#the mental illness' grip on me is loosening i may be able to slow down on the art spam LMAO

[sailorgrams]

Pic of me dead on the floor as this uploads

Man these lines got crunched so hard just before I colored them haha

Cas may have dragged Tally's coat through the mud and snow on purpose... he'll never tell

[deascheck]

A Much Needed Chat

Summary: A/U. The reader is having high anxiety because of an evaluation you’re going to have, and your boyfriend, Lawyer!Sam, takes a break from his work to listen to you and calm you down.

Word Count: 2055

Trigger Warnings: anxiety/panic disorder, medication dependence?, language

A/N: I suffer from depression and anxiety and wanted to write a piece where Sam helps ground the reader (ME!) during a trying time. Please be nice! Feedback and reblogs are amazing! Thank you to the amazing @winchest09 for beta'ing for me!!

Your chest was tight, your breaths shallow and fast. You couldn’t stop thinking about the evaluation. Why the fuck did you have to have a psych evaluation given by the employer you were suing? Truthfully, you knew why. You were pursuing psychological damages from not one, but two workplace accidents. It didn’t make it any easier on you though. In your eyes, this psychologist you were meant to see had been hired by your employer to discredit everything you were going to say.

The more you thought about it, the more your breathing hastened. You wish you hadn’t left your Xanax at Sam’s house. You would give anything to take a few pills right now.

Nothing you were going to be saying to the psychologist was a lie, but her job was to make you sound like you weren’t mentally ill as a result of the accidents- when in fact you really were. Your depression and anxiety had made you a trembling, tearful mess.

You decided to go to Sam’s. Your boyfriend, Sam Winchester, was a lawyer, and currently worked from home. Not only was he a lawyer, but he was your lawyer. That’s how you two had met. He specialized in worker’s compensation cases, and was highly reputable in his field.

On the drive over, you attempted to focus on your breathing, but it was getting harder and harder with each second that passed. Your panic was rising and you felt lightheaded, like you were going to pass out. The pain in your chest grew, making you wonder if you were dying. Your vision started to change and you knew it was time to call for support. Struggling to hold the wheel and get your phone out, you fumbled around until you got to Sam’s number. You pressed the call button and briefly closed your eyes, praying that he answered.

“Hey beautiful, what’s up?” Sam’s calming voice sounded through the phone.

“I can’t breathe,” you puffed. “I need you. I need my Xanax. I think I’m dying... Help.”

Immediately, Sam started soothing you and coaching you. “Ok, I want you to start with five things that you can see. You sound like you’re in the car. Are you in the car? Look for five things on the road- what color cars do you see? What makes and models are they?”

You flicked your eyes around, panicked. “Ummm I see a green car in front of me. It’s a …. Hyundai Elantra. Uh, the car next to me is bright pink… it’s an ugly ass smart car.”

You could hear the smile in Sam’s voice at your judgment of the car as he encouraged you to continue, “Good job, baby. Keep doing that. I’ll wait on the line until you come up with three more.”

A minute or so later, you spoke up, breathless, “I got them. It’s not helping.” Your heart was still going a mile a minute.

“Ok, what are four things you can hear?”

You sighed in an attempt to slow your breathing. “I can hear my own breathing, does that count? I can hear Daisy’s engine.” You paused to continue listening. “I hear a motorcycle coming up behind me. And I hear the wind coming through the cracked windows.” Your heart rate slowed down some, to your great relief.

“Well done, Y/N. That was one of your best identifying sets yet. How are you doing now?” Sam’s voice over the phone alone was helping you calm down, your vision and eye movement returning to normal.

“You’re helping more than the exercise, honestly,” you stated.

Sam chuckled. “Well, whatever works for you, honey. You are on your way over here, I’m guessing?”

“You guessed it,” you chuckled weakly.

-------------------------------

Ten minutes later, you pulled into Sam’s driveway. He had a modest two story, 3 bedroom house that you couldn’t get enough of. It was a brick house with the front door tucked into a small front porch with two pillars. The love of your life was standing on the porch waiting for you. You loved when he worked from home, because he could dress comfortably. He was in gray sweatpants hanging low on his hips, and a black vneck tshirt that gave you ample view of his chiseled chest. The worry on his face made you smile through the remaining anxiety. You would have been turned on if you weren’t still feeling like your anxiety wasn’t under control.

Quickly, you got out of the car and hurried into his waiting arms. You buried your face into his chest and took a deep breath, inhaling his scent. Sam’s strong arms held you tight, one arm around your shoulders and the other around your lower back. You were body to body, the warmth from his tall frame helping your muscles to relax.

Quietly, he loosened his grip and adjusted so that one arm was draped around your shoulders as he pressed you into his side to walk inside. The aroma that met your nose was your second favorite in the world- besides Sam’s. It was a mahogany/tobacco mix, which you hadn’t expected to smell as good as it did when you first were told about it. The familiar scent had you breathing deeply through your nose as you walked in with Sam.

You left his side and went straight to the bathroom, where your Xanax was. You dumped two in your hand, and after a thought, a third. You swallowed, sighing in relief. It occurred to you after you’d taken them that your anxiety had come down significantly, and that maybe you didn’t need them, especially three of them, but you didn’t care. The mere thought that you had taken them calmed you down.

When you exited the bathroom, you found Sam sitting on the loveseat in the living room. You immediately sat on his lap and pulled your legs to your chest and curled into his body. His strong arms wrapped around you protectively, and you felt his voice vibrate deep in his chest as he asked, “Did you just take your Xanax? Did you still need it?”

You felt slightly guilty as you answered, “Yeah, I took three. That’s one of the two reasons I came over here.” You smiled softly up at him. “You’re the other reason.”

His chin rested on the top of your head as he sighed. He knew you were a little too dependent on the medication, and the fact that you took three worried him. But he decided not to press the matter given the state you’d been in while you were in the car.

“Tell me about what’s going on in that pretty head of yours,” he murmured into your hair.

“It’s this stupid evaluation,” you sighed. “I can’t get it out of my head. It’s in less than two days, as you know, and my anxiety is going crazy. My employer fucking hired this doctor! She’s going to rip apart everything I say and twist it the way she wants it. I’m not good enough on my feet to phrase things carefully enough that she won’t be able to do that.”

Your breathing started picking up again. Your Xanax hadn’t kicked in yet. Sam felt your chest start to heave, and tightened his grip around you. “Breathe with me. Feel my breaths and breathe with me.”

Closing your eyes, you felt for his breathing rhythm. The slow, steady rise and fall of his chest. The comforting movement once again helped you get your breathing back under control. You took a breath with him and let it out at the same pace he did. Your heart slowed down to a resting rate.

“Ok, I think I can keep talking this through without you having to calm me down every two seconds. I guess I’m just worried overall that I will feel invalidated. Like what I’m feeling isn’t real or true,” you admitted. “That it’s all made up in my head. This evaluation I have to go to, in essentially a day, is my employer’s way of attempting to prove that I am NOT as sick as I have become. I didn’t even take a single medication before all this shit happened! I didn’t need to see a therapist! I’m not fucking making it up.” You tilted your head up briefly to look at Sam and his sympathetic smile warmed your heart.

“Sweetheart, I know. But think about it, our job is to prove the severe decline of your mental health. Their job is to prove there was no decline- that it was bad already. If our psychologist says that you have a permanent partial disability of 75%, your employer is most definitely going to hire a psychologist of their own to attempt to disprove that. Seventy-five percent is a large disability! They don’t want to have to pay out for that.”

You sighed. Logically, you knew that. But nothing, you felt, nothing, could really prepare you for the evaluation. It could potentially go on for five hours! It made you think, What the hell? Who spends five hours getting interrogated and tested by a psychologist whose main goal is to discredit me. You groaned.

“I wish I could say I just want it to be over. But I’m as nervous for her report as I am for the evaluation! My coworker, Jay, and I read about one of her previous cases online. Man, she did not help the lady out at all with her report. She essentially said there was no illness whatsoever. What if she does that to me? I’ve got the diagnosis to back it up! And my psychiatrist even wrote a note saying that my depression and anxiety were indeed exacerbated by these accidents. And my psychologist I saw for our side of the case said I have PTSD and ADD. That’s got to count for something to the judge, right?”

Sam nodded against your head. “All of these reports will go to the judge. All the medical records, all the reports, everything, goes to the judge for review. The reports may influence him, but ultimately it’s he who makes the decision on what the settlement will be. Try not to worry too much about her report. Because we already have a very favorable one from our side.”

You could feel your Xanax kicking in. A calm wave washed over you and you felt your body relax into Sam’s for the first time since you had been curled together. You rested your head against his chest and breathed deeply, once again taking in his scent. This stupid evaluation was inevitable. You knew that. You had written in a journal different things you wanted to share with the psychologist, as well as a letter. Nothing you were going to be saying was a lie. She would not be able to catch you with irregularities.

“I guess the best thing I can do is just be honest, ya know?” You ducked your head softly to dislodge Sam’s chin from your crown and looked up at him. “The truth always comes out, right? If only truth always won…” you trailed off, getting lost in your thoughts.

Sam chuckled, the laugh resounding deep in his chest. “Y/N, you have me. And you know I am doing my damndest to make sure we have everything we need to succeed. You’re going to get a settlement, because you have your breathing and wrist problems that have already been identified as caused by the accidents. You know that for sure. Now we’re proving psychological disability to add hopefully a zero or two to that number. Have faith, baby,” he finished, resting his forehead on top of your head. “We will get through this together.”

You sighed contentedly. You would absolutely get through it together. When you were with Sam, nothing could stand in your way. Not even a goddamn psychological evaluation. He gave you strength and his faith in you spurred you on. Sam helped you feel invincible. Fuck this evaluation, you thought. I’m going to do my best, be as honest as I can, and then I’m going to come home to Sam’s embrace and everything else will just melt away.

With that, you snuggled in closer, and closed your eyes, humming softly and happily to yourself.

[ladyfogg]

May I? - 1/?

May I? - 1/?

Fic Summary: Ensign Faith Diaz struggles to hide her mental illness from her fellow shipmates aboard the Enterprise until an intrigued Data goes out of his way to try to understand her behavior. At his insistence, Faith tries to figure out what she's truly passionate about and eventually seeks the professional help she needs. Fic Masterpost.

Fic Rating: NC-17

Pairing: Data/Female OC

Warnings: tw: depression, tw: anxiety, fluff, friends to lovers, eventual smut

A/N: Hey guys! I have this fic posted over on AO3 already but thought I’d post it here as well. Currently there are 12 chapters. This fic is ongoing and while I have a clear arc/story in the works, I haven’t decided when it will end. I’m just kind of going with it. This story has been my support fic throughout this whole fucking quarantine mess and I’ve been having a lot of fun writing it. I’ll be posting all the chapters so far throughout the week. 

It may seem that everyday something happens aboard the Enterprise. It was almost like every week it was an invasion, a messy political shift, a weird time distortion loop, hostile negotiations...the list went on and on. However, in reality, there was a lot of time when nothing happened. When the ship glided through space effortlessly and the crew fell into a steady routine. Occasionally, they stopped at a planet to gather samples or map it. But other than that, all was quiet. 

It was on one of those routine days that Data found himself in Engineering, helping Geordi with several re-calibrations. They were minor modifications the two had wanted to implement for some time yet had not been able to.

All had gone according to plan and they were in the process of completing their work when Geordi stood up straight, a triumphant smile on his face.

"All set," he declared. "The conductors are functioning five-percent higher than normal. We should run a level one diagnostic just to be sure but there shouldn't be any issues."

"I agree. Readings are well within standard parameters," Data concluded, fingers dancing across the console. 

"I asked Diaz to do a manual sweep just to be sure," Geordi said. "I haven't heard from her yet but it doesn't seem like anything is out of place." He tapped his communicator. "La Forge to Ensign Diaz, what's the status of your sweep?"

Geordi waited for a response but one did not come. He tapped his communicator again. "Ensign Diaz, report!"

Nothing.

Data had only known Ensign Diaz in passing but he recalled Geordi's increasing frustration with the new crew member. She did not seem to have the same level of skills as some of her fellow engineers and her behavior had been less than exemplary.

"Where is she?" Geordi muttered. "Computer, locate Ensign Diaz."

" Ensign Diaz is located in Jefferies Tube 42B."

"Now what the hell is she doing in there?" Geordi said with exasperation. "And why isn't she answering?"

Data cocked his head as he ran through all possible scenarios. "I have calculated two hundred and thirty possible reasons for Ensign Diaz's behavior. One, she found a structural issue that she decided to correct. Two, one of the conductors may be showing signs of stress the computer cannot detect. Three—"

"Thanks, Data. I get it," Geordi cut him off. "Well, whatever the reason, I'm going to find out what's going on."

He had barely taken a step away from the console when his own communicator beeped. "Riker to La Forge, meet me in Transporter Room One. Prepare to beam to the planet's surface."

Geordi sighed but responded, "Aye, Commander. On my way."

Data saw Geordi glance in the direction Ensign Diaz had gone. "I am not required on the Bridge until oh-eight hundred hours. I can locate Ensign Diaz for you," he offered.

Geordi looked relieved and gave his best friend a smile. "That'd be great, thanks, Data. I'll be back as soon as I can." He gave him a pat on the back as he walked by. 

Data finished his work a second later before heading to the tubes. He found one of them already open and climbed inside. 

He did not see any signs of the ensign so he proceeded forward. 

"Ensign Diaz?" he called, his voice echoing off the metallic walks around him. 

He came across her communicator a short distance away, sitting at the bottom of a ladder. Frowning, Data picked it up and examined it. It did not look damaged and a quick diagnostic revealed it was in working order. He continued his search.

When he climbed the ladder, he was met with the sight of Ensign Diaz, deeply engrossed in one of the panels on the wall.

"Ensign Diaz?" he asked.

She spun around in surprise. Once she realized who spoke, she tried to straighten up, though it was difficult in such a tight space. 

"Commander Data! What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same question." Data held up her communicator. "I found this in the shaft behind us. I believe it is yours."

Diaz touched the spot on her uniform where it should have been as if she had not known it was missing.

"Thank you. It must have slipped off when I was climbing." She took it from him, pinning it back in place.

"Why are you in the tubes? Commander La Forge asked me to find you. He said you were told to do a manual sweep."

"I was a-and I did," Diaz stuttered, tucking a loose strand of dark hair back into her braid. "While I was doing so, I noticed one of the panels was out of alignment. Physically. I-I tried to correct it. It wouldn't budge so I decided to try to get it from the other side."

"I see." Data moved forward to check her work. Sure enough, he could see where the unit was off-center. "Most curious. That should not be possible."

"That's what I thought. But I can't seem to get it back into place." 

Data knew what was going to happen before it did. Yet even with his quick reflexes, he was not able to prevent the accident. 

Diaz did not have a proper grip on the part when she tugged on it. She had been perspiring and as a result, her hands slipped. The momentum sent her forward, where she smashed her head on the metal edge of the unit.

She screamed in pain, hand pressed to the spot as Data pulled her away. "Son of a bitch!" she exclaimed.

"Are you alright?" Data asked.

"Aside from seeing stars, I think so. Let's just fix the stupid thing and get out of here."

"I will handle it." Data carefully released Diaz, letting her rest against the tube wall while he took her place. Within seconds he fixed the situation, securing the unit into its proper position before determining it was in perfect working condition.

"My readings indicate everything is in working order," he said as he moved his tricorder over the unit. "Good work, Ensign."

"Thanks," Diaz said, removing her hand from her head.

Data looked at her, only to realize her forehead was smeared with blood.

"Ensign Diaz, you are bleeding."

"What? No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are. I believe you injured yourself when you hit your head."

"It's not that…" She looked at her hand, the color draining from her face when she saw blood on her palm. "...bad."

Data put his recorder in his pocket and made a move to tap his communicator but she stopped him. 

"No, wait! Don't!"

"Ensign, you are bleeding. I must contact sickbay."

"Honestly, I'm okay. I just need something to wipe up the blood. I'll be fine."

"I insist."

Diaz sighed and Data noted her eyes looked glossy. He wondered if the injury was more severe than she was letting on. 

"Let's at least get out of this stupid tube," she said. "I promise I'll walk there myself."

"That would be acceptable. As a precaution, I will accompany you to Dr. Crusher."

He motioned for her to move ahead and the pair began to backtrack. It was slow work as Diaz was careful not to leave a trail of bloody handprints in their path. When it came time to climb the ladder, Data insisted on going first so he could monitor her in case she needed help. 

He kept his eyes on Diaz, looking for any signs of distress while she descended. He noted her balance was unsteady. She rocked slightly and had to pause several times. During one of those times, she shut her eyes, arms wrapped around the rung in front of her.

"Ensign Diaz—"

"Please, call me, Faith. I never liked formal titles very much."

"As you wish. Faith, are you experiencing dizziness?"

"Sir, I'm fine."

Data found himself making a noise of disbelief. "No. You are not."

Faith cracked her eyes open, glancing down at him and Data saw her arms trembling as she tried to keep herself up. "Commander?"

"Yes?"

"I think I might pass out."

Her eyes rolled back in her head and her grip loosened, sending her tumbling off the ladder. For the second time, Data caught her in his arms. Quickly he tapped his communicator.

"Data to Transporter Room Two. I need immediate transport for two to sickbay. Current location Jefferies Tube 42B."

"Aye, Commander!" O'Brien's voice answered. "I'll have you there in a jiff."

A second later, Data found himself standing in the middle of sickbay, Faith's limp body in his arms. Dr. Crusher whirled around, eyes widening when she saw them.

In an instant she was at their side, scanning Faith. "What happened?" she demanded.

"Faith hit her head. She became weak and lost consciousness."

"How long ago?"

"The injury took place approximately ten minutes ago. She has been unconscious for thirty seconds."

"Data, get her up on the bed for me."

As he carried her across the room, her eyes fluttered open.

"Ugh, where am I?"

"You are in sickbay," he answered, gently lowering her down onto one of the beds.

"What happened?"

"Do you not remember hitting your head?"

Faith's eyes closed and she swallowed thickly, her head lolling from side to side. "It's all fuzzy." She grew still again.

"Faith? It's Dr. Crusher. I need you to open your eyes again. Can you do that for me?" When there was no answer, Beverly injected Faith with something while handing Data a towel. "Data, press this to her wound while I get my dermal regenerator. We have to stop the bleeding."

"Yes, Doctor."

Data did as he was told, pushing Faith's bangs back from her face so he could see the wound properly. It was deeper than he initially noticed. He pressed the towel to it, noting how much paler she had become in such a short period of time.

Beverly reappeared a moment later. He stepped aside so she could work, watching with rapt attention as she peeled the towel away before spraying the wound with antibacterial ointment. Once it was clean, she carefully sealed up the wound, leaving nothing but smeared blood in its place.

"That's done at least," she muttered to herself. She picked up her tricorder and resumed scanning the young woman.

"Will Faith be alright, Doctor?"

"She should be. According to my readings, she has a concussion. I recommend she be taken off duty for the time being."

"A smart recommendation."

Beverly finished scanning Faith, but this time her mouth deepened into a frown. "Hmm…" She scanned her again.

"Is something wrong?" Data asked.

It took a moment for the doctor to acknowledge his question. When she did, Beverly gave him a tight smile. "Nothing you need to worry about. Thank you for your help, Data. I can take it from here. You're free to go."

"I have already created a formal report of the accident. I will send it to you now for your records."

"That'd be great, thanks. And I'll let Geordi know not to expect Faith for a few days."

"Excellent. Have a good day, Doctor."

Data took his leave, but something came over him and made him pause, turning to look back. Faith was still unconscious and Dr. Crusher was staring at her as if deep in thought. Her expression was one Data had come to associate with that of concern.

However, he had duties to attend to. So he left sickbay and filed the incident for later review.