#women in psych/med do this to me too but yeah

[horrorsequel]

psychology is such a crazy field just because of how often psychologists have been wrong just with regards to me + ppl i know directly and it had catastrophic results. like medical doctors have also been wrong sometimes and messed up and bad things happened but i can also at least point out times when they were correct/helped. psychologists/tangential psychological professionals r like 1 for 999 in my personal experience

[sincelastsession]

I got a 52.14 on the test. I'm upset.

Can we do the test in session together?

Should I do it again another day at a different time?

It was incredibly hard and there were several questions that like I answered but I experience those things differently but im not sure if that means the same thing.

I see that it says "Very high scores do not necessarily mean a more severe dissociative disorder is present, this is because the scale measures both normal and pathological dissociation"

It scares me because I don't want to be treated differently or like I'm a crazy person. Like had too many diagnosis that I don't even have my autism on my chart because my psych knew I'd get treated like a looney tune in the south because of the propensity of southerners to just well I'm sure you know that history.

Like it makes me sick that mentally ill people don't get treated like they need from the people who are supposed to love them. Why have kids if you only want to see them as an extension of yourself? They're little souls little individuals and people crush that and I hate it so much. It's like a family tree of rot when this continues from generation to generation.

Also my neighbors woke me up and I reported it and I'm super pissed off still but luckily Matt was up and I decided to smoke to get sleepy and he admitted to be drinking but we had the most lovely conversation and then got very cringe stupid cute and spent like 30 minutes going back and forth. I really just haven't had a connection like I do with my partner. The long distance doesn't matter to me. We're both getting things out if this and it's sorta terrifying. Yeah sometimes I'm a mess and he's a mess but I'm happy. I'm scared it will fall apart though. I'm scared it's not real but everything is there. It's real. He doesn't care that I'm big he says, he likes big women he says...I hate how society and beauty standards fuck with my head. I love that I think he truly means it though not as a fetish but as just me. If I have another partner they will have to be like him or better and respect my relationship. I'd love to fit my ex in the puzzle here. I don't think it's ever going to be possible though. I'd also like to date Ashley but he's not poly and I'm not wanting to be an asshole and push him because being monogamous is fine too. I'm ambiamorous myself so I get it.

I mean I know I'm stoned but my heart us full and it's not like I wouldn't feel differently sober. My inhibitions are just at what I should be normally minus the "high" This happens when I have drunks too. I feel like I'm free from brain jail. I really wish I was on a "no fucks to give about things I cannot control dose of my anxiety med. I fuckin miss that. I wish just for a month my psych would up my dose at least 1mg. I feel it would help. The medical board is a joke imo. Some people need meds that are unconventional to prescribe. Actually 10yrs ago it wouldn't be a big deal. Now everything us and people are dying more because they're using street drugs because doctors can't monitor them and prescribe them anything to help because there's just not enough mental Healthcare like that that's affordable and don'tget me started on pharmaceutical companies. It's just bullshit.

[petri808]

Quarantine memories fic hoarding craze for @thenaluarchive

— thank you to @phoenix-before-the-flame for helping jump start this fic 💜

It was Natsu Dragneel’s absolute favorite time of the day. 1 pm for him, and 8 am for Lucy, his… well, right now they were just online friends separated by distance and priorities. But judging by how he talked about her to friends, you’d never know it. They’d met three years ago on Twitch through a random chat stream about an anime series, and he continued following Lucy on her writing streams. Three years ago, she was a sophomore in college while he was in his senior year. Lucy later moved on to a graduate program, but they stayed in touch, growing close. To Natsu, she wasn’t just some girl online but a real friend he cared very much about. His friends called Lucy his online girlfriend. Pfft. He wished he could call her that.

Roughly two thousand miles away, Lucy Heartfilia was hating life. Her curtains were drawn, and a blanket was pulled over her head to drown out the light. The air conditioner was down to 60 degrees Fahrenheit, working against the low-grade fever and pounding migraine born yesterday. Migraines… the bane of her otherwise healthy existence. It was her fault after all, the temptation of a chocolate dessert knowing full well it was one of her triggers brought on said migraine and all she could do was bear it.

Why?

“Stupid hoarders!” Lucy groaned to herself.

As if dealing with a pandemic wasn’t bad enough, people’s selfish reactions to it were worse. A government agency had claimed that acetaminophen products could help with the virus’s symptoms, so what did people do? Panic buying anything and everything they could find containing that drug! The problem for people like Lucy, is the one over the counter medication that helped with her migraines was Excedrine… an acetaminophen product! And she’d just. run. out.

Lucy’s phone rang and she knew exactly who it could be based on the time. So, she clicked the answer button without opening her eyes.

“Hey, Natsu,” she groaned out.

“Morning Lucy! Oh geez, you sound like a frog.”

“Thanks,” she retorted sarcastically. “I’ve got a migraine.”

“Ouch.” Natsu genuinely flinched. He rarely got headaches, but this wasn’t the first time he’d talked to Lucy when she was going through one, so he knew what she was going through. “The meds aren’t helping?”

Lucy sighed. “I ran out. And did you see the news about all the hoarding? Every store here is bought out. It… sucks.”

“I could check around here and send you any I find,” he offered.

“Aww, that’s sweet of you Natsu, but I don’t wanna trouble you.”

“Pfft. Nonsense. I’m sure you’d do the same for me.”

“Thanks, Natsu. I appreciate it.” Lucy smiled through the pain. There’s a good reason her feelings for the man had grown over the years. His sweet and caring, yet fun and goofy, positive personality was an easy drug to get hooked to.

“Anyway, I gotta get back to work.” Natsu whined. “Good morning again, stay hydrated, and I’ll check on you again when I’m finished for the day, okay Lucy? Get some rest.”

“Have a good day at work Natsu.”

“Will now, after hearing your voice. Talk to you later Luce.”

She giggled softly. “Bye, Natsu.”

Lucy shifted under her blanket as she clicked off the phone to lie on her back. His sexy voice did wonders for her mood despite the pain still ravaging it. Now all she had to do was drag herself out of bed to eat something and drink water. She never had an appetite when she got these migraines, but it was a necessary fuel to fight it. All Lucy had left were extra strength Tylenol, so she could only hope it would at least take the edge off until the migraine ran its course.

Like so many others, this pandemic had really taken a toll on Lucy’s psyche. It’s not as if she went out a lot before it took hold, but just the fact it made going out dangerous brought different emotions to the situation. School had moved online which sucked all its own, she missed casually hanging out with friends on campus, and simply longed for the freedom of leaving her apartment as she pleased. But she understood the precautions of a quarantine. Frankly, she agreed with the city’s efforts to keep them as safe as possible no matter how many grumbled about it. Did it make it easier? No. But it was a necessary evil.

They weren’t completely trapped, could shop for necessities, visit family or friends, just encouraged to limit such gatherings as a safety precaution. If you went out, wear a mask, and just don’t stand too close to other people. Well, unless Lucy knew the person, why would she want strangers in her personal bubble anyway? And the mask thing? Have you ever been out shopping, and someone just sneezes without covering their mouth? Yeah— seriously, would it kill people to use one?! Why were people so selfish during times like this? Not everyone, but too many. Just like with all the hoarding frenzies that swept through cities, it was frustrating and— “Ugh…” being in a pain-driven bad mood was sure bringing her down today.

But despite all the external frustrations, the feelings of isolation from being in a quarantine for months were probably the most mentally exhausting part. It was lonely being so far away from home during a pandemic. Lucy’s been in college for five years and while she’s made friends in the new city, she was starting to crave comfort instead of an empty apartment. Her life online was one of the few things that made her happy, like Natsu’s daily calls, and kept her sane.

Natsu… her face heated up every time she thought about the man. They didn’t have a lot of hobbies in common, but he was always so supportive and made her laugh like no other could. Where they lacked in commonality, was made up in ease of conversation. It hadn’t taken very long for their online chats to feel more like an old friend and less like a faceless stranger. Over the years they’d talked about meeting in person one day after she finished school. It also helped that he was from a city not too far from where she came from, so if she chose to move back it would be convenient. But she also loved the new city she called home. Oh well, Lucy sighed. It was a decision still a couple of years away to make.

The next morning, Lucy woke up to find her migraine had finally given up. She could still feel the little bastard hiding, simmering somewhere ready to strike, but if it stayed mellow, it was something she could tolerate. Throughout the day, Lucy wasted no time in catching up on the homework she couldn’t finish the day before and making sure to stay hydrated with food in her stomach.

Lucy’s phone rang around 2pm.

“Hi Natsu, how was work?”

“Same ole, same ole,” he chuckled. “And how are you? Still feeling, okay?”

“Yeah, it hasn’t come back.”

“That’s great!”

Lucy could hear a lot of background noise, so she asked about it. “Oh, you’re not home yet?”

“Nah, and the commuters are being extra noisy today,” he responded benignly. “Anyway, tonight I won’t have time to talk cause I got a project due for work I need to finish.”

“Oh, that’s okay. Yeah, I’m still catching up from yesterday too and Levy’s dropping by for dinner.”

They chat for a few minutes about their day as Natsu waited for transportation. Lucy knew he used the subway to and from work, but today it sounded a little different, noisier and she swore there were engines instead of the normal train sounds. Maybe it was static. Finally, Lucy caught the muffled words now boarding.

“Shucks, time for me to go,” Natsu cut through. “Sweet dreams Lucy! I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Good night, Natsu!”

Lucy spent the afternoon relaxing online, chatting with friends and gaming. Her friend Levy McGarden later dropped by with take-out food for dinner and the two women caught up on random topics while movies droned on the television. They were both in grad school, so during the semester there wasn’t a lot of time to hang out, but they made do. Lucy was also doing a paid internship at a local magazine 4 days out of the week as part of her master’s program. She really enjoyed working there under one of the senior editors. He made it a fun learning experience.

Life was almost perfect except for the background isolation of the pandemic. Lucy was glad she wasn’t one of the individuals affected by jobs cuts, but it still got under her skin to feel trapped in a way. It was nice with her friend over... ‘Maybe I should see if Levy wants to become roommates?’ She wondered as she drifted off to sleep. The apartment would sure feel a lot less empty.

A knock at the door roused Lucy from her sleep. She blinked and yawned, looking at the alarm clock and that said 9 am the next morning. ‘Natsu didn’t call,’ she thought how odd. Maybe he slept in after working late.

Lucy dragged herself out of bed, throwing on a robe to answer the front door. “Gimme a sec,” she called out as she neared it.

“UPS delivery, ma’am.” The male voice responded.

‘UPS?’ Lucy grew confused. She didn’t remember ordering anything through them, but maybe she’d forgotten?

She peaked out of the peep hole, but all she could see was the box being held up. Okay a little weird, but some of the delivery people did that to show they were legitimate service people. Lucy slowly opened the door but kept the chain lock on while peering through the gap. But what she saw next brought on instant tears.

“H-How?” Her voice stammered out as her fingers quickly undid the lock and opened the door wide.

There Natsu stood holding a small brown box, dressed in a uniform of sorts, with a mask hanging under his chin, and wearing a goofy grin.

Lucy snorted a laugh as her eyes crinkled in happiness. “Is that a Halloween costume?”

“Yeah,” his smile widened, and hand scratched his head. “Surprise delivery,” Natsu held out the box, “for Lucy Heartfilia.”

“What is it?” She asked as she took it from him.

“Oh, I um found you Excedrine.”

Lucy opened the box to find 4 bottles. “You certainly did,” she laughed. “But why’d you bring it yourself?”

“It was quicker than the mail and… I hoped…” Natsu’s mannerism grew sheepish and tentative, “it was about time we finally met in person?”

Her face softened with a smile. “It truly is.” Lucy gestured into the apartment. “Please, make yourself at home.”

[loisroo]

random recs for july:

currently watching:

wwdits (season 4)

extraordinary attorney woo

watched:

mr unlucky has no choice but to kiss-

not a very long show, something lighter. the idea behind it is unique, that two people with opposite luck start to balance each other out. i didn’t particularly like the unlucky main character, he was shallow and manipulative and i know that was sort of the point to see his growth but even at the end I still didn’t really like him. Japanese shows have a habit of over-the-top internal monologues which are normally wonderful and funny but the unlucky lead just felt really obnoxious. was cute but won’t really watch again.

the uncanny counter-

so much funnier then i thought it would be!!! i value humor a lot and i really love to laugh so i enjoy many types of humor. the humor in this show was 100% why you could watch the whole thing and it not become too emotional (but I had to pace myself because lort it was still emotional). i cried and i laughed and raged and all the feelings and any media and writing that can make me feel that much is good in my book. i will still give a pace yourself warning.

I thought the effects would be more cgi because of the spirits and power aspect of the show but it was actually really well done. also the guy that played the main villain/evil spirit (ji cheong shin) was TOP fucking notch. i could watch him be a villain in every show in existence.

one of the few things I wish was different was showing more of the spirits from Yang’s interactions with each other and with their counters. (besides mama chu and her boy which was the fucking best and worst) sometimes you just felt really disconnected from them and i think that had been some of the point at first but then it made their more emotional interactions with each other and their counters come off very flat and fake.

the bear-

i wasn’t sure if i would but i enjoyed this show a lot. it deals with suicide and grief and doesn’t shy away from the ugly parts of it which i really applaud. it really felt like the lead was grieving, his choices driven by it and it making him impulsive and aggressive at times. they made him a complex character and where like ‘yeah he’s a jerk sometimes but he’s got the spirit’ and without romanticizing it too.

the characters feel real and i love the idea that we get to see very little outside of what exists at the restaurant. we rarely ‘go home’ with the characters besides the main lead so you only see them exist and interact with each other in this certain setting. it actually forces you to take everything at face value and with these characters that makes it a little wild. lol

also just my pet peeve: there is no way in hell all those kids drank xanax and all just fell asleep. i know that’s such a weird thing to focus on, it’s a work thing i guess but i made my husband pause the show so i could say that to him. he was like “okay then.“ but no really— if you are gonna do grief this well at least get psych meds right. lol

cherry blossoms after winter-

this is just cute. very much so a manhwa come alive. the writing was a little choppy in some areas and felt a little incomplete in some areas but i liked the chemistry between the leads. Some angst sprinkled in at the end was a nice touch and i liked the idea that they would need to be brave and believe in their love.

this isn’t super long and i used it as a filler show between my very heavy shows. i watched it before bed sometimes because it just has an overall good feel to it and the leads were actually super adorable so I found myself grinning stupidly at parts.

old fashion cupcake-

i really enjoyed this!! which seems to be a theme with japanese bl/lgbtq shows. they talked about gender in this and what society deems acceptable for men and women to do. i had been a little worried when they were talking about the aging process and ‘being a girl’ but then nozue decides himself that he doesn’t need to be a girl to enjoy these things and i was super happy they did that.

the confession scene was like the best thing my angsty heart has ever seen. and it was done in one shot for the most part, the chemistry and the feelings between the leads are subtle but true and it was really enjoyable. i found myself rewatching a few parts as soon as the show ended.

the story was told, it was told well, it made you feel, and then it ended. It felt very finished and i rarely feel that way about shows and stuff. it felt like a truly complete story and was very satisfying. i will watch this again.

heartstopper-

this was a good show and well written, had a decently diverse cast too. i’m really digging these shows coming out lately where the teens actually feel like teens.

the issues with self worth and the realities of coming out were portrayed honestly but there was a happy ending. which is important because historically many lgbtq stories end in tragedy or they end up making the characters into villains. this is one of those shows that just makes you feel good watching it.

this felt like a show made just for teens, there was some parental involvement but home lives weren’t really explored much, i think the only parent that talked for more then a few lines was tao’s and nick’s so it really was focused on the kids, school, and coming out. (i sort of expected a more love, victor vibe because coming out usually means to family as well but i like how they did it here. it made it feel more identity based and about self discovery)

jacksepticeye’s ‘stray’ let’s play-

(if I watch longer let’s plays I like to review them as well) i really liked this let’s play! jacksepticeye’s gaming style suits my brain really well and i’m 100% certain it’s because of the adhd. he’s not afraid to mess up or be goofy, he laughs at himself and makes similar jokes that i would make playing the game. i enjoy putting his let’s plays on when i’m doing laundry and tasks similar to that. plus then i know if i want the game and/or if my kid can play it too.

the video game looks really awesome and my eight year old could definitely play it. she loves cats and really broad pretty worlds. she might need some help in the later parts of the game or more strategic parts but she’s a fast learner, and playing it in day time just to make the darker areas less scary. this could also spark some conversations and has the potential to be used for mindfulness if done correctly.

also jacksepticeye acting like a cat and talking about cats is magnificent

still slowly watching because of adhd:

inspector koo

my name

sense8

taxi driver

[crimson-dxwn]

AT ODDS 6 (Kal Skirata x F!OC)

Summary: Tea gets spilled at Kyrimorut. Ordo gets involved. Ori makes a choice and a new enemy.

Warnings: Mando profanity, pregnancy, SPOILERS for Republic Commando books (all but the last one), medical shit, surgery, fucking SADS

As always, so many thanks to @detroitbydark who lets me screech about my weird fic and Kal and Ori! Also this is barely edited be kind, I’m on my psych rotation and barely scraping by. 

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

Kal realizes he’s slipped the figurine into the pocket of his bodysuit semi-consciously in his hasty retreat from the apartment. Knotted Jonah wood whittled smooth forms two stylized figures, one large and one small, their hands joined between them. 

He barely registers the ride back home and comming Mij. They need a plan, and they need one fast if they are going to find her. He knows little about how the Empire treats their prisoners compared to the late Republic, but he isn’t about to have any illusions of honor or fair play. After all, he doesn’t play fair himself. But there’s a hydrospanner thrown into the mix. What he doesn’t know is how the Imps treat prisoners with … unique health conditions. Or if they even give half a bantha’s shebs. Odds are they send men and women alike to those osik’la camps he’s gotten word of. Yeah, the Empire was equal opportunity like that. 

If Mereel can’t slice into the system remotely, they were going to have to do an old-fashioned infiltration. He’d ask his ad’ike if they were up to task, there’s no way he could ask to put them in danger, not after the entirety of their lives being war. It hurts him to even think about asking. But he has to do this, even if it’s just his sorry shebs. 

He tries to put on a good Sabaac face when he’s back in the karyai, discreetly gathering up all the surplus weapons they have that he finds might be useful for an infiltration into a heavily armed and fortified position. 

Mereel of course, catches on within minutes. 

“You’re going to find her,” Mereel interrupts. Kal yanks his head up out of the gun locker to look at his son. “And you didn’t even think to ask for backup?”

His son’s tone is accusing, edging on hurt. That he did not expect.

“It’s my fuckup, son,” he replies, “I’m the one who needs to fix it. I can’t ask you to do this.”

“What’s so special about this doctor?” Mereel slams the door of the locker shut. It’s obvious his ad’ika is protective. They all are. 

“She delivered your ba’vodu’ad, Mereel. I’m pretty sure she saved Parja’s life.” Kal says, keeping his eyes on his work, cleaning the weapons, arranging the ammo he needs. Sharpening his father’s three-sided knife. 

“And that’s enough to go up against the Empire? ”

He’s going to have to spit it out. Mereel is looking at him expectantly, sure that he’s going to change his mind, see reason. 

“She’s pregnant, son.” Mereel, who has been away for the events of the last few months, just stares back at him in a puzzled fashion, brows slightly furrowed. Looking at him like he’s lost his damn mind. Maybe he has. 

“It’s yours, isn’t it?”

In comes a second voice, and the accusatory tone startles him enough that, when added to his baseline urgency and anxiety, causes his hand to slip and nick itself as he sharpens his knife. 

“Osik,” he hisses, holding pressure to the cut as blood wells, looking up to the figure in the doorway. Ordo. Mereel stares at his brother, unsure whether he is joking. Kal sighs. He should know better, trying to keep things from them. The last time he was successful at that was when they were four. 

“Does it matter?” 

“Maybe,” Ordo replies, just this edge of indignant, “is she carrying my vod?” 

A strange and protective piece of him flares at Ordo’s tone and Kal stands, still holding the cloth to his cut hand. 

“Most likely.”

“Then we need to get her back.” Ordo meets his eye finally and Kal nods, satisfied, and starts gathering ammo from the safes. This time Mereel moves to help, still in a rare state of stunned silence. 

By the time they’ve gathered what they need and loaded it into aayhan, Mereel has a willing team assembled and what they know of the building schematics up on a datapad in the karyai. Fortunately for them, the team won’t be breaking into any prison blocks, which are bound to be heavily guarded. 

“All we have to do is get into the information security room that houses the main terminal,” Mereel starts confidently. “We can stay far away from the security blocks and the bucketheads.” 

“Though it would be fun to bust some vode out of there,” Scorch adds. 

“Not our mission,” says Mereel, regret plain in his voice, “we’ll have to get them another time.” The realization that they were leaving prisoners at the mercy of the empire sobers the group even more. It was becoming more and more apparent that more planning was needed before they could root out the Empire on Mandalore. Meanwhile, Kal had set Uthan to the task of trying desperately to make their own homebrew vaccine. 

---

It’s been many many years since he’s fastroped. Lately, he has been finding that it’s been years since he’s done many things. Fastroping, underwater diving...fathering kriffing kids. He swallows, hard and regroups himself. Every single one of them needs to be focused if they’re gonna pull this job off. 

Yes, he’s fast roped before. But he’s never liked it. Where his sons get twitchy when confined to tight spaces, he finds himself sweating more than usual under his beskar the more stories they climb. Right now, they’re about ten stories up, far above the sensors of the garrison and way above his tolerance for heights. They have about a minute to pull this off before the Imps realize this transport is lingering too long in their airspace. 

Mereel, Sev, Scorch, and Kal are in Aayhan, hovering silently above the Keldabe imperial garrison in the inky black late summer night. The humidity sticks his tactical garments to his skin, making it itch and crawl in addition to his surging adrenaline. That was one thing that never changed, no matter how old he got, no matter how many missions he’s finished - that nauseating spike of pure fear and bliss. 

He gives the signal to move move move and soon he’s roping down, strong north Mandalorian wind whipping around him, soaking through his underlayer. The four of them land silently on the roof of the compound, and Scorch starts laying a strip charge along the floor to create a hole leading below, straight into the admin offices. Four sets of Mando armor gleam lowly in the moonlight. It’s a perfect night for an op like this, whipping wind obscuring any slight noise they did make and the faint whine of aayhan’s engines. The charges detonate with a controlled bang and flash of bright light that briefly blinds his HUD. Kal switches to night vision.

*His child*. It’s barely a concrete concept in his mind yet, but an instinctual piece of him knows the truth. The timing is too perfect for him to be wrong. The way Orla had looked at him in the med center…

The stakes are too high to fail, and distracting thoughts get men killed. Mereel leads the way through the door, rifle at the ready, and Kal banishes his musings to the back of his mind, pushed away by a fresh rush of adrenaline. It’s a stealth mission, and they navigate by night vision, as silently as their boots will allow. 

They stalk through dark quiet hallways lined with innocuous office doors until they reach the end, what is presumably the CO’s office, with its durasteel double doors and obviously larger size. 

Mereel starts in on slicing the door panel while Sev shoots out the camera in the hallway corner while the rest of them listen for any approaching patrols. It was only a matter of time before someone noticed they were there, whether it was the hole in the roof or the blacked out camera. The double doors open quietly and they head inside. Vau’s boys guard the door while he and Mereel crowd the desk in the middle of the room. 

“I need a few minutes to get into this,” Mereel says, eyes locked onto the screen before him. One of his slicing tools is between his teeth.

“You’ll get it, son. We’ll take care of anything that tries to get in our way.” 

So far it looks like no one has noticed them. The imps must really be confident in the plan to neutralize Mandalore with so few guards and patrols. Sweat drops trickle down the back of his neck and into his bodysuit.

Mereel studies the datapad stripping the system for a few more moments and turns it towards Kal. There’s a concerned look stretched across his handsome face. Together the watch the recorded scene on the screen before them. 

There’s Orla, still in her work clothes, talking with an Imp who’s behind this very desk, flanked by two stormtroopers. He knows those gestures - she’s spitting mad, barely containing the fury that was directed toward the man behind the desk. Without audio he can only guess as to the contents of their conversation. The Imp behind the desk gives a short reply and nods curtly to the right-hand trooper who, without hesitation, raises his blaster rifle and cracks her across the face with the butt end. She doesn’t even see it coming. Even in the shades of blue from the holoprojector the blood is obvious, trickling down the side of her face. 

Kal is livid, trembling so finely it’s barely visible, and he almost forgets where they are for a moment. Deep in enemy territory, with hostiles incoming any minute. 

Mereel makes a disgusted noise from deep in his chest as they watch her be pushed to the ground. They follow the video feed where she’s led to a cell. His breath catches. There’s a chance she’s still here. His hope is tempered, however, when an alarm starts to sound from within the garrison. A patrol must have finally found their breach point.

“Sarge?” warns a voice from outside the door. It’s Sev, by the gravelly tone. 

“Almost finished,” he shouts, over the screeching din. Mereel continues to work furiously, his bulk hunched over the console. He’s able to parse through incredible amounts of data with immense precision; Kal can practically feel the concentration rolling off him. 

“Wait,” Mereel says. Kal looks over at the screen. They’re centered on a video feed again, this time outside. The sheer amount of prisoners in line for the transport is shocking enough, but the fact that none of them are in armor is even more appalling. The Imps are slowly stripping their culture away, plate by plate. 

“She’s not on the manifest for this transport, even though the records say she leaves.” 

It doesn’t make sense. Unless… Kal knows Mereel must be thinking the same as him. Judging by the brutality of the footage they’ve watched, the stories from around the planet, he wouldn’t put it past the Empire to take care of a pesky problem in the easiest way they knew how. It wasn’t something that supposedly peaceful, orderly governments liked to keep records of. His dread and guilt intensifies, leadening his limbs already weighed down by heavy beskar. 

He chokes the words out. He has to know. “Is there any footage of…” Kal can’t bring himself to say them. It doesn’t need to be said, Mereel knows what he’s looking for. He’s been in a war zone long enough to know that armies aren’t sentimental. 

“No, no footage. Just them leading her away.” The alarm continues to blare. It could be minutes, seconds before they have to blast their way out. 

“Here.”

Kal steels himself to watch. It’s his fault, he reminds himself again. Two more fresh marks in his ledger. His arm reaches automatically to his son’s to steady himself. He feels Mereel’s slump ever so slightly, whether it’s in relief or defeat, he can’t tell. 

“I have what I need,” he says, “time to go. Debrief can wait for later.” Distant footsteps start to echo towards them, modulated shouts following close behind. They were about to be grossly outnumbered, by the sound of it. Kal shoves his helmet back on, heading through the doorway and signaling Sev and Scorch to follow. 

They wind through the garrison, avoiding both patrols and squads of stormtroopers sweeping the building. It’s laughably easy compared some of the other heists they’ve pulled - except he speaks too soon. As they make their way out of the back door of the garrison onto the Keldabe streets, one squad catches up to them. Ordo has aayhan back at Kyrimorut - earlier they had decided it was too risky for the four of them to fly home and possibly expose the homestead. So instead their plan was to run the winding streets and strategically borrow a transport. The problem is that Kal is pushing sixty and the other men are - physiologically at least - still in their early twenties. They’re a lot kriffing faster than him, even with his ankle fixed. 

The streets and alleys twist and turn, switching from ancient cobbles to smooth duracrete without warning. Easy enough to get lost if you’re a local, they are impossible to navigate as aruettiise. Soon the four are panting, ducked into an alcove off a cobbled alley. Finally, it seems they’ve dodged the patrol. Only time will tell if they were recognized. Kal finds he doesn’t much mind if they know his face. In fact, he hopes they do. He wants to meet that garrison officer. 

-------

Imperial Rehabilitation Center

Weeks later

19 BBY

Life isn’t all doom and gloom. They are kept...occupied. Like rats in a maze. Ori shares a bunk with another Mandalorian, the only other there. Taren is a kid really, small and slight except for her distended belly. It’s obvious she’s used to wearing armor by the way she walks, how upright she holds herself, arms swaying slightly away from her body. And how she closes in on herself when she realizes it’s not there, when it’s nighttime in their room and thinks Ori can’t hear her sob breathlessly into her pillow every night. 

It’s almost childish, the way they’re herded from room to room. Chaperoned and on a schedule, like one would handle a naughty child needing extra discipline. It was how she imagines Coruscanti boarding schools some of her medical school classmates attended - polished stone floors and crisp uniforms, all strict routines and synchronized repetition. It’s meant to numb the mind, making days run into weeks. She suspects they’re kept intentionally disoriented. After all, most of them are still political prisoners, and many she’s found have important connections on their respective homeworlds. 

They’re at lunch, scattered around their assigned tables. Generously, they are allowed to converse during meals, though their seats remain assigned. The ‘rehab center’ has proven to be much more expansive than she expected - some rooms are swallowingly large, like the one she is in now, and some are as small as a broom closet, connected by narrow winding hallways. The building itself could have been any number of things in a past life - a school, factory, or prison. She supposes it doesn’t matter much now. Today there’s a newcomer, sitting quiet and sullen at a back table with the Corellians. Time would tell if she was one of them or if she hailed from a different world. 

An arm jostles her, hitting her square in the ribs. It successfully knocks her out of her analysis of the newcomer. 

“-did you hear what I just said?” Taren says, mouth full of tasteless nutritional paste. It’s far from delicious, but you ate what they give out and she is hungry *all the time* nowadays. A fleck lands on Ori’s face and she wipes it away with a raised eyebrow.

“Sorry, al’verde.” Commander. Her eyes roll automatically. She knows she doesn’t deserve the title. Discreetly, Ori shushes the younger woman - they’re lucky the stormtroopers here don’t understand Mando’a. 

They put together kit for new stormtroopers, morning and night. It’s another endurable humiliation. She stabs at the cubes bitterly with her spoon, scattering crumbs across the table. They’re not allowed forks or knives, not after Taren’s first week. A tiny smile flits across her face as she thinks on the memory. 

 Ori feels like a geriatric compared to the spry warrior, though they’re less than ten years apart in age. She’s seen things in that time, lost people, buried dreams. Though Taren is looking older and older by the day, cooped up in this place. 

“Theera is gone,” Taren says, “she wasn’t at breakfast either.” 

Looking around and finding no sign of the woman, Ori hums an agreement. She’ll be gone for good soon, and her baby as well. Every time someone delivers it sends a sense of unshakeable dread down her spine and into the pit of her stomach. All of them are marching slowly towards that finish line. 

The artificial hierarchy into which they are forced has made the two Mandalorians de facto leaders, despite Ori being one of the newer inmates and to cement her as *alverde*; her medical expertise makes her invaluable. 

The room hushes as Dr. Loesch sweeps down to the cafeteria, all business in crisp grey scrubs, so confident in his admiration. He insists they call him ‘Doctor L’ like he’s a popular lecturer at a university. He’s the worst kind of hut’uun, just as bad as the rest of the Imps she’s met here. Loesch is in charge of their medical care, all 100-some of them, including herself. Loesch towers over most of them, even herself. 

As a physician, Ori is personally insulted at his complacency, the fact that he is perfectly content in his post and cemented in his belief that what he was doing is just, his complicity. She stabs at her cubes some more to try and make herself feel better. 

As a woman, she’s decidedly less surprised. Men like him are everywhere, tall and handsome, handed success on a silver platter, born into families of privilege and power. Taking and taking with no thought of the carnage they leave behind. 

He saunters his way over to their table and sits with a charming smile. 

“Beviin,” he starts, “I heard through the gossip chain that you were an obstetrician before you came here?”

It’s physically painful to keep her retort in hand. She’s been here long enough to see women sent to solitary. And to see them come back, changed indefinitely. 

“Mmm,” she mumbles affirmatively through a mouthful of cubes. She swallows. “Yes.” Keep it simple, that’s easy enough. 

He smiles sardonically. “How ironic,” he adds, obviously pleased with the revelation. Expectantly, he looks around the table to gauge his joke, and they catch on, laughing softly, nervously, afraid of what might happen if they don’t. Even Ori joins in, the butt of the low blow, though her simmering rage ratchets up another level.

They finish the rest of their lunch largely in silence and Loesch pulls her away when she files out with the others. 

“Ms. Beviin,” he says conspiratorially, “I know it must be difficult for you to be here.” 

The man over her, face too close for comfort, his voice deep and low. Alarm fills her as the other people in the room dwindle until it’s just the two of them and the scattered troopers on the upper level. All Ori can think about is where the nearest exit is located when she realizes he’s still speaking to her. 

“...what do you think?” He waits patiently, a benevolent expression in his face. He blinks too little, she thinks, and his eyes are devoid of expression, shining with an amused sort of malevolence. They’re a strange shade of brown...no, green? The little noise he makes in the back of his throat brings her back to their conversation.

“Ah...sure?” she replies weakly, stunned and frozen.

“That’ll be nice for the other inmates,” he says. Incredibly white, straight teeth flash as he smiles down at her. “I think it will give them comfort to have you there. I’ll have the guards collect you when it’s time.” 

——

Three nurses eye her from across the suite. They wear sweet matching hospital uniforms, in the same soft fabric as hers except in a delicate petal pink. With a pang, she misses her fellow nurses and doctors on Mandalore. Who knows how many had fallen ill? Been arrested? The way they clustered in a little group reminded her of her schoolmates, when they found out she didn’t like fighting, whispering rumors from across the room. That she thought she was better than them, that weird girl who was more concerned with grades than winning fights and impressing boys. Now they stand across the room from her like a little bunch of flowers in their coordinated outfits, identical and perfect. She’s an other in their world, someone to be feared and hated, pitied at best. 

Orla stands awkwardly, waiting for the show to start when her stomach flips. The scrub top she has on stretches across her middle awkwardly, pulling at the seams and the soft shoes that cover her feet are obscured by her bump. The strange sensation returns, a little differently this time, just the barest flutter, deeper down than that nervous feeling. Her baby. She lays a gentle palm over the swell, as discreetly as she can, still feeling the scrutinizing looks of the women across the room.

Another nurse wheels a bed into the room, complete with Theera shivering atop it, her hair and gown drenched in sweat. Orla rushes to the head of the bed as she’s prepped for the operation. Theera is dazed, too exhausted to make much sense of anything right now, glassy eyes focused on the ceiling. She smoothes back the sweaty hair from Theera’s forehead. 

“Hey cyar’ika. It’s Ori,” she says softly. The woman’s eyes focus a little, just enough to meet hers. She bumps their foreheads together. It was as much to comfort herself as much as the other woman. Non-mandos typically didn’t understand the meaning behind the gesture. She can’t squeeze her hand like she wants to - it’s being hooked up to IV tubing.

“I’m cold,” she mumbles. Some of it is adrenaline, some from fear, and the rest from the icy operating room temperature to keep the surgeons comfortable. Drenched as she is, it’s no wonder Theera is shivering. 

Ori asks the wary tech for a warm blanket, terrified of overstepping and getting her shebs kicked out of the operating room. She’s promptly ignored in favor of his work. Dr. Loesch enters the room and the nurses titter around him while he ensures everything is prepped to his liking. Ori settles for as much skin to skin contact as she can get with Theera, trying to warm her, mumbling comforting nonsense into her ear as Loesch starts to work. A warming bassinet waits ominously against the wall for its prize. 

A thin cry interrupts their mumbling and Theera’s eyes sharpen at the noise. Loesch holds the little thing over the curtain separating them indulgently, just for a moment. A boy, he says, and she and Theera find themselves mesmerized by the bloody little thing and his tiny squished face and flailing arms, already so angry at the world. He’s held up for a second, allowing Theera a cursory glance and then whisked away by the nurses to the bassinet. His mother is still paralyzed on the table and it makes it all the more unjust that she isn’t even allowed to touch her son, see him up close. The nurses at the bassinet laugh and coo, oblivious to Theera, who starts weeping pitifully. Fat tears slide down the side of her face, wetting the starched white sheet beneath her head.

Ori is in the middle of the absolute emotional chaos around her. Theera crying, Dr. Loesch talking with his assistant about weekend plans, and the nurses with the baby, who have turned back at the sound of crying to glare at them judgementally. She can practically hear them now. Serves her right, their looks say. She deserves it. The rage congeals around Ori, settling itself in her throat. This feeling is exactly what had put her in this place to begin with and she knows she has to control it, use it somehow. She watches them place a little bracelet around the infant’s ankle and scan it into a datapad. They don’t bother with Theera. It dawns on her then that if she’s lucky - incredibly lucky - she can use the Empire’s obsession with order against them. 

She makes her way over to the bassinet under the ruse of joining the indulgent cooing that is going on, trying not to throw elbows before she’s kicked out of the room. The little boy’s leg is caught for a heel stick an she gets her chance. The number on the leg band is just visible, only for a second. She sends a prayer up to the Manda that she gets it right. 

Taglist

@clonewarslover55 @simping-for-fives @808tsuika @jedi-mando @cherry-cokes-world @nelba @fractiouskat @passionofthesith 

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #527

“i’d pull the sun from the sky to freeze the future of time, & drift as one through the infinite”

Do you know anyone who is a firefighter? Nope. What’s your favourite alcoholic beverage? Sangrias. When was the last time you saw a photo of your ex? Around a month or so ago? Our mutual friend/old roommate hosted a get-together for something, and he shared some pics on Facebook. Jason was in one. Very weird seeing him with a full-on beard and moustache. Still recognized him in less than a heartbeat, though. How many push-ups can you do? None lmao. Have you ever received a compliment from a stranger? BRO most recently I deadass got like, seven compliments from different people in the ER and psych hospital about my hair, ha ha. Have you ever shaved your face? Let's be real, women get the "lady 'stache" that I think most women, myself included, tend to, especially with dark hair like me. Do you take the stairs or the elevator? I literally have to take elevators unless there are VERY few steps. Going up or down, it doesn't matter. My legs can't handle it. I've crumpled over on stairs before at school. What was the last vaccination you got? Moderna for Covid. What’s your favourite song at the moment? I am preeeetty obsessed with "Cyberhex" by Motionless In White rn. Have you ever been to Germany? I fuckin' wish bro. Are you in high School? I've been out of high school for like, six or seven years. What is your favorite holiday? Christmas. What do you hear right now? I'm watching John Wolfe play Elden Ring. Do you regret your last kiss? Nope nope nope. Have you ever taken a karate class? No. Who was the last person to tell you "I love you?" Girt! :') Have you ever been to the Statue of Liberty? Nah. When was the last time you went to a library? It's been a year or so, since I was the school newspaper photographer and taking some artistic shots. Do you have any nieces or nephews? I do! The only kids I ever want. Do you like techno? I actually do enjoy it. Would you ever live with any of your friends? I'd love to live with Sara if I didn't have Girt. I wouldn't want to move into a place for only a little while; especially after the hospital, I am just really, really attached to him. It's obvs too early right now, but I sure as hell hope we live together one day. Would you ever dye your hair blonde? No. If you took a drug test right now, would you pass? FUN FUCKIN' FACT Y'ALL, the hospital staff was suspicious I was lying about being clean because I had to take a drug test, going to the hospital and being suicidal, because the results had evidence of a certain drug component I can't remember the name of. As it turns out, it was from my anxiety med Klonopin, as well as one other I was on. They were both perfectly legal and prescribed to me though, so all was fine. Would you rather have a stomachache or headache? THE LATTER. I canNOT handle stomach pain whatsoever. Do you enjoy sleeping late? No. What was the last thing you dreamed about? I actually don't remember. Do you like to draw? I mean I do, even though it can very easily stress me out because I'm not accomplishing what I picture in my head. I wanna practice more, though. Is there someone you have been constantly thinking about? If yes, who? I've just been really, really grateful for my boyfriend lately. He was so supportive while I was in the hospital and always made me smile and laugh on the phone. Do you sleep with or without clothes on? On. I would feel WAY too vulnerable naked. I mean I slept w/o a shirt or bra back in the apartment when I was actually fit, but I don't think I could ever do even that ever again because I just hate hate hate my body. Have you heard a song that reminds you of someone today? Actually some lyrics in "Cyberhex" really make me think of Girt. Something you’re happy about? I'm just happy to be back home, bro. Meet anyone new this year? Patients at the hospital, yeah. Are you afraid of commitment? I've never struggled with that. Are you scared of growing old alone? YES. Do you get depressed about things easily? I have chronic depression, my man. How did you get your last bruise? It wasn't a bad bruise, but nevertheless I got one the last time I got blood drawn, and my vein decided to hide, which rarely happens. So the nurse had to move the needle around trying to find it until she relented and poked the other arm. Does anyone think you are a bitch? Oh, I'm sure Colleen does. I think the same of her, so whatever. Do you know anyone who is pregnant? I wouldn't say I know her, but one of the patients that came in the night before my discharge was pregnant. I don't think there's anyone I really really know that's expecting? What’s the background on your cellphone? The lock screen is the Halo of the Sun from Silent Hill, and my home screen is a pretty moth aesthetic. Do you like anyone? I love him, a lot. Do you play video games? Not really, but it's a hobby I want to get back into. I watch video games all the time, but I want to stop doing things so passively and instead do. Do you liked grilled cheese? Hell yeah. Are you going to college right now? No, but I'm trying to go back and go easy on myself with one class at a time! If so, what is your major? I actually don't think I'm going to pick a major right away. I want to explore classes I'm actually interested in and just... get a feel for what I want. I'm almost CERTAIN it will be a form of art, but who really knows. Do you like school? I actually have warm memories of the school I was last at, which is one of the reasons I want to go back. Do you watch anime? If I watch TV with someone, it's a pretty good bet. I find they tend to have interesting stories. Can you cook? No. I really should take the time to learn, though... Like it'd be nice to be able to make some yummy things for whenever I move out. Have you ever written a song or poem? Lots and lots of poems since middle school. Have you ever written a short story or novel? A short story, yes. I'm considering being an author... but I'm unsure and somewhat doubtful that will be my true pursuit. Do you like apricots? No. What's your favorite song by Bullet for my Valentine? Either "Your Betrayal" or "Say Goodnight." Can you knit? No. Have you ever vandalized something? No. Have you ever violated a dress code? Accidentally. Ever been in/seen a riot? No, that shit sounds terrifying. Would you ever take up yoga as a hobby? Yet another thing I wanna get back into... It really did make my body feel good. I could use that. What is your favorite wild animal? Meerkats, duh. What's the oddest band name you've ever heard? Maybe iwrestledabearonce. Or Ninja Sex Party. What’s the longest song you've listened to? How long was it? Ummmm I'm actually not sure. Maybe a Metallica song. It would definitely be a classic metal piece with guitar solos. What is your favorite toaster strudel flavor? I like the chocolate and strawberry ones. Where do you like to be kissed the most? alskjflk;qwejlarj;l that's confidential Have you ever eaten raw pumpkin? Ew, no. I don't even like pumpkin-flavored things. How much older is the person you’re currently interested in? He's two years older than me. Remember the first time you kissed the last person you kissed? Yes. Is there a secret you’ve never told your parents? Yes. Name one song that always makes you want to dance. "Cha-Cha Slide" is as far as it goes, ha ha. Do you have a doctor's appointment coming up soon? Yes, in just a few days after leaving the hospital. I don't exactly know why I need to see my primary care physician when I was there for my mental health, but whatever. List three things that inspire you. Music, seeing other people do great things, and looking at art motivates me to make something. What was the most creative thing you did in the last 24 hours? I planned out a character's appearance in my notebook at the hospital last night. I was too excited to go home to sleep 'til late in the night, so I found a way to pass time. How often do you bathe? I'm not gonna lie, I'd rather not share right now. It's not enough because of primarily how horribly painful showering is for me with my legs (keep in mind that I prop my legs up to clean them and even just balancing is difficult, and cleaning a foot requires being on just one), but also my depression was just so godawful that I didn't have the motivation for proper self-care. I literally just got home from the hospital today with a healthier mind, so we'll see how that changes. There's also a decent chance I'll be getting a shower chair, which would help immensely. It sounds so stupid, I know, like how much effort can a shower REALLY take, but I swear to god it is a feat of strength for me. What skill do you possess that you are most proud of? I'm probably most proud of my writing ability. What three things do you look for most in a partner? Kindness, understanding, and loyalty are up there. Do you like crowds? Absolutely not. Would you risk your life for your best friend? (not lover or family member!) Absolutely. With who was your most important romantic relationship? Jason, my first "real" boyfriend. Where do you stand on the death penalty? If the case is extreme enough, especially for recurring criminals, I'm honestly 100% for it. Some people just plain and simply don't deserve to live. What are your political beliefs (anarchy, communism, democracy etc.)? I'ma be real w/ you, I'm not even educated on this to really tell you. Is there any race/religion you particularly dislike? Why? Race, of course not. As for religion, I'm just gonna be real, I am just not a fan of Christianity. I'm sure this is partially due to it being what I'm most familiar and experienced with, but there is just a LOT that I hold issue with about it. I won't go into detail and I absolutely won't judge a Christian just by their label, but regardless, I'm not a fan. How would your ideal partner look? g o t h Do you ever want to have a family someday? With children? Sooooo I'm coming to find I apparently consider kids when I'm in love with someone. Which I've realized I am with Girt. Like I 100% wanted kids with Jason, and now I'd probably say I'm like, 10% into the idea with Girt. HOWEVER, I can just about guarantee it will not happen. I know i do NOT need to be a mother; I'm just too mentally ill for that, and even if I improved to a truly stable point, what if I relapsed? I'm not going to ruin the life of another, little person because I can't properly raise them. Girt doesn't want kids anyway, so it works out. We're fine being an aunt and uncle. What do you see yourself doing next year? I don't know! But for once, I'm excited to see. What do you see yourself doing in twenty years? Now that's a bit too far ahead. Would you ever have an affair? No. When I date someone, I'm loyal to them. Would you ever have a one night stand? Nah. Would you ever choose a career or job where your life was at risk? No. I worry about that enough with my sister. She meets some CRAZY fucking parents. Are you a loyal member of any organizations? No.

[beautifuldarkmind]

Idk if this’ll seem creepy but I found a post on your account that mentioned the NHS.

Does that mean you live in the UK? If so, how did you get diagnosed with BPD? (…asking for a friend)

(Sorry if this is too personal)

Not creepy at all! I'll give you the back story because it wasn't a simple diagnosis -

Yes I live in the UK and basically I've had many signs of BPD leading up to adulthood- of course you can't get diagnosed until you're over 18 as they say anything below can be contributed to 'the teenage phase'... I literally would get so angry and blow up and I had the lowest self esteem, felt really unworthy etc... my mum took me to the doctors because she couldn't deal with my anger- but my parents would always invalidate my emotions... so it got worse. I'd get angry they would say 'women don't get angry', I'd have anxiety they would tell me 'nothing is wrong' etc. Doctors blamed it on me being a 'rowdy rebellious teen' but I realise now that I felt like no one was listening to me and I would react. They sent me to therapists, I had CBT for anxiety and depression, it didn't really help because something was still wrong - this continued until I was 18...

When I turned 20, I knew something definitely wasn't right... all my friends were moving through life, going to uni, had a sense of self … I didn't have that. I felt like I was still a child? like everyone around me was moving and growing and I was stuck in this childlike state trying to find out who I was and what I was doing. I hated myself- infact resented myself and I'd self sabotage and ruin every opportunity and friendship/relationship I had. I was also impulsive I'd do things to make myself feel better such as break things or go on non stop rants, buy things I didn't really need.

I went back to my GP last year ... explained this and they said... you guess it, DEPRESSION. I told them I had gone to hospital 3 or 4 times due to impulsively harming myself, I couldn't even function and I ruined all my relationships and life. I impulsively quit jobs, I ended friendships, I pushed people that cared for me away and then felt heartbroken afterwards and couldn't understand why I kept doing that.

The last time I went to the hospital they said I needed 'trauma therapy' ...I had an extremely volatile argument with my dad and I tried to hurt myself again and was extremely suicidal and knew I wasn't safe at home. They referred me to a service called 'The listening place' I had fortnightly calls with them, but it was mainly due to me feeling suicidal it didn't really combat anything.... I finished it and went back to my GP who then said psychiatrists wouldn't see me unless I was having severe mental health symptoms such as hallucinations or I was delusional and non functional. I begged them but they said...no! I was literally thinking... I'm desperate here, all they can do is prescribe me drugs and not even tell me wtf is wrong with me. They eventually said I'd be put on some waiting list for another type of therapy, I'd had enough.

It got to the point in 2020, where I'd got so unwell I literally couldn't function... I'd cry every day and I'd self destruct over anything... everything triggered me, you name it... I'd see people I knew graduating - I'd feel worthless, I'd be like what have I even done with my life? my birthday came up in October - a month later the police nearly had to break down my door because I'd not opened it and the helpline I called had marked me as a suicide risk. I went to hospital, the lady told me to meditate and go for a walk :))))))) like that's going to solve anything.

I was so confused why everything hurt so much... why I couldn't function, why I ruined everything so I went through my insurance and went privately. I'm going to be honest, the NHS failed me because I was begging them - I'd gone to hospital many times injured and obviously unwell- they had even said I was a risk to myself but wouldn't admit me to the psych ward because they had no beds. I don't know anyone who managed to get a diagnosis through the NHS because they fob everyone off and say its depression. Therapists wont diagnose, GP's are useless and will throw meds at you and they are very reluctant to prescribe anything.

When I got my diagnosis, I was both relieved but also in shock. They had told me it was 'EUPD' or emotionally unstable personality disorder.. I'd never heard of it referred to in that term, only BPD which I knew faintly of. If you have insurance go privately, some can get plans where you pay over a few months etc. But yeah, on the NHS it seems the only way they will diagnose you is if you're over 18 and are basically an inpatient or something because they refused to diagnose me, even when they told me I needed 'DBT' or 'Trauma therapy' they wouldn't give it a name they just said it was childhood trauma lmao. It may be different in other parts of the country but all the other people I know with BPD either had to do it privately or were inpatients and got diagnosed in the psychiatric hospital. Although you may have a really good doctor who may specialise in it and can help? but yeah I had the hardest time trying to find out what was wrong with me, the NHS don't like to diagnose it and once you have got diagnosed with it.... expect to be treated VERY differently by the NHS and doctors :) therapists now refuse to see me due to my diagnosis and I get told my episodes are because I'm 'emotionally unstable'... by MEDICAL PROFESSIONALS.

Good luck and all the best, it's not an easy journey.

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Quarantine

Summary: After an accident at work leaves the reader exposed to a dangerous virus, she has has to spend two weeks in quarantine with her ex-boyfriend, Dean...

Pairing: Doctor!Dean x Nurse!reader

Square: Accidental Confession

Word Count: 2,700ish

Warnings: language, angst, fluff

A/N: Written for @spngenrebingo​

“Two weeks!” you said, a pair of gloved hands pointing for you to continue walking down the hall. “You can’t stick me in quarantine for that long!”

“It’s just a precaution, mam’,” said the man in the sealed up tight rubber suit. You groaned, following him down the hall until you rounded a corner, spotting someone else sitting in the room you were going to be stuck in.

“I am not sharing a room with him for two weeks!” you said.

“Get in the room mam,” he said. You whined but walked ahead, knowing you had no other option. You saw Dean tilt his head up from one of the beds as you were led through a pair of special doors that sealed behind you. Another opened and you entered the room, yet another pair of doors sealing behind you.

“You have got to be kidding me,” said Dean, standing up and going to the door. “I want my own room!”

“There’s only the one room. You both have to stay in there for the next two weeks,” said the man through the glass wall. “You were given instructions on how to get anything you need and will be provided food on a regular schedule or at request. You will be monitored from the other window bay.”

“I already hate this,” you groaned, kicking at the door you knew wasn’t opening anytime soon. The man walked away and that small hallway quickly went black, your focus going to the wall of glass windows with people moving around on the other side.

“I got an idea. We don’t talk to each other,” said Dean.

“Fine with me.”

12 Hours Later

The light in the window bay was dimmer as only one woman sat behind a desk outside. It was late and you figured most people were gone home. Or they’d listened to Dean’s complaints to give the two of you at least a little privacy. He was laying on one of the hospital beds, tossing a ball against the far wall and catching it. You couldn’t stop pacing the room though, couldn’t get yourself to relax.

“You’re not claustrophobic. Why are you freaking out?” he asked without looking at you.

“Maybe because I potentially have a horrifying disease with no cure and am going to die very painfully,” you said.

“You always worried too much,” said Dean, tossing the ball over your head as you walked past.

“You were the worrier, not me,” you said.

“What were you doing up on the fifth floor anyways?” asked Dean, pausing when you didn’t answer. “You weren’t...coming to see me, were you?”

“As if. Coffee machine on fourth was broken,” you said. “No one ever goes to the doctors lounge on fifth so-“

“So that’s how we both got exposed to the lab accident down the hall,” he said, tossing the ball again. “Why don’t those assholes have to be stuck in here?”

“They were wearing suits and are being monitored at a secondary location,” said the woman over the intercom, both of you jumping.

“Eavesdropping much? So what, are we in the dying room?” asked Dean. The woman gave Dean a long look before she flipped off a switch, the intercom quiet again. “Well that answered that question.”

“What? You aren’t afraid?” you asked Dean.

“Not really,” he said. “I’m exposed to crap everyday and I never so much as get a cold. I’ll take my chances that I’ll be just fine.”

“So...you seeing anyone?” you said. Dean narrowed his eyes. “Or should I say, sleeping with anyone?”

“I can sleep with whoever I want,” he said.

“Sure. Just this time, make sure not to cheat on the poor girl,” you said.

“Is that why we broke up? You actually think I cheated on you?” he asked as he sat up. “I remember trying to talk to you about it but you just left, moved out while I was at work, never said a word to me again.”

“I knew you’d lie,” you said.

“You’re so fucking dumb. It’s a good thing we did end things,” he said.

“Don’t be mad because you got caught,” you said.

“Sure, whatever. I’m a cheater,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Don’t try to talk to me about it or anything.”

“I saw the texts, idiot,” you spat back.

“I was planning a fucking surprise for you, idiot,” growled Dean.

“A fancy restaurant and hotel room? What, the ‘I’m dumping you for another woman’ surprise?” you scoffed.

“More like the ‘can my friend put that crap on her credit card so you don’t find out’ surprise,” he said.

“Nice excuse,” you said, rolling your eyes.

“It’s the truth,” he said.

“Yeah. I totally see why you would suddenly start acting shady and have other women buy hotel rooms for you,” you said.

“I was gonna ask you to marry me you dumbass. I was going to surprise you, go way overboard and all that romantic shit. But I guess I’m just some cheating scumbag that was wrong about the kind of woman I wanted to marry if she wouldn’t even talk to me about it,” he said.

You swallowed hard, staring at him.

“Oh? Got nothing to say?” he said.

“Why didn’t you tell me that?” you said.

“Why did you assume I was a bad guy? You didn’t let me explain,” he said.

“I’m going to bed,” you said, plopping down on the mattress with your back to him.

You woke up with a headache, Dean quietly reading for most of the morning. By lunch you felt sweaty and were making excuses to run to the bathroom.

“Hey,” said Dean, making you jump in the shower when he came inside.

“What?” you asked, wrapping your arms around yourself. You peered around the shower wall at him, Dean closing the door behind him.

“You’re sick,” said Dean, reaching a hand out to your forehead.

“Don’t touch me. I might kill you,” you said, turning away.

“You aren’t that kind of sick. You’re anxious and it’s making you feel crappy which isn’t good for your immune system and considering our situation, that needs to be in working order,” he said. “We stow our crap for now, be civil.”

“I’m mad at me, not you,” you said.

“Well ease up before you actually get sick,” said Dean.

“We have worked in the same hospital for the past six months and you never once thought about coming to me?” you asked.

“I thought about it but...I thought you didn’t want me anymore. I was trying to respect it,” he said.

“You were gonna marry me?” you asked.

“Maybe it’s better this happened. We realized the kind of people we are,” he said.

“Yeah. I’m an idiot,” you said, resting your head against the shower wall.

“Even if you thought I lied, why didn’t you say something?” he asked.

“Dean-”

“You literally can’t run away from this conversation,” he said, crossing his arms as he leaned back against the door. “Talk.”

“Heather’s...pretty,” you said with a shrug. “I figured you were bored with me and wanted someone...better.”

“Heather is my friend and that is all she is,” said Dean. “You still didn’t answer my question.”

“I didn’t want you to humiliate me, alright? Everyone already knows I dropped out of the residency program because I couldn’t hack it. If you cheated on me with the pretty girl in our year too…” you said, cursing to yourself. “I wound up becoming a nurse. I couldn’t even-”

“Hey. A patient attacked you when your resident didn’t say anything about him being a psych case. Everyone understood when you didn’t want to be in med school anymore,” said Dean.

“Leave me alone, Dean. Please.”

Three Days Later

You were physically feeling better, the doctors saying that five days with no strange tests results yet was a good sign. But you were still stuck with Dean and he was doing his best to get you to talk again.

“I would never cheat on you, you know. I was yours til the day I died,” said Dean. “You just left.”

“I know that, Dean,” you gritted out, squeezing your stress ball for the millionth time that day.

“I can’t get over the fact you thought I cheated,” he said.

“Oh yeah. Well, you’re only a top surgical student and handsome and smart and funny and a bunch of other shit and we both know you settled for me because your mom was hounding you,” you said.

“You really think I thought so little of you?” he said.

“I think I’m stuck in here with you and I want to be on the other side of the planet right about now,” you said.

“You’ve thought I cheated on you for sixth months,” he said. “I know how you can twist things and let them get to you. I bet that one took the cake.”

“Just stop talking. Please,” you said, throwing your pillow over your head.

“Why?” he asked.

“Because it was easier to think it was your fault but it wasn’t, it was mine and on top of still not knowing if I’m going to die, I have all that guilt suddenly on me so I’m sorry I’m not in a chatty mood,” you said, curling up into a ball.

“Are you crying?” he asked.

“No,” you shot back, knowing you were two seconds from losing it. You swore you’d never cry over him again. But you felt a shudder run through you and then you were burying your face in your pillow, trying to take deep breaths.

“Y/N,” said Dean, a hand suddenly on your back. “It’s alright. I’ll shut up about it.”

“You never could stand it when I cried,” you said, wiping your face off. The bed dipped behind you, Dean’s back pressing up against yours.

“Well we both fucked up. I can’t be pissed at you for not talking to me when I gave up on trying to talk too,” he said, rubbing the spot between your shoulder blades.

“Don’t make me feel better,” you said.

“Why?” he asked.

“Because you can’t be so forgiving,” you said.

“There you go, assuming things about me again,” he said but there was no malice in it. Neither one of you said anything more until they started to dim the lights out in the hall. Dean went back to his own bed but he let you have his extra blanket, something he used to do when you were having bad days.

You sighed as you curled up into the thing, willing yourself to sleep.

“Have you been on a date since…” said Dean, tossing the ball to you from the other side of the room the next day.

“Nope. You?” you asked.

“Nope. Hard to find someone willing to deal with random shifts and my unique personality features,” he said. You laughed as you threw the ball back, Dean smiling.

“Unique personality features. I like that,” you said.

“Beats labeling yourself as a self-depreciator,” he said. “Girls aren’t attracted to that.”

“You beat yourself up too much,” you said.

“That’s something we always had in common,” he said. “Never seemed to scare you away though.”

“I see something in you that you can’t. Stuff you hate, I like,” you said with a shrug.

“I lost a patient a few months back. I could have really used you around,” said Dean after a moment.

“My dog died. Well, my parents dog,” you said.

“Skippy? You loved that dog,” he said.

“What are we doing Dean? We aren’t a couple anymore,” you said.

“Maybe we can try being friends again,” he said. “If I end up dying, I’d rather do it knowing we were friends again.”

“I thought you said you weren’t scared,” you said.

“I lied,” said Dean, tossing the ball back to you. “Friends?”

“No. I don’t deserve that,” you said.

“I thought I was the self-depreciating one,” he said. “Come on.”

“Okay,” you said, rolling over on your bed to face him. He gave you a smile from his own, your eyes shutting after a minute. “You know the patient wasn’t your fault, right?”

“Yeah. But it’s my job to save ‘em,” he said. “I don’t want to talk about work. Hey, did you ever go to Europe during the summer like you were planning?”

“No. I didn’t want to go,” you said.

“You were so excited though. What happened?” he asked.

“I was so excited to go with you. I never made reservations, just went home to my parents for a week instead,” you said.

“I’m leaving the hospital,” said Dean. You opened your eyes, Dean’s hair falling down over his forehead where it was jammed against the pillow. “Going to do a family practice. One of the docs over there retired and it being a family practice and all that, the benefits from the state, they pretty much pay your student loan off for you. They need more of ‘em. Plus there’s less stress, normal work hours...there’s an opening for a nurse there too. I was thinking of recommending this chick.”

“Who?” you asked.

“Who do you think?” he said. “You hated night shifts from day one of med school. What’s the harm?”

“Dean.”

“Y/N.”

“Slow. We can’t…we need to try and be friends first,” you said.

“Alright and we can be work friends too. We live, promise you’ll consider it,” he said.

“I promise,” you said.

“Okay. I can live with that.”

Three Weeks Later

“Dr. Winchester,” said Sally who’d been showing you around the office. “This is nurse Y/L/N. Today’s her first day. Dr. Winchester just started earlier this week.”

“Dr. Winchester hates being called doctor, don’t you,” you said with a smile.

“I keep telling Sally that but she don’t listen,” teased Dean. “Y/N and I go way back.”

“Oh really? That’s great. Dean you mind showing Y/N around the rest of the way? I got a toddler in three waiting for a lollipop,” said Sally.

“Sure thing,” said Dean, smiling at you once she took off. “So...glad to still see you around and kicking.”

“We both got clean bills of health. They said it was stress that made me feel crappy during it,” you said, Dean humming. “You uh, like it here?”

“Yeah. There’s not that competition bullshit we dealt with. No cliques and we all get to go home everyday at 4:30. It’s awesome,” he said.

“Wow, eight hour days. Not sure what’ll you do with having a life again,” you teased.

“Was thinking of asking this nurse if she wanted to come over for dinner tonight,” he said. You stared at him, Dean smiling. “I got your favorite pasta.”

“I thought we said friends,” you said.

“Yeah well I changed my mind. I was dumb, you were dumb. We didn’t talk and I’m not throwing away the best thing that ever happened to me over a misunderstanding. I’m not ready to be proposing right now but give me a few months. I just want to make you dinner again,” he said.

“I don’t know if I trust myself not to hurt you like that again,” you said.

“I trust you. Please. One date,” he said.

“...You get those breadsticks too?” you asked.

“Duh,” he said, biting his bottom lip.

“Alright. Six?” you asked.

“It’s a date, sweetheart.”

[the-ghost-king]

for the anon describe yourself date (but not date 4 u lol) thing

whats up, I am utterly obsessed with nico di angelo and the percy jackson serieses, I take too many AP classes, I probably have adhd, I like to read and write and I like drawing (but I'm not very good at it) I like dad jokes and I'm very much a dog person. I like History and I want to go into academia or psychology one day.

(Lmao, yeah "the dating not quite date thing" might be a good name for whatever this is exactly I'm doing here~ I appreciate your submission)

I've been obsessed with Nico di Angelo for years now so I get it... My obsession originally started because I was trans and just didn't know it and was therefore living precariously through Nico in some ways, but my love for him has kind of stuck over the years so I understand that. I'm glad we can share and obsession over the Percy Jackson series, gives us something to talk about when daily life falls flat!

I used to take lots of AP classes but my school doesn't offer so many anymore, and also the one I was supposed to take this year was essentially a freshman college pre-med class but I would have had to do in person to take the class and that wasn't an option (my entire family is high risk)... Me being barred from that class was the first time I've legitimately ever felt anger, before that point I'd always had anger and annoyance confused... I've taken a few AP history and science classes, and I'm currently in an AP lit class and will be next year, so I can understand the struggles of AP classes and I applaud you and hope you pass!

(I've passed all of my AP classes so far but I haven't earned the college points from any of them because I used to be a gifted kid but now I'm just depressed and happy with a B)

I wish I still read but often times I find myself getting stuck in spirals of having lots of things I bought and want to read only to reread something again and not finish it fully. As for writing although I haven't done anything creative in some 10 months I'm currently working on 2 different one shots and I'm very proud of that fact!

As for drawing, art takes time and it's not an easy process. I find myself often annoyed at not quite meeting the same levels of other people before I remember my digital art looks worse than my traditional and that most of the people I'm comparing myself to are 20-30 year old artists and I feel a little better; just look at some old art and see how far you've come, it definitely helps you feel better lol. Also! Although you shouldn't trace anything you're going to use for something, I do absolutely recommend tracing images when learning it helps teach coordination and stuff~

I'm overall generally an animal person, and although I kind of want to be a doctor or an author, I wish owning a farm made more money because I would love to be able to live on a farm and car for livestock. Dogs are super cool just like every animal, I like cats but I'm allergic :/

History, academia, and Psych are all really cool ngl. Although I've never wanted a history degree I absolutely understand why someone would, museums are tons of fun and I love learning weird information about the past... I'm personally a fan of 1800-1900's women's fashion, and WW2 European society (social norms, fashion, daily life, etc)- so yep! I also like Ancient Greece, 1000-1700s Europe, Ancient Japan, and pre-settlement America (Vineland, Cherokee and Iroquois, and Latin American first nations people). I would also love to talk for hours about psychology not going to lie, I've only been diagnosed with GAD but it's likely I have depression and adhd as well (some other side effects as well but that's not relevant right now)

Anyhow Anon, apologies for my rambling but I would take you out on a date or two as well, I could see us being close friends even if the relationship didn't quite work out! Thank you for the ask!

[lockedstuck]

how to make friends and influence people

March 2021

Your name is Karkat Vantas, and you probably should have thought this through better.

Picture a thin blonde girl sitting by a phone, being watched by a woman in navy blue scrubs. The girl wears light blue hospital issue pants, and a white T-shirt with a pink cat on it. Her frustration shows clear as day, from her posture to her facial expressions. She yanks the phone off the hook and punches in a number with such speed that the gesture must be semi-unconscious. She puts the phone to her ear, waits a few moments, then swears loudly. Then, in a tense voice, she begins to speak.

“Mommy, this is the fourth time I’ve called you today… Please call me back when you can.”

Her bobbed hair bounces as she turns to face you.

“Oh!” she exclaims. “Did you want to use the phone?”

Yeah, yeah you did, to call your unceasing nag of a brother. He’s the reason you’re here in the first place, since he’s the fucker who called 911 on you. Therefore, he should have to bring you clothes. You grab the phone and dial Kankri’s number. He does not answer. You listen to his voicemail and grow progressively angrier. You mentally curse him and his next seven generations.

The weird blonde girl watches your frustration with a hint of amusement. This will not do.

“What the fuck are you looking at?” you ask her. She blinks, shrugs, and walks away.

Your name is Karkat Vantas, you’ve been in the loony bin for ten minutes, and you’re already pissed off. Score one, you.

Apparently you arrived just in time for morning meds, so all the fucking loonies are out on parade, including the blonde girl, who gives you a friendly wave. You scowl. Nobody has told you where to put your shit yet, or deigned to assign you a room. Not that you have much shit to put anywhere. Just the clothes you arrived in the psych ER with - a black turtleneck, and black sweatpants. They took away your shoes and gave you a pair of hospital socks.

Allegedly this is one of the nicest hospitals in the area. Go fucking figure.

Finally, after what feels like six hundred years, an orderly tells you that you’re in room 1224, on the men’s side.

Wait, there are sides? The psych ER wasn’t organized according to gender; you were stuck there with two homeless people (one man and one woman), an alcoholic, and some guy who had overdosed on alprazolam. Whatever, though. You shuffle your ass over to room 1224, which is about thirty feet away. You drop your stuff in the closet, take one look at your snoring roommate, and go back outside.

The blonde girl - having taken her medication - dashes back to the phone, dials a number, waits a moment, and then bursts into tears.

Great. You should have never written that note. Now you’re stuck in here with this chick. You contemplate trying to comfort her, and decide that you’d probably suck at it.

Another person saunters past her and stops. She’s a few shades lighter than you, and has these long Poetic Justice type box braids. Her green dress looks like it’s been immaculately pressed. She tugs the hem down to fully cover her thighs. She also has three eyebrow rings, a lip ring, and a full face of makeup. You didn’t know staff could have piercings. She offers the blonde girl a hug. You really didn’t know staff could do that.

This is not what you were expecting from the psychiatric ward.

“Roxy, why are you crying again?” the woman asks. Roxy sniffles and swipes at her eyes with the back of her arm.

“I had a nightmare and my mom won’t answer the phone,” she responds. “Where is she?”

“Asleep, most likely. It’s awfully early, isn’t it?”

“I guess so,” Roxy admits. She gives the woman a weak smile. “Did you go for vitals yet?”

The woman sighs and nods. “Yeah. 92/53. They’re telling me to drink more water since my pressure’s so low and my heart rate’s so high.”

Wait. That woman must be a patient.

She doesn’t seem like the type. She’s too authoritative, too poised.

You take a look at her again, scanning her for some sign of insanity. Maybe a few marks on her brown arms where the razor slipped. You search her carefully, not trying to seem like you are.

She has one thin, deep, healing scar down each wrist. Well, then.

She manages to pick up on you, because at that moment she turns to face you. She smiles.

“You must be the new admission to the unit,” she begins in a cool, pleasant tone. You’re reminded of a receptionist.

“Uh, yeah.”

She offers you her hand to shake. “I’m Porrim. Porrim Maryam.”

“Karkat,” you reply.

--

Trying to sleep in your room is an absolute trip. It goes the way everything in your life has been going, absolutely fuckawful.

“I won’t take it!” a high-pitched voice exclaims, all of a sudden, jolting you out of your light sleep. “Water you even playing at?!”

Oh, how you can empathize with that sentiment, furious as you are with whomever voiced it. Fuck the psych ward. With distinction. You peer out of your room, and watch a black girl in a purple onesie sprint down the hallway, yelling all the while.

Your roommate, who had heretofore been snoring with his mouth open fish-wide, starts to mutter things at the ceiling.

“Nurse Esther musta tried to give Clozapine to Fef again,” he says. “What an idiot.”

He looks at you and blinks. Fully registers your presence. He props himself up on one hand and stares some more.

“You must be my new roommate,” he says. “I think. Are you?”

You roll your eyes. “No, I’m just here for shits and giggles.”

He snorts and turns on the light. Apparently he’s got the front part of his blond hair dyed purple. You’d never do anything like that personally, but it looks okay on him. He gropes for his glasses and crams them onto his face.

“Christ, you look awful,” he says.  

Where the fuck does he get off saying that?

“You don’t look so hot yourself.”

Your roommate curses and shakes his head.

“Nah, I didn’t mean it like that,” he goes on. “I mean, you look like you haven’t slept in days.”

“I haven’t,” you reply, thinking of the time leading up to your suicide attempt. Not even an attempt, really. More like… a contemplation. A contemplation that led you to telling Kankri you’d rather jump in front of the train than send one more month in your parents’ house,

“Well, you’ll get lots of sleep here. There’s not much else to do. The name’s Eridan, by the way. Welcome to 3 East.”

“Thanks,” you say. “I’m Karkat.”

“Nice to meet you.”

A few minutes later, someone starts knocking on your door. Eridan groans.

“If it’s Roxy, tell her to come back in half an hour. I got ECT today. I need my beauty sleep.”

“The crying girl?” you ask.

“Was she on the phone while she was crying?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s Rox, then. She calls her mom every four hours and then flips a shit if she doesn’t answer,” Eridan says. “Ever heard of Rose Lalonde?”

Before you started transitioning a couple years ago, they had you in the women’s unit for a week. Dr. Lalonde saw you twice over that seven day period and was probably the only clinician who reliably used your pronouns.

“The psychologist for the unit downstairs?” you ask.

“Exactly,” Eridan says. “That’s Roxy’s mom.”

Well, fuck.

---

A couple of days later, there’s a new admission. Kid looks comprised of a bunch of coat-hangers and duct tape, all angles and gangle. He walks up to use the phone, without realizing there’s a line for the phone already behind him. Gamzee just rolls with it, even though he was next in line. This dude is clearly a massive douche. He’s only on for a couple of seconds though - you assume whomever he was calling didn’t pick up.

When the good ugly fairy was handing out ugly, she must have dumped in almost as much for him as she did for you. He is by far the skinniest dude you have ever seen. And being that everyone in your major in college was hopped up on amphetamines, you have seen some truly thin people. If a strong breeze hit him, he’d fly clear to Canada.

Roxy asks him for his name, and when he replies, “Thollukth Captor”, with the universe’s thickest lisp, you can’t help yourself. A snort escapes your mouth before you can take it back. The dude looks at you with a narrow-eyed suspicion, and you raise your eyebrows at him in response. How does he talk like that and not expect mockery?

“And uh...” Roxy trails off helplessly. “How do you spell that, exactly?”

“What’re you, with regithtration, or thomething?”

“I was just curious.”

You won’t laugh, Karkat. You swear it. You thwear it, to use this man’s parlance. Unfortunately, though, you’re grinning. His eyes alight on you, and he gives you a quick, “the fuck are you looking at, aththhole?”

“Call me an asshole again and I’ll cram those glasses so far up your ass they’ll need a colorectal exam to find them.” 

[yulmoldauer]

some things are better left unsaid (Tyson Jost/Male OC): Chapter 2

part 1

Chapter 2

Summary: Mason has to deal with the events of the previous night.

Warnings: uh as you can guess if you read the first part, there’s gonna be homophobia/transphobia talked about. Otherwise, there shouldn’t be anything that needs a warning? If I’m wrong just let me know :)

Words: 2,319

Notes: I don’t think I have much! This is like a lot of flashbacks and I’m sorry but that's character building baybee!!! I promise after this it’ll be more present-based stuff. I just love the character and wish I could spew out my brain and make it understandable lol

Fuck.

That was the only thought Mason had upon waking up. The implications of the previous night hit him like a ton of bricks. His hangover was just an added bonus.

The party had been fun, obviously, but Tyson was still here. Tyson had seen his top surgery scars.

“When did you have surgery?”

Fuck, fuck, fuck. A medical degree and some knowledge on what other surgery would leave these scars would be helpful. Mason really did not want to lie, but he wasn’t sure what else he was supposed to do.

Being drunk wasn’t helping, either. In his mind, the world was ending and his career was over after the last fuck up that got him traded…

Rationally, he just burst into tears. Not a dramatic scene or anything, he just felt his eyes watering very quickly and suddenly the tears were rolling down his face.

“Oh, shit. Okay,” Tyson set the water down and hurried to his friend. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know this was- here, will you feel better if you get a shirt on?”

Mason only nodded, allowing Tyson to help him get the shirt on and pull him for a hug.

This just made Tyson think that the scars were from some shitty, traumatic event or something with extremely bad memories. Note to self: don’t fucking ask about them again was written in large letters in his brain.

He did factor in the extremely likely possibility that Mason was drunk and--as anyone with a brain knows--Mason was a hundred times more dramatic when drunk. Still, though, if he was crying, it couldn’t be a good thing.

At least Tyson had been nice enough to leave him some meds and water after forcing him to go to bed.

“You hungry?” Tyson asked softly from the doorway. “I heard you rumbling around in here, I wasn’t watching you sleep,” he clarified quickly.

“Didn’t think you were,” Mason chuckled. “No, I’m not hungry. Thank you, though. You can help yourself to whatever. You know that.”

“Yeah, I made some toast earlier. Fun birthday last night?” Tyson smiled and sat on the edge of the bed as Mason laid back against the headboard and dug the heels of his hands into his eyes.

“You could say that. Thanks, though. Seriously, I had a ton of fun.”

“Yeah, of course. I didn’t stop you from posting anything on social media, though. I dunno why you like taking videos so much.”

“Then I can save them and rewatch them later,” Mason scoffed like Tyson was an idiot. After a few more seconds Tyson moved to get up mere milliseconds before Mason started talking.

“About last night…”

He hesitated, waiting for some kind of confirmation that Tyson was willing to talk about this. There was no sense putting it off, right?

Tyson just raised his eyebrows. “The scars?”

That earned a nod and Tyson sat back down.

“They’re… shit. Okay, sorry. I never meant to lie or anything--fuck that, I never lied. I just... “

“Dude, if it’s something you don’t want to talk about, that’s fine.”

Mason groaned quietly and shook his head. “No, it’s just… I don’t know how to explain it.”

“If you wanna talk, just say it. I’m not gonna freak out or anything. If you don’t wanna, that’s okay too,” Tyson reassured gently.

Truthfully, the curiosity was killing him. It was rare that an injury happened and they didn’t share it with each other. Mason took a few more breaths before nodding. Psyching himself up.

“They’re from my top surgery.”

Silence.

More silence.

Mason officially wanted to die. He was going to have to request another team change, go through the legal battle of making sure he didn’t get outed--

“Like…?” Tyson asked quietly with raised eyebrows.

“Like I had tits and got them removed the summer before I went to college.”

That may have been a relatively vulgar way to put it, but it was true. It was the simplest and least-awkward way he could think to put it.

“Oh,” Tyson nodded a few times. “Thats--I never knew--I mean, I couldn’t, like, tell or anything…”

“Yeah, that was the point,” he sighed and took a sip of the water on the nightstand. “Noone was supposed to know or be able to tell or whatever.”

“So literally no one knows?”

“Not literally, no. My family knows, obviously.”

“But the league?”

At the defeated sigh that escaped his friend, Tyson quickly backtracked. “You don’t have to get into it, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be prying--”

“No, it’s fine. It’s just… a long story that I don’t know if you actually want to hear or if you’re just being nice.”

“Of course I wanna hear, stupid. I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t.”

Mason narrowed his eyes at the name, but it was quickly followed with a small smile.

It did take a bit to explain everything, though. How he was drafted into his previous team, everything was fine, and then someone had taken an ungodly amount of time to hit the showers at the same time Mason had been in there.

“Oh, fuck! You scared me,” Mason huffed when he heard the water turn on just across from him.

“What’cha being jumpy for?” the taller guy laughed.

“I’m not jumpy,” Mason grumbled, turning the water off quickly. He wasn’t even sure all the soap was out of his hair, but that didn’t matter. He just needed to get the hell out of there.

“Are you okay, man? You’re being weird-” the other man asked genuinely and glanced over his shoulder. This had been at the same exact time Mason had been trying to just leave as quickly as possible.

There was a few moments of silence that felt like years as the younger grabbed for a towel to cover himself up.

“Are you--?”

“Please, just forget--” Mason tried, but the guy was already turning his water off and grabbing his own towel.

“No, I’m not fucking--are you kidding me, Wright?” he nearly shouted as he stormed out of the room with Mason in tow. “Are you actually kidding me? How the hell have you gotten away with this--”

“I haven’t ‘gotten away with’ anything, you dickhead. It’s none of your business in the first place.”

“It doesn’t matter, you don’t belong here. You know they’ve got the women’s league now, right? It’s not like-”

Mason just shook his head, staring at the floor of the changing room while they were both yanking clothes on as quickly as possible. He didn’t want to hear what was coming next, all the awful shit he’d say.

It wasn’t even what he was saying that was the issue. Mason had heard just about everything at this point and had always had a pretty thick skin. It was the fact that someone he trusted--someone he’d considered family at this point--was saying it.

Didn’t he realize that it wouldn’t be like this if Mason could help it?

“Hey, what the hell is going on?” the head coach cried over them, walking into the room. He hadn’t been concerned about the loudness until it was unbearably obvious that the shouting was getting increasingly angrier and angrier. He wasn’t about to bring up the fact that Mason looked genuinely scared, as if worried about his safety.

The other guy was pissed, going off about how he’d been lied to, he’d been sharing a locker room, dressing room, and showers with a lot of unkind names, and that he wouldn’t keep playing for the team while acting like this never happened.

They ended up in the coach’s office, Mason attempting to towel dry his hair while the other blew off steam. He just didn’t want anyone to see him upset.

Once they were separated, lawyers were brought in with papers and agreements, and the head coach asked Mason if he’d like to request a trade or anything. It wasn’t like he had the option to say no, but he wasn’t exactly upset to go somewhere where he wasn’t worried about going to the bathroom without getting yelled at or beat up by a guy way bigger than himself.

He remembered to thank management before he left for working overtime, it seemed like, to figure out who would take him on such short notice and mid-season.

He was a good defenseman, sure, it just wasn’t easy on such short notice. But what the star player wants, the star player gets.

Colorado was the quickest to take the young defenseman about a year ago, and the rest was history.

“Holy shit,” Tyson murmured after a few quiet moments.

“I thought I was done. I honestly didn’t think anyone was going to pick me up, I thought my career was over. Can you fucking imagine that? Retiring at, like, 22?”

“Yeah, no, that’s… fuck, dude. I’m so sorry that happened.”

“It’s fine, I don’t even really care. I’m happier here, anyway. Especially since it’s not like you’re saying I’m a creep or a fucking… whatever.”

“Does anyone else know? In the league, I mean.”

Mason nodded. “Took a different approach when I got here. Bednar, bare minimum management, and PR knows. PR because if someone ends up outing me, I thought it would be a good idea to have some sort of plan on what to do. And medical staff always has, obviously. I think they know more about me than I do.”

Tyson nodded along, looking at his friend again after a few moments.

“You want this to stay between us, then? Or…?”

The fact that Tyson was even asking made Mason want to cry again. After being fucked over god-knows how many times when it came to being trans, Tyson was the one confirming he’d keep the secret. He wouldn’t give anyone any kind of hint unless Mason wanted him to.

“Yeah.  Between us, please? I dunno, I might come out to the guys eventually, just so they know. I just… I don’t know what I’d do if they react badly--”

“They wouldn’t,” Tyson said quickly. “I promise you they wouldn’t. And even if someone did have an issue with it, they’d just fucking stay quiet. They’d be in the tiny minority.”

“I just don’t know if I can take being traded and going through everything again, Tys.”

At the wavering in Mason’s voice, Tyson reached out and squeezed his friend’s hand.

“You’re not going to get traded over stupid shit like that. Not here, at least.”

“You don’t know--”

“I mean, yeah, I don’t know a lot. But you already said that the most important people who need to know do, they’re okay with it, and it sounds like they’ve got your back. I’ve got your back, too. And if you end up telling the rest of the guys, they’ll have your back too. Even if you end up not telling them, I’m still here for you, man.”

Mason felt about eight tons of weight fall off his shoulders at that. How did he end up with such an amazing friend?

“I just can’t really come out publicly for… I dunno. A while. Ever, maybe? I don’t know.”

“That’s gotta suck. I mean, everyone’s got their shit they want to keep private but… I dunno what I’d do if I literally couldn’t talk about something.”

Especially with how amazing it would be if Mason was able to be that representation for kids like he was who want to play hockey, Tyson thought. The amount of LGBT kids and teenagers who get driven out of hockey is immense, that’s never been a secret. To see an LGBT guy do so well would be amazing, it just sucked it wasn’t possible for Mason to talk about.

And he did want to talk about it. It would suck to come out and deal with that, but if it helped other people he would do it without hesitation. That’s the kind of guy Mason had always been.

“You’re sure you’re not mad that I, like, kinda lied to you about this up until now?” Mason asked, breaking Tyson out of his train of thought.

“Lie?” Tyson furrowed his eyebrows. “Not telling someone something isn’t lying, first off. Second, its none of my fucking business unless you wanted me to know. Even then, this would be a stupid thing to get in the way of being friends with you. I know you call me an idiot all the time, but I like to think I’m not that stupid.”

“You’re definitely not,” Mason chuckled, flipping his blanket off of him and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He shot Tyson a genuine, appreciative smile before downing the painkillers with some water. “Let me get dressed and I can drive you home, if you want. I feel bad making you wait so long,” he murmured. It was well into the afternoon, and even though Tyson constantly reassured that it was fine, he didn’t care, Mason still felt guilty.

It was very clear Mason was hungover when he and Tyson left the building and got into his car, but that was fine. It had just confused Tyson when Mason unbuckled in front of his apartment building.

That is, until he was pulled into a tight hug.

“Thank you so much,” Mason whispered. “Seriously. I… I dunno how to actually tell you how much I appreciate you being so chill.”

Tyson hugged him for a few moments before shaking his head. “It’s really not much to just… I dunno what to call it. Not be an asshole?”

Mason laughed as he let go, allowing Tyson to open the door. “You can text me if you have any questions about… anything. I don’t tell a lot of people, but the people who do know I’m pretty open with.”

“Yeah, of course. See you later, man. Go get rehydrated, okay? You look like shit.”

“Fuck you!”

[maryellencarter]

Queer asks copied from @corelliaxdreaming :

1. Is your family accepting? -- Hah. No. My bio-family is not accepting at allllll, so I went and got myself an internet family instead.

2. What is your sexuality? -- Weird. The strongest part of my identity is Aromantic. I seem to be pretty much allosexual, maybe bisexual; most of the people I find myself attracted to are men within a fairly specific category (physically fit to muscular, at least as competent as me, kind, and often a bit dorky; I also have a weakness for clever hands and sexy voices), but the women I'm attracted to cover a much broader range of appearances and personalities. I fall pretty much in the category of the one Tumblr post that said something like "Being bisexual means you're attracted to three specific fictional men and all women", even though the attraction to men... feels... more attraction-y? I'm still really struggling to figure that difference out.

3. What is your gender identity? -- Sort of genderfluid, sort of genderqueer, sort of maybe agnostically agender? I used to ID really strongly as a trans man, and then after a year or so of being accepted, I found myself turning female. I bounced back and forth for a lot of years but seem to have settled down at a point where it doesn't especially matter to me most of the time. Which is a lot more comfortable than hurtling around to different points on the gender spectrum without warning.

4. Favorite color? -- Blue. Royal blue, mostly. That really deep sky blue you get sometimes during the fall. A bunch of really bright colors.

5. When did you find out your sexuality? -- Oh, it's been a process. For a long time I identified as asexual. It took me years to figure out I was actually romance-repulsed, and more years to figure out I had any attraction to women. I'm still sort of confused by that part. Like I mostly just want to look at them being pretty, but I also definitely want to look at their boobs? Maybe touch some boobs? I'm honestly not sure.

6. What do you wish you could tell your past self? -- Oh lord. Sexuality and gender wise? I'm not sure young me could have been hurried along the process of self discovery. I'd really like to tell her she was being abused and gaslighted and that she needed to take her great-aunt's offer of a free ride and major in geology *before* she broke her health, and maybe also tell her she needed a CPAP machine, but she might just think I was a temptation of the Devil. Also I'm not sure if the CPAP machine was an option before Obamacare. Or the psych meds she needed, either.

7. Have you changed labels since realizing you were queer? -- Oh yeah, all over the place. Asexual, trans, genderqueer, biromantic (for about a week), aromantic allosexual bisexual maybe pansexual... some people apparently even count PCOS as an intersex condition, since I have a lot more beard and chest hair than is normal for perisex women, to the point that I always have to explain to a new doctor that I'm not in fact on testosterone, my body just does that. I've never quite felt right claiming the intersex label, but I've tried on a lot of others. I think my header may still say "queer on every conceivable axis".

8. How was your day? -- Um. I got stuck wandering Cracked.com for most of it. Then I drove up to check out my pulmonologist's office, which doesn't *say* they're closed for the pandemic, so I guess I'll go up again on Thursday and poke them about whether my appointment still exists. Then I went and wandered around a very large very dead mall on that side of town, hatched a bunch of pokeymans, then came home and ate some split pea soup.

9. Do you have any queer friends irl? -- I don't have *any* friends irl, and it's kicking my ass. I have like one or two coworkers I could hypothetically hang out with outside of work if we weren't so all-fired busy. But if we're talking "friends I have seen irl at some point", I'm pretty sure they're all queer. They might also be limited to @tigerkat24 and one other person who doesn't use Tumblr, I'm not sure.

10. What's your favorite hobby? -- Probably knitting. It's soft and squishy and brightly colored, and it can be as brainless or as complex as I could possibly want.

11. Who's the best queer icon in your opinion? -- I honestly don't have an opinion. I've always been too far outside the community to figure out whomst the options were.

12. Which pride flags do you like the most design / color wise? -- Pansexual. I'd probably have a lot more pride merch if I IDed as pan, but it just never feels like it fits quite right.

13. Do you wish you could change any pride flags? -- YES. The aro flag is the exact same colors as the agender flag, just in a different arrangement, and it pisses me off because you can't distinguish aro merch from agender merch unless it's specifically flag shaped / has the stripe arrangement. I liked the yellow/orange/green/black aro flag, I found it much more cheerful, but apparently it was too similar to something Rastafarian. But you can't find alloaro flag merch at *all*, even though it has the green and yellow, which I like.

14. Are you openly out? -- Can't really help it, since I legally changed my name to a distinctively masculine one back in the day, and I do not remotely pass as male. So anybody who both sees or hears me and knows my legal name, knows there's *something* queerish going on. (I go by a gender neutral name these days, but haven't yet been arsed to change it legally because it's an entire hassle and a half.)

15. Are you comfortable with yourself? -- Mneh. I'm not *un*comfortable with my gender and sexuality, particularly. Sometimes I wish I could pass as male, sometimes I wish I could have cute cleavage. Sometimes I tie myself in knots with my feelings about women.

16. Do you experience dysphoria? -- I used to, very strongly. It hasn't been very aggressive lately.

17. Bottom, top, or verse? -- *shrugs* I guess I'd be a switch or "verse" because I'm down for whatever.

18. Are you femme, butch, or neither? -- I swing wildly between wishing to present Extremely Butch in a lumberjack style, which is impractical in the Southwest, or wishing to present Extremely Femme but being unable to do so, and tying myself in knots over the inability. (I can't wear femmey shoes due to my stupid feet, I can't have pierced ears as they get infected and the one pair of nice lightweight handcrafted earrings I paid $50 for is gone with the rest of my shit, I'm too lorge to find any nice dresses or be able to like try on prom dresses and stuff, I have a tendency to break jewelry as I'm extremely rough on my possessions... etc.) In practice my gender presentation is Fat Slob. :P

19. Do you bind? -- Not technically, but I do wear cheap sports bras which tend to flatten rather than lift or shape.

20. Do you shave? -- Only by necessity. I shave my face when I remember, because my beard looks extremely douchey and rather like pubes. Occasionally I shave my cleavage if I'm trying to present femmey. I pretty much never shave anything else unless the hair is getting Smelly.

21. If you could date anyone you wanted, who would it be? -- Um. Good question. The thing is, I am fairly strongly romance-repulsed, but I do want and enjoy queerplatonic relationships, so I would draw a distinction here between "dating" someone and being "in a relationship" with them.

22. Are you in a relationship? -- Yes, in fact.

23. Describe your partner. -- @camshaft22 . Um. She's very much the Hobbie to my Wes. She's very snarky and dies a lot and I love her very much.

24. Have you ever dated anyone of the same gender? -- Given that we're both genderfluid, I would say I'm in a relationship with someone of the same gender, yes.

25. Dated anyone of another gender? -- I've never dated or been in a relationship with anyone else, so I guess the answer is no.

26. Tell me a random fact about yourself! -- I always use this one, but I once lived in four different states (mostly non-contiguous) within a calendar month.

27. Do you own any pride flags / merch? -- No. I used to have a whole-ass collection that I added to every Pride, and then I lost all my damn shit and haven't had the heart to start looking again. Well, I have a rainbow necklace Kat sent me which is pretty nice. Can't wear it till my damn sunburn heals, though. :P

28. Have you ever been to a pride parade? -- Yes, when I lived in Bisbee. They have quite an excellent Pride which draws people from as far off as Denver.

29. Any advice to someone who isn't out or is exploring themselves? -- Take your time. It's okay if things change. You don't have to solve yourself all at once. It's more important to find people who will accept whoever you turn out to be.

30. Pineapple on pizza? -- I've honestly never tried it. Part of me feels like I should, in order to develop an opinion, and part of me feels like I'm just as happy being outside of that particular debate.

[hide-the-cutlery]

The next two days are going to suck.

I’m out of pills. Well, not completely out. I have about 8 of my anxiety pills left — to last me 3 weeks. I’m supposed to take 3 a day. So I have those, and some otc pills that take me out of myself a little, but I have to be careful with those, because, for me, they can trigger panic. I can pick up my pain meds in 2 days, but they usually makes me puke. I thought I was doing better this month with my usage, but I guess not. Then there’s more anxiety pills that supposedly help with my alcohol cravings, which aren’t a controlled substance, so I can probably get those next week. None of this really matters, because I don’t have shit now.

I’m so medicated. Even if I took everything as prescribed, I’d probably be an incoherent mess. I’m a master manipulator with doctors, which I’m simultaneously proud of and ashamed of. I know how to get what I want, within reason. It’s all about building a rapport with them and finding that sweet spot where they believe you need what you’re getting and never trying to push for more. I tried a few times to get another of my anxiety pills a day, but my psychiatrist pushed back and changed something else instead, so I knew I had to drop it.

What boggles my mind is that I’m a fucking alcoholic (addict), and these medical professionals still throw potentially dangerous, addicting medication at me. What pisses me off is how much they don’t listen. I saw my psychiatrist yesterday and brought a list of things I wanted to talk about with him, since the appointments go so fast. I wanted to explain my racing thoughts keeping me from completing simple tasks. My complete lack of impulse control. My delusional beliefs that the universe is trying to get back at me for being a shitty person. That I’ll stay up all night (sometimes for 2-3 nights in a row) and do things like clean. Even if I lay down, turn off everything, and pray for sleep, I just can’t. The fact that I didn’t finish my cleaning (or whatever I started) gets in my head and makes rest impossible. His solution? Let’s increase your seroquel again.

Scary things are starting to happen. Sometimes I go on a “bender” in a store(s), and I don’t remember when, how, what I got, etc. My memory needs to be jogged sometimes. This past time I got twelve bottles of body wash, for a total of 29. And that’s not including hairspray, hair gel, hair accessories, dry shampoo, lotion, makeup, nail polish, and a fuckton of clothes. I am out of control. It’s funny — I want to lose a little more weight (I just lost ~25lbs), but then all the clothes I’ve acquired won’t fit, so the fruits of my labor will be spoiled. I’ll have to start over. That is literally my thought process, and it’s so fucked. Stores know me. They watch me. They follow me. They know my fucking name and know what I do. And honestly, I just don’t care. I mean I care because I don’t want to get caught again, but the odds are seemingly in my favor. Even the LP woman where I actually got the cops called on me said “we’ve been watching you a long time, but you’re too good.” Not saying that as something to brag about, just recalling what happened. Also, I recognize when someone is trying to manipulate me. She was trying to get me to confess to other things because what they must have had on me would never hold up in court. I am not stupid. I don’t know what I did that time to allow them to catch me, but clearly I slipped up somewhere. Either that, or they just went with it, hoping I’d confess. Which I did. I cooperated; hopefully it helps me in the end. I was watching trashy tv this morning, and a woman mentioned she went to jail for two months for petty theft. The host of the show even seemed shocked by that. Maybe she had priors or other factors that played into it. But yeah, I can’t go to jail! It’s not an excuse, and if you look at my actions alone, yeah, maybe I deserve to go to jail, too. But (prepare yourself for some massive excuses) I’m sick. I don’t do it because I want material things. I don’t think I am above the law. I’m not trying to make some pathetic stand against capitalism. I just can’t control my impulses, and I’m sick. I’m working with my therapist, my psychiatrist (at least I make an effort to), and some women in AA to get help, and nothing is working. I thought after I got caught, I’d stop, and for a while, I did. But that apparently wasn’t enough, either. It’s a compulsion — fighting it is futile. It actually started out as excessive spending, but I ran out of the means to keep that up, so now it’s this. I know it’s because of my issues with addiction and mental health. I don’t see it any differently than drinking, drug use, sex, or whatever. It’s an alternative to drinking. I can’t do that anymore, so this filled the void. Every time I have spent money excessively or done this, I haven’t been drinking. The object of my addiction (for me, at least), bounces around until I can’t do that thing anymore, and my brain holds up a sign that says NEXT in glowing, red letters. Like a “no vacancy” sign at a shitty motel.

I know before I went on that little tangent, I was listing some things that are scaring me. Sometimes, after I wake up, I’ll check my phone and find that I tried to write, but it’s total jibberish. Sometimes I feel like I’m losing time. I don’t know where the days go; I wake up and (try to) go to bed. I’ll start to do something, my mind will go blank, and I won’t remember what I was doing. I’m stumbling all over the place. I’ll try to have conversations (usually in the morning), and I’ll be able to hear myself slurring. I seem to talk without thinking. An example: I’ll be in a room with only one other person, talking to them, but it will feel like part of myself has separated from me and is screaming “You LIAR! Shut the fuck up! That’s not true and you know it. Quit pulling things out of your ass and tell the fucking truth. Drop the whole facade; you have no idea what the hell you’re talking about, nor do you believe what you’re saying. You’re pathetic. Spineless. You’re fake.” I swear I couldn’t pick myself out of a lineup sometimes.

I feel that third presence with me frequently, but recently it hit a new level of intensity. I had a few job interviews a couple weeks ago and I found myself exaggerating the truth so much that it made me feel uncomfortable. All I could hear in my head was “LIAR LIAR LIAR”. (And forcing myself to make unwavering eye contact made me feel ill.) I tried to tell myself that’s just how interviews go, and that they weren’t really lies at all, just maybe a few embellishments, but I cannot listen to myself when I’m being rational. Irrationality is really all I know lately. I ended up taking a position with a company that seemed sketchy as hell, but I was desperate. I’m tired of being broke and needed the money so badly that it would have been absolutely foolish of me to decline the offer. The me who showed up to those interviews and got hired was not the me who showed up on the first day. The embellishments and feigned self-confidence were gone — all that was left was pitiful, anxious me with one foot out the door in case I had a panic attack and who won’t look you in the face, much less make eye contact. The more and more I learned about the position and the company, the more I wanted out. It turned out to be door-to-door sales, which was not how the job was described in the interviews. If there ever were a job that wasn’t for me, that’d be it. The leader of my team obviously noticed and basically let me quit. So I’m back to being unemployed. Oh well, it was a life lesson. I’m also back to being broke (not that I ever wasn’t). I didn’t even get paid for my training! I’m doing worse and worse things to get a few bucks here and there. It’s shameful. I would have declined the position on the spot, but my family is pushing me so hard to go back to work full time that I couldn’t in good conscience say thanks, but no thanks. I don’t know if I’m ready. I don’t think I’m ready. Sadly, you can’t look at someone and see what’s going on in their mind. If they could do that, I’m pretty sure they’d back off. I’ve been telling them I have to make my own decisions, and my priority is getting some help with my mental health. That didn’t really go over well. They think I’m capable because I had my shit (somewhat) together a few years ago, but it’s not a few years ago anymore. I’m still recovering and struggling. The tension in this house is almost tangible, and it’s completely my fault. Well, it’s my fault in the sense that I’m not where they want or expect me to be. It’s not that I don’t want to work or contribute financially. I do. I want a normal existence, but “this life I loathe is in my way”.

So because of all this, I’ve decided to look at getting a complete psych evaluation. I’ve never been given any kind of diagnoses aside from issues with depression, anxiety, and substance abuse. I know that’s not all that’s going on. I’ve had potential diagnoses thrown around like bipolar disorder, BDP, OCD tendencies, suppressed memories of trauma... I’m sure the pills don’t help (“but it sure is funny”). I take them because I can’t handle day to day functioning. Every day it feels like there’s a crisis, and I’ve felt this way long before I ever took a swig of vodka or popped some pills. When I discovered those things, nothing seemed as intense anymore. I stopped jumping at my own shadow. No wonder I’m an addict.

[2kultra]

On the psych ward

Wake up

Fog from the medications

Sedated last night

For acting out

Breathe in

Push down rough olive green blanket

Step onto the cold floor of the observation room

A camera in the corner across from your bed

Nurses outside 24/7

Peek out of room

Morning meds are called

Shuffle into line behind 5 or 6 other people

Everyone gets mouth checked to make sure they're not cheeking

Throwing small paper cups into the trashcan as they finish

Zyprexa, ativan, antidepressant, can't remember which

Breakfast is on the unit

Middle aged man in an apron rolls in the blue plastic cupboard full of breakfast in styrofoam contaners

Paper bag full of juice and milk on top

The styrofoam boxes are handed out by name

And as we eat, the officer shows up to take people to court

Hands against the wall, lock up your hands and feet, off in the car you go

And for those of us that stay on the unit

Group time

Clinician sitting in a chair in the dayroom

Patients sprawled out on the hard, vinyl cushion padded couches and chairs

Check in

Are we safe today

Let's get started

As I eagerly wait for the doctor to pull me into the consultation room

Gonna ask for my release date

Group is about mindfulness

And while everyone works on staying in the moment

My eyes dart from side to side of the white room

And then to the nurse standing at the door with a clipboard

Still can't shake the delusions

Because I know she is in with the bad guy somehow

Mindfulness

Paying close attention to what you are seeing, feeling, hearing, tasting

And back in the good old days, they let you have cigarette breaks

Go "outside"

Aka a giant concrete room with a no windows and a ventilation system installed. A door on the other side leads to the courtyard. A picture of a ship sailing towards an island is painted on the wall.

In line, again

You get your cigarette and light it with the lighter that has a tongue depressor taped to it with "unit" scrawled in black marker on the side

Put it back in the plastic tub

And sit down wherever you choose to position yourself

In the sill of the blacked out obs room window was my favorite

But I also enjoyed sitting on the ground

Or at the picnic tables

To listen to a woman explain how I am her long lost daughter

And to learn how to light a cigarette that went out with the tip of another

Or discussing the psych tech on duty

These days you get a nicotine patch or gum

So you get the nicotine without the satisfaction or memories

It sucks

Anyways, back inside for some free time

So again, I get in line

For the phone

And try to ignore the heated and bizarre conversation the current patient is having about being sent here to die

It goes on for awhile, and I want to pace the halls, but I would lose my place in line

Finally, I reach the phone

I pull out a small folded up sheet of notebook paper with numbers on it

Dial down the list until someone picks up

And feign excitement and hope to try to make conversation

The phone and the news we're what you depended on to stay connected to the outside world

Speaking of, the news is on as I hang up the phone

I go into the tv room and sit on what might be the most uncomfortable chair ever

A young women walks in with one of the rough green blankets draped around her

And we both have the blue hospital socks with the white grip lines

She is wearing paper scrubs and has wet hair

She sips her got chocolate and we sit in silence until she tells me that she can see the devil in me

There was an awkward silence

I didn't know what to think, and I was too tired to form a response

Gonna go lay down

And I am laying face down with my hands crossed in front of my body and squished under my weight

Forcing my eyes closed

And somewhere between a dream and eavesdropping on a conversation in the hall, lunch is called

Lunch is off the unit, so again, we line up

Psych tech unlocks the metal door

And leads us across the way to the cafeteria

The food is so good, I can feel myself getting fatter

Even if it's just a sandwich and chips

Instead of the entree

I don't care

Zyprexa makes me hungry

I have seconds

And after lunch, we go back to the unit

Checked to make sure we didn't bring back utensils

And then finally my doctor shows up for me

Been waiting forever

And as he pulls me into the consultation room I prepare to ask for my release date

"We are looking at at least another week"

And then everything else seemed less important

At least another week

Where the days blend together into this bizarre dream in this world of confinement and rigid rules

"Any questions for me today?" He asks

"No. Thanks."

And back to the day room I go

Devil girl is nowhere to be seen

Thank god

Occupational therapist comes in

And puts on the kid gloves to do crafts with us

And try to teach us how to cope

And of course the exercise group

Chair yoga this week? Yeah, lame

I sleep through it after a second dose of ativan

And wake up to another smoke break

My favorite friend there was a big man in a wheelchair

He was schizophrenic and he always talked to me

"When I die, I'm gonna come back an eagle. I'll fly across the sky and shit on all these motherfuckers" he says

And also talks about passing the time by counting the cinder blocks in the wall

Whatever helps

A girl with a black hoodie, a messy bun, and a weathered face says "the best thing about time is that it doesn't go backwards"

I'll remember that forever, though I didn't know it at the time

A man on the patio who has been eyeballing me since I heard his phone conversation finally approaches me

He asks if I am here to kill him, to which I say no

I am so medicated that life feels like a dream

And as we line up to go inside from the smoke break, I am called to the nurses station

Another dose of zyprexa

And I am at my limit

The fog in my mind takes over

And I am out cold

Somehow back in my bed

Somehow feeling peace

And somehow, I stay asleep until about a minute before we were to line up for dinner

Devil girl was in line, and rather than risk an encounter in the cafeteria, I ask if I can eat on the unit

"Sure" they say

And so I am sent another sandwich

In a styrofoam container

And I watch a movie as I eat it

I couldn't tell you what movie, but it somehow transformed into a narrative of my life

And I could hear peoples encoded messages to me

Among the other lines in the movie

Transfixed, I eat my sandwich mindlessly and messily

And focus with all my might on the mental image of a right triangle that was carved into one of the picnic tables

It was a sign of 3 things I had to do to be released

And this ignites something in me

So i proceed to tear through the collection of paperback books in the art room, writing on pages, reading passages aloud

My horoscope said "time flies like fruit flies" according to the paper

I rip my horoscope out and keep it in my pocket

And as I reach the peak of my madness, searching and making a mess,

A psych tech appears in the doorway with my mother and my husband

Visitor hour

And so I try to think of how I could ask them for help with the right triangle

So i can get out

The psych tech pulls me away from my visitors momentarily

For another dose of something, I didn't know what that time

I want to say it was just more zyprexa

As she had seen me tearing up the art room

And I go back to my mother and husband

Who have brought me a snack

And we talk about nothing

For about 15 minutes

Before I find myself laying on the floor

Overcome by the meds

They walk me past the nurses station to my room

And help me into bed

A nurse brings me my trazodone

And the rest is a blur of voices and noises

And with the obs camera watching i gently drift off

Maybe I'll ask to move into one of the regular rooms down the hall tomorrow

[chasholidays]

bellarke but clarke and murphy have a weird understanding slash ride or die friendship that they don’t admit to

according to my notes, this also coincidentally fulfills @pepperf’s prompt for Bellamy in makeup, so although tumblr will not let me tag you I hope you see this anyway

Before Clarke and Murphy became friends, Clarke didn’t really think Murphy had friends. He was the kid who sat in the back of every class and made sarcastic comments and never seemed to really interact with anyone else. If someone had told Clarke that he just ceased to exist when he exited her line of sight, she would have believed them. He certainly never seemed to do anything with a lasting impact.

And then, he shows up at the first GSA meeting of tenth grade.

As someone who joined thinking she was on the “straight” side of the alliance, Clarke does get that not everyone who joins the GSA is gay, but she has trouble imagining Murphy just showing up to be a supportive ally. Even if he is somewhere on the LGBT+ spectrum, Clarke is still kind of shocked he’s showing up. She didn’t think Murphy participated in groups of any kind.

Not that he really participates in GSA either. He introduces himself only as “Murphy” every time they go around the circle for names/orientations, and then he sits in the back and cracks quiet jokes when the opportunity arises. It’s like having another class with him, except that no one is forcing him to be there. This is what he chooses to do with his time.

“It’s weird, right?” she asks Finn. He doesn’t belong to the GSA, but she gives him the updates.

Finn shrugs. “I guess. Why do you care what Murphy does?”

“I just don’t get it.”

“You don’t have to understand everything, princess,” he teases, and Clarke just rolls her eyes. Obviously she doesn’t have to understand, but she still wants to.

Sign-ups for the group trip to Pride happen in May, and Murphy is behind her in line, so he’s there when Taylor asks, “You’re coming, Clarke?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Pride is for LGBT members, not allies.”

“I’m bi, remember?” It’s still new, saying it out loud, a word that tastes clunky in her mouth, but it feels right. After she and Finn break up, she’d like to date a girl. That’s an experience she wants to have.

“Oh, well, still,” says Taylor, like that’s somehow all he needs to say.

Clarke’s eyebrows shoot up. “Still what?”

“Well, you’re with Finn. I feel like it doesn’t look good for straight-passing people to be in the group.”

Clarke’s jaw drops, and she’s glad it’s anger that floods her veins and not humiliation. Taylor’s never been her favorite person, but even from him, this is a lot.

Defenses crowd her mind, but so do the inevitable counterarguments. She’s had this debate with herself so many times, if she can really be bi if she’s never kissed a girl, how she can know, how she can consider herself a part of the community when she’s dating a guy. She got through all of those things for herself, but if Taylor doesn’t think she’s bi enough for Pride, she doesn’t have any better argument than “I think I am.”

Unexpectedly, Murphy pipes up. “Hey, dipshit, she’s bi, that means she can go to Pride. What’s the holdup?”

“And whybare you going, Murphy?” Taylor shoots back. “I still don’t know why you’re here in the first place.”

“You don’t get to vet people’s sexual orientations,” Clarke says. “We all heard Pride isn’t for allies, so anyone signing up is queer. Like me.”

“I’m asexual,” Murphy says. “Is that good enough for you? I’m genuinely curious,” he adds. “If you think bi girls with boyfriends don’t belong, I’m guessing you’re not real big on letters that don’t even make the main acronym.”

Taylor’s jaw works. “Obviously, if you think you should come, I can’t stop you, I just think you should consider that it’s not entirely appropriate for–”

“You know what? Fine. I’m not coming with you.” Clarke grabs a sharpie from the bucket on the desk, crossing her name out so hard it’s probably going to bleed through to the table. “But I’ll see you there. Because I belong there.”

She’s out of the classroom before she realizes Murphy followed her.

“If I stayed there I was just going to have to talk to Taylor,” he says, with a small shrug. “Didn’t seem worth it.”

Clarke smiles with half her mouth. “Yeah, I guess not. You want a ride to Pride?”

“If you’re driving, yeah.”

And just like that, they’re friends.

*

Junior year, motivated primarily by spite and a mutual dislike of Taylor, Clarke and Murphy start a Queer Student Union, open to everyone who identifies as queer. To Clarke’s surprise, Murphy not only cares about LGBT issues, he’s actually shockingly informed about them. He identifies as biromantic asexual, although he admits the biromantic part feels a lot more theoretical than the asexual part, mostly because he has yet to meet anyone he likes enough he wants to be romantic with them. But he’s theoretically open to it. He’s done a lot of reading on not only sexuality stuff, but feminism and general activism, mostly because he seems interested in it. Academically, he’s not the greatest, but he’s intellectually curious, likes learning when he’s engaged.

When Finn cheats on her a few months later, he eggs Finn’s car, which is one of those things that Clarke would never approve of and would have told him not to do if he asked, but since he didn’t and she had no idea until several days after it happened, she doesn’t have to even pretend to not be happy.

It feels like the kind of relationship that might not survive college, but they both end up in Boston. Clarke’s at Harvard because she’s that over-achieving legacy kid, and Murphy goes to UMass because Clarke pointed out he could actually get a BA in Women’s, Gender, and Sexuality Studies while still avoiding the classes he hates, which is his ideal learning environment.

It turns out he’s a good litmus test for her pretentious Harvard friends, less because he’s a good judge of character and more because it’s useful to see how other people react to him. Clarke doesn’t really care if they like Murphy–Murphy doesn’t care about being liked much–but how and why they dislike him and how they deal with it tends to give her some good insight into whether or not they’re worth befriending. She and Lexa break up in part because Murphy and Lexa never figure out how to coexist, while Murphy and Niylah’s weird friendship is part of why Clarke starts hooking up with her.

“He’s like all the parts of you that you want to pretend you don’t have,” Niylah observes one night, and Clarke frowns.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re supposed to be–The perfect princess. Rich, straight A’s, top of your class at Harvard. And then there’s Murphy, your excuse for not liking people. The scapegoat for all your worst instincts.”

“You have a very weird idea of what makes good pillow talk,” Clarke teases.

“I just think it’s interesting. Have you ever heard the term morality pet?”

“No, psych major.”

Niylah doesn’t bother responding to that. “It’s a concept in fiction. You’ve got a bad character you need to humanize, so they have a morality pet, the sympathetic character that they actually treat well, the one who’s there to make you think the villain isn’t all bad. Murphy’s your immorality pet. He’s the asshole you like because part of you is an asshole too.”

“I can’t believe this is what you think about right after sex.”

Niylah grins, rolls over for a kiss. “I just think it’s an interesting dynamic. The two of you simultaneously make each other better and worse people.”

“That sounds about right,” Clarke agrees, and tugs her closer, ending the talking for a while.

She and Niylah never get quite to being in a relationship, so when they graduate, they don’t break up so much as move apart. Niylah goes back to California, and Clarke stays in Boston in a cheap two-bedroom apartment with Murphy.

Sometimes, she thinks about what her ninth-grade self would think about her life: openly and comfortably bisexual, working in a museum instead of going to med school, living with John Murphy. Even her post-college self has trouble believing it’s real. But it’s good.

After six months of largely successful cohabitation when Murphy comes home late on a Saturday night with a giant bottle of flavored vodka and says, “We need to get drunk.”

Clarke never needs to be asked to drink shitty liquor twice. “Okay.”

Murphy roots around the fridge, frowning when all he finds is Coke and green powerade. “I thought we had lemonade.”

“Nope.”

“Well, this is going to taste shitty with the mixers we’ve got,” he says, frowning at the vodka, which is apparently raspberry flavored.

Clarke grabs the Coke. “If we drink the first one fast enough we won’t taste the second one.”

“Cheers to that,” says Murphy, and pours one generous slosh of booze into his world’s okayest sister mug and another into Clarke’s novelty Pikachu glass.

They’re adults.

After a glass and a half of raspberry-Coke vodka, Clarke asks, “Why are we getting drunk?”

“You need a reason?”

“I don’t, but it was your idea. What happened?”

Murphy makes a face, then drains his drink. “I think I’ve got a crush on a girl.”

It shouldn’t be unthinkable; romantic interest has always been a theoretical possibility for Murphy. He’s always said he could like someone, but Clarke sort of assumed he wouldn’t. It was just hard to imagine what Murphy with a crush would look like, and even harder to imagine Murphy’s type. What does he even like, in a person?

She wants to ask about a thousand questions, but she knows better. Murphy would just shut down. So instead she grabs the vodka, pours him more, and tops it off with what’s left of the Coke. “What girl?”

“She works at the pawn shop.”

John Murphy is probably the only person she knows who, in 2018, not only goes to a pawn shop, but goes to a pawn shop regularly enough to have developed feelings for someone who works there. It’s just so painfully Murphy.

“Is she just being polite to you because you’re a customer?”

He snorts. “She’s not polite to me. She’s an asshole. I keep trying to bring in stuff to sell and she tells me to get better shit.”

“That sounds about right, yeah.”

“So what do I do?”

“Can you just ask her if she wants to get a drink sometime?”

He pulls a face. “Pass.”

“Can you figure out a way to see her outside of the pawn shop without actually asking her?”

“I think she’s in a band.”

“So you got me drunk to agree to go to your crush’s concert with you? I’d do that anyway.”

“Isn’t that weird? Like–going to her concert?”

“How do you know she has a band?”

“She told me.”

“And the concert?”

“There’s a flyer by the register.”

“Did she ever mention it?”

“I asked her what it was and she said it was her band and they were decent.”

“So that seems like a pretty normal way to express interest in someone. You can just say you were curious or bored or whatever.”

“And you’re coming?”

“I’m coming.”

“Cool.” He groans and flops onto his back. “This already sucks.”

Clarke pats his shoulder. “You get used to it.”

*

Murphy’s crush’s name is Emori and she plays drums in a band called “Jose Chung’s ‘From Outer Space,’” which seems like a lot of name for one band, but Murphy tells her it’s an X-Files reference, so at least it makes some sense. There are four of them, two other women on bass and guitar, and the lead singer, a guy with messy black hair and sharp black eyeliner who looks too pretty to be a real person. He’s got a decent voice too, deep and kind of rough, an unvarnished kind of sound that Clarke feels down to her toes.

“Do you know any of the other ones?” she asks Murphy.

“Nope,” he says. “She was right, though, they’re not bad.”

“They aren’t.” She pulls her attention away from the lead singer to focus on Emori, taking her in. She’s cute, with a big face tattoo that must have hurt like hell to get, and long brown hair pulled away from her face by a red bandanna. She’s wearing a black tank top that leaves her shoulders bare, showing off more ink that clearly continues under the fabric.

She’s not who she would have pictured for Murphy, but she also doesn’t know who she would have pictured. She’s always thought Murphy’s type was more about personality than appearance.

Jose Chung’s “From Outer Space” are the first of three no-name local bands in the set, and Murphy, being the disaster that he is, wants to just leaveas soon they’re off the stage. But Clarke sees the lead singer making his way to the bar, so she makes a quick decision.

“I’m going to go make friends with the rest of the band,” she says. “If you want to run away, you can go, but you’re own your own.”

She doesn’t give him a chance to respond, but she hears some spluttered protests that let her know he is following her, and bites back on her smile. It’s definitely a little bit selfish, but only a little; Murphy did ask for her help. Sort of.

There’s just enough free space next to the singer for Clarke to wedge herself in, and the guy glances over, mildly curious, but doesn’t say anything. She checks around for Murphy, finds he’s hanging back, and leans in to murmur, “Sorry, I’m trying to force my friend to flirt with your drummer.”

The guy’s eyebrows go up. This close, he’s even prettier, tan skin dotted with freckles, a small scar placed perfectly to bring attention to his lips, the eyeliner the icing on the cake. “I’m not sure how this is helping your friend flirt with my drummer,” he replies, just as low.

“If I’m here, he can’t talk to me.”

“My drummer eats guys alive.”

“I think he’s into that. That seems to be his type.”

“Huh.”

Clarke flags down the bartender and orders a beer. “You guys are really good,” she offers.

“Thanks.”

Okay, so, he’s hot, but aloof, and a little too full of himself, if Clarke is honest. The band is really good, but they’re playing a small venue in Cambridge. They’re not big enough that he should be above talking to people, so it’s probably just a personality trait.

“What’s your friend’s name?” he asks, not looking at her.

“Murphy.”

“He probably doesn’t have a chance.”

Clarke shrugs. “I’ll be proud of him if he just gives it a try.”

“Low standards, huh?” says the guy.

“He doesn’t get out much.”

“So, how long do I have to stay here for this?”

Clarke blinks. “Sorry?”

“You’re hitting on me. How long do I have to stay?”

“I didn’t know you were in a big hurry to be gone. I assumed you were at the bar because you wanted a drink. But I can go hit on someone else. Is your bass player into women?”

That perks him up, because he’s apparently the kind of asshole who thinks girl-on-girl is hot. “Possibly, but she’s got a boyfriend right now. Sorry.”

Clarke cracks her neck as an excuse to look around. Murphy is talking to Emori and she’s smiling, which means Clarke’s work here is done and she can leave the surly asshole alone. It’s always a shame when a hot boy in eyeliner lets her down, but she’ll live. “Oh well. Murphy’s set, so you should have a good rest of the night.”

He looks a little surprised. “Oh, uh, yeah. You too.”

Clarke raises her glass in salute and slides away from him, moving down the bar to a less crowded spot. She doesn’t let herself look back to see if he’s watching her, but she does let herself hope.

It would serve him right.

*

Unfortunately, but not surprisingly, Murphy doesn’t come up with a better way to flirt with Emori than going to her shows, which means that Clarke is also going to her shows, to be a supportive friend, and getting to know Emori and by extension the rest of the band.

Emori, at least, she likes. She’s quick and funny and takes no shit, which is perfect for Murphy, and despite what the surly singer said, she does seem kind of fond of him. It’s hard to get a great read on her, but she keeps coming to talk to Murphy, and Clarke doesn’t think she’s the type to talk to people unless she actually wants to. Their whole relationship seems to be based on talking shit, but that’s got to be Murphy’s type.

Raven and Echo–the bass and guitar players, respectively–are cool too, easy for Clarke to hang out with while Murphy’s busy with Emori. She likes them all, really. It’s not a hardship.

Except that there’s Bellamy, too.

She does want to like Bellamy, but she can’t get over thinking he’s just kind of an asshole. He’s never really as aloof as he was that first night again, seems to warm up once he’s realized that Emori doesn’t seem to be planning to kick Murphy’s ass, but he’s still kind of cold. And part of her can’t help feeling like she should get over it, that it’s unfair of her to hold a grudge for one night, but she just can’t figure out how to get along with Bellamy.

She does try, but from what she can tell, he doesn’t. She asks him about the band and he deflects, talking about how they’re not really that good, it’s just a hobby. She asks what his real job is and he makes a face, says it’s boring. It’s not as if every conversation is like that, but she always feels like he’s not that interested in the conversation, like he’s waiting for her to just stop talking to him.

“So stop talking to him,” Murphy says, with a shrug. “Who cares?”

“Do you like him?”

“I guess. It’s not like I’m making him a friendship bracelet or anything. Does it matter?”

“You’re my barometer, remember?”

His eyebrows shoot up. “You want to date Bellamy?”

“No!” she says, but it’s too late. Murphy’s running with it.

“I guess he’s probably kind of hot? Not my type, but makes sense for you. And you’re pissed because he’s not interested.”

“I don’t know why you’re acting like this is news.” It seems like a safer tactic than arguing. “I told you I tried to flirt with him the first day, it obviously didn’t work.”

“Yeah, but you’re still pissed,” he says. “So you’re still into him.”

“I want him to be into me.” If she can’t tell Murphy these things, what good is he? “I don’t get why he’s not.”

“Okay, but if you’re not into him, who cares? He doesn’t like you, you don’t like him, no harm, no foul, right? Way better than the alternative.”

“I didn’t do anything wrong. He should like me. At least as a person.”

“I think he’d be good for you.”

That actually does surprise her; she’s not sure he’s ever offered an unsolicited opinion on whether or not she should date someone.

“You do?”

“Yeah, probably. He’s a pretty decent guy and we have fun hanging out. Doesn’t take my shit and gives as good as he gets.”

“But he’s not into me, so I don’t know why we’re having this conversation.”

“Because you wanted to talk about him. You started it.”

“I was complaining.”

“You complain about him a lot.” Murphy groans. “Look, like him, don’t like him, I don’t give a shit. But if you don’t like him, stop caring what he thinks, stop talking to him, and let it go.”

It’s exactly what she should be doing; she flops onto his stomach with a groan of her own. “I hate you she says.”

“Yeah, I know.”

*

“So, I owe you an apology.”

It’s a week after her conversation with Murphy and Clarke has admitted, at least privately, that she still wants to make out with Bellamy and still might kind of like Bellamy, despite all logic and reason.

And now he’s smiling at her, nervous and casual in a t-shirt and glasses at Raven’s game night, and she has no idea what’s happening.

“You do?”

“It’s stupid.”

“Why don’t you just tell me what you’re talking about and we can go from there? Because I’m kind of lost.”

He clears his throat. “So, uh–I didn’t know Murphy’s name was John.”

“And you’re apologizing to me for that?”

“The first night we met you said your friend was flirting with Emori, and I knew she liked this customer of hers named John, so I thought you were distracting me so some asshole she didn’t like could slobber all over her. So I was annoyed.”

“And you only just realized Murphy was her customer crush?” she asks, stuck between amusement and disbelief. “It’s been months!”

“I know! I thought he just got lucky and she liked him, but then she said John was coming tonight and I said I hadn’t met him and the rest of the band made fun of me for like an hour.”

“It kind of sounds like you deserved it.”

He ducks his head, smiling sheepishly, and Clarke smiles too. “Anyway, I feel like–I never knew how to explain without telling you I thought Emori was into someone else. And I still kind of thought you were a dick for trying to distract me with your feminine wiles.”

“I was joking!”

He laughs. “Yeah, uh–anyway. Sorry?”

“You don’t really have to apologize for that,” she says. “It’s not like you were–you’re pretty polite mostly. I thought you had a bad night. And didn’t like me much.”

“Yeah. But I want us to do better, so–can we start over?”

It’s strange, because part of Clarke feels like they never actually started. Like this is actually going to be their first try.

Which makes it easy. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

It should fix all her problems, or at least all the problems she’s admitting she has, but less than two weeks later she slams a bag into the island and says, “I bought vanilla vodka and orange juice and I want it to taste like a creamsicle.”

“Won’t work but okay,” says Murphy. “What did Bellamy do?”

“Who says it’s about Bellamy?”

“Can we skip the bullshit and you just tell me?”

Clarke considers. “Drink first.”

They make it through the first round and then Clarke says, “He likes me now.”

“And you hate him?”

“No, I still want to make out with him.” She sighs. “You were right, I’m totally into him, and now we’re getting along, and everything sucks. He’s really cute.”

Murphy takes another drink of his vanilla screwdriver. “So ask him to make out. At least you’re not trying to tell him you’re into him but not into sex and you’ve never actually dated anyone before. Why are you complaining?”

“Have you figured out a way to mention you’re ace yet?” she asks.

“Nope. It doesn’t really come up in conversation. No one’s like, how much does everyone love sex? They just assume the answer is a lot and don’t bother asking.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine. Keep complaining about your thing, that helps.”

She flops onto her back. “He’s just so pretty.”

Murphy pats her leg. “Yeah, that sucks.”

*

Murphy’s problem seems easier to solve than hers, especially in early May. Clarke gives it a week and then, when they’re out drinking with the whole band, asks, “Oh, is anyone going to Pride? Do you guys need a ride?”

“You’re going to Pride?” Echo asks.

“She’s bi,” Bellamy says, even though Clarke’s never told him that. “Or pan?” he adds, glancing at her for approval.

“I usually go with bi, but as long as it covers no gender preference I’m good.”

“I’m biromantic asexual,” says Murphy. Clarke didn’t warn him, but he’s pretty quick with this stuff.

“We always go to Pride because that’s how we got to be friends. Some asshole in our high-school GSA told us neither of us belonged there because we weren’t queer enough.”

“Jesus Christ,” says Bellamy. “Well, I could use a ride.”

Clarke will admit to startling, just a little. She didn’t really think anyone in the band was queer, had just wanted to give Murphy an excuse to share his sexuality. It was always possible she’d get a taker, but it hasn’t seemed likely.

But Bellamy wants to join them. If he’s gay, that kind of sucks, at least for her. But he’s bi or trans–into women at all and queer, basically–he might be her dream guy.

“I know it’s shitty to ask why people want to go to Pride, but I still want to know,” Murphy says.

“Also bi,” says Bellamy, so, yeah. Clarke wants to marry him. “I’ve never actually been to Boston Pride, though. I don’t like going alone.”

“Then you should definitely come with us,” says Clarke, and he gives her one of his melting smiles.

“Thanks.”

“Can I come along as a supportive outsider who would happily make out with a girl if the opportunity presented itself?” Emori asks.

“Definitely,” says Murphy. “Just don’t talk about ally pride or whatever and we’re good. And kiss a girl if you can, I hear it’s cool.”

Echo’s interested to learn that he’s never kissed a girl, and she and Emori and Raven get drawn into that conversation, leaving Clarke and Bellamy off on their own.

“So, that first day we met,” she says.

Bellamy cocks his head. “What about it?”

“I asked if anyone else in the band liked girls and you kind of–” She shrugs. “I thought you were one of those guys who thinks girls kissing is hot and for your benefit. But you were excited I was queer.”

He laughs. “Shit, I didn’t know you noticed. But yeah, I always like meeting more bisexuals. I was rethinking you.”

“Where did you end up?”

“What do you mean?”

She smiles. “You rethought me, so–what did you end up thinking of me?”

He bites the corner of his mouth, glances over at his band mates. They’re not paying attention that Clarke can tell, but she knows Murphy still has part of his focus on the two of them. The rest of the band probably does too. That’s the kind of group dynamic they have going.

Bellamy must be thinking the same thing. “You want to get another round?” he asks.

“Maybe at another bar.”

He laughs again, this bright, pleased laugh, at odds with his rock-star makeup. “Yeah, that sounds right.”

Outside, he says, “I thought I should have picked you up when I had the chance. I was kicking myself for–I’m still kicking myself for not flirting back.”

Her own smile creeps up, starting small but never stopping growing. “You still could.”

“We could just get a drink at my place.”

“I’d love to.”

*

“How much do you think Taylor Macdonald would hate us going on a double date to Pride with our straight-passing partners?” Clarke asks.

Bellamy pauses in his application of glitter to Murphy. Apparently he’s as good as makeup as he is because he taught his sister how to do hers, which works out really well. Clarke sucks at makeup; it’s nice that they have complementary skill sets.

“Straight passing?” he asks, dubious.

“His words.”

“Dick.”

Murphy grins. “I figure if I’m pissing off Taylor Macdonald, I’m doing something right. I hope every time I’m happy, he feels like someone walked over his grave.”

Clarke offers her hand and he high-fives her; Emori smiles. “I’m starting to see why the two of you are such good friends. It didn’t quite add up before.”

“Spite and stubbornness,” says Clarke.

“Our main motivations in life.”

“Exactly,” says Emori. “It makes perfect sense.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Bellamy teases, but Clarke just smiles.

“Whatever. We’ve got it all figured out.”

[yourcoolfriendwithallthecandy]

Magic and Miracles and BEYOND Chapter 3

aaaaaahhhhhh, do you know how LONG and HARD I had to look for that picture of Jon Campling?! Like the man keeps his hair to the small of his back. His hair is more glorious than mine. But seriously, that’s like the closest picture I can find of him to what I invision in my head, now just imagine the hair being cut and styled how it was in Kingsglaive but with a lot less gray, like more black in his youth because remember- he doesn’t have a ring sapping his youth and strength, he just has kids, draining his youth with their shenanigans, it’s debatable which is more tolling and taxing on him. That super yacht is actually the Serene, it’s glorious and I’m totally diving into the fantasy aspect of this fic because this is me indulging myself. Pry it from my cold dead hands.  

My apologies to everyone who has familes touched by drugs (including mine but thankfully not in my immediate family) and heads up because this touches on that a little. 

Yo- @the-immortal-marshal GURL. I had to pull the trigger. I had to. I’m sorry. And I’m just...so sorry. For all those reading this and going...why are you sorry? It’s fine? JUST WAIT. It’s not going to be fine for long. A storm is a BREWIN. 

AO3 or below and Tumblr- keep being cool and keep this under a cut. Be a Bro man. Don’t let me down. 

Magic and Miracles and BEYOND

Chapter 3

“So let me get this straight, you got this super yacht for going on one date with an Arab billionaire?” Crowe asked as she drank her super-food smoothie with extra ripe pineapple as the group sailed to the Caribbean.

“Uh huh- granted it was a week long “date” spent in Dubai at the demand of my mother but yeah.” Sylva nodded as she sipped her own drink with a smug grin.  

“Damn,” all the girls exclaimed.

“Oh and my super jet? That came from a Russian billionaire, when it came to the states, it had a case of beluga caviar in a secret compartment in the hold to get it past customs. I ate so much of it because it was only good for two weeks, I thought I was going to be sick and couldn’t eat it again for months. And that was another week long “date” spent in Moscow also at the demand of my mother.” Sylva revealed.

“Holy fucking shit.” All the girls giggled except for Selena, Luna and Stella who just shook their heads.  

“Hey, I’m not saying my parents pimped me out, but they totally tried and I can only hope my mother is rolling in her grave now. So if anything I’ve earned both putting up with those guys for as long as I did and the moment I got back from Moscow because Dubai and Moscow were consecutive weeks and before Dubai I spent a week between China and Tokyo going on even more “dates” with even more billionaires but that is besides the point. Anyway, my point is, I came home in the jet and drove straight to Regis’ house and fucked him so hard neither of us could walk straight to make up for my three week absence and nothing pushes you towards your true love quite like spite for your own gold digging parents, in particular my mother, it makes me so happy to see you wear her most prized pieces girls.” Sylva cooed to Selena, Luna and Stella as Selena giggled and touched her necklace as her own grin grew as Lunafreya and Stella just shook their heads and touched their own jewelry too. Between Sylva, Lunafreya, Selena and Stella they had divided up Agnes’ jewelry between them with Sylva getting the vast majority of it but Agnes’ favorite pieces that Sylva hated because she always felt her mother loved them more than she loved her, went to the three younger girls and Samantha as well to spite Agnes- with the promise that none of the girls would ever sell or give the jewelry away, simply pass it down to the next generation because the Anders line rightfully died with her and Sylva would be damned if the Nox Fleuret line ever would.

“So if any of you think that your parents are being unreasonable, or impossible, at least your parents aren’t nearly as bad as mine were.” Sylva cautioned all the girls.

“That’s so fucked up.” Crowe just shook her head.

“Well, what’s worse, your parents or Tredd’s mother?” Stella posed as Sylva and the other girls grimaced and hissed.

“Ooh, yikes, that’s a tough one.” Sylva had to admit. “How is she doing?” Sylva asked Stella.

“Well the day after Tredd proposed, Ted went looking for her and found her strung out at a crack house and put her into rehab that’s also a psyche ward, so it’s touch and go. If they can manage to get her on the right meds and with the right therapy, it’ll help but I don’t know if she’ll take to it or not.” Stella sighed tiredly.

“But she also has to want to get better for the right reason. Does she know about your trust fund? Because I’m worried that will be the only reason she gets better.” Sylva cautioned.

“Oh that worries me too and so far Tredd has forbidden his dad from telling her and won’t tell her either, he doesn’t want her around me and he’s mad at his dad for finding her to begin with. I think he would rather she die of an overdose than be a thieving leech on him and his dad again.” Stella answered. “I think for Ted, he sees me and Tredd together and doing well and it reminds him of what him and Shyanne used to be and he wants that again and misses that.” Stella ventured.

“If he’s that lonely there’s a lot of women he could be introduced to.” Sylva reminded her niece.

“Oh I know, Tredd and I both have offered but he’s not having it, it’s all or nothing with him.” Stella shrugged.  

“Well here’s to hoping she stays off of meth, crack and alcohol.” Sylva clinked her glass with Stella’s as the two shared a meaningful look.

“Same.” Stella snorted a laugh.

“I heard my name.” Tredd pointed out as he came up behind his fiance and stole a sip of her drink as he laid a hand over her shoulder and fingered her necklace teasingly as if he was itching to take it off of her but Stella knew that Tredd was only teasing- that he actually wouldn’t do such a thing. Part of his asshole behavior in the beginning had been bravado to cover up his own insecurity because he felt he knew that she was too good for him and if he was an ass enough, it would drive her away. Much the same way Stella liked to be a brashy bitch to drive nice guys away because she, deep down, didn’t think she deserved them even though her behavior spoke of entitlement, she was surprisingly not and once they both saw each other for what they really were and cut through each other’s bullshit, it only helped them fall in love with each other even if they felt they still needed to put on a show for appearances, when they were alone and by themselves with each other, they felt safe enough to be vulnerable with each other and really show their true colors and realize what a pair they made and how they were actually good to and for each other.

“We were talking about your mom, Mom was asking about her.” Stella said as she gestured to Sylva.

“Fucking bitch.” Tredd grumbled before he really started sucking Stella’s drink down.

“Why don’t you get your own if you like it this much?” Stella teased him.

“Because I’m not a pussy, but it’s really fucking good.” Tredd answered as all the girls rolled their eyes.  

“Well I hope your mom can make a recovery and sobers up.” Sylva offered sweetly.

“Yeah you’re the only one.” Tredd played off. “So anyone want to change their bets on Lil Mama?” Tredd asked, quickly changing the subject.  

Meanwhile Cor was meeting Clarus for a drink after work.

“You gotta help me.” Cor pleaded as they both sat at the bar as Clarus raised a curious brow.

“With?” Clarus asked warily.

“You gotta let me go on a drug bust or serve a warrant or something. I’m going insane.” Cor confessed.  “I haven’t left my desk in months, I go to get coffee from the shop down the street and I fantasize about some idiot knocking over the joint while I’m there or I go to the bank and I fantasize about someone robbing it while I’m in it. Like I’m looking over the bar and hoping someone gets drunk and will start a fight right this second.” Cor revealed and Clarus could only shake his head as Sylva’s words washed over his head.

“Well part of being settled down means actually liking the peace and quiet.” Clarus teased and Cor just whimpered and laid his head on his folded arms.

“Gradual peace and quiet! Not all at once!” Cor argued and Clarus just snorted a laugh and continued to shake his head. He could practically hear Sylva’s sing song tone of ‘I told you so’.

“Fine, if something comes up, I’ll let you know.” Clarus agreed.

Meanwhile back at home Ada eased into bathtub, she had splurged and got a little island getaway candle and a bath bomb and a sugar scrub for her skin and a deep hair conditioning mask and next to the bathtub sat a drink made out of some tropical blend juice spiked with whiskey, it was the closest to a tropical drink she could manage and enjoyed her night in alone. She dropped the bath bomb in and watched it swirl and dissolve in the hot water as she sipped her drink as she breathed in the scent of the little candle next to the tub. While she felt jealous of all her friends, at least she could do this for herself. Being furious with Cor over New York had only lasted a couple of days and it was broken by some amazing makeup sex before she groaned when she realized she forgot to pick up her birth control from the pharmacy again. She had been late getting it last month and now she was late getting it again this time. She had such a fickle memory lately.

She quickly shrugged it off and just as the bath bomb fully dissolved, her phone went off and she huffed and got it and saw all the pictures of Crowe and all her friends back on Sylva’s yacht before Crowe sent another picture of another ultrasound picture. She could see Luche in the background, talking with Tredd, Libertus, Nyx, Ravus and Pelna and smiling and still looking handsome as ever while Crowe was with all the girls, Sylva, Stella, Selena and Luna all wearing diamond necklaces and drinking proper island drinks. It wasn’t fair. Ada felt tears prick at her eyes before they fell from her eyes and down her cheeks. She sniffled and turned the phone off and tried to get back into the groove of her bath as she washed her hair then put the deep conditioning mask on it and then shaved her legs and underarms before scrubbing her skin with the sugar scrub then when she was done with that she took a foot file and tried to take off all the calluses from her feet. Being a waitress and being on her feet all the time meant her feet were tired and achy and often blistered if not callused.

When she was done the candle’s scent overpowered her nose and she blew it out before she started chugging her own drink again and before she knew it the drink was gone, the water was turning cold, the candle was out and her hair needed to get rinsed and instead of feeling refreshed, she felt even more frustrated...with everything. She laid back and rinsed the conditioning mask out of her hair and once she was done she sat back up and drained the tub and got out, putting a towel around her and got dressed and went to bed early after plugging in her phone again. Baxter jumped up on the bed and snuggled with her as she fell asleep.

In her dream she was back in the tea shop with Luche sitting across from her, pouring her a cup of tea, in a suit again and looking particularly handsome while she felt raw and compromised internally.

“I’ve missed you.” Luche finally said.

“You’ve been too busy to miss me.” Ada gently argued as she took the tea cup and drank from it again, the warmth of the tea cup warming her hands as the tea and his presence seemed warmed her soul.

“No I haven’t, it’s impossible for me to be too busy to miss you.” Luche countered with a gentle grin as he picked his own tea cup back up and sipped it.

“Are you sure you’re not missing something really important back at the office right now?” Ada questioned.

“Nope, I don’t deal with anything that’s life or death, whatever is there can wait until whenever I get back, you’re way more important than any paperwork I could do.” Luche insisted, his gentle grin turning reassuring and Ada felt warmed by the sentiment and she could tell he wanted to say more but forced his mouth to stay shut and let her have a moment of peace but part of her wanted to hear whatever he would say.

“What?” Ada asked, hoping that would help him say whatever he wanted or needed to stay.

“I’ve only ever wanted you. So anything I can do to spend time with you, no matter what the cost is- is something I’ll always do if it’s for you.” Luche finally spoke, his voice dropping to a low murmur so that he wouldn’t draw attention to them. But the look in his eyes brought tears to hers. The words were eating their way out of her throat as she stood as Luche did the same and came into his arms as he hugged her tight.

“I’ve only ever wanted you too. I love you.” Ada heard herself sniffle into his chest as she felt so safe and warm in his arms again. Like nothing could hurt her, like nothing could even disappoint her either.

“I love you too, let’s get out of here.” Luche proposed and Ada nodded before he kissed her and then Ada woke up with a start which woke Baxter up who started licking her tears away just as Cor came home from the bar and Ada quickly got control of herself again.

“Hey, you’re still up.” Cor grinned when he came into the room and noticed her sitting up in bed and petting Baxter.

“No, you woke me up when you came home.” Ada teased with a grin, praying her face didn’t betray her.

“Oh I’m sorry.” Cor apologized as he stripped out of his clothes and put his badge and his gun on the bedside table before he crawled into bed with her. “Well I’ll help put you back to sleep then.” Cor offered as he brought her into his embrace. “Wow, your skin is really soft.” Cor noticed as he smelled her hair as he kissed the crown of her head and touched the small of her back.

“Thanks, scrubbed it during my bath.” Ada smiled, pleased that he noticed and rewarded him with a kiss and soon that kiss led to another and a touch led to a caress and before either of them realized they were having soft, sweet sex with each other and when they were done, Cor noticed a little bit of blood on his shaft.

“Did you start your period Love?” Cor asked as he got a tissue to clean himself off with.

“Oh, I must have.” Ada blinked in surprise. “I feel like it’s early.” Ada muttered to herself as she got up and got a pad into her underwear.

“Well it’s always better to be early than it is to be late.” Cor joked and Ada laughed.

“I know right?” Ada grinned as she climbed back into the bed to rest and relax and really fall asleep.

Meanwhile back on the yacht.

“Why were you girls talking about Shyanne?” Tredd asked as he helped take the necklace off and put it away so himself and Stella could get ready for bed.

“Oh Mom was telling us the story of how she got the yacht and the jet.”

“Because her mom was the baddest pimp of them all, yeah.” Tredd nodded which got Stella to laugh.

“And she was telling us to be grateful our moms are nothing like that.” Stella added.

“And let me guess, you just had to drag Shyanne into it and go- ‘actually no, Tredd’s mom is much worse’.” Tredd surmised.

“Sorry if I embarrassed you.” Stella apologized softly as she hugged him and held him tight as he in turn clung to her and kissed the crown of her head. “I can promise you that I’ll never touch any of that.” Stella swore. “And just because she’s that way doesn’t mean you’ll ever be that way. I know we would beat the shit out of each other if we ever tried.” Stella lightly teased which got Tredd to crack a grin and huff a laugh through his nose as he continued to just hold her for a long while.

“So would you draw me like one of your French girls Jack?” Tredd teased as he let go of her and playfully tried to put the diamond necklace on himself which got Stella to crack up laughing.

“Yes I would.” Stella cackled.

“Show it to me when you’re done!” Crowe teased through the wall as Tredd jumped and panicked and threw the necklace back into case as Stella nearly went to her knees she started cracking up as she heard Crowe cackle a laugh too.

“Fucking go to sleep! Your knocked up body needs it!” Tredd spat at the wall as Stella was in tears and literally had to go to her knees, holding her sides and laughing her ass off as she could only imagine Crowe was in a similar state on the other side of the wall as Tredd got the necklace and made sure it wasn’t damaged before he put it back properly. “Or do I have to fuck Stella against that wall again?” Tredd threatened.

“Go to sleep! All of you! God!” Luche yelled through the other wall.

“Shut the fuck up and keep fapping!” Tredd yelled back at Luche.

“Fuck you!” Luche groaned before Tredd picked Stella up off the floor and pinned her to the wall between their room and Luche’s and started fucking her hard just to prove a point before Luche groaned again and left his room to go find refuge somewhere else but every room he passed he could hear every other couple being intimate which only made him more frustrated before he got to the couch in the main lounge and collapsed onto that before pulling a throw onto himself as he continued to grumble to himself, if Ada was here and back with him, he wouldn’t give a fuck because he’d be fucking her against the wall too. This wasn’t fair. Everyone else was with the love of their lives and he was in a constant state of anguish because his was still with someone else. Maybe he should have pushed Sylva to introduce him to her nieces. But at the same time Ravus kept reassuring him that if he was patient enough, that Ada would come back to him. He just had to be patient and endure this for now. He could do that. He had to. Now he understood what Ravus felt like when Selena had been with Pelna. If Ravus could wait for Selena, he could wait for Ada and they’d be just as happy too.