#therapy torrenting I guess??

[doomdoomofdoom]

I understand the struggle so hard. So I'm gonna dump more of my therapists advice on you. open source therapy.

I remember two exercises we talked about, one that didnt work for me and one that did:

Child in a grocery store: Required: Floor. Lay on the floor, scream and cry and kick your legs and twist around and slam your arms, like you're a toddler who got denied a chocolate bar. Repeat until satisfied. Throwing a tantrum like this is one of the first ways we learn to release negative emotions, so it usually comes the most natural to us.

Wood chopper: Required: Couch, Bed, or other cushioned surface of similar height. (Alternatively, chop actual wood but few people have that available.) Stand in front of your (soft!) target. Raise both arms and combine them over your head into one mega fist. Then, while bending your knees, slam your mega fist down onto your target with all your strength and rage. Your furniture is sturdy enough to take it. A loud yell with every smack is optional, but helpful (and helps regulate your breathing!) Repeat until satisfied. This exercise lets you release your anger in a more controlled fashion and you get to larp as a buff lumberjack if so desired.

Want to scream but worried about the noise? Don't want to upset your parents/neighbors/pets? A pillow to the face muffles screams very effectively. Any other sound playing at the same time like music or a TV will cover it up completely.

And one final piece of advice that I'm still chewing on: Anger isn't a shameful emotion. (No emotion is shameful.) It's one of our core emotional reactions. (According to my therapist, the others are Joy, Grief/Sadness, Surprise, Fear, and Disgust) Just like any other emotion, it needs to be felt, and it needs to be processed, or it will build up and make you miserable. The purpose of anger is to react to a negative thing by making you feel big and strong enough to confront it, but these days we rarely have a source that's easily confronted, so your options are either to channel it into productivity (i have written some of my best papers out of sheer spite) or to release it somehow, since redirecting your anger isn't always easy.

I am so fucking angry right now. I want to hurt something but there's nothing in my sphere of influence I want to see get hurt. You understand my struggle

[mydewottwantstofightme]

Hectic weekend, Kirby the Hydreigon moved in, and while he was distrustful, Queen (Cinccino) did help coax him into his new home. I also managed to deliver food to him a few times which Queen helped him eat, but I did get bit a few times. But you don’t care for a Volcarona without having spare sweaters you can’t use anymore and heavy duty oven mitts, so wrapping the sweaters on my limbs and wearing the mitts mitigated any serious harm.

Drayden seems nonplussed by all this, and both Queen and him refuse to tell me whether the biting was out of malice, affection, or Kirby was just trying to “see” and get a sense of his surroundings. Could be all of the above for all know.

He did get a little uneasy at night while sleeping, and if Queen didn’t rush to calm him down he would’ve wrecked his little cave enclosure. He also hasn’t been very active, but we’re slowly coaxing him to doing some Physical Therapy exercises the nurses who oversaw him recommended.

Torrent (Dewott) also painted a little drawing of him and Queen… he got really aggressive with it though. Tore it to shreds. My best guess was because a. He’s partially blind so he really couldn’t tell what it was, and b. He didn’t like the smell. Torrent is gonna try again with a bigger canvas and go a bit more abstract, as well as use different paints.

Drayden’s gonna be leaving this evening, and while he didn’t give any positive feedback on my job with Kirby so far (lotta criticism, although not necessarily antagonistic criticism just necessary criticism), he did give me a slap on the back, so I assume I did good enough.

[padawansuggest]

Okay so angsty hurt/comfort fic where Obi-Wan gets deaged to below three and Anakin notices he never reaches for the force and he’s all ‘lmao I guess that ‘no frivolous usage of the force’ thing is just his personality? Gotta tease him over that later’ while they’re on their way back to the temple with their troops (provably just Ghost and Torrent tbh) and he’s sitting in the canteen one day with lil Obi sitting pretty by his side eating his mushy grains with honey when he notices the fruit bowl a table away so he (not impolitely either imo he probably does this a lot and the clones always laugh at it, maybe even make a game outta it) reaches with the force to grab an orange so he can peel it for the tot at his side-

Which is when Obi-Wan let’s out the most heart clenching sense of PANIC in the force after seeing Anakin do so. He’s patting at Ani’a arm, trying to get him to stop, looking around in panic and that lil lip wobbling all sad and scared.

Anakin drops everything to give the baby his attention. Everyone who notices does too. Ahsoka looks gobsmacked and asks Ani what’s wrong with him? Ani has no fucking clue.

But… Cody has an idea or two… he’s asked where Obi-Wan was from before. Obi-Wan makes such an effort to learn what people like, about their culture, what the clones want, what the trainers were like… Cody really likes him (he’s his best friend) and wanted to return the favor. The first thing he learned about force sensitives on Stewjon (a planet outside of the republic that isn’t required to test for midichlorian counts) is that they’re ‘given back to the water to cleanse the energy trapped inside.’

Force sensitive babies are drowned.

The second thing he learned, was that Obi-Wan had been in the middle of an attempted drowning when his searcher, Fay, had found him. He had been almost three when they had gotten him to the temple. That’s three whole years of living in survival mode with the fear of someone seeing him do something too freaky, waiting to see if he can be beaten and starved into being good, or if they needed to give him back to the river.

He doesn’t really wanna air out Obi-Wan’s dirty laundry like this, but. He’s kinda… tiny…

The Chosen One is freaking horrified at the idea of his master being beaten to stop his force abilities. Starved to behave and why he strived for control at all times. Frivolous use of the force isn’t frivolous because it’s unneeded, Anakin has teased him a time or two for using the force frivolously while they’re alone… it’s frivolous because it’s one more reason for those who hate force sensitive to paint a target on their backs.

Him and Ahsoka make an effort not to use the force in a way others can see around him till they’re back at the temple, but he thinks he’s gonna need a few therapy lessons to get over the guilt that he’s been poking fun at his master’s survival skills for years. He feels like shit.

At least he has a baby to cuddle and give kisses to now.

[kerrikins]

It makes me sad, disgusted and enraged that the people who need to read the above two posts will likely just roll their eyes and block.

I saw a tweet going around from a face I'm sure will be familiar to many in the fandom, where they said that B fans will never hold him accountable.

Is this their idea of what accountability is, I wonder? Thousands of retweets of private conversations and pictures, torrents of abuse, mocking videos (both from fans and of him alike)?

Silly me, I guess I thought accountability was maybe, you know, unfollowing, not supporting, saying 'get your ass to therapy' and then moving on with your life if you hate him so damn much. If need be, write to entities that employ him to state your feelings - I'd understand and respect your right to do those things.

What's going on right now, though? No. This is vile and disgusting and the continuation of an online mob out for blood and revenge.

This is a man who confessed to suicidal thoughts due to what happened in January and yet people gleefully participate in this round that is even WORSE.

But maybe that's what some fans are going for, right? Maybe that's the true 'justice' and 'accountability' they always wanted.

There are things I say to my partner in the privacy of our living room when I’m blowing off steam that I would never in my life say to friends or other family members or bosses or work colleagues or fellow community members. I do this not because I’m two-faced but because I’m human. I get frustrated, but I’m also a grownup who realizes that my frustrations and fears in that moment are not the entirety of who I am. I have a right to express them, but I do not have the right to inflict them on the people who would be hurt by them. That’s why those conversations happen in private, in a safe space of trust, where my relationship allows me to show my partner parts of me that aren’t perfect and allows my partner to show me that I don’t have to be perfect in order to deserve to be cared about. I get support through my petty moments until I can be a better person.

This latest attack on Build is a horrifying violation of privacy and trust that leaves me feeling literally nauseated. I once again reiterate that I don’t trust third-hand amateur fan translation to be accurate and contextual, particularly given the provenance of the material, but Build himself is apparently distressed enough by at least some part of the material to make a public apology. So, that being out there, I will say: This was a private matter that should have stayed private, out of respect for everyone involved. Whatever was actually said is nobody’s business except Build’s and now, unfortunately, any named individuals who this was inflicted on and who may have been hurt by it. Which, rest assured, was the intention - to hurt not only Build with this, but also, particularly, Apo and Bible, both of whom Poi has shown her dislike of and ill-will toward in the past. I suspect some people also don’t know how abuse works, and it shows, given that what was purportedly said is a reflection of Poi’s own views back at her.

Whatever the context, I see that purity cancel culture still insists on freezing people in amber in their worst moments - without recognition of any capacity for change or growth - as long as it provides ammunition for a smug, gleeful Particicution. You’re stuck on some unkind things Build said more than a year ago? Let me tell you what I’ll remember for the rest of my life: The small, broken sound of Build’s voice just a few months ago as he tried to protect Bible and Bible’s career from a sociopath, in a telephone call that he felt he needed to secretly record as evidence of how he was being manipulated and abused.

Meanwhile, I see that swathes of KP fandom continue to be complicit in Poi’s campaign of public and dehumanizing abuse of him, which now includes not only borderline revenge porn, but separating him from his friends and isolating him. This is what abuse looks like. It’s happening in front of your eyes. Do you even care? Do you actually, legitimately care about abuse, or is it just a tool for you to use to win petty shipwars and make yourself feel righteous? Because here it is. Take a good look. This is a textbook play. And if you’re participating in reposting those screenshots of private conversations and mocking Build’s relationships and spreading vituperative language about him and acting like he deserves to have his life and career destroyed, you’re enabling an abuser. You are aiding and abetting her, as the very scenario she threatened him with - in order to maintain access to him, to keep him under control and compliant - continues to get spun out. YOU are a bully and a hypocrite and an abuser, helping to prove that the most dangerous time for an abuse victim is when they leave.

But I guess some victims do have to be perfect, huh?

[slippinmickeys]

The Annapolis Grant, part 2/?

He was, frankly, shocked when he saw the client. He was used to older women -- women who'd been divorced, widowed. Women who needed company. About half the clients he went out with didn't even want sex -- they just wanted someone to talk to, someone who'd pay attention to them and treat them with kindness and make them feel pretty, looked after, wanted. For men, escorts were about sex. For women, it was about companionship. He supposed beautiful women needed companionship too, but… He’d never had a client who looked like this. She was young. She was stunning. He wouldn't have been surprised to find her likeness carved in marble at the Smithsonian. She had flowing auburn locks and alabaster skin awash with the lightest freckles. And her eyes. Her eyes were a cobalt blue that could make you forget what you were going to say. This was going to make for an interesting job.

“Hi,” he said, his voice coming out more lively than he’d planned, “are you Dana?”

“No,” the woman said, then shook her head. “I mean yes,” she said. He smiled at her — he was used to women being nervous when employing him for the first time, and he found excessive friendliness generally put them at ease. He grabbed the back of the chair opposite her and asked if he could sit. When she nodded, he sat down and immediately shook out the cloth napkin on the table in front of him, draping it across his lap. Then he reached out a hand.

“It’s nice to meet you, Dana.”

She tentatively reached out and took his proffered hand, her own hand small, but her grip firm.

“What’s your name?” she asked him, the lashes framing her eyes thick as a field of wheat.

He cleared his throat. This woman was making it difficult to think. “What do you want my name to be?” he said, not realizing that it sounded like a creepy pick-up line until the words were out of his mouth.

“This isn’t going to work-“ she started, pushing her chair back from the table. He held out a conciliatory hand, feeling terrible.

“I’m sorry,” he said, genuinely. “That wasn’t a come-on. Melvin explained to me your situation. I wondered if you’d given this guy your fiancé’s name? I know I’m playing a part here, I’m just trying to figure out what the part is.”

“Oh.” She said, looking unsure.

He leaned back in his chair and put both hands on the table.

“Let’s start again,” he said, “Dana, it’s nice to meet you, my name is Fox Mulder. You don’t have to tell me that it sounds like a stripper name.” He saw a corner of her mouth quirk up. “If you’d prefer, you can call me Mulder.”

She nodded slowly, her lips still slightly upturned. She reached out a hand once again.

"It's nice to meet you, Mulder."

XxXxXxXxXxX

"So, how does this work?" she asked.

"You tell me how it works," he said. He was wearing glasses, and she could just make out flecks of gold on his mossy irises through the lens. "I'm at your disposal. Whatever you need… I’m at your beck and call."

"Like Pretty Woman?" she asked.

He chuffed a laugh.

"If you like." He looked over the rim of his spectacles, assessing her for a moment. "Dana, you run the show, here. You're spending a lot of money, and I'll be and do whatever you need."

It felt odd somehow to hear her first name from him.

"Call me... call me Scully. To your Mulder." She knew it was a distancing tactic psychologically, but it made her feel better about what she was doing and who she was doing it with.

"I can do that."

She looked at him a moment with her lips pursed and then all at once, she told him her story in a torrent of words -- her lab, the Annapolis Grant, McKay and his reputation, her spur of the moment white lie about having a fiance, and the domino effect it had had on her life lately. He listened attentively, nodding, his hands on the table in front of himself, his fingertips laced together. He sort of reminded her of a therapist, though she supposed what he did was a kind of therapy. In any event, she felt like she'd exhaled a too-long-held breath, and leaned back in her chair after she was done talking, relieved of a burden.

"Wow," he said.

"Yeah," hearty agreement. She took a breath and leaned forward again, assessing him. She may as well be upfront. "Do you think you can play the part? We'll be running in elite circles... I'll be frank with you -- this whole bonkers idea makes me nervous. Do you think you have the required etiquette to pull this off? I need the Annapolis Grant. Badly. But I'm staking my entire reputation -- personal and professional -- on this. And if there's even a chance..." She fumbled for a moment, a million thoughts running through her head. She had a nightmare picture of him sitting next to her at dinner with McKay, spouting nonsense and being handsy. "I've looked at your medical records and drug tests... I'm not interested in sex," Dana, stop talking! she thought and then plowed ahead. "But you seem clean and polite and... oh God, what am I even trying to say?" She felt flustered and flush (why the hell had she brought up sex?!), and his calm, intense gaze wasn't helping.

He unlaced his fingers.

"In the course of my... work," he said, his voice even and gentle, "I've attended State Dinners and Kennedy Center Honors. I've been at tables with Senators, Congressman. I can be who you need me to be. I can do what you need me to do." She felt tension drain out of her shoulders. "I guess the real question is... can you?" There it was. The real crux of the issue in this madcap scheme. Then, his voice a honeyed rumble, "I can be the person you need me to be with you. Do you think you can be it with me?"

"Yes," she said, the word out of her mouth before she could think it. She felt a steely resolve. "I think I can."

He reached across the table and took her hand, running his thumb over the skin of her wrist.

"Then you've got yourself a fiance. Let's say we go get you a grant."

XxXxXxXxXxX

They had discussed logistics but not minutiae, though they had a five hour flight ahead of them, and she supposed they could tackle it mid-air. She fluffed out her hair and checked her reflection in the passenger-side visor for the fifth time in 20 minutes.

"You need to relax, Dana," Missy said as she flipped the signal for the exit to Reagan National, "if you're going to be this nudgy the entire trip, you should call it off."

"It's just nerves," Scully said, irritation creeping into her voice, flipping the visor back up with a whack.

Missy gave her a side eye and then proceeded to merge toward Departures. "Maybe you should avail yourself of this guy's services right off the bat," she said cheekily.

"I'm not sleeping with him!" Scully didn't know why she was being so defensive.

"Why not, you’re paying for it,” Missy said, smiling, “Anyway, orgasms are good for 'nerves.'"

"Stop."

"I'm just saying, get your money's worth."

"Missy!"

Melissa pulled her car up to the curb, and threw it in park. She turned to Scully.

"It's going to be fine, Dana. One week. From everything you said, this guy has impeccable manners and is fairly intelligent. Just relax about it, okay? Enjoy yourself-"

"Missy-"

"Not like that. Just... try to have a good time? You're going to be on a megayacht for God's sake. Revel a little."

Scully let out a slow breath. "Okay," she said.

Melissa smiled at her reassuringly and popped the trunk.

"Is he meeting you here?" Missy asked.

Scully looked at the window at the various people milling about the sidewalk and skycap.

"Yes," she said absently, scanning the crowd for him.

"Is he cute?"

"Yes," she said, before she realized what her sister was asking. Missy laughed and got out of the car. Scully was just reaching for her own door handle, when the door opened on its own.

Standing there with a smile was Mulder, his hair a glinting chocolate in the hot Virginia sunshine. He was dressed in a tan linen suit, the white shirt underneath buttoned casually. He was wearing glasses and had a large, expensive-looking garment bag looped over his shoulder.

"Scully," he said, holding out his hand to help her from the car. When she stood, she saw her sister standing at the rear of the car watching them, her mouth slightly open, not quite gaping.

"Oh," Mulder said, noticing her by the trunk, "let me get that."

He moved quickly to the trunk and pulled out Scully's suitcase, which he extended the handle of, setting it on the ground. While he was doing this, Melissa connected eyes with Scully, mouthed oh my god! and fanned herself. Scully could feel her face go crimson.

Mulder closed the trunk with a thud.

"Hi," he said to Melissa, holding out his hand, "I'm Mulder."

Missy extended her hand slowly.

"I'm Melissa, Dana's sister," she said, shaking it once, "it's a real pleasure."

"Pleasure is all mine," Mulder said, then looked to Scully expectantly. "You ready to get checked in?" Scully nodded and reached for her suitcase. “I got it,” he said with a smile.

Scully gave him a tight smile back and then waved once to Melissa, turning on her heel toward the airport doors. She could feel Missy's eyes on her, and then felt Mulder's hand come to rest gently on the small of her back, leading her forward into the unknown.

[fanfoolishness]

black ink on white paper (SUF)

Several weeks into his road trip, Steven makes sure to keep up with his mental health. A lot of angst and a little hope, therapy, 4800 words.

***

Steven futzed about with his phone, trying to find the best place to rest it for his therapy session.  He tried balancing it on his half-filled journal, but thought better of it in case he decided he wanted to refer to its pages during the session.  He moved the journal to the side on the nightstand, leaving it where he could get to it quickly if needed.  He finally leaned his phone against the hotel room’s beige lamp and angled it to center his face in the camera’s view.  He always felt a little uncomfortable with this bit, looking at his face blown-up on the screen until Dr. Boverman appeared.

A ding, and Dr. B smiled at Steven, his broad face filling up most of the screen and creasing into a smile.  Steven’s image shrank down, disappearing to the corner where he could avoid looking at it more easily.

“Hi there, Steven.  How’s your week been?”

Steven settled in, trying to organize his thinking.  As usual he landed on the most mundane things first.  It was always easier to get started this way.

“Pretty good.  I’m in Texahoma.  It’s really different from back home.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” he said, chuckling to himself.  “It’s hot!  The Dondai’s AC is working overtime just to keep things semi-comfortable.  I can still feel the sun beating down on me through the glass, though.  And this state is so huge!  I mean, I got through Delmarva in like three hours.  This is day two of Texahoma and I’m still not through yet.”

“Are you liking it?  I’ve never been,” said Dr. B.

“I think so.  Some of the accents here are kind of a lot to get used to but the people are friendly.  There’s not as many vegetarian food options as I’d like but I’ve had some of the best mac and cheese ever here, and I did find one vegetarian barbecue joint that… wow, it was good.  Really good.”

“You’re making me hungry!” Dr. B laughed.

Heartened, Steven grinned. He liked this part of his therapy sessions, normal chatting, like he wasn’t someone with a problem (a hundred thousand problems) trying to work it out.  He wasn’t friends with Dr. B -- he knew that wasn’t how it was supposed to be -- but it felt friendly, and familiar, all the same.  He continued.

“Then I wound up on a side road for a couple of hours and saw some real cowboys.  And some real cows -- they’re huge in real life!  Kind of terrifying, actually!  There was this one time when I was a kid that we played cowboys out in the wilderness for a while, Dad and Amethyst and Ruby and me, but I don’t think it was the same. I was mostly going off of comic book cowboys.  Still a lot of fun, though.”

Dr. B raised an eyebrow.  “Ruby was there, but not Sapphire?”

Steven had been surprised at how quickly Dr. B had picked up on the intricacies of his family.  He wasn’t used to human acquaintances knowing that Garnet was a fusion, or that some of his closest friends had previously tried to kill him.  It was weird, but nice to not have to explain it freshly every time.

“Yeah.  That was when Garnet fell apart about Mom being Pink Diamond.”  He sighed.  He supposed it was going to be a Rose day, then.  He hadn’t been planning on it, but that part about cowboys had pushed him here, somehow.  It was always strange to him how so often their therapy sessions took a completely different direction than he’d expected.  

“She fell apart?  Does that mean she -- unfused -- willingly?  Or it was an accident?”

Steven’s lips thinned into a narrow line.  “An accident, I guess.  It was pretty awful for her to learn that Mom was such a liar.”  He stared up at the ceiling, remembering how Sapphire had dissolved into tears and fled, how Amethyst had held Ruby, how Pearl had looked so ashamed.  “That… was a rough day for them.”

“What about for you?”

Steven smiled a little.  “You always ask that.”

“Have you noticed how your memories are often framed by how others reacted, instead of yourself?”

Steven fiddled with his hands, fingers twisting around each other.  He didn’t look at the screen. “I know.  You’ve pointed it out before.  I know it’s a pattern.”

“It’s one we can try to unlearn.  Or at least take note of.  What did that day feel like for you, Steven?”

“Um… really weird, initially.  I mean, I had to ask Pearl if she was the one who shattered Pink Diamond because she couldn’t speak about it at all, because Mom ordered her not to, and I only knew to ask because of a dream I had that must have been like an echo from my gem, and Pearl still couldn’t tell me even when I asked her so she had to take me back inside of her gem… it was really trippy.  And I had to keep going back through all of her repressed war memories -- you know, Pearl could really use therapy, too -- until finally I got to the one she wanted me to see, and then --”

He took a deep breath, seeing Rose shift back into her Diamond form, towering over him and Pearl.  “I knew it was going to be bad.  Pearl liked to keep scary stuff from me but she would tell me if I kept asking.  For her to not even be able to tell me -- like, she kept slamming her hands over her face so that she couldn’t open her mouth -- come on, that couldn’t be anything good.”

“Did that make things more frightening for you?  Was she doing that on purpose?”

“I don’t think she could control it. I think Mom’s order to her was that powerful,” said Steven.  “I think it’s a Diamond thing, though at least that’s something I’ve never done.” You’ve done plenty, his brain said, but Steven tried to ignore it.   “For example, Mom ordered her playmate Spinel to stay in the garden, and she stayed.  For six thousand years.  I don’t think there was really a choice involved.”  He frowned, waving a hand.  “She always did what she wanted.”

“Rose did, you mean.”

“Yeah.  Like, why couldn’t she have at least told Garnet?  Or Amethyst?  The war was over.  It wasn’t like she still had a whole army she had to command after the Diamonds attacked.  Why not at least tell the people she said she loved?  She never told Dad, either.  If she had told somebody else, then Pearl wouldn’t have had to carry that secret around for so long.  Did she ever think about what that was doing to her?” Steven spat.  “Pearl was a mess.”

“It sounds like Pearl had a very difficult time dealing with her own role in the war, as well as what your mother asked of her,” said Dr. B gently.  “But what about you?”

“Damn it, I’m doing it again!” Steven laughed, but it was one of those laughs that wasn’t really one.  “I don’t know.  I… I was scared?  Pink Diamond was small compared to Blue and Yellow and White, but she was still huge compared to me and Pearl in that memory, and seeing Mom shift from Rose to Pink -- I don’t know if my stomach ever hurt so bad, so suddenly.  It was hard to breathe.  But I didn’t have time to think about that because suddenly we were back, and I told everyone what I saw.”

“How did you feel after Garnet and Amethyst found out?”

“I just wanted to focus on them.  Sapphire was so upset, and then Ruby ran off, and Amethyst kept annoying me, trying to cheer me up.  I had to fix them, you know?  I had to get everything back to normal, everything that Mom had messed up, again.”  He shoved his hands into his pockets, balling them into fists.

“You were…. How old were you when you found this out?”

“Fourteen,” said Steven, thinking back.

“And who was responsible for the deception?”

“Well, Mom, of course.”

“Why did you feel that you had to fix what she did?”

“No one else was going to do it,” said Steven.  He ran a hand over his face, his breathing coming more quickly.  He swallowed.  “It always had to be me.  They needed me.  Pearl couldn’t tell anyone until I asked her who shattered Pink Diamond.  Garnet wasn’t there and Ruby and Sapphire didn’t know what to do without each other.  Amethyst at least tried to talk to me, but… I was too worried about everyone else.”

“How did she try to reach you?” Dr. Boverman asked gently.  

“She kept trying to distract me from looking for Ruby.  She took me out for pizza.  She straight up asked me how I was doing at one point... but then she stopped asking.”  Steven squirmed uncomfortably.  “I didn’t really tell her.  I wanted her to tell me how she was doing.  I didn’t really know how I was doing myself.”

“Do you know now?”

Steven fell silent.  He leaned back against the pillows on the bed, taking long breaths.  Why was this question always so hard?  What was wrong with him, that he didn’t even know how he felt about important things in his own life?  

“No,” he said softly.  “It’s like I don’t feel anything -- or I feel everything, when it comes to her.”

Dr. B considered his words, tilting his head to one side and pursing his lips.  “What does ‘everything’ feel like?”

Steven buried his face in his hands.  “Arrrgh.”

“If this is too difficult right now, we can --”

“No, we’re already here,” Steven muttered.  “It’s just --”  He struggled for the words, a torrent of them flooding through his mind.  His gem hummed.  He knew without looking he was glowing pink, his heart starting to race, but at least his body was staying its normal size.  He took a few more deep breaths.  Why not.  Maybe it won’t be so bad.

“Sometimes I feel so sorry for her,” he whispered through his hands.  “The Diamonds used to lock her up and make her cry, sometimes for the stupidest things -- wanting to play with animals, or wanting to be friends with her Pearl.  It could have been hundreds of years or longer they locked her away.  How do you not feel bad for someone who went through that when they were just trying to be themselves?”

He lifted his head, lowered his pink hands to his lap.  Dr. B peered at him sympathetically through the screen.  It had frightened both of them the first time he glowed in a session, but slowly they’d worked to a place where Steven could accept it as a sign he was upset, like crying or blushing.  His hand formed a clenched fist, then relaxed again, still pink.

“But sometimes I hate her so much,” he breathed.  “She took all that pain the Diamonds put on her and she cracked her Pearl in a tantrum.  Volley still has a scar on her face from it, and Gems don’t do that, they don’t get scars you can see unless it’s something incredibly bad.  Like your owner you were in love with cracking you with a scream.  She hurt Volley, she hurt Pearl by making her pretend to shatter her and keep the secret for thousands of years… she lied to Garnet and Amethyst and Dad, she never even thought about telling me the truth, and how many Gems were shattered? How many Gems were corrupted?  She hurt so many people.  And sometimes I’m scared that I’m just like her -- or worse -- I mean, I’m a shatterer --”

Tears stung and he blinked them back.  His hand swelled, a fist three times its normal size.  He stared hard at it, muttering under his breath.  I’m having that scared feeling again.  It’s okay to feel scared.  It’s not me.  

He wiped his eyes with his other hand, trying to focus.   It’s just a feeling that I’m having right now, but it’s temporary.  it’s gonna go away.  All feelings do.  He flexed his fingers slowly, and the fist shrank back down to normal size, the pink color fading.  

“This is really frightening for you to think about,” said Dr. B in his steady voice.  “But you were able to look at yourself starting to glow and swell, and you were able to bring yourself back to a more neutral state.  You’re doing really well, Steven.”

Steven gave him a watery smile.  “Thanks.  I -- it does get easier.  I try to think about what you told me.  I’m not my feelings, they’re not bigger than me, they do go away eventually.  That helps a lot.”

“That’s right,” Dr. B encouraged.  “You’re Steven.  You have big feelings, but they don’t define you.  You can step outside of them and look at them from a safe distance, while still allowing yourself to feel and acknowledge them.”

“Yeah,” said Steven, the tightness in his chest loosening a little.  “Yeah.”  

“You brought up the shattering, which we know is one of your triggers.  Do you want to carefully investigate it today, or do you want to continue speaking about your mother?”

“I --”  He considered.  Jasper-focused sessions always left him drained, fragile, usually for days at a time.  Sometimes he craved that, needed it badly, needed to let himself feel and accept just what a terrible thing he’d done --

But some days it didn’t feel right to focus on the accident.  Sometimes it got in the way of other work.  And as he well knew… there was a lot of work to do.

“I don’t think it’s a Jasper day,” he said carefully.  “I mean, we could -- but I think I need to talk more about Mom, today.”

“Okay, let’s keep talking about Rose.  What makes you think you might be worse than your mother?  You said yourself that many Gems were shattered in the war that she started.”

Steven shrugged.  “She’s not the only one who lies.  Or hurts people.”  He stared past his phone at the blank hotel wall, finding it hard to focus.  The wall slipped and blurred.  He remembered waves against his waist, a roar in his throat, the way the town seemed so small.  He remembered a monster’s agony.  His agony.

“What if they hadn’t figured out how to get me out of my meltdown?  I could have hurt the town, I could have hurt everyone -- They wouldn’t have been soldiers who got hurt, you know?”

“They did figure out how to help you.  You told me yourself that no one in the town and no one in your family was hurt,” said Dr. B.  “But it’s true that sometimes we do hurt others -- all of us.  What’s important is that we take steps to avoid hurting others when we can.  If we still hurt them, by accident or by making an unhealthy choice, we can make amends by changing our behavior to prevent it happening again.  Which you’re doing.  Right now.  You are actively working to change your behavior not only to avoid hurting others, but also to avoid hurting yourself.”

“I guess,” he said.  “It still feels weird to think about protecting myself.  I mean, not with my shield or a bubble, but… emotionally.  Sometimes I think about the stuff I did to try and help other people, and it would hurt me so bad but I’d just keep smiling… it’s so messed up.”  He let out a soft huff of breath.  “Can I tell you something?  That I never told anyone?”  It was funny, given all the terrible things Steven had already told him over the past several months, but it still made him feel better to ask permission.  Like he was subconsciously trying to make sure he wasn’t going to hurt Dr. B, telling him about these things.  

Dr. B’s kind eyes watched him.  “Of course.”  He always said yes.

“Ruby and Sapphire got married just a few days after she found Mom was Pink Diamond.  After Pearl and I talked to them they decided to come back together and be Garnet for themselves, not for Mom or for anyone else.  And I was so, so happy that everything I did, trying to help Sapphire understand Mom and Pearl, going on the cowboy trip with Ruby, pretending I was okay -- I was so happy that it worked.  That Garnet was going to come back.”

Dr. B nodded.  Steven fidgeted.  This part was… embarrassing.  But it felt right to say it, here, now, in a hotel room far away from Beach City and Rose Quartz’s memory and his family.

“I cried in the shower for almost an hour on the wedding day,” Steven mumbled.  “I walked into the bathroom so excited to put on my tux and officiate the wedding and see everyone happy again, and as soon as I got in the shower I just… I lost it.  I didn’t even know why I was crying.  I just did, like a little kid, and I was glad that the water was so noisy because it meant that no one would hear me and ask me how I was doing.”

“Why were you glad that no one would ask how you were doing?”

“I don’t know,” said Steven, but he had a guess, one that hurt.  He hazarded it.  “It’s like… except a few times from Amethyst, no one did ask me how I was doing all week.  Not Pearl, not Ruby or Sapphire, not even my dad!  And when I was crying in the shower, I guess I thought -- maybe the reason they weren’t asking was because I was just really good at hiding it.  And that would be okay.  That would hurt less than… them not asking because they didn’t even think about asking me.”

For a moment Dr. B was silent.  Then he spoke.  “It sounds to me like you were trying to take control of the situation,” he said.  “If you were good at hiding your feelings, then of course your family wouldn’t ask how you were doing.  That would make it your responsibility, your choice: your actions were what you could control.”  He adjusted his glasses and leaned in closer to the screen.  “Steven, their actions were never your responsibility.  It was their responsibility to check in with you, and they failed you at a time you needed support.”

“They just -- they were going through a lot --” he began automatically.

“She was your mother, Steven.  The way you felt about her absolutely should have been explored.  But your family chose not to reach out to you and help you, whether by mistake or on purpose, and it’s okay to be angry at them about it.”

“I’m not --”

“Steven, you’re glowing again,” said Dr. B, in his calm, neutral voice.  

Steven laughed, a jagged sound, and caught sight of his image in the corner of the screen, pink and luminous and significantly bigger than it had been a moment ago.  “I guess I am.”

“How do you feel?”

Deep, careful breaths.  Words came, slowly, to the surface of his mind, syllables to rearrange into meaning.  “Hurt.  Ignored.  Mad.  Disappointed.  With all of them.”

“All of who?”

“Garnet. Amethyst.  Pearl.  My dad.”  His breathing started picking up, faster and faster.  “Why didn’t they think that would mess me up?” he cried.  “I mean, really, what the hell?  Oh hey, Steven, your mom is an intergalactic dictator, she started a war against herself and got thousands of Gems shattered or corrupted!  You’ve heard about how bad Homeworld and the Diamonds were for years, but whoops, your mom’s one of them!  And now you have to deal with how her lies screwed up all her friends because you’re always the one to deal with her shit!  But you’re fine with it, right?  You’re Steven!  Nothing ever bothers you, right?  Right?”

He was near sobs now, his breathing ragged, his shoulders shaking.  He felt himself growing, the top of his hair brushing the ceiling --

“Steven, I need you to breathe with me,” said Dr. B’s voice, faint from the distance below.  “You can do this.  Return to your center.”

Right, right.  You know what to do.  And he did, his eyes falling closed, tears drying on his cheeks as he breathed.  It’s okay to have this feeling.  And it will go away.  His hands steadied.  The hum in his ears faded, retreating until he heard Dr. B’s voice clearly through the phone.

“Steven?”

He opened his eyes, grabbing at the phone with his normal-sized, non-glowing hand.  He let out a quavery laugh.  “I -- I feel like I found a sore spot,” he admitted.  “But… I think I was able to deal with it a lot better than a few months ago.”

“Absolutely,” said Dr. B warmly.  “I can see you’ve been practicing your breathing and your centering techniques.  Remember, these tools provide a way to help keep your feelings from harmfully affecting your powers, but the feelings themselves are not the problem.”

“Right.”

“How are you feeling now?”

“The same, but… not so overwhelmed?  Mostly just upset that I had to go through that.  Alone,” he said.  He rubbed his shirt, readjusting it from where it had stretched to accommodate his sudden increase in size.  “I wish I could have talked to you a long time ago.”

Dr. B smiled, nodding.  “It’s a common sentiment,” he said.  “We can’t undo the past, but I’m glad we’re able to speak now.”

“Me too.”  He let out a long, rattling sigh.  “Ugh.  I just wish… I’d known more of this stuff.  That it wasn’t okay for my family to act that way.  That it was okay to be upset about Mom, and scared that I was gonna be like her.  And I wish I’d known there are other ways to fix problems besides trying to make everyone else happy.  Maybe sometimes we just need to feel terrible about terrible things.”

“That’s one of the things about being human, Steven.  Painful emotions, like fear, or hatred, or sorrow, are important.  There are times they absolutely need to be felt and acknowledged, instead of covering them up with band-aids.”

“Or weddings,” he mumbled, remembering his cheerful song about love, a glow bracelet shining between his clasped hands.  His eyes pricked with tears he blinked away.

“You were trying to make the problem go away the only way you knew how,” said Dr. B.  “And you didn’t have anyone to show you a different way.  That isn’t messed up; it’s a coping mechanism for trauma.  Your toolbox was very limited, but now you’re working to find ways to deal with those problems that don’t leave you hiding your feelings and not addressing them.”  He tilted his head, considering.  “From what you’ve told me, that’s something that makes you very different from your mother.”

“I know I’m trying -- I’m working really hard!”  And he was, too, wasn’t even a question, he had gotten so much better.  But still -- “What if it’s not enough?  What if I’m still too much like her?” Steven asked, wincing at the answer he might get back.

“That’s not necessarily a bad thing,” said Dr. B, and Steven stared at him in surprise.  “I want you to know that it’s not the worst thing in the world to have similarities to a family member, even when you dislike or no longer admire them.  Being like her in some ways doesn’t mean you can’t make different choices.  And even with all of her flaws and mistakes, there may have been some good qualities that you share with her, too.  Can you think of any?”

Steven thought, screwing his face up in concentration.  “She really did love the Earth.  The plants, the mountains, the people… she really did want to save them.  Everybody said so… and it’s one of the few things that didn’t turn out to be a lie.”

“And how do you feel about the Earth?”

Steven grinned, the smile a little pained at first, then growing more genuine.  “It’s… awesome.”  He let out a long sigh, remembering how he’d driven out to eat breakfast at a nearby diner, and in the parking lot --  

“I saw these amazing birds today on the telephone wires.  Uncle Andy gave me a bird guide for my trip… they’re called scissor-tailed flycatchers.  They have these incredible tailfeathers and they just look so beautiful when they fly away.  I’ve never seen a bird like that before.”  He could see them clearly in his mind’s eye, reddish-pink sides, smooth gray and white faces, impossibly long, elegant tailfeathers in black and white.  “I think Mom would have thought they were great.  And I guess… I guess that’s not such a bad thing to share with her.”

“You don’t have to love her or forgive her.  But you don’t have to hate the parts of her that you see in yourself.  It’s not bad at all to appreciate natural wonders and wildlife,” said Dr. B.  “Send me a picture of these birds!  They sound beautiful..”  

“Yeah, I can do that,” said Steven.  “”Maybe I’ll see some more of them tomorrow.  I should get through Texahoma tomorrow and into Saguaro.  Should see some interesting desert stuff.”  He felt a small pang at the thought of Cactus Steven, but hoped that seeing other cacti -- content and happy and most importantly immobile -- might ease that particular hurt a little.  

He glanced at the top of his screen and saw with surprise it had already been an hour.  “Huh, I guess it’s that time already.”

“I expect a full report of your trip next week,” said Dr. B, pulling out his calendar.  “What day works for you?”  

Steven flipped through his calendar app quickly, scrolling past his next date with Connie -- only two days to go! -- a visit to Lars, and a planned video chat with Peridot.  He swiped back to Dr. B.  “How about Thursday?  Ten AM?  Next week’s actually pretty full up with friend stuff.  And --”  He hesitated, then continued.  “It’s been a while since I talked to Dad and the Gems, but I’m thinking I might hold off on a video call for another week.  Just… we talked about a lot today.  I need to think about stuff for a while before I talk with them again.”

“I think that sounds like a good idea to take some time to yourself to process things,” said Dr. B.  “It’s perfectly okay to let them know you’re busy this week but will be in touch again soon.”

“I think I will.”

“I’m glad to hear you have some other friend meetups planned, though.  Lars and Connie?”

“Good guesses,” said Steven, giving him a tired smile.  “Yeah, I think it’s gonna be a good week.  I’ll keep up with my meditation and my journal.  Gotta get back on the exercise train, though.  It’s been so hot I haven’t felt like it.”

“Take care of yourself, Steven.  Don’t forget about swimming or yoga as low-impact options.  Feel free to call before your visit if anything changes, and we’ll talk next week.”  Dr. B waved, and Steven waved back as the call ended.

He sent Dr. B a picture of the scissor-tailed flycatchers, smiling to himself, then sent the same picture to Uncle Andy and Greg.  Maybe he’d really talk to Dad again in a week or two, just… not yet.

He flopped back onto the bed, letting his arms splay out to the side, his fingers uncurling, the tension slowly starting to fade from his arms and shoulders and toes.  

He closed his eyes.  How did he feel?

He asked himself after every session, another of Dr. B’s ideas to help him understand himself better.  Some days it was hard and he’d end up not answering his own question in a defensive huff.  Other days it was clear and easy.  He never knew which it would be until he asked it.

This wasn’t the first time messed up things with the Gems had come to light in these sessions. Oh, no, there were a lot of sessions about some of those patterns.  He supposed that that was why he’d finally thought about that week they’d learned about Rose, and realized how screwed up it was in so many ways.

He could still feel the emotions that had come up a few minutes ago, but instead of roiling frantically under the surface, they were a little more removed, fading to a more comfortable distance where he could feel them without drowning in them.  He rolled over and grabbed his journal from the bedside table, and wrote with the fancy fountain pen Connie had given him until ink smudged his fingertips and his wrist was tired.  The pages were smeared, but he wasn’t sure he needed to reread them; just writing it all out was comfort enough right now.   Anger and sadness and disbelief, set in black ink on white paper.

His emotions were real.  They stared back at him in cursive on narrow-ruled lines.  And it was okay to have them, even when they hurt.  Something he reminded himself of every week.

How do I feel? he asked himself again.

I feel… 

Deep breaths, tidal, falling into a comfortable, familiar rhythm.  He had an answer today.

I feel okay.

[valkyrieofthehighfae]

The Therapist Sessions: Session 1

Summery: A series of side events that take place during my fic Be My Sin. We follow Valkyrie along her path of recovery and going into therapy to discuss her traumatic past. Warnings: Mentions of drug use, plastic surgery, alcohol use, dubcon relationship, gaslighting, abuse, 18+ only loves Word Count: 1.3k Part 1 of an ongoing series

“Astrid Nightdancer?” A soft voice beckoned me into their office, a cushy, calming room that was sparsely decorated with therapy crap and cushy pillows and shit. I was beginning to question why I’d come after taking a seat on the gently worn couch, looking around with mild disinterest.

“It’s Valkyrie. I don’t use my birth name.” I grumbled after a moment, moving my gaze to the man across from me, taking him in. He had that dad look to him, but with long, blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail and tattoos peeking out from under his shirt. Maybe if there were young and hip dads, he’d be one.

“Right, got it. Thanks for correcting me, Valkyrie. I’m Oberyn Lorarie, but you can call me Ryn.” He held a hand out and I took it cautiously, shaking it firmly.

“Uh… cool.” I have a short nod, quickly yanking my hand back and putting it in my lap, not really sure about what I should be doing.

“You seem tense. This your first time seeing a therapist?” He was soft spoken, easy going, and I nodded.

“That obvious, huh? Sorry. Just nervous I guess.” I gave a half hearted laugh and a vague smile. He nodded serenely, a soft smile on his handsome face.

“That’s totally normal. We’ll start today just getting to know each other. How’s that sound?” He set aside his datapad and leaned back in his chair. I wasn’t sure what to make of him yet, but so far he didn’t seem too terrible I guessed. I’d play along for now, see where it went.

“Yeah. Okay. Sure.” I finally relented and fished out a pack of smokes. “You mind if I smoke?” He shook his head and gave me the go ahead to light up. It was a bad habit, but one I didn’t do too often, figuring every once in a while would be fine.

“So, Valkyrie, let’s start simple. Where were you born?” He jumped right in, eager to begin things.

“Dandoran. Was pretty young when I left, so I don’t really remember much about the place except that it rained a lot.” I muttered, exhaling smoke. He nodded thoughtfully, smiling a little; he clearly was itching to type this into his datapad. “Look, doc -”

“Ryn.”

“.... right. Ryn. If you wanna write this crap down, by all means do whatever your little therapist heart needs to do.” I was disdainful, sneering a little. He took the pad back up and began writing with his stylus.

“Dandoran… huh. Heard it’s not a bad place for being in Hutt space. Minus the cartels.” He was smiling, joking, and I couldn’t help but grin back a little bit, a ghost of a smile just passing over my face.

“Yeah, the cartels are a problem. I guess. Like I said, don’t remember much of the place, I was like, seven when Ivar and I left.” I tapped the cigarette to knock loose some extra ashes gathered in an ashtray he handed me.

“Ivar, now who’s he? Your dad?” Ryn glanced up, pushing his glasses back up his nose.

“Gross, no. He’s my oldest brother.” I choked on my smoke, coughing hard. “Our parents and other brothers died back on Dandoran. Some sort of cartel bullshit. Ivar still won’t talk to me about it, just says I don’t need to know.” I tamped out what was left of my cigarette in the ashtray with a shrug. Ryn seemed surprised but held back, waiting for me to take the lead on this.

“If you’re not ready to talk about them yet, we can save it for another session.” He offered and I shrugged again.

“Bold of you to assume there will be another session.” I lit up another cigarette and took a drag on it.

“That’s fair. Well, what do you do for a living?” He was disgustingly supportive and I resisted the urge to flick ashes at him, tapping them out on the side of the ashtray instead.

“You’re gonna laugh your ass off at this one,” I snorted, lifting the cigarette. “I’m a combat medic with the GAR.” Chuckling, I pulled another drag on the cigarette and exhaled the smoke, watching it curl up towards the ceiling. Ryn actually laughed and it was loud but full of warmth, a comforting sound.

“You’re a combat medic and you smoke? The irony in the situation doesn’t escape me. Do you work with a specific battalion?” Ryn’s emerald green eyes were glittering with amusement and I couldn’t help but grin back at him with a shrug.

“Technically I’m stationed with the 501st, but as a civvie combat medic, I go where I’m needed, so I’ve worked with the 212th, the 104th, pretty much every battalion there is. Torrent Company in the 501st is my main company that I’m with, though.” I loved to talk about my guys; they were my closest friends I had. “These guys are like my family, but I’m closest to the other medic, Kix, Fives and Echo, the two new guys, Hardcase, Jesse, and Captain Rex. They’re good guys, hard working, funny as all hell, and I dunno what I’d do without ‘em. People get pissed about it cuz they’re clones, which is fucked on so many levels. Who fuckin’ cares man? They’re good men.”

“I’m picking up on some anger about the way the clones are treated. Do you feel comfortable discussing that?”

“I mean, it’s fucked isn’t it? These guys didn’t ask to be made and shoved into some war that really has nothing to do with them. And then people have the fuckin’ audacity to treat them like shit? Like, what the fuck is that? You know? They don’t get wages, they don’t get rights, hell a lot of these fuckin’ Jedi fucks treat them like they’re expendable. It’s bullshit! These guys are real fucking humans for fucks sake! They live and breathe and hurt and love like the rest of us. They’ve got hearts that beat the same in their chests. They lose their brothers and don’t even get the time to mourn over them.” I was up on my feet, pacing, anger boiling in my blood as I discussed the guys. I despised how they were treated by people, it was sickening.

“I imagine seeing it all up close and personal you get to see a different perspective on things. Can’t be easy shouldering all of that. That anger seems like it’s a lot for just being angry over how the clones are treated, though. Can we touch on that?” Ryn had gotten up to make a cup of caf and I shook my head when he offered me a cup.

“I don’t know what you want me to say man. I’m angry. I’ve always been angry. It’s what fuels me and keeps me going. I do everything that I’ve done out of spite.” I snapped, bitter, and sat back down on the couch again, foot tapping on the carpet.

“Somehow I don’t buy that. You’ve clearly been through quite a bit and it’s festered from keeping it bottled up. Think of it like this: it’s an infection and what do you do when you face infections in your patients?” He was leaning forward in his chair, hands clasped together, watching me intently.

“I find the source and treat it accordingly. Sometimes that means medication other times I have to dig it out and then administer medication.” I muttered, getting at what he was hinting at. My anger was like an infection that needed to be dug out and healed.

“Exactly and I think you and I both know what the comparison is here. So instead of fighting me on it, why not let me help you the way you help your patients? If you really just don’t think you’re making any progress after a couple of sessions, we can quit and go about our lives. How’s that sound?” He held his hand out and I stared at it for a moment, thinking it over before slowly reaching out and shaking his hand.

“Alright, fine. Where do we begin?”

[deralpi]

Ever since Jester nearly broke down after Caduceus enquired about her well-being I wondered what it would look like if Jester went to therapy, and I run with that idea. I cooked up this fic and seasoned it with some shipping near the end (I kept it vague so regardless to which tone your shipper-heart beats you can enjoy this).

Sadly, it ended up being more than the 2000-word-limit I had given myself for Tumblr, but I couldn’t bring myself to cut anything. I hope, you still give this a shot.

The perfect moment (or otherwise known as Jester’s therapy session) [3831 words] 

__________________________________________

“Do you mind if I sit?”

Like a bubble that suddenly popped Jester was ripped out of her trance-like state. Her hand darted to her ax while her head jerked upward. The person that had spoken was only a few feet away, partially cast in shadow by the waning sunlight. Jester’s first instinct was to jump to her feet and run, casting her guardians into existence behind her, but she was stopped in her tracks when the voice spoke once more.

“No need to be frightened. Do you not remember me?

The familiarity in his voice… Jester exhaled loudly. “Oh, it’s you.”

As if he had planned it the Stranger stepped out of the penumbra of the giant cherry tree, revealing his gaunt face and wizened features. The mop of greyish-brown hair and bushy beard covering his head almost entirely lent him a wild look that stood in stark contrast to the fine clothing he was wearing. 

His blue eyes looked on in anticipation from behind the giant glasses placed on his meager nose. Jester was about to enquire about the reason for his staring when his question came back to her. “Yes, of course, you can sit if you wish.” She worked a smile into her face. “Who am I to forbid it?”

The Stranger didn’t budge. “It appears as though you scurried away in search of solitude. I would be remiss not to ask if my presence poses an intrusion to your personal space.”

“Na. Everybody is welcomed and nobody gets excluded. That is my life motto.” Jester leaned closer, lowering her voice. “I’m going to make an exception, however, if you don’t start talking normally.”

“Normally?”

“Yes. Like me.” Jester puffed herself up and beamed.

Without another word the stranger hunkered down, leaving a space between them which would comfortably fit another person. 

“I don’t bite, you know,” Jester said.

“We are acquainted with each other for only a few hours. I feel more comfortable acting accordingly.”

Jester raised an eyebrow. Precisely six hours had gone by since they, as a group, had stumbled upon this stranger and Jester was already certain that he posed the most bizarre character they had met in their time together. In its introduction he had provided no name; “of no relevance” he had said. Jester had tried to name him after funny-sounding zemnian names like “Helmut” or “Friedhelm”, but it had provoked no reaction in the Stranger besides a toneless “if you wish”. From there on out, Jester knew there was no fun to be had with this individual.

Now, she simply called him “the Stranger” in her head because it sounded both intriguing and mysterious. Both applied to him.

Jester perked her head up and broke the silence which had briefly fallen between them. “Why did you follow me when you knew I wanted to be alone?” A contradiction that had only just come to her.

“Why did you run away?” he asked instead of answering.

Jester pulled back, aghast. “I did not r—”

“Running, then drawing. With the former, you have distanced yourself physically, while the latter was meant to distant yourself mentally.” He gave a pointed look at her notebook filled with cartoonish doodles. “I could make an educated guess on the reason why, but I would prefer you to tell me what had prompted such behavior.”

Anger, boiling and churning under her skin like a torrent under the surface of a peaceful sea, slipped into her voice unnoticed. “I changed my mind. I would like to be alone now.”

“I’m afraid I can’t comply with your desires.” The impassive face of the Stranger, unfaced by the sudden tension, irritated her even more. “I don’t like prodding people over delicate problems but I consider it necessary to help you.” He adjusted his glasses. His eyes looked weary. “You may hate me for it; as I know I will.”

“I don’t need your help. I certainly didn’t ask for it.”

“Which appears to be the main issue. You never ask anyone for help; which is why you fled.” He sighed as if he already grew tired of the conversation he had begun. “You had a choice back there. Between disclosing and concealing. Unfortunately, you chose wrong.”

“Don’t presume to know me after just a few hours! I cle—”

“I know when a smile is meant to appease and when to deceive.”

Jester gasped audibly. “I’m fine,” she growled, on the verge of screaming. “I’m always fine!”

For a long time, nothing was being said. The soft breezes of the early spring were drowned out by the heavy breathing of Jester, who found herself being vexed with this man. It took a lot to get under her skin; it took even more to anger her. The Stranger managed to do both with but a few words. Jester wanted to run, escape to somewhere far away, but that would just prove his point. She had to stand her ground.

Finally, in the uncomfortable tension occupying the space between them, the Stranger stirred. Hope sparked in Jester’s heart as he propped himself up, but only briefly before she realized he wasn’t about to leave. All he had done was shift positions to face her directly. Jester was about to let another torrent of words loose when she noticed his expression: friendly, compassionate… and warm. Her head pulled back and at once, all her anger slipped off her.

“Nobody is fine all the time,” he said softly. “And you shouldn’t be either. Grant yourself some love by allowing yourself to be hurting.”

Like a warm knife through butter his words pierced all the walls she had put up and hit her right where she was most vulnerable. From one second to the next, hot tears were streaming down her face and she wept freely like she hadn’t wept in years. Jester buried her face in her hands in a fruitless attempt to hide her wretchedness, but the floodgates had been broken open and Jester feared the flow would not abate before her eyes were reddened and abused.

[Continue on AO3]

[asagao-onna]

@shikkotsunin

“I’ve spoken with Toyotatamahime-sama before,” Sakura admitted as the conversation steered more towards the topic of being a sage and less about therapy purely, even though Sakura surmised that such a topic of conversation would no doubt crop up again, maybe at a later date. If there was one thing she hadn’t done before, it was encourage someone–especially someone of the Leaf–to pursue the Inner Path when it was something mercilessly rigorous by all accounts. “But don’t forget, Orochimaru’s body is so hopelessly augmented and changed between hosts that he can’t create sage chakra. You don’t have that handicap, Anko-san. If anything, I’d say it gives you an unfair advantage,” she said with a wry smile.

“As I was saying… if Toyotatamahime-sama liked you before, I don’t see why she wouldn’t still like you now. Plus, sage animals always give new students a hard time. It’s a pretty long-winded explanation as to why, but it’s rarely personal.” Although Shikkotsurin was the most dangerous of the sage regions, the slugs were among the most peaceful of the sage clans. And it had been to Sakura’s benefit that she didn’t just have a summoning contract with one of its inhabitants, but with Katsuyu, the Great Slug Sage herself. That had given her a bit of a leg up, but the rest of the Namekuji clan hadn’t been entirely easy on her just because of it.

“There’s no guarantee you’ll be successful, but… there’s also no harm in trying, I think. Maybe I could negotiate something with Toyotatamahime-sama so she won’t kill you if it goes ill. Not that it necessarily will, but the slugs and snakes have always been at each others’ throats, so there has to be something.” And it was better than nothing, she was sure.

“He can’t?�� That certainly made sense, given how far Orochimaru had been willing to go to achieve immortality. It must have hurt him; not just the blow to his ego, but the knowledge that such powerful techniques were now impossible to learn. And what of his body? Had his pursuit of immortality left the powerful man she had known little more than a weak, mangled lump of flesh? A torrent of pity for him flooded her heart. However little he deserved her pity, she felt it nonetheless. “I guess I wouldn’t have been able help him, even if I had been there. There isn’t anything I could’ve done.”

Anko leaned forward in her chair. She held her index finger to her lips as she mulled it over in her head. Yes, she wanted to learn Sage Mode if she could. Such knowledge and ability was well worth the safety risks involved. Only now, her primary motivation was giving her pause. The last thing she wanted was for such an elaborate scheme to be in vain.

“Do you think Orochimaru would be impressed if I became a Snake Sage?” she finally asked. “Or do you think he’d resent it? It’d be pointless to attempt this training if it ends up rubbing salt in a lot of wounds. Mine, included.“

[az-5-elimgarak]

#TeamWillow

Fictober19

Type: Fanfiction

Fandom: Homeland (TV Show)

Prompt #24: Patience... is not something I’m known for

Rating: G, No warnings apply

Characters: Peter Quinn, Willow (seizure response dog)

The story and the tags after the break-line. Lemme know if tagging bugs you. Or if you’d like to be tagged in the future. And thank you. ❤

The first time the mystery object brushes against the bottom of his jeans, it barely registers. Given how easily he gets distracted on an average day, he promptly dismisses it as another one of those sort-of-phantom-but-not-really-because-Andy-says-it-can’t-be sensations his affected side whomps up on occasion.

The truth is, he’s just too tired to look down. Fifteen years of covert operations, life in the shadow of days, weeks, even months of sleepless nights at a time, and he can honestly say he doesn’t remember himself feeling as worn to a frazzle as he does now.

Since he started on Prazosin the nightmares have gradually gone away. Not entirely, of course, but he hasn’t had one render him borderline catatonic in months. He’s been doing better. Not great - he’s not sure it’ll ever be ‘great’, or that it ever was, for that matter - but definitely better. 

It wasn’t until Kim asked him during one of their sessions if his being ‘busy’ - as in ‘How’s it going?’ ‘Um… Busy, I guess’ - was a good thing that he realized, to his utter astonishment, that it was. That amongst hundreds of briefings, debriefings, missions, drinking himself into a near-stupor between missions, he doesn’t remember a single day that was, simply, busy. And that, even though between his job and the neverending succession of therapy, physiotherapy, speech therapy, and every-other-fucking-kind-of-therapy-known-to-man, he sometimes feels thin, like butter scraped over too much bread (to quote Bilbo Baggins),  he wouldn’t trade a single moment of it for the world.

In fact, right now, following a night shift at the Center and a particularly grueling physiotherapy session, he’s going on thirty six hours without sleep. His brain, fretted and discombobulated on a good day, feels like it’s barely holding structural integrity, let alone that of coherent thought. He’d tried to reschedule the interview, even considered giving it up altogether, but, in his condition, passing on an opportunity like this just wasn’t an option.

He struggles to keep his eyes open, not to mention follow the questions that seem incessant - a slow, systematic torture that’s starting to make the infamous 2003 interrogation in an Iraqi prison look more and more like a walk in the park. 

“...currently involved in any illegal activity? Or were in the last year?”

Now this piques his interest. “Anyone ever answer ‘yes’?”

“I’m sorry, Mr Hayes. I know this is…” A bunch of meaningless, bureaucratic crap? “...tiresome. And may seem redundant.” No shit. “But I’m obligated to ask. And, if you’re hoping to be in the program, you need to answer.”

“I was not,” he concedes. Not in the *last* year. So not *really* a lie.

She’s right, he knows, this woman across the table whose name, for the life of him, he cannot recall. He needs this. In fact, he should’ve applied a lot sooner. Not just because having a seizure response dog may, at last, allow him to hold a legitimate driver’s license. And not just because it didn’t help his rehabilitation process when six months of work to improve the range of motion in his left arm went down the crapper following a nasty seizure-induced fall that shattered his left humerus in two places. But because if he doesn’t, one of these days the neighbor recruited to check on him several times a day will be too late. At which point, ironically, having survived being shot, stabbed, and gassed, he’ll finally meet his demise on the kitchen floor, drowned in his own drool.

“...the program is very intense, and, as such, can be quite demanding. Training takes time. Weeks. Months, in some cases. We can’t promise you quick results. But we guarantee that, provided you put in the due time and patience…”

Patience…  is not something I’m known for.  

Hot on the heels of the thought a wave of anxiety follows. He fucked it up. No, not past simple. He HAS BEEN fuckING it up, for as long as he can remember: every chance he was ever given, every iteration of ‘normal’ he ever had. What if…  

Breathe, Kim’s voice whirs in his head. He swallows, counting to three before gradually letting the air funnel out. Then again. And once more. Until the numbness washes away and he’s prickling all over. You haven’t fucked THIS one up. Yet. So… shuddup and fucking BREATHE. 

“...we highly advise those who eventually qualify make the necessary arrangements allowing them to actively participate in the process. Training an SRD is goal- and need-oriented. We can’t just tell a dog what to do when you have a seizure. And, as you probably know, seizures differ in frequency, type, and intensity. Once the training is complete, your SRD should not only be able to warn you of an upcoming seizure, but also provide assistance, or even call for help if necessary. So, obviously, the training cannot be done unless you’re a full participant for the entire duration of the program…”

There’s that same brushing sensation again. Except, this time it’s not against the sleeve of his jeans but lower, on top of his foot. And it’s not so much brushing as it is… stirring?

He looks down, eyes widening in awe. “Um… Miss…” What *was* her name?

“Yes?

“It’s… There’s a p-p-p…” A sure sign of his brain initiating the shutdown process.

“Problem? Look, I know this all sounds quite overwhelming. But I assure you, if you put in the necessary effort—”

“No. No. There’s a p-p-p…” he motions under the table, unable to stop grinning. “P-p.. small dog.”

With some effort, grabbing the side of the chair with his right hand, he shimmies away from the table. The ball of creamy-gold fluff on top of his sneaker stirs again, sleepily rearranging the tangle of chubby paws around his braced ankle.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry. Judi! Judi! Why is there… I’m sorry, could you give me a minute? Judi! There’s a puppy in the reception room!”

“That’s alright. I don’t mind,” he tries, reassuringly.

“It’s not that, sir. Judi! I’m so sorry, they’re not supposed to be here. They’re not even house trained yet. Oh my God, did it…?”

Finally, the side door opens and, mumbling apologies, Judi - he presumes - rushes in. 

“Willow! My goodness, how’d you get in here, girl? I’m sorry, she’s a bit of a… here, lemme take her. Excuse me… Sir? Could you…? Your foot?”

“Oh. Sure.”

He moves further backwards. His foot, sliding from under the snuggly weight, causes the puppy to roll over with a soft, startled yelp.

The amusedly exasperated “There you are, you mischievous scamp” is followed by an abrupt “No! No! C’mere! Willow, you...! Oh, for God’s sake… I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Sir… do you mind?”

Bending down, he awkwardly reaches with his right hand behind his left ankle where what appears to be the feistiest golden retriever in the history of the breed is engaged in an out-and-out battle of ‘catch-me-if-you-can-bitch’ with her irked-out-of-her-mind keeper. 

“Gotcha,” he smirks, deftly hooking his palm under the plush belly and emerging from under the table with a wriggling jumble of ears and limbs. 

Held in front of his smile-dimpled face, a fierce twinkly-brown stare locked with his steely-blue, Willow lets out the tiniest, most defiant squeal of part-bark, part growl, part something-too-adorable-to-not-have-a-name he’s ever heard. 

“Wow. Consider me scared,” he nods, genuinely impressed, tightening his grip as she wiggles harder, earning a narrow-eyed shake of his head. “You just don’t give up, do you?”

Something in his calm, measured tone renders her still for a moment. Moisture-sleek, pitch black nostrils flare. Once. Twice. And then, he feels her go limp in his palm, paws and earls slacking, head cocking puzzlingly to the side. 

He lowers his voice. “That’s more like it. Now: care to say hello like a proper lady?” 

Slowly, he moves his hand to his face until they’re nose to nose where, following a series of cautious sniffs, his gesture of good will is rewarded with a torrent of slobber so generous and enthusiastic, he’s forced to laughingly gather her to his chest instead. 

“There,” he whispers, cradling her in the stiff, motionless fold of his left elbow and soothingly running his newly freed hand from the top of her head to the tip of her shimmering tail. “It’s nice to meet your acquaintance, Miss Willow. I’m Noah,” he adds. 

And, for the first time since he was handed his new identity papers, the name he thought he'd never get used to folds on his tongue just right.

 ______________________

The woman across the desk blinks rapidly, as if trying to decide whether or not he’s joking, and, in case he’s not, which part of the protocol her job is outlined by should’ve prepared her for this.

“Mr Hayes, I’m sorry. But that’s - what you’re asking -  it’s out of the question. It just… doesn’t work like that. We don’t - we can’t… you don’t just choose an SRD. At this age, we don’t even know if they have the ability. And even if we did, pairing an epilepsy dog with a potential candidate is an intricate process. There are factors that—”

“That what? I mean, how compatible do we have to be? It’s not like I’m asking you for her  bone-marrow.”

She exhales in an attempt to regain her composure. “I realize that, sir. But, nevertheless, there are things to consider. Things that our specialists have been trained to take into consideration. I’m sorry. This is— unprecedented. The candidate can’t just walk in and choose a puppy. Which is why we usually…” shooting an accusatory glance in Judi’s direction, “...don’t even let the candidates see the dogs until one is assigned.”

“Fine. But how about a puppy choosing a candidate?” he quips, pointedly scratching behind the ears of the aforementioned puppy snuggled sleepily in the crook of his neck.

“A pu…? Mr Hayes, you can’t be serious.”

Quinn leans back, tilting his head so as to rest his cheek on top of the plush bundle. “Look. I understand. So, say she doesn’t have the… SRD gene, or whatever makes them qualify. Or we don’t… work together. It’s fine. I mean, it happens, right? Even with the “selection process”, it must happen on occasion. What do you do then?”

Finally back on familiar territory, Christie - it *is* Christie, isn’t it? - nods.

“Sir, we’re a private facility. One of the top in the world, as I’m sure you know. Candidates who choose our services are guaranteed a functioning SRD. Of course, like you say, it’s not an exact science, and some pairings don’t stick. Which is another reason why the selection process should be left to people who are qualified to perform it. But, if the pairing is unsuccessful, we offer a client a chance to repeat the process.”

“Which costs you money.”

“Yes. But that’s far from being our main concern. Like I said, the training program is quite demanding. Doing it twice is not in anyone’s best interest.”

Disregarding her last remark, Quinn presses on. “And the dogs? Those who don’t qualify?”

“Well, they are all purebred, so, we offer them up for sale to individuals or elite breeding houses.”

“There you go. I’ll make you a deal. I get Willow, right now—” Christie opens her mouth to protest but he raises a hand to stop her. “Just... hear me out. I get Willow. And, if it doesn’t work out, for whatever reason, I’ll pay for her. And I’ll pay to repeat the program.”

“Sir—”

“I fail to see the downside. I really do.”

“Well, for one, Willow is too young to be trained. Or even tested. It’ll be at least another six weeks.”

Quinn smiles.

It never ceases to strike him with awe how, sometimes, his fretted, disjointed, swiss-cheese of a brain just... snaps back. As if resetting to some kind of safe point, all of the stroke and sarin splintered parts shift and reshuffle, and, suddenly, every word he needs is just where it ought to be.

“Miss, I’ve applied for the program over six months ago, and have been on the waiting list for the past three. I was diagnosed with refractory epilepsy a year ago having tried every combination of anticonvulsants known to modern medicine; and a bunch of experimental ones. I’ve had two, three, sometimes up to five grand-mal seizures a month for almost two years now. I’m pretty damn sure I can wait six weeks.”

 __________________

With Christie excusing herself in order to run the ‘this is highly irregular, sir, it really is, but I’ll see what I can do’ deal by her supervisor, and Judi retreating back to the breeding chambers, the room has grown quiet at last. It’s just the two of them now: Quinn, slumped back in the chair, eyes closed,  and Willow, passed out on his chest, her wispy, feathery breaths tickling the side of his throat.

He feels himself melting away, losing cohesion. He could fall asleep like this, his cheek resting against the velvet of flopped ear, fingers buried deep in the thick of her fur. And, given the bargain he just made, he probably should. 

Whatever it takes, he thinks, his mind skidding down the slope of exhaustion. Whatever it takes. 

Like a pebble skipping across the lake of his memory, he’s suddenly at the Center, chatting with Jessie, last night’s admission: a fourteen-year old turned over to CPS by her case worker following a late night raid the DEA made on her fifth foster home in two years.

“Ok, I can tell you. But it’s like a total spoiler.”

He arched a skeptical brow. “#TeamLannister? A total spoiler?”

“Hey. It’s GoT, alright? Everything’s a spoiler.”

“Fine. Spoil away,” he sighed, tossing her a new set of bed sheets.

She went on to tell him a long, elaborate story of a big battle involving dwarves (or was it just one dwarf), dragons, “dragon-wasting” ballistas, some “BAMF” knight called  - he wants to say James(?) - and, well, a “buttload” of other spoilers of which he understood very little; and remembers even less. Not to mention the fact that he never did get the answer as to what #TeamLannister - printed in block letters across her t-shirt - means.

“Hey, we’re a team now.” He nuzzles the wisp of spikes just above Willow’s ear as she stirs and burrows deeper into his neck. “#TeamQuinn?” A snort. “Ok. #TeamHayes?” A sleepy whimper. “What? #TeamNoah?”

Suddenly, there’s Christie’s voice in his head again. “...provided you put in the due time and patience…”

Patience… is not what I’m known for, he remembers thinking. And he shakes his head, smiling. Not something Peter Quinn was known for. Nor “John”, or “David”, or “Nathan”, or any of them, for that matter. 

Noah Hayes, though? He chuckles. The jury’s still out.

Jolted awake by the bounce of his chest, Willow emerges from under his chin, big, droopy eyes blinking in sleepy daze. 

“Hey you,” he laughs, poking the tip of her nose with the tip of his.

And, as she scrambles higher, curling her head in the crook of his neck with a long, joyful sigh, he just knows: for as long as it takes, wherever this road leads, and whatever the cost - from now on, it’s #TeamWillow.

@valerafan2 @hidingupatreeorsomething @awariasuit @tenar-of-atuan @potter012 @johnlockismyreligion @boisinberryjamarama

[theundergrounddrabbles]

AtsuMina

Minami knew the shift was com into a close and to leave the clinic was relieving for her until the final patient would be escorted out and staring at her, she found no beauty in it.

“Acchan, we are closing soon. I can’t stay longer.” Minami growled.

“The therapy!” The woman moaned.

“Coming half an hour after the appointment time isn’t going to make it easier for us.” Minami argued.

“Takahashi! You can close up...” The older lady smiled. “Just do what you have to do.”

Minami didn’t like the fact of being the last one especially during therapy sessions. Their clinic usually run pretty smoothly but the day had been plagued by absences and delays which she had one that was in her care.

Acchan wasn’t a normal client but special to the clinic with the care of her child and now the follow up to work around her stress from said child. She laid down on the bed as the door closed with the nurse having a set of keys in hand and placing it on the counter.

“General maintenance.” Minami sighed.

“We can go further.” Acchan spat.

“It’ll be more money.” Minami informed her when a smirk came upon her face. “Fine.”

She knew timing was important and the patient’s well-being had to be first but the usual aspect is to feel out the points of the body and turned to Acchan as she touched the cheeks and gently rolled them with her fingers.

“You must be feeding non-stop.” Minami exhaled.

“My chest is giving out a lot of milk. I have to worry about it often since it is like a well at times.” Acchan explained as Minami went down to the shoulders. “That’s good.”

“Your husband must be happy.” Minami hummed.

“Often. Can’t do it now since the baby.” Acchan answered.

“Well I guess the extra service...”

“You seem wound up. No one has gotten you excited as of late?” Acchan poked the chest as Minami retracted her hands.

“I’ve been busy and harder when you’re trying to get someone when you’re like a child sometimes.” Minami grunted before she was pulled in. “Acchan...”

“I mean you should always get some maintenance done you know... you can’t leave yourself balled up. Don’t you have toys?” Acchan sneered with the hands returning to the midsection.

It was classic her to bring up her health. She was the one to get boys to like her while she stayed in the back. She worked to the position as a way to move into the real world yet she didn’t have a boyfriend while her patient was a wife and mother. Minami reverted back and turned to the thighs and gripped them firmly.

“I do. Still pretty busy.” Minami answered.

“I guess your womanhood is anxious.” Acchan responded with her fingers pressed between the legs.

“Stop that!” Minami groaned, yanking them away.

“Little Minami used to stay in the stalls...”

“Acchan!”

She felt the rage overwhelm her and pulled the hands away.

“You don’t have to tease me.” Minami sighed. “Yes I haven’t released my stress for a while now and it isn’t because I don’t want to but I can’t be loose.”

“You’re with me.” Acchan showed a toothy grin.

Acchan lifted herself from the bed and pulled the shirt off her body to the bare chest. She squeezed her breast to the droplets of milk as Minami leaned in to lick upon the warm, succulent nectar of the mother. Minami slid her hand down into the shorts to the humid area and tugged it down upon the arrival to the core.

The finger slid inside swiftly while the muscles coil around the digit. Carefully thrusting the canal, she heard the cries from the mother with the other hand extracting the milk to the pleasing glare.

Acchan tugged down the pants to the white underwear as her fingers danced along the material with the nurse’s appeal. The area was soaked of lust when Minami moved her fingers from the hole and lowered the rest to the floor before climbing on top of the bed.

It felt rare to be in the position yet Acchan’s hot tongue sizzled upon the slit. Her finger planted back into the woman and added an extra one to clamp onto it. Minami moved her hand back and forth as she sensed the attraction to the back and leaned forward to taste the lust from Acchan.

The salty, sweet flavor was unusual yet for a new mother it was different than any other woman she had been with as they continued when Minami shifted her hips forward. The slight twitch was enough for her emotions to retract back and the placement of the digits within her body brought a sense of danger.

The slow movements were something different and attracted her attention more than to her own thrusts. She wasn’t certain but it made her take the deeper breaths while she accelerated her thrusts and the spurt of lust splashed against the wall with the counter following her. She curled her foot in the shoes when the torrent escaped and continued like a broken dam.

Her voice cracked in the scene. The guilty emotion caught her off guard when she slid off and noted the face was covered in the watery fate. Minami ran out of the room to the towel rack and grabbed a few to hand over to her partner.

“You were backed up.” Acchan mumbled, wiping her face.

“That was the problem when it does happen.” Minami laughed.

“Well that should be good for the day, I’ll see you next time.”

Minami nodded as she pulled the item to the side for her as she wiped down everything. Her woman was still dripping down her legs despite the continual wiping but for a night, she could respond to her needs. Sanitizing was the last thing in being half naked yet it could wait for tomorrow as she dressed up and left quickly to relive the moments.

[beauty-grace-outer-space]

Pardon my rant post, but I need to vent. Some triggery stuff under the cut. 

For context, my grandmother is bipolar. I believe she also has narcissistic personality disorder. I think my father may also have narcissistic personality disorder. 

Nearly 3 years ago now, my grandmother and I were talking when she told me she was having trouble affording her anti-depressants. I offered to pay for them, and to schedule an appointment with a psychiatrist to get her dosage confirmed and her prescription renewed. I told her I’d take care of everything.

A few days later, when I called to tell her I had an appointment scheduled for her, she told me not to bother and that she’d decided to kill herself months prior and had actually been storing up her pills to do so. She told me my grandfather knew, and they were making arrangements for him to go on without her. She kept me on the phone for over an hour, in hysterics and hyperventilating, begging her not to die. 

I got my mom and my aunt involved (since I was pretty young and had no idea what to do) and we were able to get her to meet us at a nearby place; we had paramedics waiting to evaluate her. 

Despite 4 nurses and 2 doctors saying she was a danger to herself and should be kept for a mandatory 72 hour hold, she was released less than 5 hours later by a county representative. 

Thus began months of emotional and verbal abuse. She told me she hoped no one would ever love me, because I don’t deserve it. She told me that “the way I am” must be “the result of my warped upbringing” and that she hoped my friends “saw who I really was”. Etc. etc. 

In the midst of this, I found out that when she had called me and told me she was going to commit suicide, she was already back on her pills. I can only assume she wanted an emotional response, but never thought I’d actually try to get help involved. 

Four months later, she decided we were going to pretend it never happened. She went back to being a loving, cheerful grandmother-- though still making snide comments here and there. 

But our relationship has changed forever. I don’t trust her, and I see when she’s being manipulative. She decides who to call-- of me and my cousins-- based on who’s most likely to give her the reaction she wants. 

Two months ago she had a series of small heart attacks. Upon her release from the hospital, she and my grandfather temporarily moved into my aunt’s house while my family and I set to work trying to clean and declutter her home. She’s an extreme hoarder, so this has been quite the task. 

This weekend was the last weekend of cleaning. She and my grandfather came and sat with neighbors while we worked 11 hours a day cleaning, and I overheard her making comments. 

“I don’t have a single person I’d call family.”

“No one cares about me.” 

“I guess we’ll just go to a shelter.” 

“My ‘family’ never does anything for me.” 

Things like that. For two days. 

I was already worn thin from the cleaning, the fact that in taking care of things for her I haven’t seen a single friend in over 3 months, the fact that I haven’t had a weekend, or a bit of free time in 3 months. And then I hear her being manipulative, lying about us, about me... 

That’s how Saturday and Sunday went. Then comes Monday. 

My father has always had problematic tendencies. When he was younger (20s and 30s) he punched holes in the walls when he was mad. When his father died when I was 4, he disappeared without a word to my mother for a week. When he gets mad he throws things, he kicks things... just... a whole host of things that I have only realized with a lot of therapy are not ok. 

For the past several years, he picks fights with me over political differences. I have begged him repeatedly not to bring up these topics because we don’t agree and no matter what I do, he ends up yelling at me how stupid I am. 

If i walk away or stay silent, I’m too stupid to form an opinion.

If I try to have a calm discussion, he pushes until I’m no longer calm, and then tells me that I don’t have opinions, I have emotions, and this is why no one can have a conversation with me. 

If I tell him I don’t want to talk about it, he continues to do so anyway.

He’ll push me to the point of tears, yelling at me that I’m stupid or uninformed, but if someone else enters the room, he switches topics mid sentence. All cheer.  

It hit a point where my mom had to light into him to get him to back off by saying, “You have to stop treating my kid like this.” 

He realized he was being an asshole, and actually apologized, and things... calmed down for a while. The only conversations we’ve really had are, “You should find a nice Christian boy and get married”. Which... yeah right. 

Monday night, he picked a fight with me at a restaurant, yelled at me all the way home about how I don’t listen and only hear what I want to hear, and then once we got home, acted like nothing was wrong. All smiles and cheer in front of my mom.  

I went to my room in tears, and he followed me and knocked on my door. I ignored him. He knocked again. I ignored him. He came in anyway and proceeded to tell me that I’m emotional and misinformed and if I would just listen to him, we’d agree. 

I told him we don’t agree and I do listen, but I’m not going to agree because of the things he was saying. 

He asked for examples and I gave him some from the “conversation” we had just had. 

His response was: “I don’t know where you make this crap up in your delusional little head. I NEVER said that, I’ve never said anything like that!” 

And it pushed me over the edge so I just sat on my bed staring at my comforter and sobbing, “I don’t want to talk about it. Please just leave me alone.” 

He finally huffed out, “FINE!” and left my room. 

My therapist phrased it well when she said it was a “torrent of emotional assault”.

I’m exhausted, and that’s why I’ve been sad/vague posting. I’m so worn out. I’m so tired. I just want to cry for three days. 

I don’t know what I was hoping to achieve with this post. I just... needed to rant. 

[forlornmelody]

Sudden Downpour

Rating: T 

Ship: FemShep/Kaidan Alenko

Summary:  The good news is Kaidan Alenko is finally attracted to someone. The bad news is that someone happens to be his commanding officer.

Notes:@commanderduckling requested some rain and warm blankets for fshenko. I went ahead and wrote it for Jane Shep and Demi!Kaidan. Hope you don’t mind. :) Also, this is way longer than a ficlet. I uh...I got carried away. e_e;

Also, my finances took a turn for the better, so I’m officially closing requests/commissions. I need to discuss some things with PayPal, anyway. 

After a brisk, and rather bittersweet mission on Noveria, Shepard had Joker set a course for Earth. Liara needed time to grieve, Shepard needed a goddamn break, the crew needed some shore leave, and well, Kaidan Alenko needed to pick up his sweater.

Kaidan set his wake up call on his omni-tool extra early, just before dawn. No need to face any more of Wrex’s or Ashley’s jibes, and Kaidan needed to feel the crisp Canadian air. He set out in jeans and a long sleeve shirt, and a pair of sneakers. Pulling up his omnit tool as he stepped into the airlock, Kaidan didn’t see the woman already standing inside.

“Oh, hey, Kaidan.” Shepard stood there in a pair of sweats and N7 t-shirt. No surprise.

“Hey. Going for a run?”

“Mmhm.” Shepard chewed her lip for a second, eyeing him. “You know, I could use a jogging partner.”

Kaidan grinned. “Sure. Let me change my clothes real quick.”

The sun had just nudged above the horizon when they left the spaceport. Jane stretched her legs, reaching down to touch her toes. “So….last one across the bridge buys brunch.”

“You’re on.”

Jane Shepard took off.

“Hey!” Kaidan chased after her, laughing with her.

“Too slow, Alenko!” Jane sure moved fast. Kaidan had just managed to catch up with her when they neared the other side of the water, only to be knocked aside with a biotic throw.

“Cheater!” Kaidan balanced himself by pulling towards the opposite rail.

Jane paused a few meters ahead, catching her breath. “Couldn’t let you win, now could I?”

Kaidan pulled up beside her, wiping his brow. “I demand a rematch.”

“You’re on--Hey!” She looked up just in time to see him take off without her.

“Taste your own medicine, Shepard!”

They ran like that for several blocks, until they nearly collapsed. Together they hung off a park bench, wheezing, when the a drop of water landed on Kaidan’s nose. “Uh oh.”

“Shit.” Shepard looked to the west, noticing the dark clouds for the first time. “Storm’s rolled in.”

Kaidan pulled up his omni-tool, making a face. “We’re a good 20 minute run from the Normandy.”

As if the clouds heard him, they unleashed a torrent of rain.

Shepard grabbed Kaidan’s arm, pulling him towards the nearest hotel, and booked a room with a washer and dryer inside. They pulled off their sopping wet clothes as simple as stripping off their armor in the shuttle bay. With both sets of clothes in the dryer, Kaidan handed Shepard one towel and took one for himself.

Toweling her hair, Shepard sighed. “Much better.”

“Totally worth the credits.” Kaidan dried off his arms and legs, running the towel down his chest. Wait a second, was Shepard staring? By the time he looked, Shepard had already shifted to drying off her feet. He must have been imagining things. Shepard would never do something so unprofessional, no matter how badly some of the crew wished otherwise.

“I promise I’ll pay you back.” Shepard wrapped herself in a third towel, laying down on the bed.

“Don’t worry about it, Shepard.” Kaidan tucked his towel around his waist, settling in next to her.

“At least let me buy your next round of drinks.”

“Fine, fine.” Kaidan activated the television with his omni tool, scrolling through tv guide. “Any suggestions?”

Shepard wrapped her arms around her middle. “Could you turn the heat up?”

Kaidan saw goosebumps on her arms. “Sure thing.” Or not. “There’s some glitch with the thermostat. I could call the front desk and--”

“--Don’t worry about it.” Shepard pulled up the covers, deftly sliding underneath. How she managed with a towel around her middle, Kaidan had no idea.

Now that she mentioned it, it was getting a little cold. “Mind if I join you?”

Shepard smiled, though she had trouble meeting his eyes. “Not at all.”

Kaidan maneuvered his way under the blanket, re-wrapping his towel to be on the safe side. All settled, he started scrolling through the program options.

“This is nice.” Shepard murmured softly.

“Definitely beats jogging our soggy asses all the way back the Normandy.”

She broke out laughing. “Sure does.” Kaidan looked over to see Jane Shepard, Sole Survivor of Akuze, chewing her lip. “I mean, the company.” He barely heard the next part. “A lot better than the people I shared hotel rooms back on Earth.”

That stopped him short. “You mean…?”

Jane swallowed hard, fingering a piece of lint on the blanket. “Yeah. I used to turn tricks.” She added quietly. “Before the Alliance, I mean.”

Kaidan thought over his next question carefully. He didn’t want to hurt her, but something about learning about her secrets thrilled him. “But I thought you joined up the moment you left the Reds.”

“And the Reds don’t sell sex.” Jane eyed him, nearly smiling. “Someone’s done their homework.”

Kaidan shrugged. “They were pretty active in Vancouver.”

Jane nodded. “Yeah they were. And you’re right...I don’t usually tell people this, but I didn’t enlist right away after leaving.” She took a deliberate breath. “I didn’t really want to. I hate taking orders.”

“I can see that.” They both laughed.

“I lasted about a week on my own.” Shepard stared through the television screen. “I’d book one session to pay for the hotel room for the night, so I could sleep in the few hours til checkout. I’d turn another to pay for dinner. Anything beyond that I saved for a ticket off planet.”

“What happened?”

Jane shrugged. “Nothing bad. I mean, it wasn’t glamorous.” She cleared her throat. “Most people paying for sex….aren’t the kind you’d want to sleep with.” Casting the piece of lint off the side of the bed, she added. “I guess I didn’t like being on my own. Say what you want about the Reds, but I could at least count on them to watch my back. Until I ran away, that is.”

“And so could the Alliance.”

“Yeah.” Jane grimaced. “Sorry. This wasn’t supposed to turn into another therapy session.”

“I don’t mind.” Kaidan smoothed his hand over the blanket, the television long since forgotten. “I feel like I’m seeing a side of you that no one else does.”

Shepard laughed softly. “You got that right.” She looked up at him, her warm brown eyes glimmering in the low light. “What I meant to say...is you’re a great guy to share a bed with, Kaidan.”

He chuckled. “Not often I’m bed with my commanding officer.”

Jane quirked an eyebrow, leaning devilishly close to his face. “Oh? Have you done this before, Alenko?”

Something about the way she said it--the drop in her voice, the stir off her biotics against his own in such close proximity, the heat of her body next to his, sent a pulse straight down his spine.

Holy shit. He was attracted to her.

Kaidan hadn’t felt this way about anyone, man, woman, or otherwise, in years. He had forgotten what it felt like. Clearing his throat, he answered, “No, this is a first.”

The woman next to him faltered. “Am I being inappropriate?”

Kaidan’s words are out of his mouth before he can stop himself. “Not at all.”

Shit. He was attracted to her.

Why did it have to happen with the last person he should be falling in love with? And Kaidan knew it was love, not just lust. He didn’t know how to feel one without the other.

Shepard smiled, and it made his mind race just that much faster. “Good. I’m far too comfortable to move.” She nestled closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder.

Shit. He was in so much trouble.

[theguildedtypewriter]

I’m a romance writer, so I love a good love story, sex, etc. But I also really love seeing to friends step up and be there for each other, especially when it’s two guys. Why? Because we don’t often get to see portrayals of men opening up and being honest with their emotions. They’re supposed to be all stoic and cut off. Problem is that mentality isn’t healthy and doesn’t work in the long run. I like watching my guys learn that. Like they did here:

The room was still and clean and inside Dimitri’s mind the furious torrent of thoughts and worst-case scenarios still churned on like always.

“I...nevermind,” Dimitri stopped himself.

Ciaran looked up and shook his head, “No, what is it.”

“I didn’t want this. I guess I wouldn’t let myself and now there’s the push and pull and it all seems out of my control and I just feel like I’m waiting to get out of the Inferno again and yet again it’s going to end with someone telling me my family’s dead.”

“She’s no dead. Ye know it. And we will’na let it happen… but I understand. I think that’s part it all, of the really feelin’. Ye git all twisted up and rinsed out through a squeezin’ roller. I think if ye did’na it would’na be the same. Ye would’na be this new version of yerself that can move somewhere beside backward or just standin’ still. Yeah?”

Ciaran wasn’t focusing his eyes on anything as he spoke and Dimitri was able to really look at him without his friend thinking about it. He was still a scruffy human mutt, but there was a lot more to him and a lot that had changed. Yes, therapy seemed to have made him a marshmallow but the sugary blob had a point.

I love Ciaran and Dimitri’s friendship so much.

[ziggory]

Riverdale Liveblog 2x07 - Tales from the Darkside

LMAO, this intro is too much. Which means it’s perfect. HE’S ONLY FUCKING KILLED TWO GODDAMN PEOPLE

I really am trash for the sheriff. Read me a stupid phonebook or one of Alice’s newspapers!

The Black Hood got in because the sheriff is just THAT bad at his job. Probably left the keys on his desk. But then considering how easy it is to break into his house, that’s an option too

I’m getting such “Debbie Pelt is a lying fucking crackhead” flashbacks. Hmmmm, True Blood and Riverdale would actually be a great crossover. Who should I pay to make this happen?

Jughead...call your fucking dad. What are you doing??? Though I’m really digging everyone saying “Keller”. Gah, I really am too far gone with that Canadian silver fox

LMAO at Cheryl. What a great shove, Goals, honestly

Didn’t FP have a truck? I guess the deputies fucked it all up. Why did he let Archie drive? He just learned! And omg, I love them remembering that Kevin has a truck!! I’m always down for things like this! And while I’m always happy to see Tony Todd, I sort of wish Kevin had been dragged into this mess. But that’s just my general desire for him to get pulled into the actual plot

LMAO at this fucking radio program. Can Tony Todd stay forever!?

Oh CGI deer. Did you wander over from Life is Strange? Square Enix should join the writing staff. The dialogue would be even more hilariously awkward

Lol, should’ve just called Kevin! And it’s always great when Archie has his friendship switch flipped on

OH my god, this fucking random Russian lady in a wheelchair!? How on brand for this show. I was halfway expecting Nana Blossom. What a waste, honestly

Hey, a Moose mention! Nice to hear he’s going to PT! Please get well soon so that you can have an on-screen romance with Kevin!

Debbie LIED!?!? Oh wow, who’d have thought someone known as the Snakecharmer would LIE AND BLACKMAIL YOU. And lol, now I REALLY wish Kevin had gotten yanked in so that he’d get blackmailed too. Lol, Debbie, you’re horrible, and I love it

Calling it now, the janitor is the fucking Black Hood. He got a fucking name and creeps students out. Makes him a suspect on Mustang’s level

But girl, why are you practicing at school so late with a shooter on the loose?!?

Can they redeem Chuck so I can thirst after Jordan without feeling guilty? Cause god fucking damn, he really is the best looking dude. Stop looking so handsome, man

Oooo, Val and Mel teammup! I could do without the puns. Find your voice Melody! I believe in you!

Okay, show, that scene between Chuck, Josie, and Pop was actually super cute. Chuck actually can be super charming. AND DAMN SON, look at those slick dance moves

The fact that the mayor doesn’t want Chuck around Josie automatically makes me want them together. I’m a contrarian like that. And heyyyyy Sheriff, I see you lurking in the corner! And now he’s in the hotel room??? Okay, Mr Bodyguard. BRB zooming in on his bulge...

Oh, Chuck. Well, I’ll tentatively be in your corner even though actions wise there’s not much on the screen to vouch for you

Fuck these fakeouts

Oh, CHERYL. YOU’RE SO CRAY. GET SOME THERAPY

Awww, Kevin being concerned about his dad!

Betty, answer the question about how long you’ve known Kevin! I NEED TO KNOW!!

Lmao, why is he just answering her fucking questions!?!? WHAT POLICE ACADEMY DID YOU GRADUATE FROM!?!? Well, I guess it’s nice to know that Black Hood man just brute forced his way in.

He really must be lonely as fuck if he’s just telling Betty all this stuff. I’ll entertain you, Tom

OH MY FUCKING GOD, NERDY KEVIN!!! THANK YOU SHOW. I’ll play your weird D&D game with you

VERONICA, TAKE SOME FUCKING PICTURES FOR ME. GIRL, USE THAT CAMERA PHONE OF YOURS

“I do it for discipline” Mmmmm, come discipline me, sir

Awww, he called his son “pal”

And double awwwww, Kevin slept on the floor! Best episode ever!

An actual exterior shot of the Keller house! I can’t believe I’ll have to torrent this episode just for these damn scenes

Sir, did you learn NOTHING from your last murder board??? Do all the deputies think you’re insane and that’s why you can’t murderboard at work?

Why are you explaining yourself to this 15-year-old!?!? Yes, she solved a murder better than you, but it’s still weird. But awww, he won’t tell like her because I guess it’s a thank you about the cruising tip, and he doesn’t want Kevin being hurt

So everyone has their driver’s license now? Well this makes my own fic that much easier to write

Betty is her mother’s daughter this episode

I FUCKING CALLED IT. I FUCKING KNEW THOSE TwO WERE FUCKING. And DAMN, they looked good together! Yeah, they’re cheating, but they look hot as hell while doing it

Hmmm, I sort of want Josie and Kevin bonding over their parents cheating together, but really, these types of situations cause tension more than anything else

Pop has no chill. And why is the Black Hood so fixated on his diner? I guess because he lost his crime virginity there

[thermie]

life update

Work at the bookshop is over. Most of the people there except one glaring exception were really cool and in the four months I worked there I became surprisingly close to them. The work was ok, but the hard part was talking with people (and when the shop was empty, coworkers) all day, because that sucked the soul out of me... ah well, try everything once i guess. I'm glad it's over though, even tho my future is unclear now.

One of my best friends has left for England for a month and I miss him already. Aspects of our lives were intersecting more and more as of late. Also I made a sigil with his advice recently, as a part of our slow but sure magic and occult exploration. It's really cool to have an occult buddy even if he gets more hyped than me most of the time and we are interested in different branches of magic.

My mental health has been more stable as of late. I have solid ground for the first time in a while upon which to start making tools against things the meds can't help and crafting healthy coping mechanisms. The torrents of emotion are somewhat saddled by my meds and I can start learning to ride them properly. Sadness lingers, in my dreams most of all, but there is happiness also. (I am still scared of winter.)

Psychiatrist's visits are more like bimonthly mini-therapy sessions now where she tells me what I could think about more in a bit attacky manner, and I try to explain my view (and how tightly bound our group of friends is - she is a bit baffled). I have things to practice now, like asking for help and asking for attention (I had always thought I didn't deserve to ask for this and only when I said it out loud and talked about it I realised how that could not be the case).

Saved a friend and his family from not eating one evening by bringing them all that my countryside and forest had to offer and lending money. Made me feel weird and I fought the thought that it proves that I'm not a shitty person at the start, but it sort of won. Now the revelation is sitting there and I awkwardly move around it, unsure what to make of it. In reluctant return got a magic potential reading from his mother that is in the works (I'm quite interested in how that will turn out).

My sibling is doing better which I am very happy about. Got to spend some quality time with her and exchange music, like in the good old days. Also the rift that had started to grow between me and dankep is slowly closing or at least not growing wider, which I am glad about. Friends are amazing.

Now I have a week or so of free time. Sometime soon I shall do the adopting of the dog (ahhhhhhhhhhh im scared but excited but scared). I am going to spend this day in bed, lazing about and watching Critical Role.