#they stopped visiting me after the first week at the psych ward

[ghostickle]

People are always so willing and eager to help at the start but when you don’t get better right away when they realize this is a life long thing you have to deal with they sure do disappear fast

[necroromantics]

Turns out its Mental Health Awareness Month this month.... So since yall know me and my tendency to yap about mental health issues, I'm going to share some of the ways I express mental health in my Creepypasta AUs (Cryptpasta AND Laundry and Taxes, mostly just for Toby and Clockwork). Its kinda long and a nonsensical ramble.... Enjoy

CRYPTPASTA

-Nina was diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder when she was 15 after a visit to the psych ward due to attempted suicide after a bad fight with an online boyfriend of hers

-She's very desperate to be loved and cared for, and intensely fears being abandoned to the point she'll put herself in harms way in an impulsive attempt to get people to stay in her life, or care for her, or want to be with her

-She has so much love to give to the point it overwhelms her, and tends to come out of her in forms of jealousy and anger outbursts, and desperate attempts to make people stay, because Nina wants love, and to give love

-Nina is also a very loyal friend who is very ride or die. She knows what its like to be left out, abandoned, betrayed, and she couldn't imagine doing that to the people she loves

-Clockwork also has BPD, she was going to be treated for it during her stay in the psychiatrist hospital when she was 16, before she killed her family, but never got around to it

-Her BPD presents a bit differently than Ninas. Her fear of abandonment and betrayal causes her to push people away entirely, and she struggles a lot with splitting

-She goes from thinking fondly about someone, to thinking they're the worst person in the world who does nothing but hurt her, because hating someone is much easier than risking loving them to her. Clockwork struggles a lot with making and keeping friends, because she can't trust anyone, and she tends to push people away at the tiniest fault as a way to protect herself

-Toby is her Favourite Person (FP), but she tries her best to beat this attachment to him down. Luckily for her, she's stuck with him, and he has zero plans of betraying or hurting her in any way. She tends to split on him a lot though

-Clockwork struggles a lot with anger and emotional dysregulation, she tends to view things in black/white, all or nothing, and is very impulsive. Because her emotions are so overwhelming and guttural, Clockwork struggles to be able to express them at all, and has a very bad habit of beating all her feelings down

-Toby was diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder when he was 15 after experiencing his first manic episode, where he got into a really bad fight with his dad, ran away from home, and got sent to a psychiatric hospital where he was given proper treatment

-After becoming a proxy, he didn't have access to treatment anymore, and a combination of stress, Slender Sickness, and a lack of sleep, causes him to have more frequent and intense episodes

-During his manic episodes he is very euphoric, always on the move, talks non-stop to the point he doesn't make any sense, has racing thoughts, is insanely energetic, rarely sleeps, and is much more aggressive and irritable. They usually last one or two weeks, but if they're really intense and he's experiencing psychosis, Tim or Jack will get him medication from some victims to regulate him

-His depressive episodes feel like death for him. He isolates himself, always in bed, oversleeping. He's so tired all the time, lethargic and moody, irritable. Toby doesn't want to talk to anyone, he tends to lose all hope and humour, everything seems so heavy and bleak, like every bad thing he's ever done and been through has finally caught up to him

-On really bad days, he'll struggle with suicidal thoughts, where Jack or Brian will talk him down, and Clockwork will just sit quietly by him so he knows he's not alone, because even if it feels like the world is ending, it never really is

-Toby also deals with issues associated with Antisocial Personality Disorder, though he was never officially diagnosed because proxies don't really have psychiatrists

-Toby struggles a LOT with empathy, and is generally an insensitive prick who has a very hard time genuinely caring about other peoples lives or problems. To him, its all about self preservation, every man for himself, and if he's capable of handling his own issues then he shouldn't be expected to coddle "weak people who cant handle their own". This stems heavily from beliefs he learned from his father, and certain mindsets he utilizes to help him get by in his life as a proxy

-He also greatly struggles with appropriate emotional responses, and morality. He doesn't understand why most things are deemed "right" or "wrong", and thinks people are dramatic or care too much for having strong morals on things. Toby says what he wants without and regard for societal norms or rules, things he wasn't really taught anyways

-Toby is also in a constant battle for freedom. At a young age he was made to feel small and powerless, which caused him to constantly feel like he's fighting for power and control in his life. He tends to fulfill these needs by putting others down, or starting fights with people because he always needs to defend himself

-This also makes him a very practical and loyal friend towards the people he's fond of. He's very much an "acts of service" guy because he values his freedom so much, that he's willing to spend his time and effort and give up a little bit of freedom to the people he likes. He's a ride or die friend, and he always encourages people to stand up for themselves and do better for themselves

LAUNDRY AND TAXES

-Laundry and Taxes is an ongoing fanfiction Im writing about what life for the Creepypastas (mostly Toby and Clockwork) would look if they were suddenly transported to a world where nothing bad happened. No murder, no Slenderman.

-It's very personal to me and is about getting better and healing from trauma and mental health issues, and forgiveness, and reconciliation

-I think during mental health awareness its important to bring awareness to the facts and struggles someone might have, but also the recovery. Which is what Im gonna get into here

-The story follows Toby, who constantly struggles with his pride and "me vs the world" mindset

-He learns how to ask for help, how to put his pride aside and seek out support from the people around him. He learns how to open up and trust that people will be kind to him, and that the world isn't as bad as it seems

-His recovery is, as all good things are, insanely difficult and horrible and painful and messy, but theres a lot of focus on how worth it everything is, and how all of that gritted teeth effort, because Toby has no other choice, ends up amounting to something

-He has to face the mistakes he's made, the hurt he's caused, the guilt he pushes down. He has to learn how to be kinder to himself and others. Toby grew up in a world where he believed that it was written from the start for him to be a "bad person", and then he was forced to face the fact that he was the one doing the writing, and he has the ability to write something new for himself

-He also has to face the fact that healing isnt linear, and that the world isn't always a safe, happy place, and Toby has to learn how to handle these things in ways he never did before. Because recovery is all about learning

-The same goes for Natalie, who struggles with her past trauma, and everything she's done, and what has taken from her at a young age

-She learns how to forgive herself, and how to make peace with her anger, and how to be kinder to herself and others as well

-Natalie goes through a lot of the same realizations Toby does, and even though she spent her whole life alone and pushing people away, slowly, she starts to open up to people too and she learns how to challenge her thoughts and distrust. It's a long, difficult journey with her facing her family and her trauma and her guilt and anger, but Natalie learns that there's an entire life of peace and quietness outside of her head, outside of the past

-She learns it's okay to lean on others a bit, and that they wont hurt her, and that it's okay to feel the things she does. Natalie faces her own grief, and how suffocating it is, because its the only way she can face love too

-It takes her longer to get on track to healing because she's spent her entire life running from her problems that she never really knew how to face it, or what to do when it catches up to her. But she does get on track, and she does face her past, and that little girl in her head who's scared all the time, and how angry she is, and how loud everything is, and she becomes able to hold that little girl in her arms and sit with her for a moment

-And then, Natalie learns how to make peace with the world, and for once, she has a weird sort of hope for the future

[jacksprostate]

wip preview part 2 (part 1 here)

As it turns out, I'd never quite told anybody what Tyler looked like.

As it turns out, former Detective David Mills is not Tyler Durden. Cannot be Tyler Durden, because he’s living, breathing, real in everyone else’s eyes, not just mine. That I think he looks like Tyler Durden is not coincidence, but my brain retroactively applying his face onto Tyler's because, God says, I must finally be ready to face him.

I wasn’t punching myself. Tyler Not Tyler, next time I see him, will have a real bruise.

Which would usually be never, God says.

But you’re a special case, God says. A lot of people out there want progress.

We think this could be good for you.

And for Mr. Mills. He's recovering. He could use something to focus on.

It'll help his case, to work with you.

This is divine mandate.

That's something Mills has yet to be informed of, apparently.

Monday morning, I hear the archangels sing, they say, Mills hasn't responded to anything other than a direct order since he found out his wife died. Since he killed a man. One angel says to me as he spoons scrambled eggs onto my plate, you choose good men, sir. He's got conviction.

Conviction makes me think of explosives and a house following orders like a soggy bag of organs.

I think of Tyler Not Tyler with his everything-blond face and eyes like a fish rotting in the sun.

We pass each other in the hallway, led by our respective guard. I wonder if he even registers how gaunt I've become. Desiccated. If he can see how they've made me start swallowing Xanax again so I don't take up residence in his body cavity. I wonder if this is the result of brain damage. Nothing is quite the sight to see like the purpling imprint of my knuckles across the right side of his face.

When Mills speaks, I'm told it's been two weeks, and he finally responded to God's suggested experience by trying to flip the bolted down desk. I hear, Mills said no. He doesn't care about good behavior. He doesn't care about focusing. His wife is dead. If they cared about him at all, they'd put a bullet between his eyes. If he was any smarter, he would've left one bullet for himself.

Not the smartest thing to say when you're already committed.

This gets him a steady drip and a visit from two men.

The man who mops the halls, he tells me it's Mills' lawyer and the partner he had for a week on the case that sent him here. His first case in the big leagues.

You'd think after a year, they'd realize Tyler is dead and stop feeding me information. I wonder if they think this is a step in his return. Another chrysalis.

These men request to meet with me. I have never been allowed visitors. Not even Marla.

Marla hasn't called.

I'm brought to the visitation room, and Mills' lawyer might be there in the background, but it's his partner who's running the show. A black guy, old and wrinkled like a raisin in the sun. No cauliflower nose or stitches through his eyebrows.

Hi.

"Why Mills?"

Don't I get any small talk? If I wasn't on benzos, benzos, benzos, Detective, I'd be hurt. You're the first person I've been allowed to see from outside since I did what your boy wants to do and put a bullet in my brain.

He stares at me.

I smile. The cyst of flesh I've chewed away from the inside of my lip ensures it's always a bit pink.

He looks bored.

Ah.

A kindred spirit.

He made you care again, I say. That's why you're here.

Well.

Imagine, Detective. The only person to see how fucked the world is and want to do something about it, and you're told, even by him, it's all in your head.

And you rot in a psych ward for a year.

And then he walks through the door.

How would you react?

I'm my boss, proposing a hypothetical.

"Mills isn't your hallucination," he says.

Bullshit. So, everyone else can see him too.

"Mills had a wife, dogs, worked five years in homicide upstate before moving to the city a week ago. He is a real person."

In the flesh.

He repeats. "Why Mills?"

And on, and on, and my first ever visitation ends in a very dull stalemate where I visit Tyler's walking corpse in my ice cave as Tyler Not Tyler's detective partner tries to squeeze something other than the truth out of me.

I'm politely informed Detective Somerset has advised I not be involved in Mills' case due to potential violence and psychosexual obsession, and I laugh, because well-meaning men always assume God cares what they have to say. Assume their reasons are universally considered negative.

He's not caught on.

It gets made part of Mills' treatment plan, I'm told. With his little fit in the office, Mills confirmed I'm the only thing that'll shake him out of his walking coma. This is indirect for God saying if you don't do what he wants, he'll let St. Peter know to send you on down to hell the next chance he gets. As in, he'll testify against you. Heaven is a bit authoritarian.

Mills still doesn't care. We end up in a room together anyway. It seems God's smoking gun is at least as effective on his partner.

Amazing to think they've only known each other a week. But my guilt had me blowing up buildings, so I can't quite judge Somerset for his.

In this holy meeting ground of ours, I've got plenty of nice restraints on, handcuffs and ankle cuffs and a persistent level of sedation and a leash that leads right to the hand of an angel that's got a syringe with my name on it.

My remembered violence has been received well by half the guard. The other half seems rededicated to liquifying my brain.

Mills, across our long table, has nothing but his own angel on his shoulder.

Nothing in his eyes. Nothing in his face.

A changeover, but no one hooked up the second reel.

God speaks up from his seat of observation and says, "Mr. Mills, why don't you introduce yourself?"

No one's home.

"Mr. Mills. Introduce yourself."

"Mr. Mills."

I'm watching him like I'm trying to see the pollen grain movement of his very atoms, so I get to see when something starts to wake up in Tyler's stolen body. Olympic torch kind of hellfire, in his eyes. Still foggy. I wonder what they've got him on to keep him from chewing his veins out.

Deliver me.

"I don't need another crazy obsessed with me," he says, looking at God. Immediately physical, he's putting his arms on the desk, leaning forward, an automaton sprung to life.

Yeah, well. I say. I don't need another blond angel blowing up my condo and installing me as a cult leader all across the continent.

"Shut the fuck up," he mutters quick, and turns back to God. "This is bullshit. You can't make me do this. Just testify against me and send me to jail. I don't give a shit."

"Detective Somerset does," God says. "He wants you where you won't go and make someone shank you in two days."

Mills presses his hands against his head, squeezing. His hand over my bruise. I hope he feels it. He says, "I don't care what Somerset wants. I knew him for a week."

"Yet you're here because he asked you to be, David — can I call you David?"

Mills rolls his eyes. Yeah, yeah, yeah.

Tons of pretend niceties around here, isn't it something.

"Shut up," he says.

Hey, I say. Hey. Come on.

What more can I take from you? What's the harm?

It's not like I can kill your wife.

[socialskilledmysanity]

missing my mom...

about 4-years ago i decided to get out of the closet oficially about being trans.

my gender journey started way back during my childhood when i was interested in barbie movies, clothing ''girly'' clothes in ''feminine'' colours.

i was always very feminine regarding the way i talk, act, think and move.

wich my mom says she didn't ever really notice (wich is odd since she knew i was obsessed with the animated barbie disney moves during the early 2000's)

howerver she was shocked by the news and couldnt really handle it since we are from culturally muslim and she started becoming more and more religious during hat time period after living her entire life as a 'non practicing muslim' .

her first instinct at that time was telling me she would disown me. wich really hurt my feelings cuz my mother has always been my closest friend whom i told everything. i never really kept any secrets from her during my youth.

back to topic: i wasnt living with her during the time I came out so we had a couple phone calls where she was trying to convince me its just a phase and im just confused. as we kept talking about it she sounded more and more like she was starting to accept the situation and told me she would like to meet me soon and if she can stay over at my place for a couple days in the city i was living back then (3 hours away from my hometown).

i agreed and she came over during the time i was staying at the mental hospital because i had a recent suicide attempt.

i gave her the keys to my apartment wich wasnt too far from the psych ward so she visited me everyday for the time she stayed. she wanted to talk to my psychologist in my absence i agreed to. everything was looking like she finally accepted me as her daughter and she even stopped calling me by my dead name.

a couple days pass and she visits me a last time we hug eachother goodbye and she leaves my city and travels back to our hometown.

she gives me a call a week later (she probably thought and contemplated a lot in the meanwhile) to tell me she will be disowning and cutting me off forever or until i accept the fact im not a women.

4 years later and she visits our home country where i decided to live during covid decided to stay until today.

we haven't spoken to eachother since she cut me off and while im at work one of my aunties calls me to tell me ''your mom and your siblings are in the country at the moment. they will arrive in our city tomorrow and she would like to meet you.''

i told my auntie that i had no interest in meeting my mom but i'd be down to meet my siblings in abscence of my mother.

at this point i have evolved in my gender journey and i now identify as non binary/demi-girl/transfemme but my mom doesn't know about this.

until today...

i got ahold of her phone number and texted her stating that i miss her and im sorry for what i said about not wanting to meet her etc. i wrote a bunch of messages wich if added up would probably be the length of this here text im writing rn.

she has been writing for 15 minutes now and im crying wondering what her answer will be...

[vampelune]

new year new... idk

haven't made a proper new years post in a while. i think this year kinda earned one.

tw: death, suicide, and so on

so... 2023.

where do i start?

a lot of good. and way, way more bad. but i don't want to lose sight of all the good because of it.

for the first time after knowing these guys for over a decade, i met my best friends nate, kathy, and kai in real life. spent over a week together with them, went to a con, got to share a bed with them the whole time, and force nate to eat a bunch of american food.

but. a month later, kai killed herself. and i'm still dealing with that. probably will be for the rest of my life. she was my best friend, i would call her my soulmate, my sister. she meant the world to me. i wish i could've spent every day of the rest of our lives like we spent that week in DC. i regret all the things i didn't do yet with her. all the things i couldn't do for her, to help her.

i miss her. a lot. i've just gotten to point finally, after she passed on aug 28, where just the thought of her doesn't make me spiral into misery and cut myself. i still get the feeling sometimes---i travelled again for the first time since our trip to DC, to see my childhood best friend graduate, and the entire plane ride was miserable. i just thought of her the whole time, because the last time i'd been on a plane was to see her, and then to leave her. and i kept thinking about how much i fucking wished i could've taken her back to vegas with me. she joked about it, when they dropped me off the airport, got out of the car and pretended like she was leaving with me. i wish she could have.

she made the year really stressful. from her new relationship to the constant troubles that came with it, to her psych ward visit, and then her constant attempts. over and over. and i had to keep stopping her, fighting with her. found out her whole philosophy on suicide---that it's her body her choice, and therefore anyone not wanting her to kill herself is being selfish, and that it was just a difference in philosophy. it was difficult. the conversations i had with her, i didn't want anyone else to hear. unfortunately it all spilled out, and then she took her own life.

i would've dealt with that for the rest of our lives if i had to, though. if it meant i could still talk to her, to see her again. i would've foiled her suicide attempts and argued with her and fought with her about it until we both grew old if i had to. i wouldn't have had to, i hope. but it was hard to convince her that there was any life to live other than this, for her. that she wouldn't feel this way forever.

it was a difficult year, if not for that already, but on top of that i was still dealing with the aftermath of a bad, drawn out breakup. so while trying to help her, i was barely able to help myself cope and move on from that---the fights and the shitty words and feelings. i felt pretty close to trying to attempt myself, last year. i'm better now. back on my medication. and while my self-harm is still an issue, it hasn't been for a couple months. its still on my mind, though. not always but a lot of the time.

i've been struggling pretty badly with feeling like i don't have a place in the world. worsened by the obvious, you know. i place a lot of my self and identity on the people around me---so who am i if not his boyfriend, if not kai's best friend? so much of my self-perception revolved around them.

there was a good month or two where i sort of just like... didn't want to exist, or accomplish anything. it's hard to describe but i felt like---why bother with transitioning? why bother with top surgery? HRT? legal documents? all that? if she's not here. i was her best friend, and she was always so proud and happy for me when i made progress---when i started growing a stache, she'd point it out everytime we video called and say "ooh, you look like a man, so handsome", or the more common, "you look like a fag". when my voice started dropping a bit, she noticed. it dropped even more this past month. i wish she could hear it.

this is certainly nsfw, but it makes sense in the context of our relationship (she was always very openly sexual around me, and vice versa. it was just part of our dynamic), but when we met up in july, i let her do... a lot of things lol. including suck on my nipple. which, yea, sounds weird, but it made sense for us. i told her now she had to live long enough to see me get top surgery, so she could test out if i still had enough feeling in my nipples. she said she would. so, for a while after she died, i felt like... i can't? or, why should i? if she won't be there, for me. if she won't be there to see my results.

it's really hard, thinking things like that. i'm struggling to not start crying right now. which is a miracle, honestly, i haven't been able to cry as much since i started T and yet because of her i've cried more in the past few months than i have in the year and a half since i started T.

i really miss her. i wish we could've done more, together. the week i spent with her felt like what i'd wanted my life with her to be for years. nearly a decade. you know, you grow up a mentally ill teen on the internet with all your most important friendships being these long distance people you've never met irl, and you talk and talk about what your life could be if you all lived nearby. and then for one week, that's what my life was. and i've never been happier in my life, genuinely. i wanted that to be my life, forever. it felt so comfortable and easy; i've notoriously had some bad anxiety issues about meeting up irl with people for the first time, i sort of shut down and go non-verbal, struggle to socialize or talk. but with her, kathy, and nate---i felt none of that. none of it. everything was so easy. i wasn't anxious or scared or anything.

i loved being with them. i loved doing mundane things like shopping at walmart and target with them while they pushed me around in the shopping cart. loved going to hot topic and picking out clothes with them. loved seeing the barbie movie in theaters opening week with them. going to a convention with them, something id' wanted for so long, because conventions are such a big part of my life and all i'd ever wanted was to share it with them. we cosplayed together. i put kai in my mikan cosplay, it fit her so well. when we went to the danganronpa meetup at otakon, she fit the part so easily even though she was kinda nervous. i still look at the pictures.

she really was a perfect mikan. nate was junko, you can see him on the right there, i was komaeda, and kathy was chiaki. it fit us all so well. i wish we could do it again.

it's been hard to wear my mikan cosplay again, after that. knowing she wore it.

i miss her a lot. but i'd be remiss to not mention that despite how awful this year was, i am hoping for a lot better in the upcoming one, and i'm going to make it so. and i know last time ifelt this way, a pandemic suddenly happened and things got worse, but i'm really gonna try, lol.

so what do i hope for, this year?

i'm going to see kathy & nate again, mark my words. i already have plans to see kathy in february and i'm going to enjoy myself the best of my ability, even if it'll be hard to be in her house again, considering the last time i was was when kai was there, too.

i want to get my passion for art back, and i think i'm already on my way to it. i want to get back into painting, both digitally and physically. and to draw with emotion rather than the intention to just make something pretty people will like.

back to the gym. rather stereotypical, but i gained a lot of weight after kai passed, and i want to get back in shape now.

drawing more things im passionate about rather than making myself stuck fixated on one interest.

top surgery. i wanna figure it out. even if i cant get it this year, i want to figure out what i need to do it.

a job hopefully. of some kind. just want to feel more stable money-wise if i can.

im just going to do things that ive wanted to do for a long time. im gonna stop putting it off. and just do it. because the time will pass anyways. so i want to do it now.

happy new year, everyone.

[cthiulu]

i’m fucking pissed. and i’ve been pissed for a year. i’ve tried to kill myself so many times before turning 18 and never got any help, not even any therapy, from my mom. the first fucking time my little sib does it? psych ward visit, meds, therapy, DBT group therapy, all the fucking stops. i’m so happy that my mom is helping them. and i am so jealous. why the fuck didn’t i get that? was i not worth it? was i not obvious enough?? with the fucking attempts and cuts and not getting out of bed for weeks? but when i did it, i was just being lazy. making up excuses to purposefully be an unhelpful asshole. what the fuck. or maybe she just didn’t even notice. like she never noticed the multiple e4tin6 disorders. like she never noticed i was in a sexually abusive relationship for two fucking years. like she never noticed my dad hitting me or screaming in my face i was selfish and unloveable. like she never noticed my massive year-long downward after my friend ki1l3d himself. i could list so many things i feel like are fucking obvious to any parent who gives a shit. she just never did. she was too busy for me. i’m supposed to be the strong independent super intelligent older sibling who breezes through life and changes the world. changes what. i couldn’t even get you to fucking change. but here we are, five fucking years later, with the exact same shit and a different kid and you’re staying overnight in the ER holding their hand and driving them 2 hours a day between appointments and why? why the fuck couldn’t i have that? i just needed something. anything could’ve helped. i feel so fucking gone and irreparable now. i asked you so many times as clearly as i had been taught how that i fucking needed help desperately and you just gave me a pat on the back and said “it gets better! find a reason to live through just one day at a time!” and fucked off again. i don’t think you love me. i think maybe i was born a little to mean, a little to quiet, a little too something and you couldn’t bond with me right and some fucked up part of you hoped i would just finally fucking end it so you could have another reason to look beautiful and tragic and strong. why didn’t you just help. why didn’t you give me a fraction of what you give them. i thought you were going to kill me when you caught me with an edible one time and now you let them smoke in the house all the time with friends. you make silly comments like “you’re really going to eat all that???” but you were fucking traumatized when my little sib started going thru the same thing. it proves you were capable all along. you weren’t just too fucked up from your own childhood. you weren’t just unobservant or too busy working. you just didn’t want to help me. that’s the only fucking difference. you are a shitty parent. fuck you.

[thedeerman]

when i was misdiagnosed like ten years ago i was on prozac and it made me feel like shit. no one wanted to hear my complaints, telling me to just wait it out even after months, and i gave up and just stopped taking it. the result of not tapering off with proper directions was me landing in a psych ward for the first (unfortunately not last) time in my life, completely unstable and wanting nothing more than for medical professionals to listen to what i had to say and help me instead of ignoring everything i told them and putting me on different meds that also didn’t help.

it took months of therapy, two weeks in a psych ward, four weeks in a full on mental hospital, and eventually another week back in the first psych ward before a single doctor thought to put me on mood stabilizers. been on them ever since, no more hospital visits

sometimes i wonder, if they’d listened to me to begin with, would i have had to go through all the trauma that came from those hospital stays? if that one doctor hadn’t realized i’d been misdiagnosed that entire time, would i even be here?

meds are difficult. i hate that i had to go through so many before anyone managed to really help, but i’m appreciative of the fact that someone finally helped me.

the moral of the story: don’t stop your meds without at least looking up how to do it properly and discussing with your doctor to see if they’ll help with the tapering, but fuck doctors that refuse to actually listen to their patients. the amount of medical neglect that people with mental illness have to deal with is ridiculous. people deserve to be in charge of their own bodies and own treatments. we deserve to make our own decisions.

Telling people that they can't go off their meds if they're feeling good is basically requiring them to feel a certain level of suffering to have medical autonomy. It creates a cycle of dependence where every peice of happiness is attributed to something a neurotypical gave you. It also 100% does cause people to self destruct as an excuse to go off their meds because they don't feel bad enough.

You should be nice to people who are or want to go off their meds and hug them and validate their experiences.

[kaybee87]

So here’s part 2! Thank you to those who wanted a second part and it’s not going to be the last one either 👀

Warnings: mentions of previous child abuse and abandonment. This fic is set in a psych ward and content could be trigging.

As usual not proofread or formatted 🤷🏻‍♀️

Part one

@mylifeisactuallyamess @istorkyou @batmandallyboy

Therapy part 2

Red! Red was all he saw now! Whenever he saw her, she was always wearing something red, whenever he closed his eyes and she appeared in his mind there was red. But this was different, there she was lying on the floor surrounded by red. The blood was everywhere, the floor, the walls, all over her body and her beautiful face. There was just so much of it but he couldn’t see where it was coming from he couldn’t stop it.

He screamed and jerked upright in bed, his whole body was drenched in sweat and he was breathing hard, there were even tears flowing freely down his face. This was the third time this week he’d had the nightmare and he didn’t know what it meant, it felt so real and every time he had it he felt compelled to seek her out. To stay close to her and keep watch over her. She didn’t seem to mind his clingy behaviour either, in fact she seemed brighter now than she had at first.

When he’d first seen her Ivar had been lost for words and that was rare for him, he couldn’t believe she was still here after all these years. But why was she here? He had wanted to ask her outright but even with his limited interactions with people outside of his family he knew it wasn’t something to just blurt out. But now he felt he had become close to her and they were both starting to open up to each other. He’d told her how he had been born with osteogenesis imperfecta or brittle bone disease as it was previously known. He’d told her how this had made him feel growing up, being different and how people had tormented him for it. How he couldn’t do the things his brother could and how in time this had made him feel less of a man. He’d even told her some of the awful things he’d done through anger, retaliation or sometimes even fear. He’d never admitted that to anyone before, that part of the reason he was so cold towards people was because he was scared and felt constantly inadequate. She didn’t judge him though, she just listened to his thoughts, sometimes she held his hand. They were his favourite times. It was after one of these times, once she’d walked away to get them both a drink that one of the orderlies approached him, “you should be careful with that one, nothing but trouble”. Ivar actually growled, he was sure in that instance he had never hated anyone more. The orderly wandered off muttering something about him being as crazy as the rest and no wonder he’d been admitted into here.

The ward had a garden area attached that was completely secluded from the outside world and the comings and goings of the outpatient area of the hospital. It was a particularly warm day and he was laying under a tree with his head in her lap when she said it, so quietly he had to ask her to repeat herself just to be sure he’d heard correctly. “I was sexually abused as a child, repeatedly, it’s why I’m in here”. Her voice was completely void of emotion as she spoke. “I don’t understand how has that led to you being here almost all your life?” He asked. She laughed but it was a humourless laugh. “My family didn’t believe me, the more I tried to tell them and the more fuss I made the more they decided I was crazy. They brought me here, they visited at first but when my story didn’t change, when they decided I wasn’t getting better they stopped coming and I’ve just been here ever since”. Ivar didn’t know what he wanted to do more, cry for the sadness of it all or hunt down her parents and her abuser and make them all suffer. But for now all he could do was weather the storm of her words, the way she had for him, until he was able to get out of here then he would hurt them all for what they’d done to her.

[iamgreentealol]

I’m back; I only spent five days at my local psych ward because it’s a really short-term treatment. All the staff know me really well by now. I’ve been there 9 times and probably spent over 2 months in there lol. One of the nurses told me this time, “All of us are rooting for you. We know you can go really far in life.” 

And the thing is, 2.5 years ago when I went there for the first time, they treated me like shit. To them, I was just a rebellious child complaining about her parents and making up problems for attention. I didn’t get anything out of the first visit except scaring the crap out of my parents so they would treat me nicer. For about 2 weeks. Then as time goes by, my parents get more and more abusive, I feel more and more worthless, and all I can think about is suicide. But I didn’t want to go back to the mental hospital and be told what an immature brat I was. So I stuck through it much longer, and ended up going back after a little over 1 year. 

That time, the staff really didn’t listen. I got kicked out after 3 days. It was my last hope, and I knew no one would help me. So I took all the pills in my parents’ cabinet and peacefully went to sleep, thinking I would never wake up. Well, 7 hours later, I sat up in my bed and threw up all over. My first time in an ambulance. Fast forward to me sleeping in the ER overnight. I didn’t even need to get my stomach pumped or drink charcoal or anything because too much time had passed. I remember the doctor dramatically telling me, “You almost died” and I was too dizzy to explain to him that I didn’t give a shit. Anyway, I ended up in the psych ward for the 3rd time for my suicide attempt. Then they took me seriously.

The staff slowly came around in my next visits. Each time I went there, I addressed a different problem; visit #4 I stopped trying to please my parents, #5 (I attempted again in the form of bleeding out, but changed my mind and called 911, hello again mr. ambulance) I learned to stop expecting my parents to change and started focusing on myself, #6 I came clean about having an eating disorder, #7 I tried taking meds (bad, bad decision, they made things so much worse), #8 I improved my communication, #9 (this time) I “hit the reset button” and established a solid plan to prepare me for getting the hell out of my house as soon as I can.

After the staff initially labeled me, they slowly got to know me and started to actually listen. I’ve formed close relationships with them. And they don’t see me as a rebellious child anymore. They respect me and understand how much I’ve been through. And though it may seem like I’m not making progress, I’m trying. I’m trying, and I’m learning. And I think the staff learned a little bit too. They don’t just assume things anymore. They really take the time to talk to the patients instead of just listening to the parents.

It’s really interesting how my relationship with the staff grew. I’d be curious to see how other people see the situation. Would they tell me forgiveness is key and everyone makes mistakes? Would they tell me that I shouldn’t give the staff respect after how they treated me in the past? All I know is that we’re really close now, and I value their support a lot. 

So I feel a little more confident about my plans for the future. I think I can make it. I managed to form bonds with people even as my parents tried to keep me isolated. And I have everyone on here :) thank you so much. Getting your support is amazing. I’m not one to cry (instead I stare blankly at walls/ceiling) but my eyes started sweating a little bit seeing the kind comments. I can’t express how grateful I am. Thank you all 😊 

[ghostickle]

Don’t u love how when u need ur friends most is when u find out ur friends actually really fucking suck :))

[hargrove-mayfields]

Day one of the Horror on Cherry Lane Challenge! I’ll be participating this month as a writer! The prompt for today is Knife!

warnings for mentions of suicidal ideation and attempts, death, child abuse, and blood.

Billy met Steve in the psych ward.

Well, they met officially at Tina’s party, but that wasn’t the real Steve. That was the King Steve. Deeper than that though, even the Steve Harrington everyone else saw even after the breakup and the fall from grace still wasn’t the real thing.

That was fake smiles, overdone nonchalance to cover up the wound from his fallen status. Now he was stripped down to himself, all bloody bandages and tired eyes, the boy he was pretending to be finally broken down to reveal this.

Apparently, Ruthie Harrington found her son with his grandfather's switchblade- all the other objects in the house sharper than a spoon and with less sentimental value had already been tossed -bleeding all over her freshly polished linoleum floors. She dropped him off at the hospital a night ago and nobody’s been by to see him since.

Now, it’s by pure coincidence that Billy’s already in on the same day Steve’s admitted.

He’s been locked up the past three days compared to Steve’s one. These small town hicks are jumpier (ha) than he thought, and don’t think doing the walk and turn test on the edge of the quarry after downing a bottle and a half of fireball is as funny as he does. Whatever. Cid would’ve thought that was badass as hell.

So he was admitted, on suicide watch for a stupid joke that wasn’t really worth it, or even really a joke. Max came to visit once. She punched him in the chest as hard as she could and cursed him out for an hour. She’d never done that before. By the time she left they were both in tears, and maybe Billy realized a thing or too about his carelessness. Realized for the first time that someone cared.

But he’s still in here for another week and a half by law, so. He’s not going to mope about it. And while Steve Harrington showing up is about the last thing he’s expecting, he decides that’s at least something he can work with. Definitely brings a little life to the place.

He waits until Steve’s intense watch period is over to bug him, once they’re out of their cramped little rooms for a couple of hours to “socialize” (see, the more sound of mind keep an eye on the other patients while the nurses take their smoke breaks) Billy goes straight to Steve. Him and Harrington are far from friends, but that’s pretty much irrelevant when the only other choices for company are kids younger than them too scared to approach them and people too deep in their midlife crises to bother with teenage drama.

Throwing himself down in the blue plastic chair across from where Steve settled in, Billy kicks his feet up on the table,, “What’s up Harrington? Didn’t expect to see a familiar face in here.”

But Steve, poor Steve, takes one look at Billy with those haunted brown eyes, and his face just falls completely apart. There are tears on his way too pale cheeks before Billy even has a chance to breathe.

The smile drops off of Billy’s face, “Jesus Harrington, I know m’not looking my best surviving on hospital food and cigarettes without a hairbrush, but that’s a little unwarranted.”

“Shut up. Not everything’s about you, Hargrove.”

“Oh I disagree with that. But I get the point. I’ll let ya be.” Billy hums, scooting his chair back and getting up. He stops when Steve starts to speak, “Y-You outta be careful saying that kinda stuff in here.”

“What?”

“That the world revolves around you. They’ll come up with a diagnosis for that and keep you here forever. Drug you ‘til you forget your own name, let alone your status.” Steve tells him with humor, wiping the tears off his face.

Billy nods in understanding, sits back down with an interested smirk, “This ain’t your first time here, is it?”

“Is it yours?”

“Nah. I’ve done some shit on purpose, some on accident. Once it wasn’t even me. But s’never done anything to help so far.”

Steve puffs out a sigh, “Don’t I know it.. I’ve been in and outta this place since I was like, ten. Clearly nothing’s changed.”

“Why? What’s your dirty little secret, Harrington?”

“I cut myself, dumbass.” He deadpans, looking at Billy with a bluntness in his expression that reads more concerning, more like indifference to what he just said than matter-of-fact.

“No shit. But that ain’t the secret.” Billy probes further, can tell he’s getting under that mask Steve wears, “Why do you do it?”

“Legally, I can't tell you. And I don’t think I would anyways.”

“What about if I tell you all about me first? I got no reservations ‘cept the one that got me a bed here.”

“It’s not a hotel, Hargrove.”

“Eh, might as well be. Feels like the damn hotel California.”

“Is that why?”

“Huh? Oh no, I been pullin’ stunts like this long before we left Cali.”

“Like what?”

“Like downing two full bottles of my mother’s meds after she left. Not at the same time obviously, or I wouldn’t be here. Mostly ‘cause my dad didn’t even wanna take me to the hospital either time.” Billy doesn’t look at Steve while he elaborates. Not because he cares, he’s an open book, if a random old woman at the grocery store asked about his last attempt, he’d tell her.

But. He doesn’t like watching people’s faces. Seeing sympathy and concern there. It makes him feel all stupid and guilty. It’s usually not like that with other kids like him, but Steve’s different. He’s got a big heart. Even if there’s no room for himself.

And Billy hurt Steve before. He doesn’t want to see someone he caused pain caring so much about him. He already cracked when Max came to see him. This could be what splits him open, spills out all the things he’s covered up.

So he keeps going, “And like runnin’ out in front of traffic with my friends. They thought we were just playin’ chicken ‘til I stopped dead in front of a station wagon. Metal rims’d done me in for sure if one ‘a the older boys hadn’t pulled me outta the way. Damn near ripped my shirt in half how fast he grabbed me.”

“I’m guessing your parents are the reason why then?”

“Yessir.” Billy deflects, not good at getting deeper into it, “You wanna tell me yours then?”

“I started cutting because Tommy Hagan told me about it. He thought it was freaky, but when he ran his mouth about how they found the neighbor kid in his room, drained of all his blood from his wrists, I wanted to try it. I’ve tried liquor and drugs and all kinds ‘a shit I shouldn’t, but nothin’ stuck like cutting.” Steve pauses for a long time, his eyes going blank, staring right past Billy, “When my mom found out she.. she.. Forget it.”

“Hey, you seen my skeletons. Can’t I see yours?”

“No. I don’t wanna fucking talk about it anymore.” Steve answers, despite his assuredness, his tone wobbling with some unidentifiable emotion.

Talk about mood swings. Billy doesn’t get how nobody would’ve noticed something was up before Steve started carving into himself. Really, he knows someone would have seen it and just ignored it.

It only gets worse though, the reservedness turning to sadness and frustration. None of the words are coming out, but he can tell Steve’s thinking of the stories, reliving all that got him to the here and now. Billy can also tell there’s nothing he can do no to stop him from doomsdaying.

So when Steve is inevitably in the thralls of a panic attack, he tries to hug him tight, to try to get it to stop maybe, that always worked for him at least, but Steve swats him away. Judging from the way he winces, it’s not easy for him to do either, with those thick ass bandages constricting his wrists, but the tears and the pain on his face are buried behind his resolution.

He’s hiding something from Billy.

In hindsight, talking to a new patient about past attempts probably wasn’t his brightest idea anyways, so he switches the subject while Steve works on coming down from his panic attack. He brings up Max and her little nerds, trying to bridge the healthier connections between him and Steve that they’d both been ignoring since the fight. He mentions basketball too, another something they have in common other than trying to kill themselves.

It doesn’t really work, though Steve does stop shaking as bad, just curling up in his little chair and sniffling, pretending not to listen while Billy rambles on and on. But he doesn’t talk. It’s probably better for him not to anyway. Billy himself has been known to say some dumb shit when he’s in distress.

Ultimately, even once the conversation runs out, he stays with Steve until dark. He can tell from the way his gaze sticks to the floor that Steve recovered from his fit a while ago, but he’s embarrassed by having a breakdown in front of him, as if he isn’t in here for the same reason. It helps that he gets it though, and they sit in a comfortable, albeit very prolonged, silence.

Long after Steve gets xanned up and knocked out though, while Billy is still free to wander until the midnight curfew as a low risk patient, he decides to stick with him in his room. Billy’ll never admit it, but he gets nightmares, and he doesn’t want to face that just yet, so with a new friend as an excuse, he’s up half the night watching Steve sleep.

He remembers what happened earlier, how focused Steve was on keeping him away from him, despite his panic, and decides, with a glance at how deeply Steve is sleeping, his greasy hair all strewn about on stiff pillows, that he’s going to figure out what it was.

He snoops around in his bedside drawers, in the bathroom, in the locker in the corner. It’s there he notices the knitted jacket Steve was wearing before, hanging heavy to one side, like there’s something in its pocket. He touches it and feels the outline of something small, so he pulls it out.

He regrets checking though, because it’s a knife. Judging from the old looking engravings on its handle, and the coppery stains within the grooves, it’s specifically the very same one that got Steve hospitalized.

He shoves it in his own back pocket and keeps looking, with a quick glance at Steve, finding a note tucked where the knife had been. Written in perfect scrawl on bond paper that’s been folded a dozen times and stained with tears,

“Do it right next time, why don’t you? Your mother is too soft on you. I’m not paying for this again.

- J.Harrington.”

Billy doesn’t know what to do but throw the note in the trash. Not really in shock, but definitely more than a little fucked up from reading that, he sits on the end of Steve’s bed. His own dad, who'd more than once been the one putting him in the hospital, had never even said anything like that to him.

He didn’t get to talk to Steve much today, but they’ve got as long as Billy’s stuck in here together to fix that. Longer if he just pulls something in front of a nurse. And he wants to, really really wants to.

Because he knows he just met the real Steve, can recognize another broken boy when he sees one, and he knows too, that he never wants to meet a pretty boy like this again.

And if that’s his declaration to get clean, then so fucking be it.

But. He never promised not to hurt anyone. Ultimately he’d still need that outlet.

He keeps the knife. To make sure his pretty boy doesn’t get hurt again.

[letsdiscoverkitty]

Ward Round 15.03.22

First ward rounds are pretty uneventful affairs, but I thought that I might start to keep a note/log of them during my stay as it can be beneficial to reflect on and helps me keep track of/remember what happens...

- Overall they seemed pretty happy with me/how I've settled in. The first week is very overwhelming with a lot of change/things to take in and get used to on top of meal plan increases/refeeding/challenging foods etc. But I have complied 100% and I'm getting on with what I need to do, so they didn't have any issues in that respect. - Frustratingly there are very few changes. I do understand it is the first week but it's still hard. I also find it hard/don't know what to say when they keep saying to me "we don't think you understand how unwell you are" and they tried to explain that because Ive been allowed to function in the community for so long/have been so "high functioning", it is harder for me to see which, yeah, I dont know. - So I am to stay on 4xchecks an hour (ugh) - Physical Obs 4xdaily (although the 3am Blood sugars can now be stopped thank goodness) - Bloods every other day rather than daily (woo) - My sodium is still a bit too low so I'm having to start Sodium Tablets 3xdaily - OT is looking into getting a mattress topped sorted out as I am currently sleeping on an extra duvet and a folded blanket, which isn't a massive issue but it's not ideal -If my mum or anyone can come up, I'm not even allowed to go for a drive with them, it would have to be sat in the family room...so I don't think I'll be getting any visits for a while (as it's really not worth it as home is about 2hr drive) - I might be able to start a psychology group next week after talking to the clinical psych yesterday as although they don't usually let patients start them for a while, I have been quite "high functioning" and have "good insight/knowledge" and want to do them. The timetable is so empty when you aren't allowed to any groups so I am having to keep myself distracted. Ive already binge watched Good Omens (which was actually pretty decent) and have just started "The Good Doctor" (easy watch series suggestions are also appreciated!) - There is currently no dietitian on the ward (dont even go there...) but I am going to see the one they have access to over zoom tomorrow (they can see her for 1xday a week) which is quite important as I have a number of things I need to talk through as well as to work out the next steps for the refeeding plan. - I did ask about my first CPA and fingers crossed it should be mid April - I have managed to get my new glasses rerouted to a local store and fingers crossed they will arrive this week and so I've got special permission to go and have them fitted with a staff member

So it was not the most eventful and mostly just very frustrating on my behalf as I want to be getting more involved but I suppose this has to be part of the process. sigh. The unit, I get the impression, really like to keep patients for long stays, which I have very very very mixed feelings about since being admitted, especially after seeing the programme in action/what they offer. But for now I am just going to keep taking things one hour/one step at a time. There is no point getting myself worked up/lost in the "what if's" that might lie in the future, it would be a waste of time/energy and probably just make me feel worse about everything.

[cyhyr]

Whumpmas In July: Support

Fandom: Naruto

Rating: M

Pairing: Hatake Kakashi/Umino Iruka; Hatake Kakashi & Maito Gai

WC: ~5640

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Notes: Therapy, Flashbacks, Triggers, Making Out, Communication

A/N: This story will make. Next to no sense. If you don't read "Stop" first. I mean, you can certainly try. But really. If anyone needs a summary of the previous fic--I know it's a rough one--send a message and I'll get back to you with it :)

A sequel to "Stop"

For @whumpmasinjuly prompt list

Read on The Archive

~

“Is there anything else you wanted to discuss today? We still have five minutes.”

Iruka crosses his arms and ducks his head, thinking of how to word his question. Request? “I… How does one go about helping their partner in this kind of situation?”

Rikona leans her elbow on her desk, her chin on her hand. “You’re worried about Hatake-san.”

“He’s the one who found me,” Iruka says. “I’d be worried for anyone who found me in that state. It… it wasn’t pleasant. But because he’s also my partner…” He trails off, not yet knowing how to finish his sentence. Rikona will wait, he knows; he scrubs his face with his palms. “He doesn’t leave me alone anymore.”

“It’s only been three weeks, Iruka-sensei. Surely, he’s being understandably protective, considering what he saw.”

“No, I mean. He won’t take missions. He’s outside in the waiting room right now. He’s on alert in the village. The civilians are starting to notice. My students,” he groans, “they’re asking if Kakashi will just come inside the classroom instead of hanging around in the trees like a creep.”

Rikona hums thoughtfully. “That does seem excessive. Is he seeing anyone? For therapy, of course.”

Iruka shakes his head. “I know it’s noted in his file that he’s attended his required annual psych evals, but he says he’s had Yamanaka in his head before and doesn’t want anyone else in there.”

She sighs. “Their mind jutsu is an offensive technique and shouldn’t be used on fellow Konoha shinobi. Urgh.”

“Urgh indeed,” Iruka agrees.

“I think, the best you can do for now, would be to have Hatake-san confide in someone.”

“I—”

“He’s not going to tell you, Iruka-sensei,” she continues, waving a hand flippantly. “He sees you as someone to protect. He’s not going to put his worries on you. Does he have a good friend you can ask to look into him?”

Iruka smiles, and nods.

~

Kakashi has a new routine since Iruka’s release from the hospital. He wakes up just before dawn and sneaks out of Iruka’s apartment, where he’s been sleeping at the kotatsu. He visits the memorial stone for twenty-four minutes, the exact amount of time he can give himself and still make it back to Iruka’s before breakfast.

He makes Iruka eat (he doesn’t eat; can’t eat, not this early) and take the medicine he’s been prescribed (a two-week course of antibiotics, and pain medicine as needed). While Iruka eats, he makes bento for both of them. Then he walks Iruka to the Academy, where he hangs out in the tree outside of Iruka’s classroom all day until lunchtime. They eat lunch together, Iruka telling him about the morning classes as though he doesn’t know Kakashi is watching his every breath. When afternoon practicals take Iruka’s class outside, Kakashi shifts silently to another tree to keep his mark.

Iruka used to switch up and use different training fields for different days. Lately, he keeps his class in training field three. It’s the one furthest from the village border. They never discussed this, but Kakashi suspects Rikona-sensei suggested it. She’s been good for Iruka.

Iruka’s afternoons are different day-to-day, but Kakashi stays next to him throughout it all. He sits in the corner, pretending to read, during Mission Desk shifts. He stays in the back of the classroom quietly if Iruka’s on detention duty. He offers assistance if Iruka is tutoring—for theory, he’s gently let down, but Iruka lets him help if he’s tutoring practicals. On Thursdays he walks Iruka to the hospital, to the third floor, and anxiously stays in the waiting room for the hour-long therapy session.

After everything, they’ll pick up something for dinner and head home. To Iruka’s home. Kakashi asks every night if he can stay, and Iruka always says yes, as long as he cooks dinner. A small price to pay for his peace of mind. If it comes with Iruka’s pleased smile at every new dish Kakashi serves him, with a deep moan of content when the soup is the perfect blend of spicy and savory; well, that’s just a bonus.

Iruka always demands to clean up himself. “You cooked, I’ll clean.”

Kakashi doesn’t know what to think about it. He knows now that Iruka stress-cleans; is this just him destressing after… after? Or is he really just dividing the labor?

He only lets Iruka out of sight now that they’re home—in Iruka’s home—and behind the wards. He relaxes, settles down into the kotatsu, and lets Iruka come to him. He always does, every night. Even if it’s just to sit side-by-side, with Kakashi’s arms around Iruka while they each read their own books—Iruka always comes to him at the end of the night.

Sometimes they’ll kiss. It doesn’t get heated, but feeling Iruka close as he is comfortable being is perfect.

He makes sure to send Iruka to bed before he falls asleep. Iruka always asks if he wants the spare room, the one Naruto had once claimed, but Kakashi’s more comfortable at the kotatsu, where he can cover more entrances to the apartment. Not that he tells Iruka that. He trusts Iruka’s wards. But… just in case.

~

Iruka plans on asking Gai-sensei to take Kakashi out for an evening the next time he sees him at the Mission Desk. It can’t take too long for that coincidence to occur; Team Gai has been taking missions almost non-stop in preparation for the next chūnin exams in a few months.

Kakashi turns the page of his book from his seat in the corner of the room. If nothing else, his constant presence has been a boon in that the more unruly jōnin don’t dare act up while Kakashi is standing guard. And gods, everyone in the village knows that’s exactly what he’s doing and it… it grates on Iruka, that Kakashi feels he needs a guard while he’s safe behind the village walls.

But he can’t ask him to stop. He knows it’s not for him. Kakashi isn’t doing this for Iruka, no matter what he tells himself, or anyone else.

They head home at the end of the night. It’s comfortable, having Kakashi there at his side. He won’t let Iruka wrap an arm around his waist or even hold his hand while they walk, but they’re close enough that they brush elbows and fingertips. Iruka feels the static in the air as they walk, the chakra discharge Kakashi is barely holding back.

Gods help the poor bastard who bumps into them before he gets past this.

On the stairs up to his apartment, Iruka turns and looks down at Kakashi, whose gaze is turned out at the village. “Love?”

Kakashi hums, and cocks his head up at him. He looks so much like a puppy when he does that.

Iruka cups his face with one palm, turning his face the rest of the way towards himself. With his other hand, he cards his fingers lightly through Kakashi’s hair, revelling in the closed-eye sigh he receives. “Rikona-sensei suggested yesterday that I might be ready to try something… more, if you’re up for that,” he murmurs against Kakashi’s hitai-ate.

He watches Kakashi’s throat shift under the mask, his lips part and the fabric dampen with the force of his exhale.

“What are we still doing outside, then?” he finally says.

Iruka grins, and reaches down for his hands. Kakashi gives them to him freely, and they stumble-trip-carry-each-other the rest of the way into his apartment.

It used to be, when Kakashi had come home with him, he’d crowd him against the door and kiss his neck while begging him to get the wards back up. This time, Kakashi pulls Iruka against his chest, putting his own back to the door, and feeds his own chakra into the wards to set them for the night. While he does that, Iruka carefully slides his mask down his face to pool at his collar and sets to kissing him so thoroughly Kakashi has to restart the wards twice to get them right.

Once he’s done, he keeps his hands pressed to the wood of the door; Iruka can feel the strain of want in his shoulders.

“What happened to ‘best ass in Konoha’?” he mutters against Kakashi’s lips.

Kakashi moans; asks, “It’s okay? Can I? Please please please let me touch you, Love, I—”

“If your hands aren’t on my ass by the time I finish this—oh, fuck.”

Kakashi squeezes in pulses, kisses him back, and starts walking him out of the genkan. Sandals, vests, hitai-ate, wrappings—all are gone as quickly as possible, with silent taps against each piece to ask Is this okay? Can I take this off of you? All the while, they keep kissing, tongues meeting gently and lips gasping at heated brushes of bare skin.

Kakashi pulls Iruka down on top of him as they fall onto the kotatsu. He takes advantage of the new position and dives for that sweet spot behind Kakashi’s ear, smiling and pressing his teeth against soft skin.

He’s hard. They’re both hard. It’s wonderful.

Kakashi tips his head back and moans, wraps his arms around Iruka’s waist, spreads his legs and breathes, “More, Iruka, please Love, more.”

“More, what?” Iruka smiles.

“Whatever. Whatever you want to give me, I’ll take. Just. Gods, feels so-so nice.”

Iruka dips his head, kisses Kakashi’s neck, and rocks his hips slowly against Kakashi’s. “Fuck, love,” he gasps. “You-You’re so beautiful like this.”

He frots a little harder, a little faster, and it’s amazing.

But something—something’s off.

The hairs on the back of his neck rise. Iruka looks up.

Kakashi’s head is still tipped aside. His breath is stuttering. The sharingan is open. One of his arms falls off of Iruka’s back and flops, palm up, to the side.

Oh gods, no.

“Love? Kakashi?” Iruka places a hand on Kakashi's cheek and feels his blood freeze. “Kakashi, my love, come back to me. We’re in Konoha, we’re at home, the wards are up, we’re safe.”

Lightning chakra sparks in his hand. Iruka swallows back the instinctive fear, and throws himself back into waking Kakashi up.

“Please, love, you can’t—you have to come back. Please, we’re not—we’re safe. I’m safe. You already killed him. It’s over,” he ducks his head and presses a kiss to Kakashi’s clothed chest. “My Kakashi, please, please come back to me.”

The lightning doesn’t stop. The sharingan doesn’t close. For so many long, terrible minutes, Iruka waits, willing Kakashi to come back to himself. For the flashback to stop. He wonders how much Kakashi is registering. He rests his head on Kakashi’s chest and listens to his stuttering breath and rabbit-fast pulse.

He does his best not to cry.

Kakashi’s shirt gets wet anyway.

The sparks in his palm eventually stop. Iruka looks up and sees both of Kakashi’s eyes are closed. He leans back down and listens closely, but his pulse and breathing are still off. He must have just chakra-exhausted himself. “Kakashi,” he murmurs. “My love, please wake up. Gods, is this how you feel, when I…”

“...Iru-ka?”

“Oh, thank the gods,” Iruka sighs. He leans up and cups Kakashi’s cheeks. “What do you need, love? What can I—?”

“Water. Please.”

Iruka vaults over the back of the kotatsu to get to the kitchen faster. But as soon as he stands up, he remembers how he feels coming out of an episode—cold, not quite all there—and Kakashi just had a warm weight leave him suddenly. Iruka turns and grabs a throw blanket out of a basket and drapes it over Kakashi; who, indeed, had started to shiver. He looks up at Iruka gratefully, and huddles into the throw, and then also pulls the quilt of the kotatsu closer.

Satisfied, Iruka goes for the water.

~

They were. They were on the kotatsu. They’d been making out. It was nice. Great. Amazing.

Kakashi fully expected to never get that close to Iruka again and yet, the man had put his teeth on his neck and they had both been hard and-and—

And then he was back in that cave, and his legs ached from running for so long, and the echo of Sato’s words rang between his ears. “You can’t imagine how beautiful your eyes are, full of fear. But you don’t have to be afraid right now, pet. Your eyes are just as beautiful in the throes of ecstasy.” He wasn’t fast enough. Sato had Iruka tied up, his legs over Sato’s shoulders, was going to-to—

Sharingan. Raikiri. Death.

He’s not fast enough. He couldn’t save him. Couldn’t… save—

Sato had Iruka tied up to a pole by his neck.

“You came. You came. You—”

“My Kakashi, please please come back to me.”

...

Kakashi breathes. It hurts. He’s cold, and breathing hurts, and he hasn’t felt like this since Rin—

“Water, love?”

He looks up, and Iruka is coming around the side of the kotatsu with a glass and a plate. He smiles tiredly. He’s in good hands, he supposes; if anyone knows how to treat someone who just went through… that, it’s Iruka.

“I also brought some crackers and cucumber slices,” Iruka says. “May I sit?”

Kakashi nods. “Please.” He tries to sit up so Iruka can have the place where his head currently is, but Iruka waves him away. He places the water in Kakashi’s hand and the plate in easy reach, and then goes to the other side of the kotatsu and sits at Kakashi’s feet.

Their toes touch. Kakashi sips at the water and grabs a cucumber.

“Can you tell me what happened?” Iruka asked.

“I… We were. Y’know. And then I was back in the cave.”

Iruka nods. “Do you know what pushed you there? Something I did, or a position, or—”

“‘Beautiful’,” Kakashi mutters, and then shivers and groans as his stomach tries to turn.

Iruka looks thoughtful for a moment, and then nods. “We won’t say it again. I’m sorry.”

“You can’t have known.”

“Kakashi—”

“I feel so…” Kakashi holds up his hands and looks at them, turns them over. It’s odd. “I can’t describe it.”

“Fuzzy? Raw?”

Kakashi stares over at Iruka and then slowly nods. “Tingly.”

“You manifested lightning chakra in your right palm for almost ten minutes, love. And I’m pretty sure you have a minor case of chakra exhaustion from having the sharingan activated the whole time, too.”

Kakashi groans. “I’m sorry for ruining our night.”

Iruka chuckles. “Try again, love.”

He tilts his head to the side and tries to think. What could Iruka mean…? Oh. Ha.

“Um… I’m not sure—?”

“I’ll always be here if you need me,” Iruka prompts. “Just like you’re always there for me.”

He smiles tiredly. “Thank you, Iruka. For staying.”

“You’re welcome. Do you want to eat more than that, or do you think you just need to sleep it off?”

“I’d like to… to hold you,” Kakashi says, “if that’s alright?”

Iruka scoots over to him and lets Kakashi arrange him against his chest. They rest for much of the evening, until Iruka has to eat more than crackers and cucumbers. After dinner he hovers in the hall, hesitant.

“Do you… um. Kakashi, would it be—ah, fuck.”

“I’ll be okay on the kotatsu again tonight,” he says.

Iruka sighs, and shuffles his feet. “But you don’t have to. We’ve shared a bed before. And I know I always feel better getting to hold you through the night after one of my episodes, so I just thought…”

Kakashi’s heart swells. He grins, stands on slightly shaky legs, and crosses the living room to the hall where Iruka waits.

“Would it make you feel better if I slept with you?”

Iruka shrugs. “I mean, yes, but I don’t want to push you. Flashbacks, Dissociation, it’s no joke, love and—”

“This isn’t the first time I’m going through this,” Kakashi says. Seeing Iruka’s curious glint, he continues, “I’ll tell you about it some other time, but suffice to say I’m. Familiar. With flashbacks. Going through them with someone else; this is the new part for me.”

Iruka reaches out and takes his hand. Tugs him, gently. “Just… come to bed? Please?”

Kakashi glances back at the kotatsu. The living room is better for watching more possible entrances. But Iruka’s in his bedroom. This is a practical choice. “Let me grab my hitai-ate, and I’ll be along.”

Iruka’s smile rivals the sun. Gods, it’s nice to see that smile again.

~

“Kakashi had a flashback,” Iruka groans. “He’s. He’s got a trigger word.”

“How is he?”

“Raw. Flighty.” He snorts. “More overprotective than he was before, if it was possible.”

Rikona-sensei hums and fiddles with her pen. “Do you feel comfortable talking about what happened? Were you there for it?”

Iruka shrugs. “I was there for it. I… I caused it. I said his trigger word. We didn’t know.”

“That is how we tend to find out about these things.”

“But I don’t. Not yet. It’s not my story to tell.”

“So then tell your story. Tell me your experience, finally being on the other side of this.”

Iruka crosses his arms and leans back in his chair. “I…” He chews on his lip. “It was terrifying. I’ve never been scared of Kakashi, okay? Not-not when I was a genin and heard about the genius in ANBU, not when I served under him when I was still doing field work regularly, not when I stood up to him at the chūnin exam nominations. But the other night, he—”

He stops. Shuts his eyes tight, ducks his head. Rikona-sensei nudges the tissue box a little closer. He ignores it.

“I was so scared he was going to hurt himself.”

“Not you?”

“I… yeah, I was a little scared of that. He had molded lightning chakra during his episode. He’d opened the sharingan. He… If he had more control of his body, he could have easily killed me, I think.”

“Iruka, I need you to think very carefully about this,” Rikona-sensei starts, “because you’re my client, and your well-being and safety are paramount to a good mental health recovery. But also because Hatake-san is a former ANBU operative and doesn’t have his own mental health support regiment. So I’m asking you. Do you feel safe around him?”

Iruka shifts in his seat. “If I say no, you’re going to have him admitted, aren’t you?”

“No,” she says. “But I am required to bring such information to the Hokage. She’ll do with that information as she sees fit.”

Iruka thinks—Kakashi had been limp. He’d said it was a flashback, but it really was closer to a dissociation episode from how Iruka looked at it. Yes, all the preparatory signs were there for a raikiri, but if Kakashi couldn’t even lift his hand, had he really been a threat?

But really.

He’d been more worried that the chakra exhaustion wasn’t going to stop the flashback, or the half-formed raikiri. He’d been worried that Kakashi would be forced to bed rest for days over a flashback, instead of a real threat. He’d been worried that Kakashi would lose control of the lightning chakra and shock himself.

“Kakashi is not a danger to me,” Iruka says firmly, “nor to the village.”

Rikona nods. “Your word, Iruka-sensei. If that feeling changes, at any time, there are always ANBU on patrol. Alert them.”

~

Getting Gai to agree to take Kakashi out for a night is simple—the man nearly starts crying at the chance to spend an evening catching up with his Eternal Rival.

Getting Kakashi to leave him alone for the night to go out with Gai; now that proves relatively difficult. All the way home from the Mission Desk, they bicker about it gently. Iruka doesn’t want to provoke Kakashi. He just wants Kakashi to spend time with someone else.

They’re climbing the stairs up to the apartment. “It’s just one night,” Iruka smiles, looking back over his shoulder.

Kakashi can’t seem to muster up the will to smile back. He’s worriedly glancing out at the village. “But what about—”

“I can feed myself for one night, love,” he says.

“You know that’s not what… what I…”

Iruka turns, takes his hands and kisses them. Softly, “Love, trust my wards. I’m in the village. I’m safe.”

“I know. I just.”

“Go. Have a night. You can walk me to school in the morning, same as always. I won’t leave without you.”

Kakashi sighs, and asks, “Can I kiss you before I go?”

Iruka smirks. “You’d better.”

~

Kakashi keeps his hands in his pockets while he and Gai walk through the market. Gai is talking about Youth and Evenings and The Warmth of Springtime. Kakashi is looking at the paper lanterns and contemplating ducking into a food stall. He knows Gai will follow him.

Maybe he could use this time away to get Iruka a gift.

But what would he like?

“Kakashi, are you listening?”

“Springtime, Passion, Youth, Maa, Maa,” Kakashi waves him off, “What do you think Iruka would like as a gift?”

“Thinking of your precious person even when you are apart! The love you share is so—”

“Focus, Gai.”

“Why not a simple bouquet? Flowers are always bea—”

“Don’t!” Kakashi snaps. Gai’s mouth shuts fast, and the crowd around them stills for just a moment. He sweats, shakes, and then jumps to the roofs and runs. He can hear Gai keeping pace behind him; that’s fine. He can deal with Gai. He can’t deal with civilians, with all those eyes—

He lands behind the Academy, leans heavily on his knees, and keeps going into the trees. It’s getting dark, but he’s leaving a trail and Gai knows his chakra. He falls into a clearing and slips—oh, this is what Iruka describes as slipping, feeling the world fall away out from underneath him, but he’s not fully gone yet.

“Kakashi!”

He holds himself together, his breath stuttering, the grass wet under his knees; but it's not grass, it’s stone, and it’s not his knees it’s his feet and he’s running and his legs ache and-and,

A hand slaps his cheek.

“Stay with me, Kakashi! Where are you?”

“Cave. Forty-two miles northeast—”

“No, Kakashi. Where are you?”

He looks around. It’s dark. The cave is-was-is dark. He needs-needed the sharingan to see it was so dark. Is. Was?

“I don’t… I don’t know.”

“You are safe within the walls of Konohagakure. We are in training field three, behind the Academy.”

The Academy? Iruka.

“Where’s Iruka???”

“He is at home, where you left him. Also safe, behind nigh impenetrable wards and seals only the best fūinjutsu master could hope to break.”

Kakashi looks up. Gai is kneeling in the grass—wet, soft, recently mowed grass—and looking at him with deep concern. His hands hover over Kakashi’s shoulders.

“Kakashi, what happened back there?”

“I… I don’t. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“But you must. You can not serve the village in this state.”

“What—What do you want me to say?”

“The truth!” Gai put his massive hands on Kakashi’s shoulders and it’s a relief to have that pressure assuring him that he exists in the here-and-now and not back-then. “I am more than your Rival, am I not?”

“Gai…”

“Am I?”

Kakashi nods, slowly. It hurts to move too fast.

“Then talk to me.” He shifts them both so that they’re laying on their backs in the grass, looking up at the stars. Gai stays right by his side; like he always had been, like he always will. Kakashi breathes more steadily now. Then Gai asks, “How are you?”

“Better than Iruka,” Kakashi mutters.

“See, I am not sure that is true.” Gai hums. “Iruka-sensei, as terrible as this sounds, has experience with this sort of encounter. He has a therapist, a professional trained in methods with which to help him. He has a loving partner who cares for him deeply,” he nudges Kakashi’s shoulder with his own; Kakashi smirks. “He finds fulfillment in his work, which he resumed as soon as he was physically able. And he still speaks with his friends, at least during work hours.”

“I…”

“Love is a wondrous thing, and it fills my heart to see you care so much. But I want to know how you are.”

Someday, he’ll figure out what makes Gai, Gai. Someday, he’ll figure out why Gai makes Kakashi vomit words like nearly no one else. Someday, he’ll figure out why he and Gai were never romantically compatible.

Tonight, he talks.

He tells Gai about not being fast enough. About hearing Sato calling Iruka… that. About seeing Iruka in that horrible position, with Sato over him. About having Iruka repeat, over and over, “You came,” like he’d given up.

About how he failed Iruka.

He’s had to come to terms with not being fast enough to save someone before. He visits them at the Stone. But Iruka.

“Gai, I still look at him every day and I-I see him there, with the-the ropes around his neck and Sato ready to… to…”

“You feel guilty.”

“How can he even trust me anymore?!”

“Iruka-sensei never lost faith in Konoha, and so never lost faith in you.”

“And he managed to get out of all of that without a new trigger—he has so many, Gai, it’s horrible, I swear if I ever get the chance to kill that fucker I’m going to do it—”

“Mizuki?”

Kakashi growls. “Let’s not get into that tonight.”

“Understood.”

“But he. He was so worried he wasn’t going to be able to hear the words pet or pretty again without,” Kakashi makes a vague gesture. Gai nods for him to continue. “But he did. He’s so strong and he made it through. He tested it with his therapist a week after he came home, and again that night when I brought him back to his apartment.”

“That is great news, Kakashi.”

“And then there’s me. Who didn’t go through any of what he did, who doesn’t have any of that trauma, and here I am—the one with the trigger word from this experience.”

Gai leans up on his elbow and looks down at Kakashi thoughtfully. “Can you tell me what it is? So I know not to say it in your presence.”

Kakashi swallows. Deep breath. Grits his teeth… tries… “No. I… no. Um. Oh, shit.”

He rolls to his knees and crawls away, shoves his mask down to his throat, and throws up.

~

Gai walks him home, long after midnight. He tries going back to the jōnin barracks, but Gai insists that he not be alone tonight. He can either go home with Gai, or go back to Iruka’s.

Simple choice, really.

He knocks on Iruka’s door. If Iruka’s still awake, he’ll stay here. If not, he’ll crash at Gai’s for an hour or so until he can sneak back to his own place.

The wards’ hums slow to a stop, the door unlocks, and then opens. Iruka is dressed for bed, his hair down and braided, and he smiles when he sees Kakashi. “You didn’t need to knock,” he says.

“I really did,” Kakashi says. “It’s been a rough night.”

Iruka’s smile fades, and he looks over Kakashi’s shoulder to Gai. Gai must make some comforting gesture, because Iruka sags, and reaches out for Kakashi’s hands. “Well, come on. It’s late. Thank you, Gai-sensei, for taking him out for the evening, and for bringing him home.”

“You do not need to thank me for spending time with my dear Rival,” Gai says. He places a hand on Kakashi’s shoulder and rubs his back with his thumb. “It was pleasant, getting to catch up. We must do it again sometime. Perhaps a weekly sparring session would do us both good?”

Kakashi nods, still in a daze. He hasn’t quite… returned to himself, he supposes.

Iruka pulls him inside. “Good night, Gai-sensei.”

“Good night, Iruka-sensei, Kakashi.”

Kakashi lifts a hand in a half-wave.

Iruka gets him inside and sits him down on the step of the genkan. He helps him out of his sandals, wrappings, and flak vest. “Love?”

“I’m alright,” he says automatically.

“You don’t seem alright.”

“I talked with Gai.”

“Obviously. You were out together all night, I should hope you talked.”

“No. I… I told him. About. About Sato. I’m sorry.”

But Iruka smiles, the look soft and calming. He takes Kakashi’s hands, kisses his fingers, and slips his gloves off. Then, he pulls Kakashi to stand back up and leads him through the apartment.

“I was hoping that you would confide in a friend,” Iruka says. “I know… Kakashi, this guilt you’re feeling, it’s killing you.”

“It’s—”

Iruka sits him on the bed and slides off his hitai-ate. Kakashi’s arms go instinctively around Iruka’s waist as he steps in between Kakashi’s knees.

“It’s not healthy. A bit of guilt, for what you saw, for not being there sooner? I can understand that. But love, I’m okay. I got through it with minimal injuries and next to no backfall on my mental health.”

“I know.”

“I’m worried about you.” Iruka pets his hair and Kakashi leans his temple against Iruka’s chest.

“You were hurt,” Kakashi mutters. “I just—”

“You came at probably the worst possible time of that entire situation,” Iruka says. “You saw something horrible, and you heard someone demean me in a way you likely have never experienced before. My love,” Iruka cups his jaw and tips his chin up so they’re looking eye-to-eye, “anyone could have come out of that kind of situation with a bit of trauma. Yours is just manifesting in a physical way, and we have to work with that.”

“But—”

“My Kakashi,” Iruka says sternly. “You were hurt. Just because your scars from this event aren’t physical doesn’t mean they aren’t real.”

Iruka lets him go, and he presses his face back into Iruka’s chest the second he’s able. He groans. “Why do you call me that when you know it makes me all… I don’t know… gooey, inside?”

“Hmm?” Iruka continues petting his hair. “Call you what? My Kakashi?”

He nuzzles Iruka and groans deeper, feeling the fuzzy, tingly feeling from earlier in the night fade away. “Definitely not,” he lies.

“No?” Iruka pulls away enough to tap at his hitai-ate and mask, which is enough of a signal for bedtime as it is for remove these please. “What do I call you that makes you gooey then? Love?”

The hitai-ate makes a clink as it hits the floor.

“Dearest?”

Kakashi shrugs off his shirt and mask. It hits the hamper near the closet.

“Darling?”

He strips Iruka of his yukata, letting it fall to the floor.

“Love of my life?”

“If you don’t lay down with me, I’m going back to the kotatsu,” Kakashi growls. He wraps his arms tight around Iruka’s waist, and falls back and to the side to land on the pillows.

Iruka laughs as they fall. He gently strokes a finger down Kakashi’s bare face and asks, “Can I kiss you?”

“Of course.” Kakashi lets Iruka come to him, kissing him gently and carefully. It’s odd, being the one handled like glass. Odd, but sweet. Nice.

“I know you had an emotional evening,” Iruka says against his lips. “But I’m really excited about this and I want to tell you about it. I can wait until morning if you need to, though.”

“I would love nothing more than for you to tell me about this exciting thing, Love,” Kakashi drawls. He yawns right after, which kills the intent behind his words, but Iruka just laughs and goes forward with telling him anyway.

“So. I’ve been talking with Rikona-sensei about my triggers. And, yes, many of them are auditory, but I’ve also got quite a few visual triggers.”

“Which is why if we do anything seriously sexual we go to my place,” Kakashi adds, following along.

“Right! So, Rikona-sensei gave me a collection of apartments that are for rent right now and—”

“You’re going to move?” Kakashi perked up, suddenly awake.

Iruka nods. “I want to move. Mizuki—he spent so much time in this place, in this room, and I… I’ve tried making new memories to fit over the old ones and it’s not working. So I sent out applications tonight and hopefully by the weekend I’ll have letters back saying which apartments I can go see.” He’s grinning ear to ear, blinding Kakashi with the force of it. “One of the places is actually a small house, with a yard. If I can get it, that’s the one I want. I’m hoping Naruto likes it. And I—I want you to come see the apartments with me.”

Kakashi blinks. “What?”

“I’m not-not asking you to look at apartments with me, like, ‘let’s get a place together and move in’ kind of looking!” Iruka hastens to clarify. He rubs at the bridge of his nose with one finger, a nervous habit—one the cuter ones he has. “I just... before I sign any paperwork. I… I love you, and I value your opinion. So. I want you there. If you… want. To be.”

If it were possible, Kakashi would pull Iruka closer. As it is, they’re already chest to chest, so Kakashi settles for nuzzling Iruka’s hair and pressing kisses on his forehead, and down to his eyelids and nose and cheek.

“I will be wherever you want me to be.”

Iruka kisses him again and leans against his shoulder. “Right now, this is where I want you.”

“How convenient. That’s where I want to be too.”

They both laugh, and Iruka nudges him in the side. “No Icha Icha lines.”

[nosferatvpussy]

distorted lullabies [chapter XV]

Word count: 5,674

Warnings: vulgar language

Pairing: Dracula x female reader

Not the gif I wanted but I was too lazy to search for longer.

AO3 link

_______________

My ears rang with the grating sound of Judge Llewellyn’s voice projecting inside the courtroom. I glanced at my wristwatch. The session should have been over at 4.30pm but it was now past 5. Through the window closest to me, I could see that the sky had lost its orange clouds amidst light blue in favour of pinks and deep blues. Dracula would start calling me incessantly at any moment now, like he’d done yesterday.

Surreptitiously, I slid a hand on my trousers’ front pocket and grabbed my phone. I eased back on my seat to glimpse the screen from under the table. Jane Grisham’s client – my newest client as of yesterday, actually – huffed at my side but I ignored him; my problem was life or death, his was the possibility of ten years in prison which he well deserved. 

No messages from Count Dracula so far, except the ones from last night. I scrolled up the texts. Odd. I dared bring the phone closer to check if my phone was on airplane mode to justify this but I could see three bars at the top indicating that I had signal.

“Are we boring you, Miss L/N?”

I scrambled into a proper posture as I clicked the phone off and hurriedly put it back in my pocket. My eyes met Judge Llewellyn’s up in his pulpit and I forced an innocent smile at his chiding stare.

“Apologies, my lord. Please proceed.”

The prosecutor, a scrawny old man, raised a contemptuous eyebrow at me before he continued scribbling on a notebook. Llewellyn was nearing the end of the session, going over court dates and times, which was indeed boring, and I knew he would email the details later to make sure nobody made any mistakes, so his speech wasn’t as important as he thought.

I rubbed the corners of my eyes as much as my make up would allow to try and clear the sensation that I had sand in my eyes from lack of sleep. I’d gotten only two hours of sleep – that is, if I combined all the moments I nodded off when shuffling through files, otherwise I wouldn’t say I’d slept at all. I had spent the night staring at the window until sunrise, listening to every minimal sound that could indicate that Count Dracula had found me hiding in Mallory’s guestroom. When Mallory finally woke up earlier that morning, I had already gotten ready for work, stuffed all my things back in my suitcase, made us breakfast and sat down with a cup of untouched tea to mull over what I was going to say to Dracula. By the time Mallory and I left for work, I was confident with my little speech but as the day stretched on and exhaustion settled over me, I doubted that I was capable of many coherent thoughts. Facing Count Dracula when my head was a jumble and I could scarcely keep my eyes open wasn’t ideal but I had no other choice. My ten days were beyond over.

Llewellyn briefly interrupted himself as the courtroom’s door opened with a creak. He regarded whoever had entered the courtroom before resuming. Clicking heels approaching me made me turn my head just in time to see Mallory taking a seat behind me with the audience, a stern look on her face.

Without turning away from the court, I leaned back to give her my ear.

“St Thomas Hospital called me just now, they’re letting Renfield out,” she whispered. My foot bumped into the table as if I had just been shocked by high voltage. My mouth opened and closed. None of what Mallory had just said made sense. She placed a hand on my shoulder. “Dracula vouched for him to leave, he’s one of Renfield’s emergency contacts, apparently. The nurse told me that Dracula called them to say that you will be picking up Renfield after release hours tonight because you’re caught up in court duty. Renfield gave the nurse my number so I could notify you. Y/N, how did Dracula know you’d be in court until late? Is he stalking you?”

My head started spinning from the moment Mallory said Dracula had vouched for Renfied, and I failed to process the rest of what she’d said. 

Was he taunting me because the ten days were up? Was it a threat to Renfield’s life? A threat that he could hurt the people around me because I didn’t abide to his deadline? 

“We’re adjourned,” Llewellyn declared, and I shot up from my seat at once, gathering my things as quickly as I could before striding out of the courtroom with Mallory at my side; my client forgotten.

“Y/N, is he stalking you?” she asked again when we were at the Royal Courts of Justice’s halls.

“I don’t know! Maybe. I wouldn’t put it past him.”

“You can’t keep seeing him if he is.”

“I don’t really have a choice in that matter, Mal,” I scoffed. She grabbed my elbow to make me look at her. Noting her scowl, I continued, “He’s a client, I can’t deny seeing him if he requests.” It wasn’t a lie but wasn’t the proper explanation either.

“Don’t play stupid with me, you know what I meant. Y/N, if he’s dangerous–”

“He is. He is very dangerous but I can deal with him,” I said, forcing my voice to sound strong to make me believe it, too. I untangled myself from Mallory. “I’ve got to go pick up Renfield. Talk to you later, Mal.”

  ______________________________________________________

“Miss? We’re here,” said the cabbie.

By his tone I knew he had said it at least once before and I hadn’t heard him. 

Renfield should be waiting for me inside St Thomas Hospital with his bags packed and a harmless, sane look in his eyes, at least I hoped. Count Dracula could be waiting in there, too, waiting for me to walk right into his arms. If I was smarter and less tired, I would give the cabbie Mallory’s address, but I couldn’t run forever. 

I rubbed my forehead. Exhaustion made it harder to evaluate all the possible consequences if I walked out of the car and into the hospital. 

“Can you wait for me here?” I finally said to the cabbie. “I’m picking up someone and I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“No problem,” he said, glancing at the taximeter with a small smile in his mouth.

I considered my suitcase in the backseat and left, unconcerned. There wasn’t anything valuable in there to a cabbie, unless he had a secret propensity for crossdressing. 

My legs guided me through the hospital as if I was on autopilot while I cast furtive glances at every corner. More than once my heart sank when I saw a tall silhouette at the end of a hallway until I realised it was too short or too skinny to be Count Dracula.

Breathing was a hard task when I neared the psych ward but it was too late to turn back. People passed me, watery eyes and runny noses as a little girl complained that her dad sounded funny and asked her mother why dad drooled all the time and wouldn’t blink. The mother looked at me and I focused ahead of me, pretending I hadn’t heard any of that. 

Nurse Margaret greeted me with a warm smile when I stopped at the nurse’s station inside the psych ward.

“Wondered if you’d really come. Your fiancée said you were quite busy.”

I raised my eyebrows.

“My what?”

“Your fiancée,” she repeated, enunciating the word clearly like I’d missed it the first time. “He called earlier and said that Mr. Renfield will be getting his treatments from home now and that you’d come tonight to sign his release forms.”

“He’s not my fiancée.”

“Oh. I must’ve heard him wrong, then, but I’m sure he said the word bride…” her gaze was lost in thought for a moment.

“Where do I sign?” I asked with more than a touch of impatience. 

Margaret frowned lightly at my rudeness but retrieved a thin stack of papers from below her desk. Using a pen, she pointed at several paragraphs while she repeated without reading, almost word for word, what was written. Because Renfield had been committed on account of violent behaviour he would have to attend psychotherapy sessions inside St Thomas Hospital and see a psychiatrist every fifteen days – Nurse Margaret informed me that the normal procedure was usually every week but Renfield’s doctor had seen fantastic improvement and decided that fifteen days was more adequate in his case until he was deemed mentally healthy. She showed me where to sign and reminded me at each turn of a page that Renfield would be under my responsibility since I was permitting his release. When I was done signing everything, Margaret left to get Renfield.

Minutes rolled by and I paced around the waiting room like I was a caged beast, peering around corners, breath hitching in my chest whenever I heard a man’s voice. Clicking high heels drew me out to the hallway and I exhaled in relief upon seeing Renfield striding next to Nurse Margaret and a male nurse carrying a box. He was dressed in the very same clothes he had been wearing the morning he attacked me but they were clean and looked a little bigger on his frame than they did before. His glasses slid down his nose as he walked. They were too big for his face but he never wore another pair, even when I gave him new ones on his birthday. I smiled as he pushed them back over the bridge of his nose. Stubborn man. He smiled back.

“Happy to leave?” I asked him. 

“You’ve got no idea,” he replied, and surprised me by planting a kiss to my forehead. I froze for a second. He was usually awkward about physical contact with almost anyone. Therapy must have driven another man to crawl out of him. “You didn’t come visit me last week. How was the wedding?”

“Not great,” I said, staring into his eyes. They didn’t change, so I assumed he didn’t know what had happened. He could also be wearing his courtroom face which was just as good as mine, better even. 

At that, Margaret said her goodbyes with a warm smile and told us that Roger, the slender nurse carrying a cardboard box, would accompany us down with Renfield’s books. I noticed Renfield analysing me as I fidgeted inside my shoes and forced myself to stop. Roger tried to make small talk on the way out but I couldn’t give him more than a few words.

The taxi was parked in the same exact spot as before. The cabbie nodded at me, blowing out smoke before throwing his cigarette to the ground and stomping it. My feet hurt as I hurried towards him and my worry subsided a little. I’d made it. Renfield was out and I hadn’t seen Count Dracula. It wasn’t a trap but I still didn’t understand his true intention by doing so. 

The cabbie opened the door for me and I entered the car, relaxing in my seat to feel the coolness of the window against my forehead. Roger placed the box next to me so when Renfield took a seat, it laid between us.

“Why am I out?” Renfield asked in the short pause it took for the cabbie to close our door and round the car towards the driver’s seat.

I stared at him.

“If you don’t know, what makes you think I would?”

“You’re his brid–” Renfield cut the word short when the cabbie threw himself behind the wheel. He leaned forward and gave the cabbie his address. When he spoke to me again, his voice was low over the sound of the car’s engine. “From my experience, the Count isn’t particularly kind and I know he would never do this for me, especially after my little outburst. There must be a reason for this benevolence.”

“At the wedding he said that you could have some of his things shipped from Romania to London. Maybe he has need of them now.”

Renfield gave me a lopsided smile. It was usually the smile he reserved for cross examining witnesses. A venomous snake just before it struck.

“The wedding. Something happened there, didn’t it?” He inquired. I chose to look out of the window instead of facing him. “You won’t look at me, which means I’m right. Please tell me you were smart enough to listen to what I told you.”

Surrender with arms wide open or he’ll hurt you and those around you. Listen to me. He will. 

I surrendered but not fast enough. Not fast enough to take back everything I had done.

“I really should have listened to you,” I confessed. “He did exactly what you said he would.”

“Even though he’s lived a long time, patience isn’t one of his virtues, Y/N.”

“It wasn’t lack of patience,” I muttered. “Actually, he’s been nothing if not patient with me. I went behind his back and it blew up in my face, and you don’t need to chastise me about it. I’ve got enough guilt as it is.”

“What did he do?”

A weird question from him. Finally, I met his eyes again and was surprised to find that I knew the man behind them. 

“Mallory,” I said as a means of explanation. There wasn’t much we could say with the cabbie listening. “She’s okay, though.”

“So are you,” Renfield said as he extended a hand and brushed my hair away from my neck. 

“For now. I owe him an explanation, which I was supposed to give it to him yesterday but work happened. I’m not sure how he’ll–” I regarded Renfield for the second time that night. “You’re worried about me?”

“Of course I am.” He frowned, seemingly offended that I had to ask. “I wear glasses but I’m not completely blind. You haven’t been sleeping,” he said as he tapped under his eye. Covering my dark circles with a decent amount of concealer obviously didn’t disguise it enough. “And you were fidgeting inside the hospital because you were afraid of encountering Count Dracula. Cowardice is a horrible look on you, Y/N.”

“You haven’t asked me what I did to Dracula.”

“It mustn’t have been good to drive him towards Mallory. And why should it matter what you did to him? It’s no excuse.”

“Oh, my god,” I murmured, staring at him in shock as I pieced it together. The kiss to the forehead, his concern, the completely sane look to his eyes... 

“What? Did you think I’d defend him if he hurt you?”

“He released you,” I said. Renfield’s frown deepened as he looked from me to the hospital like I had just stated the obvious. “He released you from him,” I spoke quietly so the cabbie wouldn’t hear it but Renfield did. His face paled until it was stark white in the car’s low light. 

“No…”

“Would you ever speak of him this way if he hadn’t?”

He shook his head.

Letting Renfield out of the hospital wasn’t a threat or a ploy to get me. It was a gift.  However dim the possibility, my brain latched on to the idea that it wasn’t simply a gift, but an apology. Being merciful wasn’t at all like Dracula. It wouldn’t fix what he had done but it was something. If he had freed Renfield out of the goodness of his heart or if he had done it for ulterior motives, it didn’t really matter. I had begged for Renfield and offered myself up in exchange and Dracula had dismissed my attempts. Before, he had never cared how much that hurt me. And now this; an abrupt kindness to make up for his deeds. 

“He wouldn’t– no,” Renfield grumbled. “Why– he, he can’t… he can’t do this to me. I’ll be alone.”

“You’ll have me,” I retorted.

“No, you’re his. I know you are. It’s in your eyes, and you want it, too. You’ll be like him and who will I be, hm?” His voice was thin but carried the weight of restrained emotion. “Nobody, I’ll be nobody. In a few years the both of you won’t even remember me.”

To my horror, twin tears streamed down his face. 

Dracula had called him weak once, and suddenly I understood why he could see Renfield like that. Renfield himself had said that he didn't exist without Count Dracula but I’d deduced he had been made to believe that as a slave. His weeping told of an abandonment I couldn’t understand, and hoped never would. As much as I dreaded the idea, some people can only fathom existence if they have a leash around their neck to guide them. Sometimes the leash is religion or politics, and least often it is a centuries old vampire. It comforted Renfield, I supposed, this feeling of unquestionable certainty, and to have that teared away debased him. 

Revulsion wrapped its claws around my ankles until it creeped up to my face in a scowl. It wasn’t Renfield’s fault that this world had made him like this and I shouldn’t blame him for wanting direction under a tight fist of a warlord, and yet I found that an ugly part of me despised him for it. Did that mean I shared something in common with Count Dracula? One of his defects? 

“It’ll pass,” I told Renfield, looking out the window. “You’ll find your footing again soon. And no matter what you think or what happens, I’ll remember you.”

Despite his desolation, I was glad that he was back to himself. If it made me selfish, so be it. Although I wasn’t sure I was more pleased that Renfield was himself again or that Dracula had done it for me. 

When we arrived at Renfield’s flat in Chelsea, he refused any help to carry his belongings out of the car, so he stumbled out with the cardboard box and his small suitcase. At my request, the cabbie waited until I was sure Renfield was safe inside his building and then I gave him my address. 

I fished my phone from my purse and skimmed through my texts. Still none from Dracula. My fingers started typing before I could really think about what I was doing.

  _____________________________________________________

Count Dracula knocked briefly on Lucy’s balcony door before opening it. She had been lying on her stomach, texting someone, but turned around to greet him with a kittenish grin. The bed’s covers were instantly thrown away with a swift movement to expose her legs. 

“Finally! I thought you were giving up on me,” she exclaimed, rising on the bed to stand on her knees. He allowed her to pull him closer by his jacket’s lapels but when she neared his lips, he turned his face slightly to the side and she kissed only the corner of his mouth. “Nobody ignores my texts, you know.”

“Alas, I did”– he raised an eyebrow– “but you were begging for me and I had to come to put an end to it.”

That elicited another grin from her. A few days ago he would have found it charming, it was odd that it didn’t get a reaction out of him now. He hadn’t spent time with Lucy ever since before the wedding, so maybe that’s all he needed to warm up to her again – time. 

“Tell me you’re taking me out tonight,” she goaded, pouting.

“Don’t you have class tomorrow morning?”

“Yes but–”

“Then no.” He pushed her back on the bed and she fell with a laugh. “I’d rather do this,” he murmured as he climbed on top of her. 

She wriggled under him, doing her best to incite him as she rubbed her neck near his mouth, her hips twisting in need as her legs wrapped about his waist to brush up against him. He let her touch him, and he waited for desire to rise. She whined when he didn’t respond to her advances. 

Nothing stirred in him. He rolled off of her, throwing an arm over his face. His arm was lifted not a second later and he glanced at Lucy as she wrapped it around herself to snuggle up to his chest. He patted her shoulder, gazing up at the star pattern stamped on Lucy’s ceiling. Releasing Renfield should appease Y/N, which is what he wanted, but so far there was no news from her. He couldn’t stay in his home pacing around as he waited for a call. And then Lucy’s text had arrived and he decided it was better to go distract himself. No use so far.

“Did you have fun on your trip?” She asked him softly.

“Up to a point.”

“Did you miss me?”

“No, not really,” he said. Lucy chuckled, as she always did whenever he was too serious. He wasn’t sure if she interpreted his seriousness as a joke or if she laughed it off because she didn’t know how to react. 

“But you’re here,” she continued.

“It seems so, yes.”

He could tell that she wanted him to say that he had missed her but he wouldn’t lie. If she was hurt, then it was for the best. 

Lucy quickly maneuvered herself so she could straddle him. His hands automatically went to her thighs as she settled in a comfortable position. 

“Okay, so you didn’t come here to talk or to take me out.” Lowering her body over his, she popped a button on his shirt. Then another. “We can do other stuff, more interesting stuff…” Another button opened and she splayed her hands on his chest, stroking his skin. She moved her hips back and forth over his and his body stirred in response. Ah, so he wasn’t completely immune to her, it seemed. When she leaned in to kiss him, he let her. He breathed in her scent, and the charm was broken as swiftly as it had begun. It wasn’t the smell of honey he so longed for. “You’re being weird,” Lucy mumbled against his lips before pulling back to observe him.

Shutting his eyes, he forced himself to relax, concentrating on wiping Y/N’s scent from his brain. He covered Lucy’s hands with his own when he felt a tug on another button. Her fingers persisted but a light squeeze on them made her stop.

“How come?” 

“It’s fine if you don’t want to fuck because god knows all you want to do is drink me but you’re barely touching me, and usually you can’t keep your hands to yourself.” She wiggled her hips. “You’re not even hard, and I’m really trying here, Drac.” He laughed at her pout. She had never looked so offended since he’d met her and he had said things to her that would make anyone’s blood curdle. “It’s not funny. I was right that time, wasn’t I? You really don’t want me anymore.”

He opened his mouth to answer her, then his phone vibrated in his pocket, and froze. Lucy narrowed her eyes at him and glanced at the lit screen shining through the fabric of his trousers. She plucked his phone out, swatting his hands away when he tried to take it from her, and pushed off of his lap. He gripped thin air when she scooted out of the bed. He clenched his jaw. Lucy’s bratty behaviour was something he had learnt to enjoy but he didn’t find anything fun about it now.

“Give it to me, Lucy,” he said, holding out a hand as he sat. She bit her lip and shook her head to the sides as the phone lit her face from beneath. “Fine, then. Read the message aloud, please.”

“ I’m heading home now if you want to talk. And thank you. ” She read, making a face. “Who’s Y/N?”

Dracula grinned. A thank you from her was enough to bring him contentment, more than Lucy’s playful nature ever would. That boy from the pub, Trent, was apparently correct in saying that doing something nice for her might draw her out. If Dracula knew the outcome would be so perfect, he would have spared him for that alone. 

“My lawyer,” he said, his grin widening. “Give it back to me, Lucy.”

She placed the phone in his palm with an eye roll before sprawling on the bed again.

“Is she the reason why you’re leaving me?”

“How could I leave you if we weren’t together to begin with?”

“Ouch.”

“I swore I’d be sincere with you from the start, and I also told you this wouldn’t become a relationship. Save your ‘ouch’,” he told her, smirking. 

Taking advantage that Lucy appeared momentarily distracted by his words, he opened his texts. Beneath Y/N’s text, there was an opened one from Chelsea. He deleted it without reading it. She’d given him her number yesterday and while he thought to discard it, he was glad he hadn’t. After all, it was useful so he could find out when Y/N would be leaving work and Chelsea, appealing to gain his attention, had kindly provided the information that Y/N would be busy with court until late. It gave him a small window to call the hospital until the message reached her that Renfield was being released. Cutting the servitude ties to Renfield was as simple as closing a door. It opened another so he could make his way back to Y/N.

A sniffle drew his attention up as he was typing. Lucy turned her face toward him from where she lied, batting wet eyelashes at him.

“Lucy… Crying over me?” He smiled. “Didn’t you tell me you couldn’t get your heart broken and that you would be the one doing the heart breaking?”

“I’m crying because I never thought someone would reject me.” She huffed, and he laughed again, earning him a light, playful smack on the shoulder. “It’s sort of absurd.”

“You’re irredeemably spoiled.”

“I know.” She wiped the tears before crawling into his lap and pushing his arms away so she could fit between them. His phone was cast somewhere among her pillows. Lucy’s curls bounced as she settled on top of him and he smoothed them, being careful not to accidentally pull one. The time he’d done that, Lucy had made his ears ring from complaining so much. “But you like me anyway?” He simply nodded. “Hm. Can I meet her?”

“What?” He asked, as if his hearing had failed for the first time in centuries.

“Can I meet Y/N?”

“Why?”

“I want to see what I’m up against.”

“It’s not a competition, Lucy–”

“Okay. But what if–” she gave him a malicious smile “–c’mon, imagine… If I like her too, then maybe the three of us–”

“Lucy–”

“No, hear me out. It’s actually brilliant, and it’d be fun. I’ve never done anything like it. And if you make her a vampire too–”

“Lucy, stop.” He shook her lightly, making her furrow her eyebrows. “It could be fun, yes. Terribly fun, actually,” he said as he considered the image Lucy’s suggestion conjured. “But it’s not happening. None of it.”

“None of it?” She repeated. 

“None, dear,” he asserted. A smile struggled on the corners of his mouth. He had come to see Lucy for one reason but now he wondered his true motivation. Had he known what he was doing, subconsciously? “I won’t come to see you anymore.”

She gaped.

“You’re going to let me wither and die, aren’t you?” she accused.

He chuckled, tilting his head.

“I trust you’ll find some inventive way to kill yourself before you reach old age.”

“You are my inventive way! You promised me eternal life, that I’d pretty forever–”

“Lucy…” he grabbed her jaw to make her stop talking and she whined, although her eyes twinkled slightly at his bruteness. “I really don’t care. I’ve made my decision.”

Tears appeared on her eyes.

“Oh, please, stop with the crying,” he requested, cupping her cheek so a thumb could catch a fat tear before it spilled. He licked it, savouring the salt of her hurt. “I’ve had to deal with vast amounts of it lately and I don’t deserve your tears. They won’t get you anywhere with me.” He sighed. “I don’t want you anymore, Lucy, but it has nothing to do with you. I’ve simply found what I was looking for in someone else. And in her alone.” He smiled. “Y/N is my perfect fruit.”

“You don’t have to be mean,” she grumbled. 

“You’ve never seen me being mean. I realise now that I said the same words to you once and I thought them to be true at the time but not anymore. I don’t regret our time together, Lucy, and I’ll enjoy remembering it years from now. This is goodbye.”

Delicately, he started pushing her out of his lap but she grappled on to him. If she continued being a brat he might have to pry her hands away. When he gazed into her eyes he glimpsed in them an unforeseen sobriety. He hadn’t thought she was capable of it. 

“You won’t make me a vampire. I don’t want to grow old, and I won’t, so before you leave me, will you give me death? A sweet, tragic death that will make people wail at my funeral and say “oh poor Lucy, gone so soon”? Pretty, pretty please?”

“Vain until your last moments, aren’t you, Lucy?”

“Always,” she proclaimed with a proud tilt of her chin. “Give me at least that if you’re going to dump me. What’s there to live for anyway?”

Dark eyes studied her face as he inhaled her scent. There was no fear tainting his senses. Lucy never feared anything from him which was what had drawn him to her at first, yet it wasn’t powerful enough to hold his interest. She didn’t want more out of life except for death. In that sense, Y/N and Lucy were entirely opposites. One couldn’t live forever if life’s eternal paths didn’t interest them; at least Y/N searched for something worth living for. 

“Are you serious?” He  asked, raising an eyebrow. She nodded solemnly. “Death is not a caprice. You can’t take it back, Lucy. If this is your last hope that I’ll keep you, that I’ll suddenly change my mind at the last second, then you underestimate me.”

“I’m dead serious,” she said, widening her eyes at her own joke. Dracula’s expression didn’t change. “I am, Drac. And why do you care?”

“I don’t.”

“Then do it,” she urged before brushing her hair away and exposing her neck to him.

Scars marked her neck and he bent forward instinctively, like it beckoned him closer. Lucy leaned in, her tiny chest heaving next to his, and he enveloped her in a tight embrace. Choosing to kill Lucy would leave only Y/N in his path, by doing it he would kill yet another bride, the one he was most certain would survive the metamorphosis. However glorious was that possibility there was nothing about Lucy that would make him want her as a companion. 

“As a last courtesy…” he whispered, laying his lips on a vein. Her pulse accelerated and the vein jumped, coaxing him to take it cautiously between his teeth. “Lucy, my darkling… I’ll be your easeful Death.” He smiled at his own quotation but she didn’t seem to quite catch it. Y/N would have understood it. She stimulated everything in him, and managed to ignite parts of him that had been long forgotten. He hungered for her like he hungered for blood. What did Lucy do to him? Nothing, nothing, nothing. 

His teeth cut through her and she slumped, melting into him. The taste of her blood was familiar and did not sing to him as it once did. He devoured her methodically. A flavorless drink, like an alcoholic’s bottle of choice. She didn’t move once, not even when death’s spasms should have seized her body.

Once she grew cold, utterly depleted of blood, he laid her on the bed, arranged the covers around her and fluffed the pillows. After considering it, he closed her eyes with the tips of his fingers and fixed the crown of curls about her head. Her dainty lips were slightly parted in her pout. A pretty picture for her mother to find – sweet and tragic, like Lucy had asked. He admired her for a moment and nodded in approval. It had been fun and if she wanted death, it was only right that he gave it to her.

Dracula’s shirt clung to the sides of his chest, dampened by the little blood that had escaped his mouth. He considered the dark swirls of hair on his chest muddled by red liquid; a shower was in order when he got home. His shirt made a muffled, wet sound as he buttoned it up.

His phone rested near Lucy’s shoulder. The screen was smeared with red but it was no trouble seeing through it as he opened Y/N’s message again. 

It would be late at night until he made himself presentable to her, and she would be tired until then. Killing a bride in favour of another also occupied his mind more than he expected. Y/N had ensnared him, completely. He was used to it being the other way around. He had given her time and in that time he had done nothing but kill to cleanse himself from her. It hadn’t worked. Perhaps it was time he did some reflection of his own, before they met again.

 Truce for now, we meet tomorrow. You’re welcome.

“She’s making me soft,” he muttered to himself. He eyed Lucy and rose an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t you say so, dear?”

 .

.

.

A/N: Writing this chapter was a struggle, especially the last scene. Once again, not the right mindset for it in my opinion. For those who aren't familiar with what Dracula quotes, it's from Ode to a Nightingale by John Keats. As a treat, I'll let you all know that they'll be reunited in the next chapter... and that's all I'll say about that.

@festering-queen​ @feralstare​ @rheabalaur​ @a-dorky-book-keeper​ @thorin-smokin-shield​ @dreamer2381​ @deborahlazaroff​ @illbegoinhome​ @saint-hardy​ @girlonfireice​ @mr-kisskiss-bangbang​ @iwasjustablur​ @crossoverqueen89​ @vampirescurse​ @blue-serendipity​ @sunscreenfeverdream​ @25ocurer​ @daydreaming136​ @hello-itsbarbie​ @princessayveke​ 

[rainydaysketches]

Family Movie Night Gone WRONG!! (Not Clickbait)

(So. Guess who discovered FrostIron the other day? Anyway, I’m operating under the headcanon that Loki was being controlled by Thanos during the attack on New York, and that Thanos has since been dealt with by Carol. No more giant grape ballsack-chin titan to worry about. Also sorry about the title I couldn't think of anything better.)

If you had told Tony back in 2012 that in five years, the Avengers would be divided, half of said Avengers would be on the run, Asgard would be destroyed, he’d be dating Loki of all people, and have joint custody over a teenager who just so happened to be Spider-Man, well, he would probably have punched you in the face with a metal clad fist and sent you to a psych ward.

But that was exactly where Tony found himself, in the newly repurchased Stark Tower’s penthouse, with Loki and Peter on either side of him on the couch while they watched a Star Wars film that Peter had been demanding they watch together for the past week. Tony and Loki occasionally pitched in with a, “that’s not how that works” when it showed something about science or space that wasn’t accurate. Peter just told them to shush with a laugh each time.

It was nice.

About halfway through the movie, Tony heard Peter’s stomach growl, and that made him realize that he was pretty hungry himself. He told FRIDAY to pause the movie and the lights came on. Loki offered to pick up some Chinese, and Peter and Tony readily agreed.

Peter ran off to use the bathroom after Loki teleported away, and Tony decided to grab another cup of coffee before either of them returned.

Before the coffee could even finish brewing, the elevator dinged. This gave Tony pause, because Loki seldom used the elevator, and no one else was in the tower today. Happy and May were on a date (much to Peter’s equal disgust and happiness), Pepper was in Hong Kong, Rhodey was on a short weekend vacation to visit family, and Thor and Bruce were in New Asgard.

While Tony was wondering who could be in the elevator, the doors opened. He brought his hand up near the arc reactor on his chest, ready to activate his suit if need be.

The first person to come out of the elevator was Rogers, followed by Wilson, Maximoff, Romanoff, and Barton. Tony felt his jaw drop, along with the hand hovering near the arc reactor. Rogers caught sight of Tony, in his sweatpants and Star Trek t-shirt that Peter had gotten him for his birthday, standing with his mouth hanging open in the middle of his kitchen. Rogers smiled. Tony didn’t return the sentiment.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” he asked, which, in his opinion, was a perfectly reasonable response when someone walked into your living room, acting like they owned the place. Knowing Rogers, he probably thought he did. The smile fell from Rogers’ face, and the others behind him tensed.

“What do you mean, Tony? We got pardoned,” Rogers said, with the gall to sound confused.

“Okay, but why the hell are you in my tower?” Now all the rogues looked confused, and they were looking at him like he’d grown a second head.

“We were pardoned,” Romanoff stated, “So we came home.” The others nodded.

“Home?” Tony scoffed, “Home!? You gave up your chance to call Stark Tower ‘home’ when you betrayed my trust.”

“Come on, Tony,” Barton tried, “We were pardoned, and the first thing we do is come and see you, and this is how you repay us?” Tony picked up on the blatant guilt tripping, and it may have just worked if he’d done it before he met Loki or Peter, but not anymore.

Tony opened his mouth to respond, be before he could get a sound out, a soft voice spoke up behind him.

“Dad?”

The universe just loved to fuck with Tony Stark, didn’t it? He spun around to face Peter, turning his back on the rogues, because even if they literally stabbed him in the back, Peter would always be more important.

“Hey Pete. How about you, uh, sit on the couch while I sort this shit out.” He waved vaguely in the direction of the rogues. He heard an indignant sound come from someone behind him, but he chose to ignore it.

Peter looked wary, and he subtly made a web-slinging gesture with his hand. Tony shook his head minutely in response, to which Peter nodded and headed off to the couch.

When he turned back to the rogues, who were standing stock-still. Tony contemplated congratulating Peter for shocking the Avengers this bad later, but figured once Tony told him about it, Loki would do it for him, so he decided not to.

Barton was the first to break the silence. “You have a kid!?” Tony, just now remembering his coffee, grabbed a mug from the cabinet and poured himself some. He took a deep, long drink before he sighed and answered.

“Yeah, what about it?”

The team was shocked into baffled silence once again.

“We just… didn’t peg you for the type to want a kid?” Wilson said, the first time he’s spoken since they all got here. Tony almost didn’t hear the sharp intake of breath that came from the couch.

“I’ll have you know, that kid is one of the best things that’s ever happened to me. I’d sooner let my company go bankrupt than lose him,” Tony told them, loud enough that Peter could hear him, even without his freaky spider-hearing.

The rogues unabashedly gaped at him.

Rogers shook himself out of his stupor first.

“Tony, how long have you had a kid?” He sounded like he couldn’t believe that Tony could possibly care for a child, which a younger Tony would have agreed with.

“About a year and a half now, right?” Tony looked to Peter for confirmation, and Peter nodded at him with a thumbs up, which was actually a lot more encouraging than it should have been. “Yeah, a year and a half ago I adopted him.”

“It’s still joint custody!” Peter called out with a devilish grin.

“Stop being a smartass, Peter!” That only caused Peter’s grin to get wider.

Before anyone else could speak, there was a bright flash of green light in the middle of the living room. Tony felt relief flood through him. Loki was back.

The rogues drew their weapons. Rogers grabbed the shield off his back, red magic danced around Maximoff’s fingers, making Tony take a few steps back with unease, Barton knocked an arrow, and Romanoff just suddenly had a knife. Wilson migrated to the back of the group, because he was in civilian clothes and didn’t have his wings.

The five of them stiffened when Loki began to speak. Tony did the opposite and relaxed.

“So, they didn’t have any more chow mein, which is ridiculous, because they are a Chinese restaurant, how could they just run out of chow mein?” Loki ranted while he rifled through the bags, most likely checking that everything was there. “Also, they kept saying that they ‘were closed’ and asking ‘how did you get in here,’ which, rude, but they did give us three free egg rolls, so-” Loki finally looked up and took in the scene unfolding in front of him.

“Am I interrupting something?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

Tony shot Loki a look that hopefully conveyed his thoughts of, “please, for the love of god, help me.” Loki got the memo, but chose to roll his eyes and drop himself on the couch next to Peter instead.

“Traitor,” Tony mumbled to himself, before refocusing on the rogues, who still had all their weapons pointed at Loki, and subsequently, Peter.

“Tony,” Rogers started harshly, “Why is Loki here?” He said Loki’s name with so much contempt that Tony physically recoiled from it.

“Um, because he wants to be?” Tony told them, but it sounded a lot more like a question than he intended. “And because I let him in.” he continued, trying to make it not sound like he was unsure.

“So you’ll let a supervillain into Avengers Tower, but not the actual Avengers?” Barton burst out, “That’s bullshit!” Tony needed to take a deep breath and a sip of coffee before he could respond to that remark.

“Okay, first of all,” Tony shot a glance at Loki who was smiling bitterly at his lap in that way he did when he was feeling self-deprecating. “Loki is not a supervillain now, nor was he ever. And second, this is Stark Tower, not Avengers Tower, and you need to get it through your skulls that I will not welcome you back here. In fact, you are trespassing on private property as we speak, but I’ll let it slide if you leave. Right now.”

Tony could practically see the gears turning in everyone’s heads. It was as if they couldn’t even follow the simplest instructions.

“Tony,” Rogers began, and Tony internally groaned. He just wanted Rogers and his rogues gone. ”Loki is manipulating you. But you don’t have to do what he wants. Come with us, we’ll keep you safe.”

Now it was Tony’s turn to have gears turning in his head.

And when he finally figured out what Rogers was talking about, he burst out laughing. The rogues looked awkward, just standing there watching him laugh his ass off, and that only made him laugh harder.

“Y-you, pfft- you think h-he’s manipulating me?” And that was all that Tony could say before he fell into another fit of laughter.

Peter and Loki found this funny too, because Peter was trying - and failing - to stifle his own laughter and Loki had a fond grin on his face as he looked at Tony.

After a minute or two, he’d finally calmed down. During his laughing fit, the rogues had lowered their weapons slightly, but Maximoff’s magic had only grown and glowed brighter. “Loki is not manipulating me, nor is he controlling me, or doing anything else to me. So drop it.”

Maximoff’s stance shifted slightly, and she lunged at Tony. Before he could activate his armour, she had pinned him to the ground and put her fingers on his temples. He tried to struggle, but she was either surprisingly heavy, or she was holding herself down with magic. Most likely the latter.

More red magic gathered at her fingertips, and Tony felt his eyelids drooping shut, no matter how much he fought to keep them open. When his eyes fully closed, a searing pain seemed to stab him in the brain, but he was unable to scream.

A second later, the weight was thrown off him, the pain was gone, and he could open his eyes again.

Loki and Peter had both gotten off the couch and tackled Maximoff off of him. Peter had her pinned to the ground, even as she was thrashing about. Loki held out his hand for Tony to grab and Tony gratefully took it so Loki could haul him up.

Even once Tony was back on his feet, he didn’t let go of Loki’s hand. The rogues looked warily between Tony, Peter, and Loki, and raised their weapons once again. Tony let out a grumble and turned so he could drop his forehead on Loki’s shoulder. Loki used his unoccupied hand to comb his fingers through Tony’s hair. Tony gave an appreciative hum.

Peter managed to get off Maximoff without any serious injuries, so he went and stood next to Tony on the opposite side Loki was. Tony smiled at him and ruffled his hair.

Tony then glared at the rogues, Steve and Wanda especially. The former was helping the latter off of the floor, both glaring at all three of them. Romanoff stepped in front of Rogers and Maximoff, holding her hands up in faux surrender.

“How about we all calm down and talk about this?” She tried.

“Get out of my tower,” Tony growled, clutching Loki’s hand like a lifeline. Loki squeezed his hand back just as tightly.

The rogues must have realized how much of a fruitless endeavor this was, because they all backed off, though reluctantly. They all crowded back into the elevator and told FRIDAY to bring them back to the ground floor. The AI didn’t reply as she usually did, just shut the doors and brought them down.

Tony slumped in exhaustion.

“Okay, that’s officially too much excitement for what should have been a relaxing movie night.” His comment startled a laugh out of Peter, and Loki even let out a chuckle.

They all went back to their spots on the couch, this time with Chinese food, and started the movie back up. None of them stayed awake long enough to see the end.

[ninjakasuga]

Sonally Week Year 3 Day One

Another year, another of @gojira007 and their blog @boundforfreedomsonsal hosting another week of one of the best OTP’s of fiction. Here’s my entry for Day One: Dawn.

Foreward: Another year; another Sonally Week! Here’s my entry for Day One, and hope ya’all enjoy. This one is a sequel of sorts to my “Surprise” Day entry last year, where after some heckling over certain aspects of his romance with Sally; Sonic gets the news he’s gonna be a big brother! Instead of a literally dawn I decided to do a more thematic ‘dawn of a new part of life’ aspect than the actual time of day.

“Sonic.”

The blue furred Hedgehog in question continued to pace the floor, seeming to either not hear, or simply not regard the call of his name. He stopped, but not to reply, and began to tap his foot repeatedly as he often did in a show of impatience. Soon he was pacing yet again, causing the one trying to get his attention to sigh in exasperation, again.

“Sonic!” Raising her voice, just-oh-so-slightly, Sally again, attempted to get the attention of her fiancé’ this time reaching out and managing to grasp his tail and give it a small yank. Probably not the best thing for Sonic’s pride as he let out the cutest squeak in response, but Sally didn’t mind. Smiling coyly yet with a hint of apology in her eyes as he turned to face her, she reached for his arm, softly rubbing it. “Calm down a bit hun, you’re going to wear the floor out.” Rubbing his slightly sore posterior, Sonic gave his beloved a mild glare that softened almost as soon as it appeared; agitation giving way to the concern plaguing him. “Sorry Sal, it’s just, well it’s been over an hour since the expected due date. What’s the hold up?”

A voice quips from a chair along the opposite side of the waiting room from Sonic and Sally. “Well that’s how labor sometimes goes Sonny-boy. I mean you didn’t exactly pop out as soon as your Ma’s water broke. Slow-going was the name of the game.” Chuckled Charles Hedgehog, finding much amusement in his nephew’s impatience. An impatience he very much empathized with, but knew better than to get too riled up at this point. “So an hour past when the doctor expects the babies to come is small change, especially compared to how you made everyone wait a whole ten hours and ninety-one minutes before you finally graced us with your presence.”

Sitting besides Charles, Rosie Woodchuck let out her own dainty but hearty giggle as she reached to give the silver-furred Hedgehog a gentle squeeze of his hand. “Oh the language coming out of that room. We both feared for your brother’s manlihood if not his existence.”

“I wasn’t that hard on Mom was I?” Inquired Sonic with genuine curiosity mixed with a mild hint of indignity. His gaze only half-way went to his Uncle and Rosie; mainly because he still found it weird they were dating. Correction had been dating on the down-low since, well, a long time with the two only having a ‘break’ when he’d been roboticized all those years. He was genuinely happy for them, but it was still just plain weird to him.

“I think pregnancy is hard for any woman the first time around, or so I read and was told.” Mused Sally as she gently pulled Sonic to sit beside her, rubbing his quills to both straighten them out, and to soothe his nerves. Not unlike Sonic she was still processing the semi-recent revelation that her beloved former Nanny and Sir Charles had been dating under everyone’s noses for so long. Then again should she be surprised? Both were rather private people about their personal lives outside of whatever they did with friends and family. Not to mention the true reason they kept it quiet back in the day had more to do with concerns their positions in the Royal Court would cause unrest for some if their more intimate relationship came to light.

Looking toward Rosie, Sally was now curious about her own birth given the topic. “Were Elias or I rough on Mother?”

Rosie shook her head, “Not really, Elias took some time, but your dear Mother thankfully did not have too rough a time of it. Her calm demeanor kept up even dealing with labor pains, and the end result more than made up for it. You were much easier, as she knew what to navigate and you only took so many hours after the labor contractions began to grace us with your presence.” She smiled fondly, thinking about the two occasions, then giggled. “That said she wasn’t above occasionally reminding your Father it was his fault she was in that state, and well, that’s her story to tell more than mine.”

Snickering, Sally looked at Sonic with a very straight face, barely keeping a grin from forming. “I promise if we have kids, not to threaten your masculinity. That said, I will probably get my vengeance some other way.”

Lifting an eyebrow, Sonic elbowed his girlfriend-now-fiance’ gently in the arm. “Oh reeeeeeeally? Well you gotta catch me first Sal.”

“I already did.” She murmured, leaning in to kiss his cheek as she laced her fingers with his.

“Got me there,” Relenting, Sonic returned the smile, as well as the kiss, planting it on her fluffy cheek before leaning back in his seat. His concern for his Mother and his impending siblings, slightly alleviated for the time being.

The elder couple shared a look, one they had often shared when they were witness to the dear love and devotion between Sally and Sonic. From children to adults, the two always seemed to be a pair they fit so well, it was clear as day even when they were in diapers or arguing up a storm as toddlers, to their teen years. The small things in life that made all the gloom and doom of the past decade and some odd-change worth living for. Soon everyone’s heard turns as the double-door leading to the maternity ward opened and Doctor Quack limped out, leaning on his cane carefully, but with a confident stride; showcasing he’d come to master the walking tool quite well.

“Well-?!”

Holding up his free hand, both to interrupt as well as allow Quack to pull down his mask, his bill forming into a smile. “Your newborn sister and brother are here, healthy and loud, and your Mother is doing very well herself.”

The four cheer as they stand up, mindful this was still a hospital and kept it down, but their jubilation was completely understood.

“Can we see them?” Asked Sonic, already antsy and looking ready to speed down the corridor.

“Yes, we’ve already handled all the post-birth clean up, and checked their vitals as well as Bernie’s, who herself wishes to see you all as well. So I see no issue with allowing visitation right away, but do keep it brief, they do need their rest.” Advised the water-foul doctor as he kept himself straight, if just to fight off his own fatigue which was now creeping up after the long labor. “Just NO running Sonic, got it?”

At the mild admonishment, the Hedgehog simply grinned. “Me? Run through a hospital? Would I do thaaaaaaaaaaaat?”

“Yes, you would.” Everyone else remarked with amazing timing and matching deadpan. To which Sonic rolled his eyes.

“Sheesh, talk about a crowd! Anyway let’s go, let’s go!” Sonic urged, already half-dragging Sally along, forcing his beloved to keep in rapid pace close to him as they held hands still. Sally simply went with it, laughing softly at Sonic’s outright adorable impulsive need to see his new siblings. Chuck and Rosie merely followed at their pace, but there was certainly a spring in their step as well.

Eventually the group, along with Doctor Quack, reach the room designated for Bernie and her newborns. Managing to keep Sonic at bay enough, Quack pushed the door open for them and cleared his throat. “Jules, Bernie, your guests have arrived.”

Like an impatient puppy, Sonic squeezed past Quack, Sally trailing hand-in-hand still from behind. His emerald-green eyes, zeroing-in on the target, even as his breath hitched softly as a wave of emotion floored Sonic as he finally gazed upon his Mother and new siblings. As tired as Bernie Hedgehog looked, nothing could dull the intense love and adoration in her eyes and face as she held two swaddled bundles in her arms. Her husband Jules’ own expression was a mirror of his wife’s, only tinged with the pride only a Father can know. Each look up their expressions beaming more at the sight of their eldest child, with Jules instantly waving him over.

“Hey there son, come say hi to your baby brother and sister!”

Noticing that Sally seemed a bit frozen, Sally found back a ‘snerk’ that wanted to come out, and simply pulled him along. Upon seeing the two infants, mewling and cooing, her own eyes mist. “Awww, they’re adorable!”

“Y-yeah they are…” Sonic managed a dry chuckle,  why did his throat feel so dry? He’d been psyched for this ever since his Mom laid the bombshell she was pregnant nine months ago! Of all the times for Sonic the Hedgehog to choke and lose his cool, it’s this? He didn’t lose his cool this much, asking Sally to marry him for Almighty’s sake! Leaning over he got a much better look at the two.

One of the two clearly favored their Mother’s more light-purple coat, another had the milder-blue of his Father. Both were cute as a button, and just, the sounds they made! Sonic usually wasn’t one to obsess over cute things, but he was entranced. “So we got names for these two? Or do I call em’ Li’ Sib one, and two?”

“We were thinking of Sonia, for this little angel.” Explained Bernie as she gently pet the back of her daughter’s head. The newborn curled against the warm hand that carried the scent of her Mother. “As for this handsome young man, I was thinking of something with M, like Manwell or Manny.”

“If he’s anything like Sonny-boy he’ll be one manic child.” Chuckled Charles as he and Rosie moved closer taking the end of the bed so as to not crowd anyone.

Something about that line struck a chord with Jules, who instantly adopted a thoughtful look as he rubbed his chin. “Manic, manic, why not Manic?” He grinned even as his wife looked at him rather funny. “Face it hun, if Sonic’s any indication, these two are going to be spirited, and it kind of goes well don’t you think?”

After a moment, Bernie tired rolled her eyes. “Fine,” she however smiled, “Manic it is. However if that name causes him woe, I’ll be sure he knows he has you to blame.”

“Anybody gives him or Sonia woe I’mma deck em’.” Sonic proclaimed, pounding his fists together.

“Nor alone,” Agreed Sally as she leaned against him. They weren’t her siblings biologically, but already she had decided she would help protect them at all cost.

“Triple, and quadruple so.” Added Rosie, who nodded along with Charles. The family was united on this front.

“Fantastic.” Giggling, Bernie kissed the heads of her newborns. “Hear that, your family is ready to murder for you.”

“You all can plot future murder later, as much as I hate to spoil the moment, Mother and both newborns need rest.” Spoke up Quack as he stood at the door, keeping silent until now.

Yawning, Bernie nodded in agreement, she was drained. Her gaze lifted to her husband. “You get some rest too, you’ve been up with me through all this.”

“I didn’t do even a fraction of the work; but, rest sounds good.” He yawned, quickly covering his mouth. “Mind if I just crash here Doc?”

“I’ve already asked an orderly to bring a rollaway for you. I know better.” Smiled the duck-doctor in a knowing fashion. “Now come now everyone, time to go.”

Looking at his parents, Sonic instantly stated. “We’ll visit tomorrow, promise.”

“Looking forward to it son, looking forward to it.”

Giving his siblings one last look, Sonic smiled and winked at the two infants. “Welcome to the world you two, hopefully by the time you can talk and explore the world there’ll be one last fat-man to worry about. That’s a big-bro promise!”