made me realize just how badly my anxiety and depression has already succeeded in isolating me and crippling my life from what should be normal. Honestly it’s paralyzing.

I’m seeking an online appointment with a psychiatrist because I desperately want anxiety meds, but, of course, taking that step has filled me with even more anxiety and second guessing and doubts. I’m worried he won’t believe that I need the help or that I’ll just be recommended to a therapist instead and end up having wasted my time.

Of course, this sounds so silly... but this isn’t a complete picture of what I’ve been struggling with. I don’t want to say it because it’ll either sound lesser in simple words, or I’m afraid I’ll sound crazy. Which is why I’m finally seeking out a psychiatrist, because honestly I’m one more bad spell away from making myself a tinfoil hat. In fact, I’m starting to think that’d be a fun project to make me feel better. Yikes. 🙃

anyway, I’m here, I am SAFE and will remain safe, please don’t worry about that regard. I’m just lowkey losing it a bit and trying really hard not to. tbh I really needed to address this a year ago but the nature of mental illness is that it inherently makes it even harder to reach out and advocate for yourself. yay.

[isa-ly]

HOW TO EMOTION?

TW: mental health, therapy, repression, dissociation

Today’s just one of those days where I’m questioning whether or not I’ve completely lost the ability of functioning like a normal human and kind of feel like the Tin Man from Wizard of Oz. You know, casual Friday. 

I know this is a written blog, but since I am also very much a woman of images and metaphors, I shall once again try and elaborate the issue of today’s post by making it into a well-known, kinda dead and yet very accurate pop culture meme:

I am not kidding, this is what I look and feel like in most of my therapy sessions. I’m pretty sure Kerstin would agree with me here, as the topic of feeling, or more like my inability of doing so, has been pretty much been the red string winding itself through my mental health journey so far. I mentioned it briefly in the last post, but I figured since today is just one of those pesky overthinking ones, I might just dive in a bit deeper and try to detangle my knotted thoughts into something a bit more coherent.

I’ve talked about this before to some of my closer friends and honestly, every time I tried to explain it, I just felt like an absolute mad psychopath. Don’t get me wrong, I know that I’m not, but it’s kind of hard to get people to understand what it feels like to just ... not feel. Okay, that sounds a little bit too dramatic, let me try and re-phrase it in a way that makes more sense.

I talked all about the metaphorical elephant and it’s even more metaphorical stake last time and this is kind of the extended version of that issue. The Stake Supreme, if you will. Basically, one of the earliest coping mechanisms that I picked up when I was very young, was to simply swallow down any feelings of anger, rage, sadness or hurt and pretend that they just weren’t there. Now, that’s not really something very unusual, as we generally live in a society that doesn’t leave a lot of room to healthily express or work through our emotions with the crushing weight of professional, educational, financial, social and personal pressure constantly weighing on our shoulders. So, again, I’m very well aware that me pretending that my bad feelings don’t exist, does in no way, shape or form make me a special snowflake.

It does, however, make me a very emotionally repressed and mentally inept snowflake. And that’s not really great either.

It took me many therapy sessions to figure out that what I had used as a necessary protection mechanism for all my childhood and young adulthood, had slowly but certainly turned into the root of pretty much all my current mental health issues. And here I was, thinking that mommy and daddy issues were just a try-hard-to-be-relatable brand that pseudo-depressed people on Twitter liked to use to excuse their shitty personalities. Oh no, am I one of them now? Alright, back to the point.

I’m just going to try to explain, both to myself and you, what happens in my head whenever the aforementioned process of ~A Feeling~ occurs. Where normally, I would experience something that elicits an emotion that I then experience and feel, lately (and by that I mean ever since some of the more severe of my mental issues started happening) I instead feel like the actual emotion gets stuck somewhere between having been produced and actually reaching my consciousness. In a way, to get back to that earlier visual, it feels like I’m the Tin Man. The feeling gets dropped into my empty tin chest and while I try my absolute hardest to actually feel it, it just sits there. Not really arriving, not really unfolding, just existing while remaining completely detached from me. And I continue to feel how you would imagine a man made out of tin and air would feel: hollow.

I’m trying really hard not to make another load of self-deprecating jokes here, as sharing and trying to explain this makes me beyond uncomfortable. Instead, I’m just going to keep going because that’s kind of the point of this blog. When I told my therapist what I typed up there just now, she explained to me that this strategy of processing (or lack thereof, actually), is commonly referred to as repression and dissociation. And that with my history of handling emotions (or, once again, lack thereof), it actually made quite a lot of sense for me to struggle with this.

She then went on to explain that one could imagine it like this: Whenever anything triggers an emotion to be formed (which, you know, happens quite a lot, since that’s kind of all that human brains do), my self-taught mechanism is to immediately replace it with a so called ‘non-feeling’. I know, that word seemed strange to me too in the beginning. What it means is that by having constantly invalidated and swallowed down my own feelings of anger and sadness through the course of my youth, I unintentionally created this perfect, well-oiled machine of repression that unquestioningly does its job without me even noticing. In a way, I somehow mastered the art of literally, fully and completely detaching myself from my emotions and simply viewing them as separate entities to my own mind.

Now, while that sounds like a sick villain superpower, I’m gonna be honest: It kind of fucking sucks. Especially on days like these, where old habits resurface and I once again find myself looking at my own emotions as if they were statistics on a computer, knowing that they are there, knowing that they exist within me, but for the life of me not being able to actually feel them.

That’s yet another thing I also learned in therapy. There are miles, literal continents, if not even multiverses, between rationally knowing you should feel something and actually feeling it. I’m not completely insane and oblivious, I very well know that I am capable of having emotions and that they are there and being produced by many funky chemicals working together in my brain. However, simply knowing this on an intellectual level is no where close to satisfactory if you cannot actually feel it too.

It’s like looking at ice cream, knowing that it’s there, seeing it with your own two eyes, remembering and being able to imagine the taste, the texture, the sweetness and yet never really actually being able to eat it. Never really feeling it melt it in your mouth. It remains an idea, a concept, close to smoke in thin air that you can very clearly see, and yet never really grasp.

And that, as you might be able to imagine (or even relate to, if you’ve experienced it before), is just not a lot of fun, to be quite frank. Emotional repression? Yeah, no, that one definitely gets a bad Yelp! review from me. Wouldn’t recommend. Zero stars out of five.

In addition to accidentally failing to process my own emotions (are you proud of me, mum?), there’s also the other half of the problem which is, as my therapist already mentioned, the dissociation. Now, I want to be clear here: While I’ve gotten quite a few medical diagnoses in my time in therapy, the actual condition of dissociation or dissociative disorder, which is actually a personality disorder, is not one that I ever received. The dissociation my therapist talked about, ergo the one I am experiencing, is more situational and linked to the repression. Funnily enough, it is literally happening at the current moment, while I’m writing this post.

Actually, it’s been there for every post I wrote. It is also there during almost every therapy session and whenever I attempt to talk to someone about my problems or feelings. If you ask me how I am and we get talking about my mental health, you can assume that I’ll be dissociating about two minutes into the conversation. Usually, it’s not something that is very noticeable. At least that’s what I like to believe, maybe it’s also super obvious, like my soul leaving my body, and people are simply confused or kind enough not to mention it. Who knows.

My therapist, however, did notice it, as she let me know after a few sessions, when I first tried to describe what dissociating felt like to me. “Oh, yeah, I can tell whenever it happens. I just thought I’d give you your space until you wanted to talk about it”, was what she had said. Oh, Kerstin. You’re a real keeper.

So, what does it feel like to dissociate? (I once again pretend that someone is asking so I don’t feel like I’m talking to myself about myself). It’s a little hard to explain but here’s what I have told some of the friends I have talked to about it before: Imagine from pretty much one second to the other, your entire head is filled with cotton, kind of like you’re really tired and exhausted and everything that you see or hear doesn’t really get through the thick wool that seems to have replaced your brain. Forming thoughts and staying in the moment gets harder with every minute that passes. There’s this weird pull at the back of your neck and the front of your forehead that kind of just wants you to close your eyes and drift away. Far away to somewhere where it’s quiet and cotton-y and there’s no one or nothing else around you.

It’s not just mental, it’s physical. It feels like your brain hit the shut down button without your consent, like it’s slowly closing the blinds as it gets darker and darker and you just want to fall asleep. Speaking seems to become almost painful, thinking coherent thoughts is close to impossible and following what others are saying is a million times harder all of a sudden. It’s like the world has gone out of focus and you’re trying to sharpen the lense again, to no success.

Actually, I think that a lot of people have experienced dissociative symptoms before. Not to play Dr. Freud here, but it happens quite a lot, for example during panic or anxiety attacks. Some of my friends have told me that it felt like they had suddenly left their body and were watching themselves as from across the room. That’s why often dissociating is also described as an out of body experience. Because in a way, it literally is one. 

As my therapist explained to me, and as I experience it too, it’s comparable to your brain throwing a metaphorical fuse because it’s in danger of short circuiting. My dad would be so proud if he saw me making electrician references (yes, he is a trained electrician, okay). Anyway, what I’m trying to say is: Often, when I’m exposed to emotions (and that includes talking or writing about them), my brain will run a little too hot like an old, wary car engine, and before it gets too close to exploding into a fiery death, it simply flips the switch and disconnects itself from the body and the emotions that are happening in it. Just like the repression, this is yet another safety mechanism that my brain came up with in reaction to me never really learning how to correctly process emotions. So, whenever some of those stronger feeling resurface or leak out, it tries to protect me from them by cutting the connection between the both of us.

In almost every way, it feels like I’m being locked out of my own head and can no longer really use my own brain. To someone who’s never felt that before, this might seem a little terrifying. And I agree that, objectively, it is. Knowing that the grey goo behind your skull has the power to shut out what in the ever-loving fuck is considered your conscious self, is a bit worrisome, to say the least. However, to me, it’s something that I have a) gotten very used to by now and b) in the moment don’t actually experience as something scary at all. I’m disconnected, remember?

Which is also why it’s sometimes very, very hard to get grounded again and find the way back into my own head. Like a bird that’s accidentally escaped its cage, proceeding to go fucking rogue in the living room, then crashing into a wall, all while trying to figure out what the fuck is happening while it’s on the verge of blacking out. I’ll often feel so dull and dizzy that all I really want to do is curl up and stare at a wall until eventually, my mind and body connect again and things are back to normal.

To kind of circle back to the whole theme of this post: This whole dissociation thing is very strongly connected to my tendency of emotional repression. It’s somewhat of a vicious cycle, which is why days like the one I’m having right now, can be a little tricky. It starts with me feeling empty and hollow, bim-bam-Tin-Man, and is usually followed with feelings of isolation and depression, since I cannot seem to get joy, satisfaction, or any emotion, really, out of anything. This then often leads to me trying to force some sort of emotion into myself, struggling to dig through my subconscious in hopes of finding something, anything, and eventually becoming even more frustrated. Aha! Frustration! That’s an emotion, right? It’s there! Can you feel it? I think you can, oh wow, there it is! Oh, wait, no ... no, now my head is getting heavy. Everything’s blurry. Is the feeling still there? Maybe. Who cares, just close your eyes now. So sleepy, hm ... floaty float.

Okay, sorry, that just turned into a weird combination of a badly written slam poem and a pretentious high school theater class rendition of some old play no one has ever heard of. I’ll just use the fact that I’m still dissociated as hell as an excuse for now. Wait a minute ... if I’m this spacey and zoned out right now, how am I even managing to write this post? Huh? Isa? Explain yourself!

Well, I haven’t been in therapy for nothing. It’s been over eight months of Kerstin and me figuring all of this out, finally putting a name and label to it and therefore understanding why it’s there and how it works. Which has helped me a great lot in actually handling it. That’s kind of the whole point of therapy after all, isn’t it? Don’t get me wrong: These days where I feel repressed, empty and dissociated, can still be hard and they’re rarely ever fun. They honestly make me want to bash my head against a wall in hopes that that will make it go back to normal.

But since I don’t really favour having a concussion on top of feeling depressed and detached from my body, I have learned to use other counter-measurements to help the process of finding my balance again. Rebuilding that mojo, am I right? This post is already pretty long, so I won’t go into even more detail on all the different methods and mechanisms of bouncing back, but I’ll say this much: I spent a good portion of therapy trying to learn when to push and when to rest whenever I’m feeling dissociated. And yeah, it’s a fine line and I still haven’t fully figured out how to walk it without falling from one extreme into the other.

But take this blog, for example. I know that writing it, actively facing my problems and the very strong, repressed emotions connected to them, will make me dissociate like hell. A few months ago, that would have been reason enough for me to not do it and simply ignore it again. Now, however, after working with my therapist and on myself, I have learned how to push my own limits just far enough in order to, in this case, continue to write even though it feels like my brain is about to burst into a cotton explosion. It’s a give and take, a sort of push and pull I’m playing with my own mind and head. But as time progressed, I figured out the game plan a little better, I learned my own rules and the secret short cuts and cheating methods (because come on, who really plays fair, that’s for boring losers) and the resting time it takes for me to restore my strengths again.

So, today for example, I woke up as Mr. Tin Man, progressed to being a lost, numb and rogue dissociation-bird (man, I really gotta work on my metaphors, this is just getting worse by the minute) and then decided that the best way to counter-act all of it, would be to sit down and write my lovely new blog. Has it helped? A little, yeah. It took my mind off the right things, made some others a bit worse and intense but now, I feel a little more stable and like I managed to talk some sense back into my spiraling, detached brain.

Kerstin, please tell me you’re proud of me. Because as we all know, therapy is about impressing your therapist and not about getting better for your own sake. Pft, who needs that. What do we want? Validation! When do we want it? All the time, because we never got it as a child, so now it’s the only thing we crave in life!

Yikes.

Alright. So, here we are. Since I’m still feeling a little zoned out and dopey, I’m not fully sure if everything I wrote made complete sense. But hey, while this blog is for others to read should they feel like it, it’s still mainly there for me to sort my own racing thoughts before they can spiral out of control. And I think I managed to do that just now. And I know that that feels kind of nice.

Actually, I feel it too.

P.S.: I just had to. A little self-deprecation doesn’t hurt anyone.