#you know how fucking damaging it can be to have drug abuse in your medical records?

[powerfulkicks]

ER doctor lied in my medical records about me having a history of methamphetamine abuse bc he has a grudge against ppl who are prescribed adderall! lol

[daechwitatamic]

Vice;Grip || chapter 5 || chs

(banner by @itaeewon)

Vice;Grip (masterpost) NSFW - minors DNI Genre: angst smut fluff, fuckbuddies!au Summary: Make it not hurt, you could have asked him. Or, at least, make it hurt in a way I choose.  A/N: infinite thank you's to @sailoryooons and @eoieopda for beta-ing!!

//

Warnings: Frequent depictions of depression, depressive episodes, panic attacks, and substance abuse (alcohol, weed, and pills referenced). PLEASE know that these characters’ relationships with drugs and alcohol are not healthy and should not be emulated. If these topics are triggering to you, please consider sitting this one out.

Section Specific Warnings: language, depictions of depression and depressive episodes, mentions of doctors' offices and medication, angst, mentions of attending therapy, recreational drinking, kissing

wc: 6.9k

Playlist: you can call me in the middle of the night / you can leave before i wake up in the morning / and it could feel so wrong / but i'll still hold on

Now - Fall

Vernon’s watching his ceiling fan when his phone chimes - a noise he isn’t fond of: incoming email.

For the last few months, his emails have all been from recruiting directors and head-hunters - either thanking him for his interest but regretfully informing him they’ve gone in a different direction, or head-hunters pretending they found him a great opportunity when it was really an underpaid, short-term position where he’d spend more on his commute into the city than he’d ever earn.

It’s been real fun. He sucked it up and finished grad school, threw his diploma behind a cheap frame, added the degree to his resume. Quit going to classes (because there weren’t any), quit spending whole nights on assignments (none of those anymore either), and still - he finds himself no happier than he’d been before, even with all the free time in the world. So maybe, he considers, grad school wasn’t the problem, and he’d done the right thing to just push through and finish.

On top of this - on top of the fact that he was still bored with life, still unenthused to be here - the break-up has sucked, just to make things even bleaker for him.

Can he even call it a break-up? You were never together. But it’s been nine days since he made you cry in his car - not that he’s counting - and all nine of them have fucking sucked. He’s wrestled with indecision for all of them - did he make a mistake? Should he try to undo the damage? Wasn’t what he had with you still better than being alone?

But he knows this will be better for him in the end. He knows that what you two were doing together wasn’t real, wasn’t a relationship. It couldn’t grow with him - it was stagnant by nature. So, even though something in his bones screams at him to take it back, in the end he doesn’t regret the decision to try and do something better.

He does regret that he can’t do something better with you. He regrets that he lost his temper and yelled, regrets that he was cold in his last moments with you.

Regrets that he spent two years walking towards a dead end.

Still misses you, despite this.

He picks up his phone and scrolls to his email, already feeling the frown take over his face in anticipation of another rejection. As expected, the email is from a company he’d interviewed with last week - he’d even gotten to a second in-person round, which was rare. Still, he hadn’t wanted to get excited about it. He knows how unlikely it is that they’ll want him.

Dear Mr. Chwe,

Our team was delighted to meet with you last week. We found your background impressive, especially your internship experience with -

Vernon’s eyes skim the page, so fast the words are a blur. 

…Would like to formally offer you the position of… annual salary of… additional opportunities within the company including traveling to… working with… reporting to… expected start date of… we are looking forward to having you on our team!

Vernon’s heart thuds and he turns the screen off and stares at his ceiling again. He’ll answer it later, accept it graciously, call his eomma, probably shop online for some button-downs and maybe some ties. Later, though. Later. For now, he reaches for his lighter.

He kind of wishes he could tell you - hey, I got a job offer. hey, guess who gets to wear a suit five days a week now? hey, all that bullshit paid off in the end.

Would he have texted you any of that if he hadn’t ended things? You’d never talked about this kind of thing - that had been part of the problem.

Still. As illogical as it is, you’re the one Vernon wants to tell first. It aches a little, like sore muscles but somewhere inside him, behind his brittle ribs.

He wonders if you’re doing okay. He wonders if you care at all, or if you’re fine. He turns his lighter over and over in his fingers, and then realizes he’s just read the words contingent on... drug test…

“Fuck,” he grumbles, then picks up his phone again. Maybe he’ll call his mother first, after all.

—

You were never a big fan of autumn. A lot of your friends are - the season shifts and everyone starts posting about sweater weather and PSLs, the aesthetics suddenly revolving around pumpkins and ghosts.

You have plenty of ghosts, but not the right kind.

Your phantoms haunt your phone, mostly. You feel it buzz in your pocket, hear it vibrate on the table from the other room. Sometimes you even wake up from a dead sleep, sure you’ve heard it going off, reaching for it frantically, only to turn on the screen and see nothing. 

No missed calls, no new texts.

You dream about him, too. In some of them, you’re still fighting, yelling at the top of your lungs in a way you never had in real life. In some, he isn’t even present - you just know he’s missing. In some, you’re trying to get to him, but never can - stopped by nonsense laws of dream physics.

In one of them, you tell him you love him, and he staggers backwards, breaths starting to rasp the way they had when you’d talked him through a panic attack, like he was just as scared of the admission as you had been.

Maybe he had been just as scared about it, back when it had mattered. Maybe he was just better at handling it than you are.

You never see his whole face in your dreams - only glimpses, fragments. You don’t want to examine if that means anything.

You fucking hate your brain.

You’re starting to hate your phone, too.

—

You lose November to grey - the whole month, a wash. You miss three days of work, unable to do anything - unable to cook, unable to get dressed. You feed the cat because you have to, and it’s the only reason you leave your bed except to pee.

When the grey days break as December dawns, you follow an impulse and schedule an appointment with your primary physician through their app. As you click the button to confirm the appointment, you burst into tears, loud and embarrassing. You cry with abandon, pulling your hoodie up to cover your face, to muffle the noise that you can’t stop.

You should have gone to a doctor years ago, and you know it. It feels like a big deal. It feels like a potential mistake - like opening a can of worms and now you have to deal with them. It feels like admitting something is wrong when you’ve worked so hard to look like nothing is. It feels like a farce, like nothing that bad is wrong with you, and you’re wasting everyone’s time.

But you keep the appointment anyway. You make yourself small in the chair on the other side of your doctor’s little table, and you admit, eyes on your hands, “I want to talk about my mental health. I think I’ve been dealing with depressive episodes. For… a long time, now.”

It’s so damn scary. As scary as loving and losing someone - like, yes, Vernon - had seemed. And you’re somehow surviving both.

Something to think about.

You buy yourself good job you did the scary thing ice cream on the way home. You go inside, put it away, and then scoop Nana off the couch, burying your face in his belly and cooing, “How is my favorite boy today?” He tolerates your nonsense with aplomb, as always.

Chan has never forgiven you for naming a cat “Banana Bread”, and you think that’s why Nana has never warmed up to him.

Nana loved Vernon, but you don’t want to think about that.

You kind of want to text him. You think he’d be proud of you for what you did today. You think he’d tell you good job.

(Chan would tell you good job, too, and will, when you call him later. But it doesn’t feel the same.)

You wonder if he’d answer if you told him. You wonder if he wouldn’t answer, but be proud of you anyway.

You fill the prescription, you leave your contact info with a therapist as advised by your primary physician. You don’t text Vernon.

You take your pride and your sadness, your fear and your hope and you channel them into greens and yellows. As late autumn grips the leafless trees outside, you paint something that looks like spring.

Now - Winter

Winter howls through your life like you personally pissed it off. You and Nana huddle under thick blankets with your tablet night after night.

Sometimes you close your eyes and remember Vernon’s hands slipping underneath his own hoodie on your skin; it helps you feel warmer.

Sometimes you think about the way he’d said the word wasted about the time he’d spent with you; it makes you feel cold all over again.

You click through all the tabs you’ve had open for days - different universities with decent visual arts programs, all advertising admission for the spring semester.

None of them are big name schools, not like the one you’d turned down all those years ago. But they aren’t nothing.

You’d brought it up to your therapist last week and she’d encouraged the idea - accepting that you can’t unstitch the mistakes in your tapestry, but you can control what new patterns emerge.

This was the plan: start classes. Open social media accounts to showcase your work. Network through school, look for job opportunities at galleries or for collectors. Open commissions, maybe.

On your best days, this seems like a list of goals to shoot for. On your worst days, this seems like a list of things you’ve already failed at before you’ve even started.

You text options to Chan, ask him, which school colors can you see me in?

Your best friend sends back, all of them. any of them. look at you go!!

You sit in your living room and watch snow fall lazily outside the window. You daydream about what classes might be like, if you get in. You take pictures of the snow in the park, then try to paint something similar once you’re home again.

You wonder if Vernon’s doing okay. You worry that he’s going through his hard days alone. You worry that maybe he’s not - maybe he found someone who helps him better than you did, maybe he’s so happy with them that he doesn’t have hard days at all.

(You know life doesn’t work like that.)

You paint Nana, just for shits, and post it on instagram. It gets the most engagement you’ve had so far. Someone messages you asking if you do commissions for pet portraits. You frown, looking at the message.

Maybe I do, you think.

Your apartment is cold. You burrow under blankets, rub your legs together like a cricket to warm them up, and think maybe after I’m a cicada, I could be a cricket next.

There’s no one to share the joke with who’d get it. Just another of the thousand ways you feel Vernon’s absence in your life. You hadn’t realized how much space he took up until he was gone.

—

Everywhere Vernon looks, all he sees are circles. The hands on his kitchen clock circle each other, align, move on again. They tell him he has two minutes to get out the door before he’s late.

He checks his appearance in the bathroom mirror, straightens his tie, smooths back his hair, then grabs his crossbody bag and heads for the bus.

The hands of the clock in his office mark his passage through his schedule: one circle until his 10:00 meeting will end. Two more after that and he can take a lunch break. A circle and a half until his one-on-one with his boss, to discuss his first few months here.

On his lunch break, Vernon rides with two of the guys he works with to some nature trails nearby, as they usually do. They swap suits for joggers and zip-ups, pop in airpods, and head out. Vernon didn’t run before this job - didn’t exercise much at all, really. He’d gone along with the guys the first time there had been an unseasonably warm day, just to be out, and he’d found it felt good to get fresh air and some endorphins before returning to his desk. 

It’s cold today, the air brittle as he inhales, but the rest of his body feels warm as he works to keep up with the other guys. It’s not as hard as it used to be, keeping up. 

The trail is a circle, too, passing a small, man-made lake before looping around back to the changing facilities. On his wrist, a fitness app closes circles to quantify his steps, his speed, his progress.

At home again, he runs his thumb around the edge of the circular joystick as he waits for Seungkwan and Wonwoo to sign in and join him for a round or two before he figures out dinner.

“Some of us were going to the bar tonight, you in?” 

“Shouldn’t,” Vernon says. “But maybe this weekend?” Unfortunately, his new nine-to-five forces him to make decisions like this - better decisions. He kind of likes his job. He kind of doesn’t want to feel like shit in the morning. 

His mind, a circle - always coming around back to you when it gets too quiet.

He opens his messages.

how have you been? … are you doing okay? … hey, i’m - … I think I’m sorry … what if we did it differently …

Of course he doesn’t send any of them. Instead, he searches for your instagram. You’d never followed each other in the first place, and he considers it a win that you didn’t block him when it was over. But you haven't posted anything that he can see in the last eight months.

Except - one post. It looks like your cat.

He clicks it and realizes that it’s not a photograph, but a painting, and the caption links to another account. He clicks that, too, and finds himself on a page that seems dedicated to posting paintings only.

Yours, apparently. He scrolls through slowly, rolling to his stomach so he can look more closely. He never knew you painted, let alone that you were good - great, even, to his untrained and certainly unbiased eyes.

Part of the problem, his mind chimes in.

Somehow, despite understanding each other better than anyone else in your lives, at the end of the day you hadn’t known each other at all. 

Now - Spring

happy hour after lecture???

plsss can we

bestie YES!!!

The sender of the original invite - a girl close to your age called Juri - eyes you from two rows up, expectantly. Normally, you’d go straight home after class. But you’d been talking to your therapist about almost this exact situation - the way you closed people out, squandered friendships to the point that only Chan managed to hang onto you for more than a year. (Vernon had made it about two years, a sick voice in your head says, and then answers itself with, but you weren’t friends, anyway.)

So, you send the group chat, sure!

(You’d also been talking to your therapist about that last fight with Vernon. I can’t get that conversation out of my head, you told her.

I’ve been caring about you way more than I should, he’d said.

You’d been talking to her about how your brain had skipped like a flat stone right over that detail and had sunk deep on I don’t want to do this anymore.

“What did you think he meant?” she’d asked you, watching you carefully. “When he said do this, what did you think this was?”

Me, you’d whispered. Anything with me - hook up, sleep, spend time together, talk, anything.

She’d helped you see the context of the fight - that maybe by “I don’t want to do this” he’d meant “be with you but not with you”.

“Sounds fake, but okay,” you’d joked. She hadn’t laughed. Negative ten points at Therapy.

You were still working on trying to believe it.

You still weren’t sure if it fucking mattered what he meant, because instead of asking him, “what do you want, then?” you’d gone defensive, had greedily grabbed at the excuse to push him away, hard and careless. He wouldn’t want you back now, even if that’s what he’d wanted at the time. You were sure of it.)

Happy that you’ve agreed to go out, Juri flashes you a grin and then turns around in her seat to watch the board again.

The bar Juri chooses is cute, not crowded or noisy yet this early in the evening. You sip at a beer and talk with the girls about upcoming projects, about the professor you all can’t stand, about the term paper you all feel you shouldn’t have to do.

It’s nice, and honestly when you glance at the time and decide you’d better get home to feed Nana, you regret that you have to. Still, you make your way to the bar to pay for your portion.

You don’t even notice the lean, handsome man who sidles up next to you while you wait for your check until he speaks.

“What’s your drink?”

You look over at him, surprised. “Oh,” you say, which isn’t really an answer. “I’m leaving, actually.”

He gives an exaggerated frown. “It’s so early!”

You shrug. “Sorry. Places to be.”

He’s cute, you consider, as you pay your bill and head for the door. Two years ago, you probably would have picked up what he was putting down.

At home, you feed Nana, then collapse on the couch, pulling a throw blanket all the way over your head. Your stomach churns with discomfort.

You open your phone, find Vernon in your contacts.

You sit on his contact page, thumbs hovering over his number, for so long that your screen goes black twice while you stay locked in indecision.

Don’t call him don’t call him don’t call him.

But you’re lonely, and you miss him, and going out made you think of him, and you wonder what would happen if you did it, if you called. Would he even answer?

Eventually, you let reason win this time, and get up from the couch, the blanket falling from you like you’d shed a skin.

In your spare room, you eye the last painting you’d finished - mostly black but with a fractured, fragmented view of a tabletop littered with empty glasses and half-finished drinks, all the liquids a toxic, piercing neon pink. You hadn’t posted that one; it felt too much like an admission.

You stare down the empty canvas, tapping your mouth with the wooden end of a brush, deciding how to begin. You close your eyes and see the beast that’s followed you these last few years - even before Vernon. The embodiment of your shame, your regrets, your failures. It’s never left your side for long.

When you finally begin to paint it, you start with the claws.

—

you up for a 1v1?

arent you on a date???

obviously not.

you didn’t go? bro.

i went. it was just. idk.

it was just what?

idk dude.

you didn’t like her?

she was fine?? she was funny, and hot, and it was fine

so why are you home alone at 8:30 asking me to come online

Vernon rubs at his face in irritation. He doesn’t know what to say, how to explain to Seungkwan why the date had felt flat.

What could he say? It was fine. It just wasn’t… enough.

He could still remember how he’d felt the first night he met you. He wanted to feel that.

idk, he told Seungkwan. lack of chemistry, ig.

Now - Summer

You think you’ve learned a lot over the past few months - between starting classes again and beginning therapy, you’re just bursting with new knowledge.

Something you’re working on is appreciating the shadows.

In class, you work on shading, on adding darks even when you think an area should all be light. Sometimes, somehow, shadows are exactly what you need to make it right on the canvas.

You think about this concept for your whole drive home from therapy - how the shadows under trees change the way you see them, how the darks affect the lights, how the shadows in your own life are natural and maybe, in the end, not so catastrophic.

At home, you duck your head into the shadows under your bed and drag Nana out by the middle.

“Come be social,” you scold him, plopping him on the couch.

After dinner, you go back to work on what you were painting. You’d been stuck for a few days, not happy with any change you made, but today you have an idea.

You create a palette of black, grey, navy, and deep purple. For two hours, you work meticulously, adding the midnights, the bruises, the shadows. They belong here, too.

—

Chan tells you he’s proud of you, the next time he’s over, and it makes you cry even though you’re only one your second sip of wine.

“Stop it,” you scold, avoiding his gaze, burning up under the attention.

“I mean it,” he says seriously. “I’m so happy that you’re painting again, I could throw up. And going back to school? And therapy? Damn. The glow-up.”

“Ew,” you frown at him, because this feels safer than acknowledging that you have been working hard on yourself, on your life. “What year is it, 2017?”

He gives you a look to make sure you know that he sees through your bullshit.

“It’s not all perfect,” you admit quietly. You feel like it should - like you’ve done the work, and now you should get the happy ending. But it hasn’t worked that way. You’re still working at a job that feels like a waste of time, painting on the side. You’re accumulating some debt for the classes you’re taking. The grey days still come and go, though admittedly their grip is less intense.

And you still think of Vernon, near daily.

Chan shrugs. “That’s normal. Perfect isn’t real. It’s unattainable. If your therapist hasn’t told you that, then you’re wasting your money.”

You laugh. She had told you that. Another thing that was easier to say than to put into practice.

You recork the bottle after a second glass, put it in your fridge for another day. Returning to your spot by Chan’s side, you tell him, “I keep thinking about him.”

Chan cocks his head, probably unsure if you’re talking about who he thinks you are.

“The guy I was hooking up with.”

“Ah.” He inclines his head knowingly.

You recount what he already knows - that you’d been whatever you were for about two years, that it had ended. That it was your fault.

“I think,” you say, taking a deep breath mid-sentence to steel yourself for the truth, “I think I could have loved him. I don’t know… maybe I did.”

“Either you did or you didn’t,” Chan points out, which is fair.

“It’s just…” you say, thinking about it. “We kept our boundaries so tight. We didn’t talk during the day, didn’t meet each others’ friends or families… barely got to know anything about each other. But it was like… even so, I think we just understood each other. It was like a lot of it just went without saying.”

Chan considers this, face serious. “Sounds like the potential was there, at least. If nothing else.”

“Yeah,” you said sadly, tracing the bottom of your wine glass with your finger. “Potential.”

Wasted potential. You’d heard that plenty before, just not usually about your love life.

Chan reaches out and shakes your knee playfully. “It’ll happen again,” he promises.

You don’t know what would be worse - if it never did, or it did, but it wasn’t Vernon. You’d never believed in there only being one right person for you - like soulmates or shit like that. But looking back at your time together, you’re not sure anyone will ever have a hold over you the way Vernon did. The grip he had on your life was unshakable.

Before he leaves for the night, Chan hesitates by the door.

“Hey,” he says, “this weekend? A bunch of the guys are driving down to the beach for the day. Wanna join?”

Something else you would have said no to, before. You’re trying to say yes more, plus you can’t deny that the sea air and sunshine sound like heaven.

“Sure,” you say, shifting to block Nana from slipping out the front door as Chan opens it. “Text me the details.”

Later, you ask what you should have asked first. who all is coming?

Chan sends back the list - six of his friends, ending with, seungcheol-hyung and his friend hansol. i think you’ve met him once or twice at the bars? he’s a good guy.

Something in you knew this was going to be the answer. You counted your breaths, tried to talk yourself down from immediately bailing on the plan.

Sleep on it, you told yourself. See how you feel in a few days.

You followed your own directions, but for days your mind spun around the question, buzzing and frantic.

Are you ready to see Vernon? To be around him, and act normal? Is it a good idea? Will you fight? Will you fall back into old habits? Will he bring out the worst in you?

Actually, you consider, that isn’t fair. Vernon never brought out your bad habits - he just coexisted peacefully with them, never tried to kick them out.

You’re scared that seeing him will undo the work of getting over him. But that isn’t true, either - because you don’t think you moved on from him at all.

In the end, you do slip into old habits - you let yourself make a potentially bad decision. You decide to go.

A twisted, quiet part of you is kind of excited.

The louder part is scared to death.

—

The day is perfect - blue sky, barely any clouds, hot and bright. Chan drives you and two of his friends; a second car with the others is somewhere en route, will meet your group once you’re there.

Chan’s car arrives first, and you help the guys unpack the trunk. Loaded down with beach bags, chairs, and coolers, you make your way unsteadily through the sand, pausing at one point to take off your flip-flops, tired of how they slow you down in the dry, loose sand.

You pick a spot and lay the towels out, unfold the chairs, get the umbrella anchored down in the sand so it doesn’t fly away.

The whole time, you can’t stop watching the parking lot, waiting for the other group to arrive - waiting for the moment of truth. What will happen when Vernon sees you?

Once everything is set up, you lay out, trying to enjoy what is admittedly beautiful weather. It’s so bright that when you lay on your back, you want to throw an arm over your eyes to block out the light, to really relax.

It feels like forever when you hear a distant shout and sit up, blinking against the glare of the sun, returning your sunglasses to your face as you get your bearings. A group of Chan’s friends approaches, one of them - Mingyu, you think - shouting hello and waving like a fool.

You stand to greet them, waving hi when they get close enough. You bite your lip nervously and glance at Vernon. He’s near the back of the group - their car had brought four people, just like yours - and his face is absolutely unreadable as he looks at you. It reminds you of the beginning, when you noticed how hard he works to keep his expression blank.

He’d stopped doing that with you, near the end. You’d almost forgotten.

Meeting and holding his gaze, you give him a solemn nod. I can be normal if you can, you try to promise, silently.

The moment is tense; you aren’t sure how he’ll react. Then, he gives you his own tiny nod back.

Relief melts through you like butter. Seeing him aches, but it isn’t unmanageable. You can do this - you’ll both be okay. You’ll both get through the day.

You help set up a second umbrella while a few of the guys move a few yards away to set up a volleyball net.

For a few hours they play volleyball. You sit on your towel with airpods in and watch, trying not to notice Vernon, trying to keep that part of your brain locked tight in its little box. But the sunlight streams down, not half as blinding as his smile as he jokes and laughs with Chan and Seungcheol, nowhere near as glittering as his laugh when he doubles over, elbows on his knees.

The sun is almost directly overhead when you get warm enough to brave the ocean.

“I’m gonna swim for a few,” you announce, standing and brushing some loose sand from your thighs.

Chan collapses on his towel, next to yours, pushing his hair back and heaving a deep breath, exhausted from volleyball.

“Maybe in a few,” he wheezes. “I need a minute.”

“I’ll go,” Soonyoung says, tossing his sunglasses onto his towel so he doesn’t lose them in the ocean.

You head down to where the waves are breaking onto the wet sand, foamy water dancing up to your ankles before retreating into the deep sea again. It’s cold, but under the midday sun the cold is welcome. You wade until you hit the awkward point where it’s hard to stand without being constantly battered by breaking waves, and then you duck underneath the surface and swim past the breaking point.

Treading water, you turn to see if Soonyoung made it out with you. He’s still back a bit, jumping each time a wave comes through. Beside him, Mingyu splutters, having taken a wave to his face. A few feet back, the water only at their knees, Vernon and Chan laugh maniacally.

You missed those goose honks.

The guys take their time catching up to you until all five of you are treading.

“Do you think there are jellyfish?” Soonyoung asks, peering into the water behind you.

“Probably,” Vernon deadpans, and you laugh, then immediately wonder if you shouldn’t. Luckily, he grins at you appreciatively as, behind him, Chan points out that there could be sharks, too.

“I’ll probably go back in soon,” Soonyoung says, trying to sound cavalier, but his unease shines through.

“We’re fine,” you promise. “You don’t have to out-swim the shark. You just have to out-swim Chan.”

Chan curses and splashes water at you as the others laugh.

You talk and float for a little longer until you consider the goosebumps on your limbs, the growl in your stomach.

“Anyone interested in lunch?” you ask.

Mingyu raises his arm and squints at his watch. “It is one,” he says. “I could eat. What did you guys bring?”

Chan starts rattling off what’s in your coolers as you start to make your way back to shore. You reach the point where your feet touch the sand, only to get slammed in the back by an incoming wave. You stumble a little, and someone holds your elbow steady, helping you stagger through it without completely tripping.

You give Vernon a grateful smile as he retracts his hand, but your stomach is swooping and your arm is burning where he’d held you.

Rejoining the others, you plop down on your towel, suddenly exhausted. The ocean water drying on your skin under the sun makes you shiver as you dig through the cooler. You pass out drinks to the guys closest to you, toss a bag of chips at Seungkwan when he asks for them, then settle back on your own towel to eat.

After, full and happy, you flop backwards and put airpods back in. Seungkwan and Soonyoung head back to the volleyball net. Mingyu and Chan seem content to bake in the sun, like you, and beyond them the others have circled up and are playing a card game, open cans of beer in the sand beside them.

You feel truly at peace, and you take a moment to ask the universe - can I hold onto this? Can I remember, when things go grey, that these moments exist?

Once you’re warm again, you pull your shorts back on and whack Chan on the arm. He startles awake, pushing his sunglasses up to glare at you.

“I’m going to walk up the beach for a little,” you tell him, pointing, just so somewhere will know where you are. He nods, his head sinking back down to his towel, eyes closing again.

You walk where the waves flood over your feet every few minutes, never getting higher than your ankles. You search for shells as you go, carrying one or two, but mostly stopping to take pictures of them and leaving them where they are, wanting to paint them later.

There are four shells in your hand when you hear someone call your name. You turn, surprised, and your stomach swoops again; Vernon approaches, hat twisted backwards and sunglasses perched over the top of it, one hand reaching out to show you a shell he’d found.

You hold still, you let him come to you. When he’s close enough, you hold open your hand and let him drop the shell there. It’s a mostly-white spiral top.

“Thanks,” you say, looking away from the shell to meet Vernon’s eyes.

He looks down at the other four in your hands. “You gonna paint them?”

You feel yourself physically take a step back in shock. “What?”

Embarrassment darkens his face just slightly. “I’ve been following your art page,” he admits, shoving his hands into his shorts pockets. “I didn’t know.” Then, “I feel bad that I didn’t know. You’re really good.”

You shake your head. “I wasn’t painting when we… I used to. I stopped for a long time. Just started again, after…” You trail off. After you left me. After I pushed you away.

He nods, licks his lips. “Does it help?” he asks, and you know exactly what he’s asking - does it make the rocks weigh less, does it make the grey lighter?

“Yeah,” you say, nodding. “In general. It’s been… kind of cathartic.”

You both stand there, the shells on your palms between you, a decision teetering between you.

You should be the one to mend it, you think, since you were the one who’d ruined it before.

“Do you want to walk with me?” you ask, a little tentatively. “You don’t have to - I’m fine on my own -”

“I’d like to,” he says, voice quiet, and something about it makes you want to well up - that he’s willing to give you his time, that he doesn’t hate you as much as you deserve.

You walk quietly together as the sun starts to sink a little, casting everything a bit orange.

“What’s new with you?” you ask, finally.

And he tells you - new job that he actually likes despite how stuffy the nine-to-five thing sounds in theory, new mile time on his daily run, new friends through work.

“And you?”

You fill him in, telling him about taking classes part-time around your job, the commissions that aren’t enough to sustain you but aren’t nothing - you even shyly admit that you’ve been seeing a therapist.

It was the most either of you had ever talked about your real lives, you thought. It struck you how normal it felt, like it wasn’t something new or novel.

“Sounds like things are coming together for you,” he says.

“You, too,” you return.

Everything between you sits heavy, weighing the moment down, pulling towards the ocean’s depths like an anchor.

Then, at the same time, you break.

“It’s good to see you again.”

“Vernon, I’m really sorry.”

He stops walking, turns to face you, aglow as the golden hour inches closer. The sun is warm on your skin, the sand is warm beneath your feet, and you are dying to make it right with him.

“It’s good to see you, too,” you whisper. You’re scared of this moment - scared it will burst, like a bubble, like waking up from a dream that you can’t get back.

“Don’t be sorry,” he counters. “We both screwed up.”

You shake your head, feeling your throat tighten with emotion. “No,” you say emphatically. “You had every right to be mad. You were right that you were wasting time.”

He glances down, mouth pulling into a frown. “I’m sorry I said that to you. It wasn’t a waste.”

“Maybe not entirely,” you allow. “But you were right. I was never going to give you what you wanted - not back then, not with… how I was. That last fight we had… it would have been so easy for me to just let you in, and everything would have been fine. And I just… couldn’t.”

He listens seriously, watching your face carefully. You look at your feet in the sand, feeling the beginning trickles of shame down your spine. But you remember that the beast can’t get you - you’d locked him on a canvas. You don’t succumb to him in these moments anymore - you take a breath and remember that you’ve grown since then.

“And -” you swallow, take a breath, “- and I’m sorry. You deserve so much better than that.”

He nods, slowly, his eyes suddenly on the ocean. You watch his throat work, and your stomach clenches in regret. Then, he says, “I should have been clearer with you - way sooner than I was.”

“I’m not sure it would have changed anything,” you admit sadly.

He nods again, agreeing. “Still,” he says.

Still.

“I really like your paintings,” he says, and then laughs at himself before you can respond. “Sorry, that sounded so lame. I don’t know the art terms or anything. I just… like them.”

You smile despite how serious the conversation had felt only seconds ago. “Thanks,” you say shyly.

“What’s the best thing you’ve learned in your classes?” he asks, stepping a little closer.

You don’t even have to think about it. “Shadows,” you say simply, looking up at him. “Even the brightest painting is nothing without the shadows.”

His smile grows slowly, and you know he gets it. Of course he does. He’s been in the trenches right alongside you.

“I thought about you a lot,” he admits, and you realize how close you’re standing. Had you been standing this close the whole time?

“I did, too,” you murmur, heart hammering.

His fingers brush up your sun-warmed arm, and you shiver despite the heat.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, voice low, a little unsure.

He’d never asked before.

You nod, unable to speak, lifting up to meet him halfway. He kisses you like he never had before - featherlight, gentle, like you’re the most fragile thing.

Neither of you say anything after, but as you start walking back towards the guys, you slip your hand into his, and he gives it a squeeze.

You’re still hand in hand when you reach the towels, and you watch Chan clock it out of the corner of his eyes. He doesn’t call you out, and you promise yourself that you’ll give him the conversation you owe him - later. When you’re alone.

You stay a few more hours; the guys play a little more volleyball, you sit on the towels and fill pages in your sketchbook. You draw Vernon - all angles, so sharp, so beautiful.

When the sun sinks low enough, the guys start packing things up, and you help haul everything back towards the cars.

As you slam the trunk of Chan’s car shut, you turn to find Vernon waiting.

“What about now?” he asks.

“What?”

“You said not back then,” he explains. “You said back then you couldn’t give me what I wanted. What about now?”

The question lands like a mine. “I don’t know,” you say, as honest as you can be. “Vernon, I don’t know. I’m scared - I’m scared I’ll hurt you again, mess it up again. I don’t know what I can promise you.”

He considers this. “Okay,” he says finally, in that easy way of his. “What if I don’t want a promise? What if I just want to know… what’re you doing next Saturday?”

You and him, you’d existed only at night. You’d never done this before - considered dating, considered giving him more than just the hours between midnight and three am. You’d never considered letting him be him and not just one of your many vices, one of your distractions, one of the things you used to hide from how broken you felt. But here, now, with the summer sun beating down on your shoulders, you take in his whole, unfragmented face and see how open it is, how willing he is to meet you where you are.

You’ve been missing out on so much, you think. It’s about time to stand in the light - with him. With him, you could try.

“Nothing,” you say, smiling up at him. “You got a suggestion?”

“Yeah,” he says, sending you a wink as he starts to back away, the car keys jingling in his hand. “I know a place.”

<- Prev

thank you so much for reading my veyr first svt fic!! i hope to write many more in the future :)

[arieswritez]

Just thinking about pervy Mark rn…. Giggles

I think he should be nasty.. a lil gross,, That would be hawt

mark should allowed to be nasty & gross as a treat!!

cw; MDNI! DARK CONTENT! yan!mark grayson x gn!reader, abusive relationships, manipulation, food tampering, drugging, somnophilia, blackmail, scent kink, rape & sexual harassment, mentions of body size (weight fluctuations, implied chub!reader, mark teases reader about it)

he should be allowed to taint your food with his spit and his cum and get hard while he watches you eat it! he should be allowed to put trackers in your car or on your phone! why can't you understand he's just wants to keep you safe?! stop being so ungrateful >:[ !!!!

how do you think it'd make mark feel if something happened to you? or are you that fucking self absorbed that you don't stop to think about how your actions affect those around you? specifically him. your boyfriend who does so much for you.

what if someone got their hands on your cute little body? is that what you want? because mark obviously doesn't want anything happening to you. . but if that's what you really want: he can make that happen.

he won't like it. but if it means teaching you a lesson, he can always hire a few low lives to scare you straight. and it's not like it's hard to find them and reason with them. mark gets a favor and, in return, they don't have to worry about mark - or invincible, as they know him - lurking on their turf.

despite their reputation, they don't do anything too bad. nothing big enough to cause any permanent, physical damage. although he's sure - and hoping - your psyche will take a hit. he specifically advised they not rape you but they do enough to leave you shaking with fear once it's over.

when you come home to him, clothes torn, sobbing about being cornered and groped, he'll be there, soothing and cooing at you,

"babe~ i told you! this is what happens when you wear that while i'm not around! you have to tell me where you are at all times! it wouldn't have happened if i was there!"

mark should be allowed to make you absolutely, completely, A HUNDRED PERCENT!!!! dependent on him!!! he should be allowed to slip things into your drinks that make you drowsy and force you to stay the night. he should be allowed to set up a cute little camera in the corner of the room, facing his bed, and film himself slipping his hand into your underwear while you sleep! you wouldn't believe the sounds you make while you're passed out <3

he should be allowed to give you medication that causes your weight to fluctuate! & he's allowed to be a little mean about it, too ;( to pinch your chubby cheeks or your softening belly, grab your rolls and say, "you're lucky i love you so much ~"

he should be allowed to use your throat as leverage when he fucks you from behind!!! he should be allowed to stick his thumb/stuff his fingers into your hole while he strokes you or eats you from the back!! he should be allowed to paint your back and/or belly with sticky white cum while you're throbbing for him. he should be allowed to make excuses !!! oh, i hafta go. cecil needs me. im tired. get yourself off, you can do that, can't you?

or just a blatant, "no. you don't deserve to."

mark should be allowed to throat fuck you until your face is covered with tears and snot and he should be allowed to laugh at you and plug your nose while you choke around him!

he should be allowed to force you to your knees & tongue at his balls the second he steps into the house despite the fact that he hasn't showered the day's worth of sweat and grime off of him! you should BE GRATEFUL HIS DICK IS IN YOUR MOUTH!!!

mark is a good bf! and you shouldn't complain!! no one will love you the same way he does!!

[hellyeahsickaf]

I get disability memes on my Pinterest feed but after getting one for ER Drs/nurses that I found concerning, I kept seeing more and more like it and I went down a rabbit hole. I know it's one of the most stressful jobs someone can have and I really appreciate the medical staff that have been kind to me. These things are definitely made by the types of people who haven't been.

I think it's important because memes are kind of a way to let off steam but they mean what they're saying. They're not just jokes but they're framed in a way that they can say it more comfortably. Sometimes they're just straight up admitting to crimes and malpractice. It's like when someone says something that crosses a line in a joking tone so that if you feel attacked they insist it's just a joke and you're taking it too seriously. But my life is constantly in the hands of these people and I've been mistreated time and time again by medical personnel

I'm gonna go through them because honestly I hate them and there are a lot of repeating themes

These are extremely common. The focus of the meme being that a whiny patient is asking for pain medication that they clearly don't need. Something commonly mentioned in these is disbelief that the patient has an allergy because it's common for someone trying to get drugs to claim they have an allergy.

Also the Confucius one is both ableist and racist so double whammy I guess!

I've dealt with people I know are silently assuming this of me. I'm allergic to NSAIDs- deathly allergic and at risk for asphyxiation or anaphylactic shock. Medical staff sometimes have this attitude of "we know when you're faking your pain" (no really I had one say this shit on my post about this) and that has traumatized me immeasurably because they'd rather me wait for 4+ hours in some of the worst pain of my life than risk the possibility of me being an awful scheming mustache twirling addict.

This category is just as common. "I don't like you so I'm going to drug you". That's more fucked up than they seem to think it is.

Then there's the category of "you're a whiny little bitch and I don't believe a word out of your mouth". Which contributes heavily to medical malpractice and abuse

Again these are doctors and nurses making these, people responsible for treating patients with care and dignity and respect. Especially if they want any in return

Aaaaand this one is just a crime. One that's happened to me actually- reporting examinations that never happened to get rid of me because I was such a nuisance (crying, hardly coherent, drenched in sweat, 9/10 pain on arrival)

And then there are the ones like "don't mess with me because i handle your treatment/meds 💕". Things like "the way you treat me is the deciding factor for how fast I'm going to get your painkillers 😊". Which to me is just... evil?

I've never in my life mistreated medical staff but people in a lot of pain get mean sometimes. It's a survival instinct actually- for aggression to accompany pain or panic. Not that it's ever okay but it isn't personal

These are just a few examples really, there are so fucking many of these with this awful, cruel, cynical tone. There are some funny ones that aren't mean or degrading towards patients but so many of them are and in nearly every one I see a mean spirited healthcare worker that I've encountered at some point who damaged me in ways I will never psychologically recover from

[klaus-littlestwolf]

Human Doctor!Klaus M. Yandere Pt.1

Warning: Non/Dub-con (Somnophilia), Previous Abusive Relationship, Drug Use (date rape drugs…kinda?), Breeding Kink, Yandere/Psychopathic Behavior/Manipulation, Assault, Age-Gap

DD:DNE

Don’t like-Don’t Read!

Part 2

For Klaus it started in the ER. He loved working in the ER as everyday was different, and it generated some truly funny experiences and stories.

For him it was love at first sight. He saw Y/n sitting on the side of the hospital bed looking tired and uncomfortable but she was beautiful and sweet. As he walked in she looked up at him and blushed, Klaus noticing for the first time the black eye on the side of her face he hadn’t been able to see before however as he also saw her clutching her arm to her body he assumed her eye isn’t why she was here. He had looked at the x-ray and he knew her arm was broken and had clearly been done so purposefully and he was enraged by the idea of someone harming such a sweet girl…his sweet girl.

‘Hello Miss. Y/L/n. I’m Dr.Mikaelson. It’s lovely to meet you, I’m sorry it’s under these circumstances.’ She wouldn’t meet his eyes, now looking down at his shoes as he spoke, and when she responded it was so quiet he nearly couldn’t hear her.

‘Hi. You can just call me Y/n.’

‘Well then you can call me Klaus, hmm? You clearly have a broken arm, the good news is you don’t need surgery, I just need to wrap you up in a cast which a nurse is bringing me right now. Can you tell me what happened Y/n?’ She looked surprised as he pulled the chair over to sit across from her, giving her a harder time avoiding his gaze.

‘I tripped down the stairs is all.’

‘You seem to do that a lot according to your chart. 3 times in the last 2 months you’ve been here.’

She just shrugged as the nurse came in with a tray and set it down for him. ‘I’m a klutz, I always have been…I’m a mess honestly.’

‘Well, I’m sorry to hear that. You have much too pretty a face to be damaging it with bruising.’ Once again she blushed a dark red that was so cute he felt his cock twitch in his pants.

Klaus began wrapping her arm up in gauze before the cast wrap and noticed her taking peeks at him with that blush still heavy on her face.

‘Alright. I’m going to give you a mild pain medication for the next 3 days, I know how difficult sleep is when you’re in pain so they should help and I need to ask you, are you safe going home Y/n? Did someone do this to you?’ He knew the answer, and he could tell from the way she looked at him that she knew that he knew too.

‘I’m okay, thank you. I’m just clumsy.’

‘I don’t think that’s true Y/n and if you change your mind, just come back here, okay?’ She looked surprised but nodded her head.

‘Thank you Klaus. I appreciate it, most doctors are assholes, it’s really nice to see one that’s not.’

‘Sadly that’s true, many doctors lose their compassion through all the politics, regulations and money. Also patients that are rude or drug addicts.’ He teased seeing her smile for the first time, giggling a bit and once again he felt his cock in his pants twitch, clearly not willing to listen to his brain today.

It was at that moment that the curtain was ripped open and a tall man stopped short with a sneer on his face. ‘What the fuck is this?’

‘Jake, this is Dr.Mikaelson. He just wrapped my broken arm.’ He didn’t look shocked or even the least bit gentle.

‘Good. Let’s go.’

‘Hold on there, not so fast. I haven’t discharged her yet. Give me just a moment, she’ll be out soon if you could go wait in the waiting room.’ Jake looked angry instantly and Klaus could see how explosive he could be. Klaus is an angry individual so he knows exactly what a dangerously angry man looks and acts like.

‘I think I’ll stay, Y/n would be more comfortable with me here.’ He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and he watched her cringe but never move away.

‘He can stay.’ Klaus reminded himself that this man is an abuser and that her response is conditioned and not her fault at all. She is just trying to survive.

‘Alright. I’m going to get you the script and your papers. Remember what I said, no more trips down the stairs.’ He warned and she blushed again as he left.

Her boyfriend dragged her out of there as soon as she had the folder and he spent the next week thinking about her like crazy. It didn’t bother him that he was a 36 year old man in love with a 19 year old girl, she was meant to be his and he knew it! That night when he went home he had his hand firmly wrapped around his cock for hours before he was finally willing to search her in the hospital computer and found her apartment address, finding it and finding a spot to sit and watch her, able to see in through her sliding door as she went about her day. That is how he spent his days off.

He saw her again three weeks later back in his ER and he practically snatched the patient folder from his friend, determined to be her doctor.

When he opened the curtain he saw her eye swollen nearly completely shut, her bottom lip split and a dark bruise on her jaw.

‘Y/n. What happened darling?’ She looked up at him stunned.

‘You remember me?’ Her voice was rough and only then did he see the dark red marks on her throat beginning to bruise.

‘Of course I do. I was concerned when I first saw you, especially once I met your boyfriend. Tell me what’s going on.’ He couldn’t stop himself from reaching out and touching her throat, feeling it gently but making sure not to hurt her.

‘I tried to leave…he came home early.’ Tears welled up in her eyes and he sat beside her on the bed, wrapping her in his arms firmly but not too hard, unsure if she was bruised anywhere else.

‘It’s alright. You did so good love, you got away from him. You are so strong.’ She was clearly trying to hold it together but it only took a few seconds for her to fall apart and tighten her arms around his neck, sobbing against him. ‘Let it out lovely, it’s okay. You did so good, you are worth so much more than him, you deserve to be taken care of, and I’m going to take care of you, okay?’

She nodded her head in his neck, sniffling adorably. ‘Thank you Klaus. My throat really hurts.’

‘I can see that. Anything else?’

She showed him her bruised ribs but nothing was broken thankfully. He spent the next few hours taking care of her and giving her some meds so that he could postpone her discharge until he got off, getting her papers just as he was going home having convinced her to stay with him, not willing to let her go back to Jake.

He got her into his car without anyone seeing them and picked up some dinner for them before they got back to his house. ‘I don’t want to put you out, are you sure that this is okay-‘

‘Stop asking that. It’s more than alright. Let’s get you something to sleep in and you can hop into the shower. The hot water will make you feel so much better.’ He grabbed her a Henley and a pair of boxers, he had some of his sisters clothes from how many times she had stayed here but he desperately wanted to see her in his clothes. ‘Now, I want you to tell me Jakes address so that I can go get your things.’ Her eyes went wide and he could see she definitely didn’t see that coming.

‘Klaus, no! I don’t want-‘

‘I don’t want him to set his eyes on your pretty face ever again, he doesn’t deserve it Y/n.’

‘He’ll hurt you! I can’t let you do this, please?’ She looked desperate while he turned on the shower for her.

‘He won’t harm me. I promise, I’m just going to get your already packed bags and come back. Let me do this for you.’ He wasn’t asking, now that she’s in his house she’s not leaving! That idiot will never put his hands on her again!

She gave him the address that he already knew and he smiled, kissing her head and turning to go before she grabbed his arm. ‘Klaus…why are you doing this? You’re my doctor, you’re not responsible for me, why are you helping me? I don’t understand.’ She was confused and scared, he knew she would be but he would never hurt her like Jake did.

‘Admittedly I thought you were gorgeous when we first met, but I was your doctor and I won’t be inappropriate at work. You are a sweet girl trying to get out of an abusive relationship, and you need some help. I’m in a position to do that and I know that if I let you walk out that door and you end up back in that house with nowhere to go and next time I see you it’s in the ICU or worse…I will never forgive myself.’ He teared up, trying to show her how soft and caring he could be knowing that she’s used to a guy who can’t do those things as a psychopath.

Her face fell and he could see how well it was working, she was exactly where he wanted her. She wrapped her arms around him tightly, feeling the tears soak up in his shirt on his shoulder. ‘Thank you Klaus…I won’t forgive myself if you get hurt either, at least let me come with you and-‘

‘No. Get in the shower, you need to rest those sore muscles. Your things will be here by the time you get out and I’ll give you something to help you sleep. I’m off tomorrow, we’ll spend the day relaxing, get you feeling better and we’ll talk about what we’re going to do. Okay? Just try not to worry until then.’ He kissed her forehead and shut the door behind him as he left.

The trip to the apartment was quick, Jake only lived about 5 minutes from him but in a very different neighborhood. Klaus had a large house that he wouldn’t call a mansion but some people probably would and it was on 9 acres of land. The apartment building that this moron had his Princess living in was a shitty floor level place that looked rat infested on the outside, where he could see almost the entire apartment through the sliding door. Good for Klaus now, bad for Y/n in the long run. Unlike Jake, Klaus would never run the risk of any other man seeing his Princess in any exposed fashion, she belonged to him, whether she knows it yet or not.

He knocked on the door loud enough to ensure the jackass would wake up and as soon as the door swung open Klaus dug his fist straight into Jakes face knocking him off of his feet.

‘Yo! What The Fuck Man?!’ He rolled his eyes as he stepped through the door.

‘That’s not even half of what you made Y/n feel. That lovely girl trusted you, gave herself to you, and you repay her by causing her pain?! You don’t deserve to live, you are the definition of garbage and while I want more than anything to kill you, sadly I’m only here for her bags.’ He looked up and saw 2 suitcases a backpack and a duffel bag sitting in the next room which he moved to grab. He carried the suitcases out to his car before coming back and seeing Jake with a baseball bat pointed at him.

‘Get the fuck outta my house! She’s coming back, she’s mine! Y/n knows she can’t live without me-‘

‘Oh but she can. She’s going to stay with me now, she’s mine Jake.’ His eyes practically caught flame before he swung the bat which Klaus ducked back from and grabbed when it got stuck in the wall, hitting the moron and kneeling into him where he now resides on the ground. ‘You will never touch her again, violently or otherwise. But I will, whether she knows it yet or not I will make sure she falls in love with me. It won’t be hard after dating an ass like you, all I need to do is show her how soft and loving I can be. I’m already halfway there, she’s mine now. It’s my hands that will be on her body tonight, kissing every inch of that perfect skin that you enjoyed bruising. My tongue and cock that will fuck every hole she has, and she will only ever cry in ecstasy. The only way, so I’ve been told, you didn’t make her cry.’ He tried to buck Klaus off of him and only ended up thrusting up against him before Klaus punched him again, his head bouncing off of the floor, punching him 3 more times before he stopped not wanting to damage his hands by splitting his knuckles, it would make Y/n wonder what had happened to him. ‘I’m going to taste her. I’m going to fuck her. I’m going to knock her up and make her mine forever, she’ll warm my bed and have my babies, and if you ever come near her again I will kill you. And don’t even think about going to the police for this, you can’t prove anything and my brother is the chief. God forbid your apartment catches fire and no one responds to your call, hmm? Or no one follows up on your accusations of being beaten within an inch of your life by a very well known, and highly respected doctor in this small town. Don’t think about calling her either, if I find out you did, and I will, I’m going to come back here.’ His eyes were bugging out in fear, clearly stunned at the fact that a doctor is kneeling on his chest and threatening to burn his home down. ‘She’s mine.’

He stood, stepping on his chest and walking over him to get the other bags before walking out and shutting the door behind him. After washing the blood off of his hands which luckily weren’t bruised, he looked through all of the bags removing the laptop, iPad and phone from the backpack, mixing up her bags to make it look like they had been pulled apart before stopping at Target on the way home. He tried to be fast so Y/n wouldn’t get worried, grabbing a black weaved basket filling it with a pomegranate and mango body wash and a purple loofah. He also grabbed a black scalp massager, a rosemary and mint shampoo and conditioner along with hair ties, clips, hairbrush, several scents of body scrubs, toothbrush, razors, deodorant and a nail care kit. Klaus wanted Y/n to have everything she would need that he didn’t already have to give her and also allow her to have soap that wasn’t men’s soap. He knew this would make her feel like he was thinking about her in ways Jake never did or would. He got a few different kinds of chocolate for the basket and a soft, fluffy black and red plaid blanket as well as grabbing a giant polar bear stuffed animal he thought she would fall in love with.

When he got home he walked through the door with her duffel bag and backpack to see her standing there with a worried look on her face before she jumped to wrap her arms around him. ‘I missed you too Princess.’ He laughed, dropping the bags and wrapping his arms around her.

‘I thought he had hurt you! You were gone for so long!’ He kissed her cheek before pulling away.

‘I’m sorry. Jake had torn your bags apart and I had to put everything back in, I apologize that they’re messy but I think I got it all. I stopped at the store to get you a few things. I’ll get the suitcases.’ He ran back out, grabbing the suitcases and the basket that he had put together, carrying the bear awkwardly, leaving the basket and bear on the steps, bringing the suitcases in to see Y/n looking through her backpack frantically.

‘He took my phone! My laptop! Bastard!’

‘Relax love, just relax. Come here.’ He pulled her to stand up and wiped her eyes dry. ‘No more tears Princess. He is not worth your tears, you’ve cried too many for him. No more.’ Klaus enjoyed the way her eyes lit up as he said that, her red face smiling up at him happily despite the entire shitty day. ‘Close your eyes Princess.’ She looked confused but did as he said as he quickly moved to grab the basket and bear, carrying them in and shutting the door behind him. The fact that she did what she was told without questioning him let him know he was right when he had chosen her, she truly was perfect.

As he placed the bears head in her hands, it sitting on the floor quite literally more than half of her body height tall, she opened her eyes which widened before she squealed. ‘Klaus! Oh my God! He’s perfect! I love him!’ She dropped to her knees and wrapped her body around him making Klaus laugh. ‘Oh my God! He must have cost a fortune!’

‘Don’t do that. Nothing I ever buy you is something for you to worry about in any way. I have plenty of money. You deserve to be taken care of. Speaking of which.’ He set the basket beside her and she began looking through everything excitedly, smelling the soaps and inspecting everything.

‘You got me a scalp scrubber? I didn’t know men knew what those were!’ She giggled while Klaus took her bags and carried them up the stairs to her bedroom right beside his, coming back down and seeing she was smelling the body scrubs. ‘This is amazing! Peach sorbet, Watermelon, Pineapple? These smell fantastic! I can’t believe you got all of this for me. I have a hair and tooth brush you know? You didn’t have to-‘

‘I wanted to. I wanted to make sure you have everything here to make you comfortable. I would really like it if you would stay, I…I can’t let you end up back there with him. He threatened me with a bat darling.’

‘WHAT!?’

‘He told me you would end up back with him whether you like it or not. I’m genuinely scared what will happen if you leave, I’m asking you to stay Y/n, this-‘ he gestured to the basket. ‘-is me asking you to stay.’ Klaus could tell she was torn and worried and he wanted to ease that for her. ‘You won’t be a bother to me, I have plenty of money, more than I know what to do with honestly and I live alone. Sometimes my sister stays for a few nights or one of my brothers but I would love some company. You’ll have your own room and bathroom, I would prefer you don’t lock the door in case something happens but if it makes you feel better I understand…we can go shopping for whatever else you need, I just tried to get the basics.’

‘Klaus! You did great, okay? It’s all wonderful but…how can I live in your house without giving you anything back? I’m broke, I have nothing. I moved in with him when I was a 17 year old idiot, my family hates me, I have no income-‘

‘I don’t want money. I have money, I like you and I want to help you. I don’t want you to get a job, I want you to rest and get better. For now that’s enough. Now let’s get you to bed.’ He grabbed her backpack and the basket as she carried her bear to her room which she was blown away by. ‘You showered in my bathroom, this one is yours. The sheets were changed since my sister stayed a few weeks ago so it’s all clean.’

‘This room and bathroom is more than half the size of my whole apartment…thank you Klaus. Really, thank you.’ He set the bear down on her bed and hugged her as she laid her head on his chest.

‘If you wait a moment I’ll get you something to help you sleep?’

‘Okay. That sounds great.’

He walked back to his room to the medicine cabinet which had about every kind of medication you could ever need, taking hold of a sleep medication he knew would knock her out! He brought her back a pill and a bottle of cold water, handing it to her. ‘This will help, you won’t be up all night and I have this lotion that should help ease the bruising on your neck…can I?’ He pointed to her throat and Y/n blushed, nodding her head. Sitting on the edge of the bed she pulled her hair into a bun and let him see the marks that had colored significantly since the hospital. ‘How a man does this to his women I will never know. You have wonderful skin, it should never be tainted with bruises.’ He gently rubbed the lotion into her skin and around her eye as well, enjoying being allowed to touch her.

‘Will you put some on my ribs too?’ Klaus nodded, watching as she pulled up his Henley and laid back. He desperately wanted to lean down and press his lips to her stomach, her beautiful untainted skin made him want to touch her everywhere. He took his time rubbing the lotion in everywhere, his cock awakening as he heard her sigh. ‘You’re really pretty. Do you know that? I bet women tell you that a lot.’ He smiled, seeing the sleeping meds beginning to kick in.

‘I’ve been told a time or two. Thank you Princess, you’re very sweet, aren’t you?’ She nodded quickly.

‘Uh huh. I’m the sweetest.’ She giggled and he quickly fixed his shirt to cover his now hard cock in his pajama pants. ‘Why aren’t you married? You’re a sexy doctor, you’re sweet and generous…and rich! Why you got no ring?’

‘Honestly? All of the women I’ve gone out with knew I was a doctor. Most women go out with doctors and only do it for the money. They expect fancy dinners and flowers and gifts and jewelry, they don’t care about me they just want a rich doctor.’ Her face fell instantly and all of a sudden she jumped up, wrapping around his neck and climbing into his lap with her legs around his hips. ‘Oh wow, okay. You’re a lovey little thing when you’re tired, aren’t you?’

‘You’re the sweetest! Why are women so awful!? You should be with a man because he’s wonderful and sweet…then again I moved in with a broke idiot at 17 because I loved him and I didn’t care about money and look at where I am? Mooching off a sexy doctor cause my boyfriend is an abusive fuck face! I’m such an idiot-‘

‘You’re not an idiot. He is for letting you go. I love the fact that you’re not a greedy bitch, you are wonderful and I think I fell in love with you the moment I saw you.’ Klaus was focused on holding his hips back so that she didn’t feel his hard-on against her pussy. She pulled back from his neck and looked up at him for just a moment before looking up and pressing her lips to his, completely surprising him.

He pressed his lips against hers and pressed his hand to her neck to hold her in place, hearing her moan against his mouth before seeming to realize all at once what she was doing and pulling back with a dark red face, nearly falling onto the floor if he hadn’t grabbed her. ‘Oh God! I’m sorry! Im so sorry Klaus, I’m sorry! Fuck, I’m so-‘ He pressed his hand over her mouth to stop her from talking.

‘Stop, it’s okay! It’s alright, I’m not upset. I’ve already told you that I like you. No more worrying, come on, let’s get in bed sleepy girl.’ She laid back on the pillows against her stuffed animal while he spread her new blanket over her. His hand reached up and brushed her hair from her face, seeing her eyes closed and watching her breathing even out as she drifts off, the medication wreaking havoc on her body and pushing her into dreamland. ‘Y/n?’ She didn’t respond to him so he tried again. ‘Y/n? Are you awake?’ Nothing. He leaned down and pressed his lips to hers, kissing her soft lips all over again and just imagining how they would feel around his cock. His hand trailed up her side, caressing her hip and ribs before pushing the shirt over her chest to reveal it to his eyes. ‘Fuck.’ Klaus groaned, hesitating only a second before leaning down and wrapping his lips around her nipple which cause her to gasp and moan a needy moan. Kissing across her breasts to suck on her other rosy nipple before kissing down her bruised ribs and belly until he got to his boxers. ‘Just a taste…just a little taste.’ The boxers came down easily though he froze halfway down as she moaned a bit, her hand moving to squeeze at her own breast in her sleep thanks to his actions. As the boxers got to her knees he looked at her pretty little pussy, spreading her lips apart and leaning down to trail his tongue up her slit, a high pitched moan falling from her perfect lips. ‘So sweet! God I want you to ride my face so fucking badly! Such a pretty little pussy.’ Klaus tried his best to be delicate as he tasted her, caressing her bud with his tongue and instantly becoming addicted to the sweet juices her cunt made especially for him. He pushed his middle finger into her hole and felt how tight she was, he knew that idiot couldn’t have even begun to make her feel good but Klaus knew that he could! He pulled the boxers off the rest of the way before lifting her legs onto his shoulders and burying his face into her pussy knowing that the medication had kicked in enough that she wouldn’t be waking and even if she did, with the high dose he gave her she would just pass it off as a dream.

Her hips began to move against his face after a few moments of him spearing his tongue into her tight hole and her sweet little whimpers had made him harder than he believes he’s ever been in his life. It didn’t take long before her muscles tightened and she came all over his mouth allowing him to clean the rest of her cream from her cunt before pulling away and finally taking a deep breath, resting his head on her thigh.

‘You’re mine now Princess, and I will never let you get away. I’m going to make you all mine.’ He sat up, ripping his pants and boxers away before spreading her legs and resting his cock against her wet slit. ‘I’m going to fuck you so full you’ll be carrying my babies before you know it. Can’t wait to see your belly swell with my child.’ He rocked back and forth, rubbing himself over her, unwilling to fuck her before she was awake to cry out in ecstasy but unable to stop himself from touching her sweet pussy. ‘All mine gorgeous.’ He growled, his hips jerking forward, covering his mouth to stop the loud cry that escaped his lips when he came all over her cunt. ‘Look how beautiful you are. Perfection.’ Grabbing his phone from his pocket he quickly snapped a picture of her like this, breasts exposed under her bunged up shirt, naked from the chest down and covered in his cum on her glistening pussy. ‘By tomorrow you will be beneath me willingly, and I promise you will enjoy every second of it.’

Klaus quickly cleaned her off before redressing her and lifting her from the bed, carrying her into his bedroom and tucking her under the covers beside him. He wrapped around her and before he could move her she snuggled her face into his chest where she comfortably slept for the rest of the night.

[pan-fangirl-345]

He Would Tear the World Apart

Summary: During a raid, you're taken hostage. Shouto doesn't take the news well, and will do anything to get you back.

TW: kidnapping, abuse, alcoholism mentioned, Enji Todoroki's bad parenting, mental torture, dissociating, injuries, blood, angst, mentioned character death (no one actually dies), a lot of swearing, chains, starvation, dehydration, that sort of thing. If there's anything I missed, please let me know! Also, there is a happy ending, so it's angst to fluff!

A/N: First and foremost, I have no medical degree, I have no idea what it's like to dissociate, so anything medically incorrect is because I am not a doctor, though I am currently working on getting my psychology degree. I'm sorry if this offends anyone, that was not the intention. I have no idea what went through my head to make me write all of this in an hour, but here you go. Also, please read the trigger warnings, and if you don't like it, don't read it. Anyway, I might make a part two to this if anyone is interested. Feel free to spam my ask box, or slide into my DM's if you want. Please interact with me, I adore you all.

Aizawa sighed as he stepped into the conference room. He sat down heavily in his usual seat, and Nezu climbed onto his shoulder, as was custom after so many years, despite the situation they were in.

Again.

"As you have all heard, one of the second year students, (Y/N), has been taken. She was last seen on a raid with the hero she was studying under, and we haven't heard anything from her since this transmission."

Nezu pressed play on a recording and her voice floated through the air.

She was panting, and she was whispering, but Aizawa knew that it was her.

"To anyone receiving this transmission, this is hero-in-training Tempest, I'm pursuing the criminals associated with the gang 'The Numerals'. I've been separated from the others and my comms have been compromised by one of the members. Please, send back-up."

There was a pause where all they could hear was her breathing, and suddenly she yelled, "Hey! You, stop!"

There was static, and then there was nothing.

"We have received information from one of our recon teams that they have taken her to their base of operations, though we don't know exactly where that is yet. We have also, as a school, received a ransom demand. Her parents have yet to be contacted about this."

Copies of the notes were handed out to the teachers, and they all frowned, clearly thinking the same thing Aizawa had thought.

They were a school, what kind of school had this kind of money sitting around?

"What is the girl's quirk?"

"She can create different types of storms in her hands," Aizawa supplied. "As of the end of last year, she could make a hurricane for a few minutes at a time, sometimes a dust storm, and I know for a fact that she was undergoing training over the summer, so it might be more than that now. Under extreme duress, she can make a full scale electrical storm in a building or outside, but only if her life is threatened."

"So, not helpful for getting out of this kind of situation?" one of the other teachers chirped and Aizawa nodded.

"No," he agreed. "Though we should be checking for any strange storms and freak electrical spikes."

"Do any of the other students know about this?" Hizashi asked.

"No, and we need to keep it that way," Aizawa told his husband.

"Why?" Vlad King asked.

"(Y/N) is Todoroki Shouto's girlfriend," Aizawa replied, then waited for that to sink in before he continued. "If he finds out that she's gone, or that's she's been kidnapped and harmed . . . ." He shook his head a few times before he added, "He would tear the world apart to get her back."

"Fuck," someone mumbled, and Aizawa nodded.

Pretty much everyone that was at U.A. knew what that girl meant to Shouto, not to mention the people at Endeavor's agency, and the one that (Y/L/N) was working with.

"Alright, so what's the plan?" Midnight asked.

"We plan a rescue mission," Nezu said. "We're working with nearly every police force in the country to try and figure out where they're keeping her. We have a rough area," he clicked onto a photo of a map, one area to the far north highlighted in bright red. "But there's nothing we can do until then, we need a warrant and evidence."

"The life of a child isn't enough?" Midnight asked. "Especially such a beautiful girl?"

Everyone went quiet, the mood somber and heavy.

"Aizawa, you spent more time with this girl than anybody," one of the third year teachers said, "how likely is it that she'll find a way out on her own?"

"It's a possibility," Aizawa admitted. "She's a very capable student, on par with Midoriya, Todoroki, and Bakugou, but they know what she can do. Not to mention that sources tell us she was injured, though we aren't sure to what extent. And the longer she spends with them is more time Shouto has to figure out what's happening. Not to mention the other students. We need to get her out as soon as possible."

"Agreed," Hizashi added.

It was no secret that Present Mic and Eraserhead had both taken a liking to you when you were in Class 1-A, all of the teachers liked you, and you were a solid foundation for your classmates.

You were a calm presence, and everyone, Bakugou included, had gone to you for advice at some point, though it was all for different reasons.

You tend to be a level-headed person, but when you felt strongly about something, nothing was going to stop you.

People, Shouto mainly, would start to sense the lack of your presence, and Aizawa wasn't ashamed to admit that he wanted you back where you belonged.

"We can't keep him, Shouto I mean, in the dark about this," Hizashi murmured. "He's one of the best up and coming heroes."

"Not to mention," Aizawa added, "that we plan on flooding the streets with her photo. We've already sent it to all of the major hero agencies involved with the search, Endeavor's being one of them. If we don't tell him, his father will, and we all know how volatile that relationship is."

Everyone in the room shuddered at the mention of the father and son duo and nodded.

"Aizawa, All Might, it might be better if you both told him," Nezu said. "You both have the best relationship with him in this room, and you might be the only two that could hold him back if he reacts violently."

"And he will," Aizawa mumbled, already standing from his chair.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Shouto knew something was wrong.

He hadn't seen or heard from you in two days, almost three, and the teachers were acting suspicious. There were fewer of them in the halls, and Aizawa was even more tired than usual, with dark worry bags under his eyes that the students hadn't seen since the Bakugou Debacle in their first year.

The last he had heard, you were going on a raid for some gang members that were selling some sort of hallucinogenic drug based off of a mirage quirk.

You hadn't contacted him or come back since.

"Young Shouto, can we speak to you for a moment?" All Might asked, making everyone look up from what they were doing.

Despite the dorms no longer being completely necessary, (the League had backed off a little bit in recent days, and there hadn't been very many Nomu attacks lately), most of Class 1-A, now 2-A, had moved into the dorms for their second year, you and Shouto included.

"Does this have to do with (Y/F/N)?" he asked, standing quickly.

"Unfortunately, yes," Aizawa said, voice somber.

"Todoroki, do you want us to come with you?" Midoriya asked, getting that look on his face.

"If it's about (Y/F/N) then they all deserve to know too," Shouto said. "And I would feel better knowing they were here."

"Of-Of course," All Might replied, glancing at Aizawa nervously.

"(Y/L/N) has been kidnapped and is being held hostage as we speak," he told them, as blunt as ever.

Aizawa ripped his goggles off right before Shouto blew.

One half of his body erupted into blue tinted flames, and the other exploded in a rain of ice, but they evaporated quickly under Aizawa's gaze, and before any damage could be done to the dorms.

Everything went dark in his head, and his feet were moving before he even had a chance to fully process what his former teachers had been saying to him.

"And where do you think you're going?" Aizawa asked, raising an eyebrow as he moved to intercept him.

"To find her," Shouto snarled, and he didn't even recognize his own voice. It was several octaves lower than normal, and there was a rasp to it that had never been there before. "To get my girlfriend back."

"You don't even know where she is," Aizawa said. "We don't even know where she is. Besides, you're too emotionally involved."

"Too emotionally involved?" Shouto said, his voice too calm, his eyes too dead.

Everyone in the room took a step away from him. Everyone except Midoriya and Bakugou.

"Too emotionally involved?" he repeated.

"Oh shit," someone whispered, though Shouto didn't know who it was.

"That is my girlfriend. That is the love of my life and you're telling me that I can't get her back because . . . I'm too emotionally involved? What about when Midoriya went to get Eri? Was he too 'emotionally involved'?"

No one dared to point out that it was nowhere near the same thing, but there was a collective thought about it in the room.

"That is my fucking girlfriend out there," he snapped. "I will work harder than anyone to get her back. I will be the one person wholly invested in making sure that she stays safe."

"And that is why you can't be one of the people in on this," Aizawa told him. "The others are her friends, but you? You are way more than that, and that means that when it comes down to it, you can't make a clear-headed decision on whether it's worth it to try and grab her or not. Because she'll always be worth it to you."

"Damn right she will," Shouto said, staring Aizawa down.

No one had heard Shouto swear this much at once, if ever, depending on the person. He was starting to sound like Bakugou, and the others knew immediately that if you weren't back soon, he was going to blow.

"Look kid, I understand," Aizawa muttered. "I really do. I understand how you feel, I would do that same thing for Hizashi, but I also know what I would do, and we can't have that in the investigation. What would (Y/F/N) want?"

"She would want to be here!" Shouto shouted. "She would want to be teasing Bakugou in the kitchen, making sure that everyone had a blanket for movie night. She would want to be curled up with me on the couch watching bad romance movies that the girls cheated their way into picking out and making sure that I-!"

Shouto stopped as the emotions got lodged in his throat. Tears threatened to spill over as his vision got blurry, and the others were there to catch him as his knees gave out on him.

"We'll get her back kid," Aizawa assured him, crouching down, touching the top of his head softly. "We will get her back."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your head was buzzing as you came back to consciousness and you suppressed a groan of pain.

Consciousness hurt.

You did a short mental tally of your injuries.

Your ribs were definitely a little bruised, if not cracked or broken. Your lips were split in at least four different places each. One shoulder was definitely dislocated, and the other was hurt in some way. Your left ankle was bruised and swollen, broken probably. Your head probably had a huge gash if the blood running down the side of your face was anything to go by, and you were definitely concussed on some level.

Apparently getting your head slammed into solid concrete by someone who had launched themselves off a ledge would do that to you.

You were in what looked like a basement of some sort. The walls were solid concrete, there were pipes running overhead and dripping on you randomly, which wasn't appreciated, and there was insulation and plaster showing through here and there.

"Finally awake sleeping beauty?"

Your head whipped around to see your kidnapper, but your head protested and so did your stomach, despite the fact that there was nothing in it.

You suppressed a groan, trying to keep your stomach where it belonged.

"Ready to tell us who the informant is?"

"Go straight to hell," you muttered, when you were certain you wouldn't throw up on yourself, glaring at them.

"I still can't believe you were fucking stupid enough to kidnap a child! She doesn't know shit," the other man snapped at the first.

"She has to know something!" the first guy snapped. "She was in on the raid!"

His quirk allowed him to change his voice, so he wasn't using the real one, he sounded like a guy that smoked twenty packs of cigarettes a day.

The other guy you had started calling Sandy in your head. His quirk was similar to yours, he was able to turn anything he touched into sand, and then use it. He mostly made sand storms, and that's how they had gotten the jump on you in the tunnels.

One had blinded you while the other had carried you away, much to chagrin of the Sandy.

"I'm in training," you rasped. "I'm hero-in-training Tempest, from Class 2-A at the school U.A."

They hadn't given you anything to drink in the last two days, from what you could even remember of it, and you knew that you weren't going to last much longer, having been dehydrated when they had taken you.

They had kidnapped you from the raid site, and then spent six hours driving around like morons trying to cover their tracks, before driving for an unknown amount of time before they had dumped you in here. You had been unconscious for the secondary part of the drive, and you knew that with everything going on, there was the possibility you were experiencing retrograde amnesia.

"They don't tell me the important stuff like that. I get told when we're going on raids, and what my part in them is, and that's on the very rare occasion that they happen during my shifts. Most of the time, I'm on patrols around the city," you told them, taking a break in your little speech to spit blood onto the floor by your leg. "You need directions, I'm your girl, but you need to know who's a rat, sorry, I can't help."

You would've shrugged, but your arms were chained to the wall behind you, and every time you moved your right arm it made an awful clicking noise that you knew wasn't natural. Your left shoulder was dislocated as well, meaning your arms were pretty much useless.

One leg was operational, but barely. You were so far out of commission you wouldn't be surprised if U.A. kicked you out to recuperate.

U.A. wouldn't, and couldn't, pay the ransom. You knew that. The best hope you had was that you could act your way out of this, or that they planned a raid to get you out.

They had done it for Bakugou, why not you, right?

Shouto passed through your thoughts, thoughts about what he might do to get you back, but you shut them down as soon as they entered your head.

You were trying to keep him in a safe place.

You hoped that Shouto never learned about this. About where they were keeping you, what they had already done to try and get you to talk.

He was your safe place now, safe and away from this building, wherever you were. You thought maybe if you could keep him out of your head here, it was a way of protecting him from the reality of your situation, even if he already knew.

"She's a kid," Sandy snarled, pointing at you viciously. "She's a kid. You know the Boss' rules about kids and you broke almost every one of them!"

"Yeah, well-"

"Guys, hey, I hate to interrupt," you interjected, "but I really have to go to the bathroom."

They both stared at you for a moment before Sandy asked, "Do you promise to not try and escape?"

"Buddy, I don't know if you've looked recently, but I doubt I'm doing anywhere," you quipped. "My ankle is obviously demolished, my head was cracked open like an egg, thanks to your buddy Darth Vader over there. Not to mention, I'm dehydrated and starving, and don't even get me started on how much my ribs are killing me right now, probably literally. Do I look like I'm in any shape to try and escape?"

Sandy frowned, glancing at you like this was the first time he was seeing the extent of what had been done to you.

"Alright, I'm going to undo the chains, but you can't try to escape, you'll only make things worse for yourself."

"Death seems preferable at this point," you grunted, trying to hide the pain you were in.

"Don't you have healing supplies?"

"How am I supposed to use them when I can't move my fucking arms?" you asked, wiggling your fingers in emphasis. "And you morons confiscated my belt, which had them all in it! You know what my quirk is! What did you think was in it? Explosives? No, I leave that to Dynamight."

"Fuck," Sandy muttered.

"Why do you care so much anyway?" the voice dude asked.

"Because if she dies then that means no money and no chance of surviving prison again. Do you know what happens to people who mess with kids in prison? Nothing good."

You logged that little piece of information away, trying to focus on their features, but with your concussion, your eyes weren't the hottest.

"Can you move?" Sandy asked you as he worked on unlocking your chains.

You couldn't help the cry of pain when your arms dropped to your sides, tearing stinging your eyes as you bit into your already roughed up lip.

"Shit. Can we get a medic in here?" Sandy shouted.

A door opened and someone stuck their head in. Sandy repeated his demand, and the door shut again.

"Why are you doing this?" you whimpered, trying to keep your voice even.

If they were sadists, any fear or pain you showed only gave them what they wanted.

"Because we don't have a choice," Sandy said. "The Boss gave us somewhere to belong, he gave us a place off the streets. We owe him. We would've died."

"Shut up," Smoker snapped, and you glanced at him.

"I have a headache, and it comes and goes as you talk. Please, for the love of all things holy, shut up," you hissed to Darth Vader, wanting to touch your head, but not being able to for multiple reasons.

Sandy touched your shoulder lightly and you cried out again, moving automatically to hit him, but your other arm twinged, bringing more tears to your eyes.

"Sorry," Sandy murmured, pulling his hands away.

You took a shaky breath, waiting for the pain to dull before you said, "There's no way I'm moving from this spot without being in pain, and I'm definitely going to need help."

"Holy fuck, you two morons were two lucky blows away from killing her."

You glanced over to see someone with a med kit strolling leisurely down the stairs.

"Hello Tempest," they said, giving you a bright smile.

"Hello Med Kit," you replied, giving them a grimace.

"You can call me Himo for now," Med Kit said. "Do you mind if I take a look?"

"You're going to whether I want you or not, but sure, go ahead," you muttered. "It's not really like you can make this any worse."

"I could break almost every bone in your body and keep you alive while doing it, so I could do so much worse, but that's not the goal here," Himo told you, setting to work.

"So what is the goal? Since I'm assuming that I'm never going to get out of here," you said, glancing around.

"Why do you think that?" Himo asked, ignoring your first question.

"Because I've seen your faces, I know your quirks, I know a general area of where I'm being kept, unless someone used a teleportation quirk of some sort. I know the school won't pay the ransom, my parents don't have that kind of money, and my boyfriend's father would never pay to see me safe and sound. He would probably twist his son's grief to get him to be compliant," you grumbled. "Besides, I'm a hero, hero-in-training, whatever, it's all semantics. I'm basically your arch-nemesis. Isn't that what every villain wants? To kill the person in their way?"

"We aren't villains," Sandy muttered.

"You break laws put in place to protect people, you attacked a minor, then kidnapped her after assaulting her, and you are trying to get a ransom for me," you pointed out. "That doesn't really scream 'hero' or 'civilian' to me."

"Have you ever though about who writes the rules? About how money can manipulate everything? The system is flawed, and we are going to make sure people know it," Darth Vader snarled. "Do you understand how unfair the world is?"

"Don't talk to me about the world being unfair," you whispered, your voice dropping, every muscle in your body tensing. "My boyfriend loves his mother more than pretty much anyone in the world. Her parents, his grandparents, arranged a quirk marriage, and she had four children she didn't necessarily want. Her husband drove her to near insanity, enough so that she poured a kettle of boiling water over my boyfriend's face because he looks like his father. His father has already managed to get one of his children killed, and he considers the other rejects because they don't have the quirk he wanted them to have. He's a different kind of monster, and he's not in jail.

"My own father verbally and mentally abused me for as long as I can remember. My mother and I were zombies until recently, when I decided I had had enough and my mother finally found the courage and will to leave his sorry ass in the gutters where it belongs. My father always had enough alcohol in his system to make him a human molotov cocktail. I had little to no self esteem until recently, and I still struggle to understand and comprehend that I am worth love. I am still learning to respect myself. So you don't get to preach to me about how unfair the world is buddy, we all know," you snarled.

"The hundreds, thousands of kids out on the street know. The women and men that get raped, and continue to see their own personal monster roam free know. The kids that get hit every day for not being what their parents want know. That's why people like me exist, to put away the monsters wearing human skin. That's why my friends and I try so hard to be heroes. It's not about the glory, or the money. It's about bring people to justice, it's about making sure that people feel safe. It's about giving other people something that we never had."

Silence echoed through the room as what you said sank in.

You hadn't meant to burst like that, but you were sick and tired of these guys using their shitty lives to make other people's lives shitty too.

"Why are you a hero, Tempest?" Himo asked.

"Because I want to save people," you replied. "I just told you that. I want to make sure that every child like me knows that they don't have to be their parents, that there is another option. I don't want the abused becoming the abuser. I want to make sure that the people doing the bad things get put where they belong. I want to help the kids that have nothing to lose, I want to help them realize that they have everything to gain. I want to give people like you hope."

There was no use in lying to them, they were probably going to kill you anyway. Besides, it might help you build rapport, and they might let you go when they realized that they made a mistake.

"People like us?"

"People who think that there isn't another option. People who have been shown nothing but the horrid parts of the world, the horrible parts of humanity. People who don't know what it's like to be loved completely by somebody, both good and bad. People who think that they owe someone who isn't worth one minute of their time. Good people who strayed too far from the path."

There was silence for a few minutes before you said, "I've seen a lot of real villains, people who aren't capable of basic human emotions, I've seen people who have no humanity in their eyes. They are the villains, they are the monster under our beds personified. People like you, you just simply wandered. You aren't lost, you're just further to the side than some other people. It would be easy for you to walk the path again."

You paused, thinking over what you said, then added, "Well, it wouldn't be easy necessarily, but it would be worth it."

"You still have the naivety of a child," Vader snarled.

"Call me what you want, naive, innocent, optimistic, I've heard it all, but in the end, I'm right," you told him.

"And how do you know that?"

"Because, at the end of the day, I know that every life I save isn't just one life," you replied. "That young woman I saved, she might have kids some day, or foster a child that needs a loving mother. That child I shoved out of the way might help the suicidal child in his class. Every life I save touches other people's lives. As hard as it is to believe, no one is ever truly alone in the world. Every smile I give to a stranger might make their day, might help them live long enough to find the thing that makes them happy. That's why I'm a hero."

More silence.

Your face heated, but there was something in their faces that told you they had never thought about it that way before.

"So, is there anything you can do to heal me?" you asked, breaking the silence.

"Like I said, these guys were two lucky blows away from killing you, I'm surprised that you're still alive, actually, everything considered. Your head will heal on it's own, but there might be a little scar left. However, your ribs might take longer. Three are cracked, and four are bruised. Your ankle might need surgery to get it back to the way it was. It's definitely broken, and there might be small bone particles floating around in there, I'm not entirely sure, my quirk isn't that detailed I'm afraid. Not to mention that, from what I can see, your shoulders just need to be popped back into place. One was dislocated more than the other, but it will hurt."

"Can't hurt worse than the state I'm in now. So what can you do? I'm assuming that taking me to a hospital is out of the question."

"Well, I can treat the cut on your head, relocate your shoulders, and I can see if someone else can take a look at your ankle, but everything else will have to heal on it's own."

"So there isn't much?"

"Nope, we don't have the equipment needed for your ankle here, and, like you said, no hospitals."

"Fucking gre- wait a minute, to you guys still have my belt?" you asked, perking up a little.

"Yeah, it's over here," Sandy said, walking over into the back corner, pulling your med belt out.

"Hand it over. I promise there's nothing too harmful in there. There are some painkillers, but it's just Midol. It's all medical stuff," you said, wincing as Sandy dropped it into your lap.

You opened it, taking out a small device.

"What does that thing even do?" Himo asked, looking at it warily.

"It's not a communicator or anything," you hurried to explain. "I made some friends in the support courses, so I asked if they could make me a device that works like an X-ray would. Himo, take it."

He took from you gently, which you appreciated, and turned it all around, trying to figure out how it worked.

"Alright, see that little button on the top left, yeah, right there. Click that button twice, like hitting the home button of a phone."

Himo did as he was told, and the screen blinked to life.

"Alright, hold the over my hurt ankle, and it should be able to show what's going on. Or," you added, "it'll blow up. Hatsume is kind of unpredictable like that."

Himo's hands tightened on it, but he did what you asked, and was clearly surprised when a detailed X-ray appeared on the screen.

"Holy shit, it worked!" you cheered, grinning.

"You have some very talented friends," Himo told you.

"I know right? She's a little quirky, but she's great at what she does!"

"How are you able to smile right now?" Sandy asked, looking at you with something akin to wonder.

"Don't get me wrong," you started. "I'm fucking terrified, but there's not much I can do in this situation. Besides, from what I can tell, other than the initial assault, you people don't want to hurt me. You want something from me. In this scenario, what I'm guessing, is that you want something from me, so you're going to be nice, and make me want to help you out, or make me feel like I owe you one, and then, when I don't comply, you'll either torture me to try and get what you want until I die, or you'll just kill me right off the bat."

Himo winced, and Sandy twitched.

"You guys really hate the thought of me dying, don't you?" you asked, cocking your head to the side, despite the protect of your brain. "Is this one of those scenarios where kids should be off limits?"

"We may be bad guys, but we have certain priorities," Sandy admitted. "Kids are a sore spot for most of us."

You nodded slightly. "I can see why. You guys said something about being on the streets? I know that sometimes kids band together, that's how they survive. I'm assuming you've lost friends."

"Smart kid," Himo murmured, eyes darting over the X-ray.

"Sometimes they give us profile training," you admitted. "Besides, I've been working on my psychology degree."

"Wicked smart kid," Sandy quipped.

"Alright, so I can set your ankle, there isn't anything wrong with it other than the obvious fact that it's broken," Himo said, handing the device back to you. "Riko, I'm gonna need your help."

"With what?" Sandy asked, looking skeptical.

"Can you hold her legs down? I need to relocate her shoulders before I do anything with her ankle, just because I have a feeling she attacks when she's hurt."

"Good instincts," you muttered.

"I'm a doctor," he confessed, grinning. "You learn a thing or two."

"Sorry about this," Sandy said.

"I wouldn't worry about it too much," you told him. "As long as that's all you do I'll considerate your way of trying to make up from everything else."

Sandy snorted, holding your legs just below your knees.

"This is going to hurt," Himo warned.

"I would be surprised if it-"

You clenched your teeth to try and keep your scream in as Himo popped your right arm back into place.

The rest of your body bucked, trying to roll away, but Sandy, Riko, had a firm hold on you.

You panted as the pain started to fade a little in your arm.

"Sorry, I've found it works better when people aren't expecting it," he said.

"Son of a bitch," you gritted out, spitting blood off to the side. "I bit my tongue."

Riko chuckled, shaking his head.

"Alright, now for the other one," Himo murmured. "I really don't understand how you managed to take this much damage."

"At least I only broke my ankle. My friend Deku has broken both arms, both legs, and both hands before. I think he's broken almost every bone in his body sa-"

Himo popped your other arm back into place and you couldn't stop the tears that flowed down your cheeks at that one, your jaw almost cracking with how hard you clenched it to try and keep the noises in.

"Fucking fuck," you muttered when the pain pulsed into something a little bit more bearable.

"Better?" Himo asked, prodding your shoulders.

"Yeah," you admitted, moving them slowly. You dug around in your med belt, pulling out two pieces of metal and a small bottle.

"What is that for?" Himo asked.

You pushed a button on the metal, and they extended to the required length.

"It's for a splint, or a cast," you told him. "Once you set my ankle, you put the metal on either side, and I can spray this one. It's a special kind of plaster, don't ask me how it works, I have no idea what's in it, but it'll hold until my ankle is fully healed, then it'll fall off on it's own."

"Amazing!"

"Heroes, when the respond to disasters, often have to set up triages until other emergency responders can arrive, so we have to know a little bit about basic medical treatments in emergencies like that. So a lot of us have belts and such to keep medical stuff in. I also keep duct tape and glue in here. You never know when you're gonna need it."

You pulled out some painkillers, popping two in your mouth, taking them dry.

"How?" Vader asked, sounding horrified.

"Hate to break it to you, but when you're a teenage girl, especially one learning to be a hero, when you don't always have time for water, you learn to take pills dry."

"TMI," Vader muttered.

"Hey, jackass, you asked," you told him.

Riko and Himo chuckled.

"Alright. Riko, see if you can get a hold on her, this is gonna hurt like a bitch," Himo warned. "Li, hold her other leg down."

"Don't use my fucking name!" Vader shouted.

"You know, I wouldn't have known that was your real name if you hadn't reacted that way," you told him. "Heroes are also trained to pick up on certain behaviors like that."

Li grumbled, but did as he was asked.

Himo situated himself, then said, "Get ready."

The pain had you blacking out before you knew what happened.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I knew something was wrong," Shouto muttered for the umpteenth time in the last ten minutes. "I should have gone with her!"

"Dude, it wasn't even your mission," Kaminari told him. "There was nothing you could've done for her."

"Yeah you half-and-half bastard," Bakugou chimed in. "Besides, we're gonna get her back, so shut up and try and think of something useful."

Everyone had leapt into action when it had sunk in that you were in serious danger. It didn't take long, and no one wanted to acknowledge that it was worrisome.

They had split up into teams.

Midoriya, Bakugou, Shouto, Kaminari, and Kirishima were working on the maps that had been given to the students.

Momo, Jirou, Uraraka, Mina, and Tsuyu were going over the interviews with raid members, trying to gather up information on what had happened, trying to see if there was a traitor among them, other than the undercover agent that they had been told about.

Tokoyami, Ojiro, Shoji, Sero, and Koda were helping the other heroes do recon missions and patrols in the area where they suspected you were being held.

Sato, Shinso, Hagaruke, and Iida were working on the case files of all the known members of the gang that you had been going after. Surprisingly, those four were the only ones able to hear about the things that some of the gang members had done.

Hagakure was crying softly to herself as she read, but no one could pull her away from the files.

"I have to know," she kept saying. "I need to know about what they did so I can help when we get her back."

Sato didn't know you as well as the others did, so he was a little less effected. He were itching to get you back, but the others had spent far more time with you personally.

Shinso, on the other hand, was powering through them, wanting to know what he had to avenge when they got to that building. He wanted to know what they might be doing to you so that he could have far more reason to get them arrested.

Iida just wanted something useful to do.

"They just cleared building seven in section 3-C!" Aoyama called from his spot the progress computer that they had set up in the common room.

Aoyama was in charge of letting them know what had been cleared, what was under suspicion, and what they had ruled out completely.

"Fuck, that pretty much clears that grid section," Bakugou muttered, forcefully crossing an abandoned apartment building off his map.

"They might need to expand their net," Midoriya added. "No one knows where she is. There's the possibility that they aren't even in that area."

"I hate this!" Shouto burst out. "I feel useless just sitting here!"

"It's either this or you get stuck back on the sidelines," Bakugou reminded him and he clenched his fists.

He just wanted you back safe and sound by his side, preferably with his arm around your shoulders.

He'd been trying to remember the last thing he said to you before you had gone on that raid, but he couldn't remember.

He hoped that it was 'I love you' or something similar, but not knowing was killing him.

"Todoroki-kun," Midoriya said, laying a hand on his arm. "We will get her back."

"Yeah, we aren't giving up on her, no way in hell," Kaminari added, eyes flashing gold in the lights of the common room.

"She never gave up on us, it's not manly for us to give up on her," Kirishima chimed in.

"I know," Shouto said. "I trust you all."

It went unsaid, but understood, that when it came time to get her back, Shouto was going to be the one leading the rescue.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A week later, Himo came into the basement and said, "Do you think you can walk?"

"On one leg maybe. Why?" you asked.

Your ankle was wrapped in the cast that you had taken out, but your ankle was feeling a little better than it had been. It still throbbed every once in a while, but it could've been worse.

"The boss wants to see you."

"Oh, the big boss," you griped, rolling your eyes. "He wants to see me he can come down here himself."

Himo hesitated, but he nodded, heading back upstairs.

You had known that there was an undercover agent in the gang, but you had yet to figure out who it was.

Every member of the gang seemed to know that you were there, that, or they were much bigger than you had anticipated.

So far, Himo and Riko were your top two suspicions, given that they were the only two that were actually kind to you, but you had a small part of you that wasn't sure.

The door opening a few minutes later announced the arrival of the leader, and you steeled yourself.

"You fucking morons," the man muttered, rubbing his eyes like he had a headache. "What did I say about kids?"

"Sorry Boss, but we didn't have a choice," Li said, stepping out of the shadows.

He had been stay with you for the entire week, and it was clear that you didn't have the kind of rapport with him that you did with Riko and Himo.

You had been trying to make a storm, something, to let the someone know where you were, but you had idea of knowing whether it was working or not. You were in the experimental stages of the large storm capabilities of your quirk, and you were completely drained at the moment.

"What's your name kid?" the man asked.

His hands were covered in rings, and scars littered the little bit of skin his tailored suit showed off.

You had seen Shouto in high class clothes for gatherings that he was required by social convention to attend, so this guy was either rich, or so far into debt that he was on the run from the banks.

"You can call me Tempest," you said.

"(Y/N). Second year at U.A. Class 2-A student, and one of the new public favorites," Li said.

"Aw, you looked me up, how sweet," you taunted. "But like I said, I prefer Tempest, it sounds cooler."

"Far enough," the boss said.

He was wearing a mask that covered the top half of his face, and a fedora type hat, so there wasn't much to catalog, but you did anyway.

"Are you here to kill me?" you asked, crossing your arms over your chest, despite the way it made the chains rattle.

"No, not if you give me what I want," the man said. His voice was deep, and he looked like he was in his early thirties, but you weren't entirely sure.

"I don't know who your rat is," you stated.

"How do you know that's what I wanted?"

"When I woke up on day two, your Sandy man and Darth Vader over there were talking about it. Vader actually asked me about it." You paused, then said, "You guys do realize that I'm right under an intern right? I'm not high enough to know about UC's. Think of me like the intern's intern. I'm lucky I even got to go on the raid."

The man watched your for a moment before he said, "I hate it when people tell me the truth. It means I don't get to have any fun."

"Sucks to be you then," you replied. "So what happens now?"

"You get broken," the man said, reaching out to touch your forehead.

"Good luck with that," you muttered when he pulled away.

Then the visions started.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Everybody get up!" Aoyama shouted. "Up, up, up! Someone called in a noise complaint late last night!"

Class 2-A poured into the common room.

Shouto, Midoriya, Bakugou, Kirishima, Kaminari and Sero ran in with no shirts on, and Kaminari fell trying to pull his shorts up over his Pikachu boxers. Shinso was already in there sitting on the couch with a cup of coffee clad in a t-shirt with a cat meme and dark jeans.

The girls poured in in a mix of pajamas and hoodies that they had stolen from the boys over the last week, their hair a mess and dark bags under their eyes.

"What's going on?" Shouto asked. He knew that his bags were darker than anyone's, and no one had seen him sleep in almost three days.

"Late last night someone called the tip line anonymously to complain about screaming from a condemned building smack dab in the middle of section 1-A. Someone checked into it and there has been a lot of activity in that area lately," Aoyama explained.

He had given up trying to keep up the sparkly attitude, though some of the French had stayed.

"Is there anything else?"

"Guess which gang has been operating in the middle of that area?" Shinso said, having stayed up with the sparkly blond.

"The Numerals," Shouto said.

"Tres bein!" Aoyama replied.

"Have the heroes been notified?"

"They started a conference at three this morning," Shinso said.

"And no one told us?" Shouto asked.

"They wanted to let us sleep. They know how hard we've been working," Shinso replied.

"I'll sleep when we get her back," Shouto snapped, heading for the conference room.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Aizawa shouldn't have been surprised when his former students streamed into the meeting that was being held to rescue (Y/L/N), but he was.

Though that might have been because most of the boys were shirtless and the girls were clad in their pajamas, and hoodies that were clearly not theirs.

"Catch us up," Shouto demanded.

"Shouto, what are you-"

"Shouto, you are aware that this is merely to scope out the building, correct?" Aizawa interrupted, glancing at his former class.

"We don't fucking care," Bakugou snarled. "You're going to catch us up, and you're going to let us join, because she's our friend, and we're the strongest team that you could ask for."

"We can't, in good conscience, let kids into-"

"Do we need to mention all the times that the League has attacked us in the last year? Not to mention Gentle Criminal, Stain, the whole Chisaki ordeal, should we go on?" Midoriya asked, frowning.

Endeavor went to talk again but more students started to talk.

"We can help," Kirishima chimed in. "We want to help."

"Besides," Kaminari added before any of the adults could chime in, "the more hands you have the better it'll be. We can capture more members and get her back. It's a win-win scenario. Gangs are known to be disorganized. If you can get word to your informant about a stealth mission, you might be able to get both them and (Y/L/N) out with minimal risk to them both."

"And we have useful quirks," Jirou supplied. "Kaminari can kill any power they have, Bakugou and Midoriya are good for taking stuff down, so are Kirishima and Sato. Todoroki is more than capable of restraining anyone that he comes across, and I can tell you where people are, how many and so on."

"Not to mention I can make communicators that are much harder to disconnect," Momo piped up.

"People don't really know about me yet," Shinso said, hands in his jeans pockets. "They don't know my quirk, so they're much more likely to fall for me, which is more than helpful for you, since it makes fighting back much less likely."

"We want to get her back, me more than anyone," Shouto said, arms crossed over his chest. "We can useful. Besides, I don't think I need to mention all the times that we've stepped in without your permission and gotten the objective completed while keeping everything legal."

Aizawa sighed.

"We really should just let them help," he said. "They're going to keep pushing, and I don't want any of them expelled and arrested. They are some of the best up and coming heroes. Besides, they all make good points."

"I feel the need to point out," Midoriya chimed in, "that the more of us you take, the more heroes you can have causing a distraction, or the more you can release to recharge and work on other things that are starting to take precedent, like the drug that the gang is manufacturing and selling."

There were more whispers, and finally the heroes sighed.

"Alright, but you're working with Eraserhead and Endeavor, since they're going to be leading the mission with Fatgum."

"We can work with that," Bakugou said. "But we want permission to engage if necessary."

"You would have that anyway," Fatgum said.

"We also want credit if we find her," Sero added. "We aren't going to let possible attackers think that we're defenseless. They take on one of us, they take on all of us."

"That can be discussed," Present Mic assured them.

"This should go without saying," Shouto began, "that I get to ride with her in the ambulance when we find her."

"Everyone assumed that anyway," Midnight told him. "Don't worry Todoroki, no one is going to keep you away from her."

Endeavor opened his mouth, but sharp looks from everyone had him shutting it again.

The students nodded.

"Now catch us up," Bakugou demanded.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You couldn't remember when you had stopped processing things the proper way.

You couldn't remember a time before the nightmares.

They talked to you, they wanted you to know about an informant. Sometimes Shouto appeared, smiling and reaching his hands out to you. Sometimes your father walked in, drunk as always, shouting at you to do better.

You retreated in on yourself.

You turned to that small part of your brain that you had made to wait out the fighting, the yelling, the hurt. You retreated into the part of yourself that you knew no one could ever enter but you.

Shouto was there like he always was. He wasn't entirely your Shouto, but he wasn't the nightmare either.

He was a figment of your imagination, but he made things a little bit better.

"I'll come," he assured you. "I'll find you."

You were lying in a meadow, a small clearing surrounded by trees that were bent over you to create a small dome of shade.

"I know you will," you told him, reaching your hand out to him.

He touched his fingers to yours, but you couldn't feel it.

You remembered someone in the past calling it dissociating, but you weren't a professional yet.

You had never done it at U.A. since you had never felt the need, but this wasn't something that you would ever be able to forget how to do.

You could still see the nightmares, but it was like it was far away, background noise.

"Do you think that you'll ever go back?" Shouto asked. "Do you think that you'll ever go back to me?"

"Maybe, if the nightmares ever stop. If I think that it's actually you that I'm going back to," you said, watching him carefully.

"Do you remember the last thing you said to me?" Shouto inquired.

"Yeah. I said, 'I'll always come back to you'. Why are you asking me that?"

"Do you remember what I said to you?"

"You said, 'Promise me you'll be safe?' I was about to go on the raid, and you were upset about not being able to go with me."

"Do you promise to remember that?" Shouto asked.

"Yeah, I promise," you told him, smiling a little.

"(Y/F/N)! Oh, darling, what did they do to you? (Y/F/N), can you hear me?"

The nightmare was getting better at looking like the real Shouto, and this one had the same voice.

"Go to him," the dream Shouto said, sitting up.

"Why?"

"(Y/F/N), blink if you can hear me," Shouto demanded.

You forced yourself to blink.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Shouto couldn't describe to absolute relief it was to see you blink.

He had seen the discarded cast off to the side of you, and he wasn't sure whether you would be able to hear him in that state.

"Hey darling, come on, we're gonna get you out of here, I promise," he murmured, touching your face lightly.

"Sh-Shouto," you rasped. "Shouto, wh-what was the last thing that you said to me?"

"Darling, don't try to speak," he told you, trying to figure out how to cut through the chains without hurting you.

"Shouto, what was the last thing that you said to me?" you asked again, reaching up to grab his hand.

"'Do you promise me that you'll be safe?'" he said, eyes roving over you to try and see any wounds. "That's what I said to you."

Your eyes widened in surprise before tears slipped out of your eyes.

"Sho, it really is you!"

"Darling, hey," he murmured, touching your face softly.

You were sobbing now, fully body sobs, and Shouto wanted so badly to take a moment to just relish in the fact that you were safe, but he had to get you out of there as soon as possilbe.

"Tsukuyomi," Shouto called. "Can Dark Shadow cut through chains?"

"Yes."

"I'm on the basement level of the building. I have Tempest, can you meet us down here?"

"On our way," Tokoyami assured him.

"Guys, I have her, she's in the basement with me, we're getting her out as we speak," Shouto declared over the coms, and he was met with cheers and relief that you were okay.

"How many of you are here?" you asked, wiping at your face.

"The whole class is here," Shouto told you. "Most of the hero agencies sent representatives that are here too."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah, people were really upset that you were taken, especially with the role you played in apprehending Numeral gang members on the last raid, and the part you played in bringing the drug to light."

"Wow," you murmured, making Shouto laugh.

"Hold on just a little bit longer darling," he coaxed. "Our friends are on the way."

"I can't believe that it's really you," you whispered, touching his face softly, rubbing your thumb over his scar the way you did.

"Oh darling, what did they do to you?" he asked.

"For the past couple of days they've been trying to break me, they want to know who the undercover agent is. I don't know who it is though, so the leader of the Numerals used his quirk on me. He makes the drugs. His quirk makes you see things, makes you feel things. It's like he can burrow into your head and take the images out of your head."

You shuddered in his arms and he frowned as Tokoyami appeared in the doorway.

"Hello (Y/L/N)," he said, smiling at you.

"Hey little bird," you replied, your smile watery with emotions.

"Can Dark Shadow get through those chains?"

"Of course," Tokoyami told Shouto.

"Hello starlight," Dark Shadow said.

"Hi Dark Shadow," you murmured, stroking the sentinent creature before he tore through the chains like paper mache.

You rubbed at your wrists for a moment before you threw your arms around Shouto, burying your face in his neck.

"Sho," you sobbed, tears back full force.

"I've got you darling," he murmured. "I've got you. You're free, you're free."

You nodded, arms tight around him.

Shouto scooped you up, cradling you against his chest, letting you sob as much as you needed to.

The paramedics that had been called to the scene hadn't managed to get Shouto to let go of you, and you showed no signs of letting go of him, so they had managed to do everything they needed to with you clinging to him.

"She'll need physical therapy, not to mention professional trauma therapy. She's malnourished and dehydrated, not to mention suffering from exhaustion and a very severe concussion. Her ankle needs to be further inspected, and there's some internal damage, some cracked ribs that might need to be taken care of, but we can do some more thorough work at the hospital. I assume that you're coming with her?" the paramedic asked when he was finished.

"Yes, I'm her boyfriend," Shouto said.

"Alright, well, you have to let go of her so that we can get her hooked up to an IV and make sure that we don't make her concussion any worse. You really shouldn't have moved her, but there's only so much we can do about that now," the other paramedic told him.

"I-It's okay Shouto," you murmured, pulling away from him enough to wipe your face off.

Your breathing was ragged, and you looked like you wanted to go back to being unconscious, but you allowed the paramedics to get you onto an IV and a bed with a neck supporter.

"Shouto, will you stay with me?" you asked.

"Always darling," Shouto said, gripping your hand.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Forthree weeks afterwards, you were stuck in the hospital. Your ankle hadn't been as bad as it had been feared, you back on your feet in a week, and you were undergoing physical therapy.

You were back to a normal diet, and you were going to therapy three times a week. Well, the shrink came to you, but semantics.

Your class visited every day, bringing you your homework and recorded lessons, most of them crying, and more than elated that you were back, safe.

Shouto, after being given permission by your parents, was being counted as a family member, and he had been practically living in the hospital with you.

For the first week, he had refused to leave your hospital room. He had slept curled around you, despite the machines that you had been hooked up to, he had missed class, staying with you and keeping you company.

There was also the reason of him being the only one to be able to calm you down after a nightmare.

There were nightmares where you woke up sweaty and nervous, asking the nurse on the night shift to light the candles that were all around your room.

But there were some that had you hurtling to the small bathroom in your room, hurling the contents of your stomach up. Then there were the ones that got so bad that you locked yourself in the bathroom, hiding yourself away in a corner until someone noticed and got a hold of Shouto.

They were getting better, and you were getting better about people coming up behind you, the touching.

For a few days after being admitted to the hospital, the only person who could touch you was Shouto.

Your mother had been heart broken every time you flinched away from her touches.

Your father had only come once, and he had been carried out by hospital staff after Shouto had tossed him out of your room.

You had retreated into yourself after that, and had come clean to Shouto about some of what had happened while you were being held hostage.

The therapy was helping, and so was the massive support that you were getting from the public and other heroes that had been in similar situations.

Your friends were very understanding of you not touching them as much anymore, and you and Bakugou were closer than ever, since he had experienced something similar.

Today was your first day back in the dorms, and you weren't going to lie to yourself, you were nervous.

The class had slowly starting moving all the gifts that you were receiving into your room, so you were only carrying a small bag.

"Shouto," you began. "You know that you can walk away if I get to be too much right?"

It had been bothering you for a while, that he had stayed with you for so long. It had bothered you that he had given up so much of his time for you, while getting very little from you in return.

"Why would I do that?" Shouto asked cocking his head to the side in confusion.

"I just mean that . . . well, I know that I haven't been the easiest girlfriend to have recently, and I . . . I have more issues than when we first started dating, and things have changed. I'm way more high maintenance than I was. I wouldn't blame you if you wanted a different girl-"

"Stop it right there," he demanded, turning to you.

His eyes were hard, despite his soft tone of voice.

"(Y/F/N), I don't want anyone other than you," he said. "I don't care if you wake me up at three in the morning screaming. I don't care if you sometimes have days where you feel like you can't say anything to me. I don't care if you have days where you can't get out of bed. I love you. I love you more than anything, and those things are not going to stop me from loving you.

"You are one of the strongest women in my life, and I am not letting you go because you have some issues. We've all got issues, hell, I have issues we haven't even touched on. Those things are just another part of you that I get to love. Alright?"

You nodded, blinking back tears.

"What did I ever do to deserve you?" you asked softly, wrapping your arms around his neck.

He waited for a moment before he wrapped his arms around your waist.

You weren't entirely sure why touch was such a problem for you now. Other than the injuries you had received during the fight, nothing had happened to you that would explain it, nothing you could remember anyway.

There had been some retrograde amnesia that went along with your kidnapping, though the doctors had assured you that those memories would come back with enough time.

And they had. There were still a few blank spots, but there weren't nearly as many as there had been.

"All the right things," he murmured, kissing your forehead hesitantly.

"I love you too Shouto," you told him.

He smiled softly at you, then turned towards the doors.

They opened, revealing your friends and a huge banner with your characterized face on it.

"Surprise!" they all said, though they didn't yell it like you had thought they would.

"Welcome home (Y/F/N)," Shouto said, sliding his arm around your shoulders as you both walked out.

Yeah, this was home.

[iayhifbigyakwiltbsywps]

Fuckkk I had something really long written but my connection failed and now I can’t find it but this is important if you or someone you know has adhd and takes stimulant medications like methylphenidate. This will probably be weird because I wrote the original like 12 hours ago and I just got home so if the other one magically reappears then they will be really different.

Basically I wanted to make people aware that taking stimulant medications has the potential to do more harm than good. I have adhd and have drank concerta since the third grade and im currently in 11th. I have been noticing throughout the 2019-now time period that I really have lost all motivation and that I don’t really have interest in anything even getting up to eat. And I was like ‘well that’s not alright’ and so I did what every one does: I googled it. I asked google “can adhd medications cause brain damage and lessen motivation?” And honestly I was not really expecting an answer, kinda just hoping to see blankness and be relived that it was just something random I thought. Boy was I surprised.

I actually found this:

This is literally the answer I was too scared to find because a) it proved my suspicions correct and did kinda bring a different kind of relief in knowing I’m not just hysteric and b) this hit wayyy too close to home. The part in blue feels wayyy too familiar to me because all I do Is be on my bed on my phone most of tinge time and my parants keep getting concerned and like “go get a job, find a hobby, do something!” And I am honestly strangely alright with my situation, like I hate it but I still don’t try to change it because I can’t!

Forgot what else I could of said there on the fist draft, but onto the next peice of evidence!

This pretty much said that this meds were tested on rats and that the rats ended up losing all motivation to even react when they should be looking to escape a bad situation. That once the medication stops we no longer have drive to motivation.

This also states that the nucleus accumbens is the part of the brain that forms motivation into action and when you take these meds your actually risking it shrinking and leading to no motivational drive.

Also that there are other options if you are convinced you or your child needs help to lead a successful life then there are other options that are not stimulants!

I also found some videos but could only resurfaced one which I think is the most important: https://youtu.be/nif8TFPhjuI

This video basically talks about one of the beginning trails of adhd medications that ended up being a huge success after the recorded 14 months that this trial was conducted, but what most people who do their research probably don’t dig deep enough to check that after they took the pills away they came back 3 years later to see how they faired. Turns out that the my were actually worse and the adhd was too much or something. ( sorry I’m trying to remember what I wrote but I only slept like 10 minutes last night and it’s already 1am so my eyes are shutting)

I can’t remember much right nos but if I find the other articles or videos Ik re log or something.

Here are the links to the articles:

https://www.nytimes.com/roomfordebate/2012/06/09/fewer-prescriptions-for-adhd-less-drug-abuse/adhd-drugs-have-long-term-risks

https://www.leonardsax.com/stimulants.htm

There were more but I’m fighting To stay awake right now sorry.

Oh I just remembered something:

This is what happens when you give stimulants to a brain that is underdeveloped (brains aren’t yet developed until they are like 21) so if y’all need meds try taking non stimulants or else you’ll just cause growth problems for yourself

I really hope some people find this useful and that no one goes through what I am cuz it really kinda sucks and I hate it but I can’t do much to change it.

Also after hours trying to figure out a way to tell my mom I had finally told her and you know what she said? She said “if we take you of these meds will you promise to try to care about yourself more?” And like I didn’t say anything but sure mom I totally didn’t just work up the courage to try and tell you within the day I found this informants on when it would usually take me months to say things I think are important but yeah I totally need to try a bit more ugh!

Honestly I think it’s shit that I’m not even 18 yet and I already feel like all my fight has gone out of me. Like if it weren’t for my parents that actually care about me I would of let myself starve to death. And now there’s no way to thank them because I can barely move to get food much less show them my thanks. Mom dad I love you and I’m sorry my brain if fucked up.

Hi just a little edit here, I wanted to say that both articles are by the same person I just put the second one because the link didn’t work for me so I had to look for their actual page that was mentioned. But also I read further down on the second article and I saw there are more links to other related articles in the second link where this person wrote their actual research and citations

[jawritter]

Save Me

Summary: It’s hard to be the hero, especially when no one saves you. 

Warnings: Cannon level Dean Winchester depression. Mentions and hints of drug use, Alcohol abuse and excessive drinking, language, self loathing, maybe a hint of jealous!Dean? Dean’s in a very dark place in this fic, and it’s a tear jerker. 

Paring: Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 2013

A/N: This fic was based on the song Save Me, by Jelly Roll. The lyrics are in Italics. This fic was also beta’d by @miss-nerd95! Thanks so much hun! Please do not copy my work! I hope you all enjoy this one! 

Want More? Check my Masterlist!!! Want even more? Become a patreon, and as little for two dollars a month you can get exclusive fics first!!

**MASTERLIST**       ***BECOME A PATREON***

Somebody save me Me from myself I've spent so long Living in hell

Dean twisted the cap off of another bottle and downed the contents of the warm alcohol quick enough to make himself a little tipsy, and that alone felt like an accomplishment. He could hear Elieen and Sam in the room just down the hall from him, and honestly, it made him sick. 

It wasn't  that he disliked Elieen. In fact, he was the one that told Sam to go for it. She knew what they did, understood their lifestyle because she herself was a hunter and if Sam had a chance at being happy, who was he to tell him otherwise. It was more than Dean himself felt he’d ever have, or even deserve. 

He supposed this was the price of being the 'hero'. The guy who saved everyone's  ass. Why couldn't he be the one getting saved for once?

Eileen’s laughter cut through the silence  of the Bunker and drifted into Dean’s room where he pulled the covers up over his head to try and block  the sound. 

He was tired of living this way, but once he got drunk enough to not feel the lonely ache in his chest, he guessed it would stop mattering then. Then he could carry on with this shit-storm of a life he’d been reduced too. People thought Hell was lonely, turns out it was pretty much the same topside too.

They say my lifestyle is bad for my health It's the only thing that seems to help All of this drinking and smoking is hopeless but feel like it's all that I need Something inside of me is broken, I hold onto anything that sets me free

“Dean, you're getting too old to drink like that, man,” Sam said from his side of the table in the library where he and Eileen had taken up residence to look for another hunt. Dean hoped they’d fucking find one because he was tired of sitting here looking at them and just twiddle  his thumbs.

His liver desperately wanted him to find something to do with himself as well, not just keep on damaging it, and seemed to be screaming at him pretty loud this morning. 

“I’m fine, Sam. I quit the hard stuff a long time ago. I just need some sleep. Come get me if you guys come up with a hunt.” 

He got up and slid the chair back with more force than needed, but he hated it when Sam tried to butt in his life and tell him what he should and shouldn’t be doing. It’s easy to say shit like that when you don’t have to wake up to a cold bed every morning. 

Dean was just like everyone else. He craved companionship that didn’t come from some one night stand he picked up at a bar. He wanted a family, hell, he wanted to have kids someday. There goes that opportunity when you're in your forties and too damn broken to even get through the night without alcohol. 

“So much for being a good father figure,” Dean snorted to himself as he flopped down on his bed, letting the silence that stood in his room carve him deeper than any torturer from Hell could conjure up, or any wound his body had ever endured. 

Dean’s eyes drifted over to the almost empty bottle of Tennessee Whiskey on his nightstand, and he let out a huff. He would never tell Sam about the dime bag he kept in the hiding place under the floorboard of Baby for when things got really bad and he knew that he should stop doing this shit to himself, but it was the only relief he seemed to get sometimes. Today seemed like one of those days.

I'm a lost cause Baby, don't waste your time on me I'm so damaged beyond repair Life has shattered my hopes and my dreams I'm a lost cause Baby, don't waste your time on me I'm so damaged beyond repair Life has shattered my hopes and my dreams

Dean picked up his phone that was lying next to him on the bed, and somehow he started to dial your number, just like he’d done a thousand times over the years. It felt like a lifetime since he’d last seen you, but he always kept your phone number and would even dial it on occasion to just hear you say “hello” before he would quickly hang up. 

But he couldn’t do that to you, he couldn’t put you in the kind of danger his life seemed to be saturated in.  Besides there was no hope for someone like him, and if he thought he was fucked up years ago when he’d first meet you on that hunt in Wichita? Well, fuck if he wasn’t more in deep shit now than he’d ever been. 

Dean was sure you’d moved on by now anyway, he wasn’t going to waste your time on him. He was a lost cause. A shattered, broken shell of the former hunter when he was 28. Now it was all an act and a brave face until he could get stoned enough to get numb to not give a damn, because Dean fucking Winchester wasn’t allowed to feel. And as a result, he never did .

What if the night sky was missing the moon? And there were no shooting stars, to use wishing on you And all of my sorrows, I just wash them down It’s the only peace I've ever found. All of this drinking and smoking is hopeless but feel like it's all that I need Something inside of me is broken, I hold onto anything that sets me free

Dean didn't stop until he was tired of driving, but it was better than being in that Bunker with the couple fucking happy in love. He found himself in probably another state, but fuck if he even knew which one, they all looked the same after so many years on the road. A joint burning slowly in one hand, a bottle of cheap whiskey in another, and his back stretched out on Baby’s sleek, black hood. Nothing out there between him and all of his past years of regret but the stars, and the moon that shined out over the body of water he was parked in front of.

He was starting to feel the effects of his self-medication, and he knew he’d end up spending the night out here-which wasn’t much of a problem for him. At least it was quiet, peaceful even. That or he was just shit-faced enough to drown out the voices in his head that were screaming at him louder than usual that he would die alone, just like his father. Chasing his demons. 

If this little bit of pot and that little bit of alcohol gave him a little earlier out without having to actually pull the trigger? Well, fuck he’d take that too. He deserved nothing less than to die stoned, drunk, and probably in his own vomit. So much for being a hero. At this point though, he was pretty positive that heroes didn’t get saved. 

When the alcohol had run out and he had to lean against a tree to take a piss, he decided that he’d go crawl in the backseat and try to sleep it off so that he could play the hero one more day. That was, if he woke up

When he had flopped across the leather seats of the only real home he’d ever known, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed the number he was pretty sure he’d never forget. It rang and rang until he was just about to say fuck it, and hang up when you finally answered the phone. 

“Hello?”

Dean’s breath hitched in his throat, and he knew that he should've just hung up but for some reason, he couldn’t. He couldn’t stand the ache in his own chest any longer.

“Hello?” your voice said again as one silent tear slipped down his cheek onto the leather seat underneath him.

“Y/N, It’s Dean… I-uh, I’m sorry to call you so late.”

You could have heard a pin drop as your own heart picked up pace, your mind racing a thousand miles a minute. 

“Dean? Damn it’s been years. I thought you were dead!” you tell him in disbelief, sitting down on the concrete steps outside of your little house. His face still was a clear picture in your mind, the night he’d left you felt like it was yesterday as it was all those years ago. 

“Not dead yet, Sweetheart,”  Dean laughed almost humorlessly. It was too late to hang up now, so he could either lie to her, or he could tell the truth, he could tell her how lonely he really was and how much he regretted the day he’d left her all those years ago. “I’m-uh… I’m thinking about coming by and seeing you for a few days. It’s been a long time, and I just… God Y/N, I just really want to see you again.”

Your mouth fell open in shock. You could tell he’d been drinking by the slurred speech, but it was almost as if you could hear the cry for help in his voice. 

“You know you're always welcome here Dean. I told you years ago, and it still stands today, you can always come home.”

Dean swallowed the lump in his throat as the tears started to flow freely down his face now. “So you never moved on? No, Mr Right?” Dean tried to sound like he was joking, but honestly, he just felt like he sounded weak. Still, he had to know. 

“No Dean, I told you-it was you, and it would always be you,” you said, drying tears of your own away with the sleeve of your shirt. “I still love you, Dean, I always will. No matter how dangerous you say it is.”

Dean was about to hang up and tell you it was a mistake, but you had to go and say that. The internal battle was still raging inside of him, but dammit if he wasn’t tired of fighting it.

I'm a lost cause Baby, don't waste your time on me I'm so damaged beyond repair Life has shattered my hopes and my dreams I'm a lost cause Baby, don't waste your time on me I'm so damaged beyond repair Life has shattered my hopes and my dreams

You talked to Dean until he had passed out with the promise he’d see you in the morning. He told you over and over again that you should hang up on him, that you should rightfully tell him to fuck off, but you refused to. So now you stood pacing the front porch of the address you had texted to his phone last night. Praying, hoping that you’d see that beautiful black Impala that haunted your dreams pull down your driveway. 

Some of the things that he’d told you last night that he’d been through were horrific and you knew he wasn’t the same man he was all those years ago, but you also knew he still had the same soul. He saved you all those years ago, and now, it was your turn to save him. 

You didn’t breathe easily until you heard Baby’s engine purr and saw her coming down your street. It took all you had not to run to meet him halfway, and when he got out of the car, he said nothing, just wrapped his arms around you and pulled you tight into him-like you were a lifeline, and if he let you go, he’d never surface again. Little did you know that it was exactly what he felt.

“You’re home Dean,” you told him through broken sobs of your own mixed with his. 

And he was. Finally, someone decided he might just be worth saving too, and he was glad that it was you.

Forever Tags: @deanwanddamons @rvgrsbrns @bi-danvers0 @onethirstyunicorn @i-love-superhero @akshi8278 @lyss-dw79 @magssteenkamp @lemondropirwin @squirrelnotsam @hobby27 @spnbaby-67 @mrsjenniferwinchester @defenderrosetyler @screechingartisancashbailiff @thecreatiivecorner  @aflamboyanceofgays @vicmc624 @busy-bee-angel-misska @justanotherwinchester @brilovesdeanwinchester @idksupernatural @lyarr24 @amandamdiehl @love-jackles-37-blog @miraclesoflove @waywardsistershy @emoryhemsworth @dean-winchesters-gardian-angel @softsebastian @tatted-trina6​ @deanmonandnegansbitch​ @hayleeharling​   @flamencodiva​ @coldmuffinbanditshoe​ @bxbyizzy​ @rain-dance-goblin​ @itmejado​ @supernatural3002​

[crushing-on-nico-di-angelo]

Seven Nights in Cabin Thirteen

I’m inspired by another post I saw here that I didn’t wish to hijack lol, and OP deactivated or else I’d link their account here. credits to @the-ghost-king for the idea of a demigod therapy/Will being a past drug addict on this post. Yes this is a bad fic. It’s also my first fic ever. Please criticize if you see anything

Will never thought that he would ever appreciate his first monster attack. He was seven years old, and in hindsight his teacher probably only worked there to prey on young demigods (at least, that’s why he suspects the attack happened so early in his life compared to other demigods). But when Lee Fletcher sat him down 4 years later and told him that he was trans and would now be known as Lee instead of his birth name, Will knew that everything happened for a reason.

After many conversations with Lee about how he knew (gods bless that man’s patience) and with an older Athena camper who’s special interest dealt in psychology, Will realized the reason that he always felt disconnected from his mom and sisters in Austin was because he was like Lee. He was a boy.

Telling people wasn’t easy. Of course his older brother had to know; he was the one who introduced Will to this concept. Telling the rest of camp was as easy as telling Chiron, who told Dionysus, who always threatened to turn anyone into a dolphin if they talked shit about any trans kid. Telling his mom... that had to be the hardest part. How was he supposed to tell them? The only similarities they all had were that they were all musically inclined and that they were all girls.

Apparently, Will forgot that Naomi Solace was a musician. The music industry has more queers than an all girl’s school GSA. Her only questions were “Alright, what’s your name then, kiddo?” and “When do you want to set up an appointment with a therapist?” As for his siblings, well, let’s just say the oldest, Frankie, always knew. And it didn’t take long for seven-year-old Mickey to cut her doll-that-somehow-looked-exactly-like-Will’s hair and change his notes from high to low when she accompanied his singing on violin, as part of voice training.

Four years has passed since then and Will can hardly believe it. He’s stealth back at Austin because it’s just easier that way, but since a quarter of the camp knew him since he was seven, he figured there was no point; it isn’t like anyone treated him as though he wasn’t a man-- er, boy-- at camp anyways. So, life went on. He got his period for the first time during the Battle of Manhattan, that was no fun, but luckily Thalia was cool about it and made sure not to tell anyone. He started binding shortly afterwards, got a couple bruises hear and there. Kayla yelled at him for a week for that one, he remembers fondly. Discovered why it’s better to take off your contacts in the shower... that day isn’t such a fond memory. That was the first and last time he ever made himself bleed. Although, he will say that’s what sparked his interest in medicine and what made him the best doctor Camp Half Blood had seen in decades at the mere age of 15 years old. Life at camp was good, if a bit dull. He got used to the routine and the constant influx of damaged campers, the siblings and friends, and the always-perfect Texas Barbecue and Coke.

That is, until the War Between the Camps happened. Lou Ellen woke Will up before sundown that day and told him their plan. They were to hide in the tall grasses and wait for Camp Jupiter to show their ugly faces. Cecil had the genius idea to paint their faces and arms black so they’d blend into the night better, and Will supposes in the hubub of everything they forgot that his hair nearly (”nearly”) glows, even at night. Until Mr. Nico “I’m so smart, I nearly killed myself shadow travelling” di Angelo pointed it out. Whatever, it made sense at the time. They won the war against Gaea, not without sacrifice, and they finally, finally got past all the wars and destruction and health issues that they were able to just hang out and get to know each other as friends.

And boy, was their friendship amazing. Nico had the best taste in music from Will’s eyes, and that’s saying something because Will is a music snob. Nico could be a little stubborn at times, but that’s alright because so was Will (”Gods damn it, Nico, if you don’t take your medication right this second I will-” “You’ll what? Hm? You’ll force it down my throat? Last I checked that was abuse.”). They fit together so perfectly and became fast friends.

It wasn’t always sunshine and lollipops, though. What is, for a demigod? Will relapsed once and passed out right in front of Nico’s cabin. He was crashing from an exciting high that he hadn’t experienced in so long, and he felt so tired and ashamed of himself. Methamphetamine was a goddamned bitch, so while he was coming out of withdrawals, he made Nico promise not to let him leave the cabin for a week were simmering down. He had to make sure something like this never happened again. They Iris Messaged  Chiron and explained the situation, and he understood. He made sure to contact the older son of Dionysus who had been Will’s therapist in the past and said what had happened and they agreed on a session for soon after Will got mostly over his cravings.

So now they had a week of downtime together. Awesome.

“Solace, do you need anything? Are you okay?” Nico asked towards the end of the first full day that withdrawals were over.

“I’m-- fuck. I’m fine. I swear.” He responded unconvincingly.

“That’s not what you said last night... no offense, but I’m not fully inclined to believe you when you look like shit.”

“It- It... it’s not something I’d like to talk about, if that’s alright. And... don’t tell Clarisse, please.”

“I’m not going to tell anyone, don’t worry. But I would like to know if this is going to be a common occ--” Before he could even finish asking, Will was already shaking his head and responding.

“One-time thing only, I promise. Gods, I’m sorry I showed up here at all.”

“Woah, buddy. That’s not what I was saying at all. You’re my best friend, I’m glad you came here.” Will almost couldn’t believe what Nico was saying. Then again, did Nico have very many friends? Nico himself certainly didn’t seem to think so. “In any case, you don’t have to explain what happened, or what led up to this, or anything like that. I don't need to know. What I do need you to do, however, is take a shower. I’m sorry to say so, but you smell like ass.”

“Yeah well, I’m…” He couldn’t finish his sentence. How do you explain to someone that he still wanted his drugs, and he didn’t want to leave the cabin because he knew he would leave to go find some before he would even think about going to his own cabin at this point.

“You don’t have to leave,” Nico said, perhaps sensing his agitation. “I have a shower in the cabin.”

“What the fuck do you mean you have a shower in the cabin?” The shock of this knowledge get him out of his stuck mind. “How did you get plumbing in here? How did Chiron allow this?”

“I helped design my cabin, and while I may not have all the experience in architecture that Annabeth does, I do know a thing or two. I did meet with Isambard Kingdom Brunel, you know.”

“I did not know. You- Who is Isambard Kingdom Brunel?” Will asked

“Oh, some civil engineer who is like a million years old.” Will scoffed at that.

“You’re one to talk,” he teased. He was never going to let go of the fact that Nico was technically like 80 years old.

“Oh hush, William.” William… never Will, like most people. William… like he was something special, something that deserved three syllables. “Anyways, like I was saying: take a shower. You look like you were up mowing all of camp with a flashlight.”

Knowing Will’s reaction to drugs, that wasn’t unlikely. He stood up. “Lead the way? I’ve never been around your cabin before.”

Nico’s cabin was unlike any others. Using some sort of Doctor Who-like technology, there was a living room, a kitchen, and one room. Surprisingly, the walls were all light or pastel, a stark contrast from Nico’s general (and unintentional) punk-rock appearance. However, the furniture was all a deep black. Nico led him to his room, a minimalistic one with a bed, a desk, and a lamp. Will wondered where all the personalization was, but made no comment.

“Here’s the shower,” Nico pointed to yet another room in this somehow huge cabin. “If you see something amiss or odd… ignore it.” Will didn’t want to think of the implications of that sentence.

He stepped in the shower and oh my gods, watching the dirt and grime wash off him after his 8 hour high-- which he did not want to think about (and not just because the author doesn’t want to taint his search history), it was too embarrassing-- was a wonderful feeling. He was still tired. He didn’t know why, it didn’t used to be this hard. However, he was pretty sure that he tried to clean the entire outside of the hypnos cabin before going over to the Hades cabin to do the same. This was the first and last time Will would ever thank the gods for Nico’s poor sleeping patterns, he had heard him outside and came to get him before he tired himself out more.

He nearly passed out in the shower again but managed to make it out. He looked around the well-stocked bathroom and realized something that he probably should have bothered to notice before: he didn’t have any clothes with him. Fuck. He wrapped a (black) towel around his chest because he didn’t think his body could take anymore binding and prayed to Dionysus that Nico didn’t notice that his chest wasn’t exactly male.

Luckily, the first thing Nico did say was “Is that a tattoo?”

Will looked down at his sun. “Yeah, it is,” he smiled. He remembered the night he did it, it was kind of hard. He ordered a tattoo gun off amazon and had Frankie do it for him shortly after the Battle of Manhattan. Some people might think it’s in honor of his dad, which is fine. It was really for Lee Fletcher, though. His mom totally freaked, for a really long time, but after his C-PTSD diagnoses she realized that whatever works for him works as long as it isn’t drugs or self harm. He knows she wants a future for him that doesn’t involve music, and that’s why she freaked. She thought it would ruin his chances. But it’s right on his shoulder, only visible in tank tops or no shirt.

"It… its to honor the man who taught me I could be myself." Will said after a small pause.

"That's a very lovely sentiment. If he made that much of an impact on you, he must be a very cool person."

"He was." Will knew that Nico heard the was by the way that Nico nodded solemnly. "I uh… I don't wish to be more of a bother, but do you mind if I go to bed now? That shower really helped."

"Yeah, of course. I can take the couch, you know where my bed is-"

"No, absolutely not." Nico sighed softly, as though he expected this. "I can sleep on the couch, in Austin I actually prefer it to my bed."

"That's-- no offense William, but that's weird."

"It feels less lonely to me," Will protested, then let out a huge yawn.

"Alright cowboy-" Will smiled at Nico's nickname for him "-get some sleep. I'll see you in the morning."

"Nighty night, Neeks. Love you." he didn't miss the small smile on Nico's face before he walked away. Will has always been very loose with his 'I love you's like that. He figured it's better to say it too much than not enough.

He had found his old stash the night before, the one that Clovis had helped him forget about. He couldn't stop himself from thinking about last nights events. At the time,he told himself that he shouldn't do anything with it, and put it out of his mind for about a week, but eventually his urge to smoke overcame his self-control. He went on a rampage of cleaning and was absolutely certain he looked like a madman. The worst part is, he didn't even know why he did it. It was as though his rehabilitation hadn't even happened, as though this was something that was as natural as getting a cup of coffee in the morning. He was so mad at himself, so embarrassed.

These thoughts occupied his mind until he fell asleep about an hour after his last words to Nico. He slept with no dreams, for the first time in about a month.  

word count: 2,245

[ziracona]

Hello! I have always believed that Michael needed better doctors and good treatment. He was simply billed as "Evil". Sometimes I think that at that time they were unaware or ignorant of mental illness, and that is why Michael did not recover. I wish it had been treated better. I would like to know your opinion about it ;v;

Oh, absolutely. Michael is a very tragic character, and what happened to him was almost entirely Loomis’ fault, secondarily the system and his parents’, and like onyl 0.8% his own. It’s true that mental health aid has historically been really bad in most places, and even today treatment and acceptance—even in specifically medical settings—tend to be abysmal. Of course people knew less than they do now about how psychological stuff works, but bias, cruelty, and superstition as well as a system that enables and even to degrees outright encourages that is to blame for the awful treatment people woth mental illnesses and personality disorders faced and continue to face, not just a lack of knowledge, and the history is really heavy and awful to look over. : ( It’s horrific some of the things doctors have done and do to people just trying to get help.

Like, in Michael’s case, we’ve had a name and understanding of psychosis since the 1800s. Canonically, by the time the poor kid was six years old, he was hearing voices telling him to do bad things to people. He told his parents, seeking help, and they did nothing to help him—just told him it was his imagination—despite knowing hos grandfather had suffered the same symptoms. If they had only taken him seriously and given him therapy and possibly medication too, Judith never would have died. (I am not goong to say it every time, but all this information is official canon) Michael’s reason for killing his family members is wanting the vocies talking to him to be quiet, because it’s agonizing. If you’ve ever had intrusive thoughts (stuff like “pull into oncoming traffic” or “break that and see what happens” and such that don’t actually compell or force you to do it at all, and are always things you as a person deeply do not want to do, but nevertheless are really annoying or distressing to hear in your head), imagine that cranked up to 1000, endless and constant, but from voices that seem to come from around you instead of in your head. Especially as a young child, with no understanding what is happening to you, this would be incredibly scary and distressing—doubly so when dismissed by your parents, whose sole job is supposed to be to love and protect you.

The voices say they’ll be quiet if Michael kills Judith, so Halloween night, he does. Important to note here Michael is recently six years old at the time, which developmental psych literally is not old enough to have a complete understanding what death itself is, let alone complex morality. You /cannot/ be evil at six, you simply don’t have a complex enough understanding of right and wrong or of consequence to /be/ evil. Also at this age, usually kids see death as a vague concept, but one that applies to people they don’t know only, not to them and their loved ones. In Halloween 1978, immediately after stabbing Judith, Michael looks away while he keeps doing it, and his breathing speeds up in a scared way. He barely looks at the body, and immediately goes down stairs to wait for his parents—probably for them to fix it—and does nothing to flee or hide what he’s done. He looks traumatized when they take his mask off. (Lots of little notes here like that Judith when she sees him seems annoyed but not very, and when he attacks her, tries to shield herself and call to him to stop, rather than fleeing or fighting back, which [appealing instead of fight or flight] is pretty exclusively something you only would use if attcked by someone you are on good terms with—I mean, Michael is six—if Judith had /tried/ to fight back, no way she would have died—so there’s less than nothing to indicate they had anything but a loving familial sibling relationship. But if I list all these I’m gonna launch into my six page Michael Myers meta so I will speed through the rest.)

Anyway! Sorry, I have many feelings. About...everything. Including Michael for sure. So, immediately after killing Judith, Michael stops talking. He also shows other psychosis and trauma readily recognized side effects, like catatonia, slowed movement. In Halloween 1978c Dr. Loomis claims he tried to treat Michael for eight years, then spent another seven trying to keep him locked up because he realized he was evil. This is a /blatant/ lie, as in film canon Loomis, by Michael’s review hearing I believe four months in? Six or less for sure, I believe it is four. Loomis has /already/ become convinced Michael is a demon in human form, faking his symptoms, and itching to kill again. The other doctors think Loomis is crazy, as does the other doctor who examines Michael, but they’re awful people so they let him stay Michael’s doctor anyway, even though they refuse to move him to Litchfield maximum security. By this time only a few months in, Loomis is canonically also threatening the six year old in his care and constantly telling him he is an evil being who wants to get out and terrorize again. (Also, I will die enraged the sentance Michael gets for killing Judith is to remain locked in solitary in a sanitorium for /15/ years, until he turns 21, at which point he will be tried as an adult for murder??? The fuck?? You CANNOT charge a 6 year old’s crime in adult court! ‘Tried as an adult’ is meant for like, when a 17 year old dismembers their family and eats them! It’s for particularly heinous crimes, committed by someone /very/ close to being legally an adult, and that /only/. The idea of waiting fifteen years to try someone as an adult for something done at age six is laughable and sick).

Okay this is already long, I get carried away rip. Uhhh, anyway, yeah. In Smith’s Grove, Michael is visited by mom and Laurie once, then never sees any of his family again, because his dad hates him and forbids the others—finds out because Laurie is four and talks that they went /one/ time, and physically beats four year old Laurie for mentioning his name until she trauma blocks out ever having had a brother. From then on, Michael spends /fifteen/ years and all the dest of his developmental stages of childhood in a sanitorium with Dr. Loomis—a man who on wild religious superstition grounds assumes by his own admission /on sight/ that Michael is evil, and no other human contact. According to canon, Michael spends at least four hours of /every/ day with Loomis, his /only/ human contact, who threatens him, promises to stop him, and endlessly barrages him with “You’re evil, you’re not human, you want to kill again, I /will/ stop you,” and nothing else. He also canonically keeps Michael overdosed on a type of antipsychotic that, while a fine drug if used normally, if overdosed can deeply worsen symptoms, and can cause permanent brain damage.

Honestly, if a six year old is exposed yo major trauma, none of their issues are explained, legitimized, or believed, and almost all of their developmental stage is spent with endless voices they don’t know the cause of suggesting murder and violence, one human being and authority figure telling them over and over and over for fifteen years with no other constant in their life or human contact period that they are a demon in human form who wants to kill and is /going/ to do so again...? How else was that story ever going to end? I’ve said it before, but that’s beyond conditioning; it’s lab growing a human child to one day walk out and murder Laurie Strode with a large kitchen knife.

I stand by Halloween is a greek tragedy more than a slasher, and Michael and Laurie are both victims. He’s the Asterios, she’s the Ariadne. Loomis the Minos, the real villain. (Or the Poseidon choose your poison).

Anyway, I 100% agree! If he had just gotten help from his parents, Judith would have never died. If he’d had good doctors, none of the events of 1978 would have come to pass, or anything after it. Loomis single-handedly causes the deaths in 1978 himself through years of cruelty, and bigoted bias towards a small child in his care who needed his help, not his abuse, but he chose to break as much as he possibly could despite his responsibilities as a doctor, an adult, and a human.

If you’re interested, I did a canon-deep-dive character study short story on Michael on AO3! Halloween is such a sad story but it’s fascinating. God, poor Michael and Laurie deserved so much better than they got. It’s a testament to Michael’s character that even after 15 years of Dr. Loomis, he really only kills his intented target(s) in search of quiet from the voices, and anyone who sees him/would be a threat, and not other people. Makes no attempt to kill any of the kids in Halloween 2018, and only kills Bob when he literally opens the door to his hiding spot and Michael is found and Bob becomes a threat to him. In H20, after Michael has had 20 years on his own, you get arguably the least brutal Michael, who intentionally passes on killing the mother and child, and the security guard he walks right past, because they don’t see him and thus he doesn’t /have/ to. Halloween II is less intentionally avoiding, but even then he still does the same multiple times too, like with the old lady making a sandwich, or the scene in the incubator room. Anyway he desevered better fuck Loomis all my homies hate Loomis.

[finleyfray]

Bittersweet Memories part 6

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5)

Huge thanks to @captain-josslett for helping me.

Taglist: @ashadash0904

TW: mentioned drug abuse, language, think that’s all

Alex is sure by now she just hates the medical wing in the DEO. She sits in the hall with Maggie, waiting on more information regarding their girlfriend.

Their girlfriend who overdosed.

Alex wonders where it all went wrong. How did they not see that Finley was struggling? How did they miss that their girlfriend was suicidal? That she was depressed.

Alex sighs as she hugs Maggie closer. The raven-haired woman was silent the whole time and the redhead wishes she could read her thoughts.

“Mags?” She tries but her girlfriend only shakes her head, and goes back to staring at Finley’s door. “Come on, talk to me, I can’t read your mind.”

“I just want this to end.” Maggie whines. “Just go to bed and cuddle and when we wake up, everything will be as it was a few months ago. But again, Fin’s in that fucking room, and we’re here, waiting for anything, any info about her. And I’m just tired. I’m tired of her.”

“You don’t mean that” The redhead gasps.

“No, you’re right. I don’t. I’m just... I don’t know. I thought it was okay and I’m just wondering where it went wrong. Nothing makes sense anymore. There’s so many questions I have. She promised she will let us know when something will be wrong. Are we supposed to watch her like a baby now? How can we leave her on her own, when she just can’t take care of herself? How do you know the next time we leave her she won’t, I don’t know, throw herself out of the window? Because I don’t know, Alex, I just don’t.” Maggie takes a deep breath after her rant, her shoulder slumping as she exhales.

“We don’t know what happened yet Maggie.” Alex sighs too, looking at her. ‘What does she mean? Did she not want Finley anymore?’ Alex thinks worriedly.

“Yeah, she sure thought the pills were some kind of candy.” Her girlfriend huffs.

“You say that like you’re mad at her.”

“I am. I am mad at her because she attempted to take her life away.”

“We weren’t exactly there for her over the last few weeks.”

“So you’re saying it’s our fault?” Maggie frowns, turning to look at Alex.

“No.” Alex huffs slightly, trying to keep her emotions in check. “All I’m saying is, I want to help her. And I’m scared, because I don’t know what’s happening behind that door. I’m scared because my, our girlfriend overdosed on God knows what. And we don’t know where she got it.”

“Ohhhh.” Maggie gasps. “I, well, uhh, when I came home... there was this woman leaving... well I assumed she slept with her... but, umm, maybe she’s her drug dealer...? The other day I saw a text on her phone from an unknown number saying something like ‘I see you tomorrow - V’.”

“And you didn’t think of telling me earlier? You went through her phone.” Alex narrows her eyes slightly while looking at her girlfriend, trying not to get angry.

“I don’t want to assume the worst! How was I supposed to know what that was, the message just pinged, her phone was password protected.”

“She didn’t have a password on her phone the two years we’re dating.” Alex frowns.

The door to Fin’s room opens and her Doctor comes out.

“We did a gastric lavage and washed away all the drugs she had in her system. Looks like she has been taking a lot of them over the past few weeks, her liver is damaged. She woke up for a while and we ran tests. It looks like she has had an infection for some time now. Her temperature is high and she told me that everything hurts. She’s attached to a IV and heart monitor. But for now agent Fray is stable. She fell asleep after we checked her. You can go there if you want.”

“She was sick. And we didn’t even noticed.” Maggie gasps.

“Thank you doctor Hamilton.” Alex nods and looks at her girlfriend.

“You come in?”

“Of course I want to, the fact that I’m mad at her doesn’t mean I don’t care about her anymore.” Maggie looks at her angry.

“Hey, I’m only asking.” Alex shrugs. “We are all tired. And I get it, you’re mad. But she could have died. So I’m going there and I’m going to thank whatever God there is that she made it through. And when she’s out of here, I’m going to stay with her and look after her. Because I don’t want to lose her. I don’t know what I would do if I lose any of you.”

“I don’t want to lose her either.” Maggie sighs. “I love you both, I promise, I just, I’m lost.” Her girlfriend lowers her head and sniffs. “I don’t know what to do anymore.” The redhead embraces the smaller woman in a hug.

“That’s okay if you don’t. We can take it slow day by day. You don’t have to know everything now.” She gently strokes Maggie’s back. “When I went through my alcohol problems, you were there for me. And we did it. So now we just have to do the same with Fin.”

“I totally improvised. I didn’t know what to do, I just did. When I saw that you had the urge to drink, I just occupied you with anything I could think of.”

“And that helped.” The redhead smiles, kissing her girlfriend's forehead. “So we’ll improvise too. It’s not a bad situation. J’onn will give us days off when we want. Or we can switch. We’ll figure it out, okay?” Alex quietly opens the door and enters the room.

She looks at their sleeping girlfriend. This view brought her too many bad memories. Maggie grabs her hand and gives her a reassuring smile.

“Right.” Alex breathes out and they walk to the bed their girlfriend is lying on.

“Hi.” Fin rasps out, looking at them. Her eyes were tired and it was clearly visible that she was in pain.

“Hey, baby. You’re awake!” The raven-haired woman reaches to cup Fin’s cheek, but Alex saw Finley panicking.

Her heart was suddenly beating super-fast and she was breathing hard. Maggie drops her hand as if she was burnt and the redhead cringes. This is not good. She looks at her shorter girlfriend who has a shocked expression on her face, which soon morphs into pain. Maggie blinks fast trying to get rid of her tears and turns away.

“I’m sorry.” Fin chokes out. “I...I didn’t mean to...”

“That’s alright baby.” Alex sighs as she grabs Fins hand and runs her finger over her girlfriend's knuckles. “It’ll be okay. Just breathe.”

***

Finley tried to focus hard on calming her breath. She didn’t want to upset Maggie. She did not want to react that way.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t want this to happen. I swear I’m not cheating on you, please don’t leave.” She cries out lowering her head and looking at her hands. “I swear, please don’t leave me. I promise I’ll do better.”

“It’s okay Fin, it’s okay, breathe with me.” Fin looks at Alex trying to match her breathing. “In and out. There you go.” Alex smiles reassuringly. “We are not gonna leave you, I promise.” She hugs her girlfriend into her chest running her hand along her back. “It’s going to be okay, we’ll help you.” The redhead motions for Maggie to come closer and the raven-haired woman hesitantly does. She looks at them.

“Come here. It’ll be alright, I promise.” So the shorter woman sits on the bed and let’s Alex hug them both. “We’ll be fine.”

**

Maggie is sitting on a chair watching her sleeping girlfriends. J’onn had ordered the medical team to bring Alex and Maggie beds but Alex had crawled onto Fin’s bed in the middle of night as she saw her tossing around, clearly having a nightmare. The sun was starting to rise and the shorter woman stood up to close the curtains. She needed to talk with her girlfriend, but now wasn’t a good time considering Fin was on strong medications for her infection. The Doctors had to put morphine in her IV to avoid having her take the meds to not annoy her liver more than it is. Maggie just hopes it will be over soon and Fin will be finally healthy. They know she will also need to learn how to walk again as they’ll take her brace off, but that is a problem for the future.

“You’re staring.” Alex says before opening her eyes and looking at Maggie. She yawns and stretches, careful not to disturb Fin.

“Yeah, I totally am. Hi. You slept well?”

“Hey, yea, I think so. Bit sore actually, that’s a tiny space. But warm and cosy.” Maggie watches Alex gently kissing Fin’s forehead and standing up. She goes to sit on Maggie and hugs her.

“You want to go home and maybe take a shower?” Maggie asks.

“No, I’m good. Kara will drop by later and get us some clothes. Or do you want to go?”

“I just want this to be over, you know? We can go home and rest.” Maggie leans her head on Alex’s chest and sighed.

“Me too.”

“Hey...” They turn as they hear Finley speaking quietly.

“Hi.” They both stand up and go to her bed. “How are you feeling?” Alex asks. “I think I’m better. At least nothing hurts yet.” Fin smiles sleepily.

“That’s good, amazing actually.” Alex smiles too and Fin tries to sit up. “Woo, Easy there.” Alex rushed to help their girlfriend.

“It’s alright. We should probably talk.”

“Yes, I want to apologise.” Maggie begins dropping her head in shame. “I really should not have lashed out like that. I know that it’s a lame excuse, but I had a really bad day and I think I just snapped seeing that woman leaving our apartment. I know you wouldn’t cheat on us, I just don’t know what happened.” She feels Fin grabbing her hand and squeezing it.

“It’s okay, I’m not mad.”

“But you should be! You tried to kill yourself because of me!” The raven-haired woman breaks down and begins to sob.

“I did not! Hey, look at me. Both of you. I’m sorry. I didn’t actually tried to kill myself, it was stupid of me. I’ve just been in much pain lately. It began 2 weeks ago, everything was hurting and I couldn’t think straight, so I took more medicine that was prescribed. I know I should've told you, but I didn’t want to bother you. But the meds wore off too fast by the time, so I took more, and then I just was sleeping the whole time and woke up to only take more medicine. But it wasn’t actually helping me. And well, that woman was an old friend, she fixed some pills for me, but she said these one I took were double dosage. I didn’t actually believe her, so I took too much and... I didn’t really want this to end like that. I’m sorry.” Alex sighs and hugs them both.

“We need to work on your communication Fin. You have to tell us about these things. But also we should’ve noticed it. And you...” She looked at Maggie. “Need to blow off your steam before going home. We need therapy after all of this. All of us.

***

Finley sighs as she is sitting on her bed in the DEO. Across her sat a woman, her name was Kelly and she was their new therapist.

As Alex said a few days ago, they needed therapy. But Fin had zero desire to talk to that woman, in fact, she already hated her for the way she kept looking at Alex. Like she wanted to steal her. And Fin will be damned if she ever let’s that happen.

“So, Finley. We can sit here in silence or we can talk about what’s going on your head.” Kelly tries to start a conversation but Fin frowns.

“How do you know MY girlfriend?” The black-haired woman almost growled seeing the smirk that displays on Kelly’s face. ‘Keep it cool. The key is to gather info.’

“So you might not know it yet, but James Olsen is my brother. I met Alex a few years ago and helped her with her drinking problem. Unfortunately I had to move away for a while as I’m also an army therapist. But now I’m back and Alex asked me if I could help you three figure things out.”

“When was that? When did you meet her?”

“It was four years ago. I met her when she started to date Maggie.”

‘So she never got the chance. But with everything that happened she can try and steal Alex from me. From us. Or maybe she’ll steal both of them. Yea, as soon as she realises how fucked up I am, she’s going to tell them and she’s going to steal them. I can’t talk to her. Under any circumstances. Play it cool Fin.’

“That’s nice.” Finley nods as she stares at the woman.

“So how are you feeling today?” Fin wants to laugh at how Kelly was still trying to start a conversation with her.

“Good.” Fin says tensely.

“Good?”

“Yes. I’m perfectly fine. I don’t need therapy when I don’t have any problems. You should totally focus on Maggie and Alex.”

“I can’t help you if you won’t share what’s bothering you. And I have to speak individually with all of you before we can have a conversation altogether. So if you want to help them, you have to let me in.” Finley huffs, growing frustrated. She was fine, she didn’t need help from some therapist wanna be that wanted to destroy her relationship.

“I don’t need help from you! You just want to steal them from me! They’ll realise they can have better than me and they're gonna leave me! You just need to know how fucked I am to go and tell them... and tell them to leave me! You’re not trying to help me, you’re trying to destroy me!” She sobs as she hugs her pillow. “I can’t do this without them. Don’t steal them away... Please...”

“Finley, I’m not trying to steal them away from you-”

“Bullshit! I saw how you were looking at Alex!” She yells interrupting Kelly.

“Alex is my best friend. And I’m married.” Kelly says calmly.

“O...oh...” Finley frowns and looks at her.

“M...married...?” “Yes, I have a wife, Finley, a beautiful wife that I love very much and she’s carrying my baby.”

“Ohhh...” Fin looks at the woman trying to wipe her tears away. “Congratulations...”

“So believe me when I’m saying I don’t want to steal your girlfriends from you. And even if I wanted, that would be impossible, because these two are just so in love with you.” Fin fidgets uncomfortable.

“I’m sorry... for yelling at you. I’m just so scared they’ll leave me someday.” “Why do you think that?” Kelly asks while grabbing her notepad and her pen.

“Well, I’m useless. I can’t do things myself with the brace on. I can’t work. I don’t even cook well. I can’t help them at work, I’m just forced to stay at home. What if something happens and I’m not even there to protect them!?” Fin cries out.

“You’re scared that something will happen to them?” “Of course I am scared. I’ve never had anyone so close to me in my life. Maggie and Alex, but also all of their friends, Kara, and Eliza, who treats me like her own child. If I ever lose them, any of them...” Fin falters.

“Do they know your fears?” Kelly looks at her.

“No, why would they. I will look desperate. They’ll just be with me out of pity.”

“You need to communicate more. I know they told you that too. Because communication is the key. They are not able to always see what’s wrong and this can cause situations where you are bottling everything inside and they think you’re fine. They won’t be able to help you when you don’t let them in. We can work on that more in our group session. You’re not alone in this and they’re there to help you to reassure you that they are not going anywhere.”

“You think they won’t leave me?” Finley looks at her therapist with hope.

“I know for a fact that they won’t leave you. But that I’ll leave for them to tell you.” Kelly nods and looks out of the window. “You feel insecure now. You feel left out cause you have to stay home. But at the end of the day, they come home to you. Not anyone else. They come home to your arms. You need to look at it from their perspective. Your girlfriends are working and no matter how much they love their job, they miss you there too. So after their shift the first thing they want is to see you. Relax together and cuddle. I know that from what they told me but also it’s what I am doing. After my shift I go home and cuddle my wife. I lay my head and listen to the heartbeat of my child.”

“You’re really excited to be a mother?”

“I am.” Kelly smiles brightly. “We tried for a long time and we had to do a lot of treatments. I came home from work one day and she gave me a onesie with ‘I love my moms' written on it. I cried.”

“How far is she?” Finley was genuinely curious about it. While she didn’t think of having kids herself yet, she could wait for a chance to be an aunt.

“Five months.” The woman beams.

“Boy or a girl?” “We didn’t want to know. We’re making everything gender neutral. We only care and pray that this little person will be healthy. I secretly pray that they will have their mothers green eyes.”

“We’ll I’m crossing my fingers for you.” Finley smiles and wipes away her tears. Talking about Kelly’s kid calmed her down.

“Do you want children?” Kelly looks at her. “I don’t know yet. I really haven’t thought about it. I’ve never actually seen a baby up close. I’ll just settle for a chance I will be an aunt. Maybe someday Kara and Lena will have kids. Or maybe James and Lucy. I would love to have a dog though.”

“What kind?”

“A Husky. No, a Labrador. Or maybe a Golden Retriever? German Shepherd. Chow-chows are very fluffy! Border Collie? I don’t know, I want all of them!” Both women laugh. “I just love dogs so much. I’ve never had one, but they are the best!”

“Well did you talk about it with your girlfriends?”

“No... I don’t want to bother them. What if they don’t want a dog? Or what if they want a cat? This would be the worst.” She frowns.

“See, that’s exactly what I’m talking about. You wouldn’t know if you don’t ask. So we can make that your assignment. You talk to your girlfriends about getting a dog. Do we have a deal?”

“But...”

“Do we?” Kelly held out her hand.

“Yeah.” Finley gently shakes it. “I’ll try to talk to them. Thank you.”

“It’s getting late. I’ll come tomorrow and you’ll tell me if your girlfriends want a dog or not, okay?”

“Wait, I have to talk to them today!?” Finley gasps. This woman tricked her.

“You can do it. See you tomorrow.” Kelly stands up from chair and leaves her room.

“Bye...” The black-haired woman whines. ‘This is going to be fun…’.

***

Finley opens her eyes and yawns. She must’ve fallen asleep after Kelly left.

“Hey sleepyhead.” She looked at Alex and smiled. “Was that a good nap?”

“Hi. It was. Kelly exhausted me.” Fin reaches for the redhead’s hand and squeezes. Her girlfriend stands up from the chair and sits on Finley’s bed instead.

“How did it go?” Her girlfriend kisses her forehead and embraces her in a hug.

“Good.”

“Good? Why do you look like you cried the whole session?” Alex raises her brow and Fin scolds herself. Communication.

“Uhh... Where’s Maggie?” She looks around the room, but her other girlfriend was nowhere to be found.

“She’s picking up some food. She’ll be here any minute. You will tell us what’s going on?” “No, cause that’s embarrassing.”

“What’s embarrassing?” Maggie asks, entering the room with a bag of take out.

“I’m embarrassed. Hi Mags.” Fin smiles as her girlfriend comes closer, putting the food on the table near her bed and reaching to kiss her cheek. “What do you have there?”

“Well for a difference I have ordered some Italian food.” The raven-haired woman reaches in the bag and gives them a container with food.

They eat in silence and Finley thinks of the best way to talk to them. When they were finished, they all lay on the bed. There wasn't much space so Fin lay on Alex and Maggie lay beside them with her hand over both of them.

“I want a dog.” Finley finally mumbles into Alex’s chest.

“What? We can’t hear you when you’re talking to my boobs.” The redhead laughs and Fin lifts her face from Alex’s chest. “Tell us again.” The black-haired woman sighs and she closes her eyes.

“I want a dog.” Her voice trembles.

“Oh, what kind of dog?” Maggie asks.

“What?” Finley looked at her shocked.

“Like a small dog, a big dog, buying a puppy or adopting from a shelter?”

“I know what you asked, I just... I expected you to say no.” She frowns.

“Why? We want you to be happy. Plus you barely want anything, ever, so I think it’s an amazing plan.” The redhead kisses her forehead.

“I just... didn’t want to be a bother.”

“You are not a bother. It’s okay to want something.” Maggie reaches to cup her cheek and the younger woman flinches.

“Sorry.” The black-haired woman takes Maggie’s hand. “I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to.” Finley sighs and lifts her girlfriend's hand onto her cheek. “And I don’t know what kind of dog yet. There are so many amazing dogs I just can’t choose. But would you want a dog?”

“Yes, I wanted a dog for some time now.” Alex smiles.

“We are not naming our dog Gertrude.” Maggie laughs.

“You wanted to name your dog Gertrude!?” The black-haired woman laughs looking at the frowning redhead.

“It’s a very nice name for a dog!”

“Yeah, I bet it is. Gertrude I hereby command you to come here.” Finley says in her best serious tone.

“Hey, stop being an ass.” Alex starts tickling her and Fin laughs loudly.

“Okay, okay, stop! Maggie help!” But instead of helping, her raven-haired girlfriend teams up with the redhead. Tickling Finley till she cries from laughing. Only then did they stop.

“I love you.” Fin says as she lays her head on Alex’s chest.

“I love you two too.” The redhead kisses her head. “Sleep well baby.”

“And I love you both.” Maggie whispers and hugs them tight.

Finley focused on their breathing as she falls asleep.

[postsforposting]

Psychiatric care is fully exempt from standard malpractice and abuse laws.

You know how you hear about stuff like people being drugged against their will, lied to, physically abused, sexually abused, threatened with rape and sexual violation, all sorts of “standard” abuse that you would see from shitty parents and doctors and things like shock collars and devices, things like ABA “therapy” where the client is punished physically/emotionally/mentally and it’s basically conversion therapy?

All of this is absolutely legal for mental health facilities and staff to use against patients. They are specifically exempt from laws governing abuse toward patients. They are explicitly exempt from all basic standards of care. On top of that, they full well know that lawyers, medical boards, and governments do not care about violations against patients unless it is grossly actionable--and even then generally they just cover it up and ignore it. Reputation is the master they serve, not public rights and justice. Lawyers do not care if you are raped and injured because it does not make them money to prosecute your case. Doctors know that lawyers do not care and will not help you, so they do whatever the fuck they want because there are no consequences--literally they are legally protected and practically speaking lawyers just won’t do anything.

Doctors are legally allowed to cripple you and nothing will happen.

Medical malpractice lawsuits, however, are extremely difficult to win in [state].  Because of this we are forced to limit our practice to cases of clear cut negligence that involve catastrophic injuries or death. In addition, [state] law insulates mental health providers by requiring people prove not just negligence, but gross negligence in order to prove your case. This creates a very high and difficult bar to clear in order to support a case. 

....

Negligence is an action that causes injury unless preventative measures are put in place. The standard of ordinary negligence is what conduct one expects from the proverbial "reasonable person". If the accused is a professional, such as a doctor, the "reasonable person" is then defined as a doctor of average intelligence in the same field. To put it another way, negligence is a failure to exercise reasonable care.

Gross negligence is reckless and willful misconduct causing bodily injury. With gross negligence, the standard of care is ignored to such an extent that the action is almost intentional. Within the context of medical malpractice, gross negligence is an action that is obviously an error even to someone without any medical training. A Supreme Court judge pointed out the extent of gross negligence versus negligence many years ago by saying, "Even a dog knows the difference between being tripped over and being kicked." For someone to be accused and found guilty of gross negligence, it must be proven that they had a conscious and voluntary disregard for your reasonable care, and caused foreseeable grave injury or harm to you.

Some examples of medical malpractice gross negligence (again, these do not matter unless there is permanent, extreme damage caused):

*Giving a patient a drug that their chart says they are allergic to 

*Amputating the wrong limb

*Leaving a surgical instrument inside a body cavity

Doctors can lie on your records. Lie to you and treat you without your consent. Drug you after lying to you about what they’re doing. Permanently damage you by those actions. Feed you things you’re allergic to, deliberately, repeatedly. Lie on involuntary commitment paperwork and forcibly commit you, destroying your life forever. Sexually abuse you in the name of “mental health treatment”. Threaten you with sexual abuse. Violate the rights you’re supposedly entitled to as a mental health client. Expose you to abuse and demand you rescind claims of abuse by people threatening your life. Hand over your personal information to your abusers who are actively threatening your life, endangering your life more. Make it a condition of your release and of their cessation of abuse towards you that you submit to your abusers. Put you in danger from other people being held with you and claim they have no responsibility to keep you safe. Deny you basic ADA rights and accommodations. Destroy and remove documentation from your records to cover their own asses; refuse to document anything in the first place and retaliate against you for demanding your basic medical rights. They can claim as their entire defense that you are retarded and delusional and schizophrenic and so cannot be trusted. They can physically cripple you during the course of treatment and call that medically necessary. They can lie about what they did and why. Unnecessary procedures and treatments? Doesn't matter if it doesn't cause enough and serious enough of damage. Ruins your life? Lol no.

And no one gives a fuck about what happened to you because all of this is legal and you’re just a lying, golddigging whore, like Britney Spears. It is literally legal and considered correct practice to cripple and threaten and abuse a mental health patient. Once you have a mental health designation, you are available to abuse, rape, and cripple to any healthcare worker who chooses to do so. All they have to do is claim you needed it or just lie about it, and they’re free to do it as often and as cruelly as they want. 

“Mental health” and “psychiatry” started as torture parks, started as places to rape and abuse people into behaving better, as places to experiment on people who didn’t matter, who weren’t considered human. Legally, they still are torture parks. Nothing has changed. They are no different from the horrors found in jails. You are not human inside those walls. You have no rights. It doesn’t matter if you belong there or not: they can force you there and lie about it, and it doesn’t matter. There is no justification for these places to exist.

[quietmyfearswith]

narcissist {carter baizen x fem!reader} 1/3

narcissist {carter baizen x fem!reader} 1/3

status — ongoing series

warnings — cursing, mentions of drug and alcohol intake/abuse, attempt at angst

word count (without the lyrics) — 1,995 words

a/n — so this is for @baezen’s the other guys writing challenge and my prompt was alcohol is the only constant in my life; the prompt will be italicized and bolded btw ! i was listening to narcissist by no rome and thought that the song fits perfectly with carter baizen and the prompt as well fit well into the story ,, listen to the song here if u want ,, feedback is appreciated and hope u guys have a lovely day !! :> y/f/n = your full name

masterlist | series masterlist

Took a picture of all my flaws

Or you can take a video on your phone

And you know that I would talk

But I'm too afraid to pick you up and go home

The ding of the elevator signaled me to step out of the elevator, and I did with a sigh — frustrated with the website that was opened up on my phone. Upon entering the penthouse, I headed for the master bedroom where the subject of the article is currently passed out on his bed.

Knocking three times, “Carter, you up?” My question was met with silence; despite this I still went ahead and entered his room. Clothes laying on the ground, a few beer bottles and shot glasses on the coffee table near his television, and his keys and wallets placed on his bedside table — the indications of how he had spent the night before; by hopping on from bar to bar and purchasing any kind of drink that had alcohol in it. At least this time he’s alone and not someone he had just slept with.

Approaching the side of the bed, I shook his back that was not facing me, hoping that this would wake him up from his deep slumber. He groggily groaned, turning to look at me with his sleepy and tired state, “Oh hey, Y/N. What time is it?”

I put my down and phone bag on the ottoman that was at the foot of his bed and looked into his walk-in closet for an outfit that would make him look decent and not look like he got dragged and passed around by people, “Well it’s way past time for you to correct your actions since people have already been talking about the stunt you pulled.”

This probably confused him as he sat up and tried to rub off the exhaustion he felt, “Can you be more clear with what you meant with that? Also, I really am curious about what time it is.” Going back from Carter’s closet — which happens to be made of glass and mirrors — and placing the down his outfit which consisted of a two piece Burberry suit that consists of a checkered maroon suit with a matching plain, maroon slacks and laying it down on the bed, “The time now is 9:28 in the morning,” I reached for my phone and shoved it to him with the website I have previously read still opened, “And this is what I meant when I implied that damage control was too late.” 

His shirtless upper body hit the back of the headboard as he began reading the content of my phone, “Spotted, Carter Baizen spending his earned wealth at various bars and clubs late last night. You may have previously known him for being the resident bad, playboy that you see in your school, but now just when it was starting to look like he was getting his act together, he reverts back to how he once was when he was a reckless teenager. I guess some old habits just die hard, don't they? You know you love me, xoxo, gossip girl.”

I laughed at the disgusted face Carter made after he finished reading what had got me annoyed earlier, “Well, at least I’m living my life well. Not compared to this jackass loser who keeps on documenting and reporting the lives of others since theirs is probably uneventful.”

I'm feeling Dazed like a magazine

Finding my own sanity

Wishing it'll all go away

Now we're smoking off the balcony

You're telling me profanities

Maybe it was never okay

“For fuck’s sake, Carter, do you not see the bigger issue here? It’s not just about how there is some loser out there talking about the life of others. But it’s about you how you are living your life! You are now a CEO, a fucking CEO! I don’t think business partners would be eager to make transactions and ventures with someone who acts as if they had just gotten their license and are now going out every chance they can to enjoy this privilege!” Carter looked at me coldly and was about to argue back but I continued to give him my two cents, “On top of that, I  think as well that the frequency of your alcohol, and possible drug intake is alarming, as well. And it's gotten to the extent that I feel like you should be seeing a professional to help you cope with this.”

I concluded my statement of concern and alarm by folding my arms together and looked at him seriously. Carter stood up and headed for the bathroom, I followed him and leaned by the door as he was washing up his face and waited for his reply. He stared at me through the mirror as he was drying his face, “I appreciate your concern, I really do. But I think you’re overreacting a little bit.”

I threw my hands up and scoffed at disbelief, “Seriously, Carter? Do you not recall the various times wherein I had to pick up your drunk or high ass — and by the way, there are some instances wherein you’re both high and drunk — from whatever bar you were misspending your money on.”

He turned around to look at me and crossed his arms — in annoyance, I presume — and fought back, “So what if I get blackout drunk a few times? It happens to the best of us! Have you not enjoyed yourself completely and just passed out from exhaustion from spending a night out? Oh wait, you probably haven’t! Which explains why you’re so fucking uptight!”

With one hand massaging my temples, I managed to remind him in a calm tone, “Did you forget what happened two months ago?”

345, that's where we stayed

She told me I'm a narcissist doing it again

Took a bunch of acid and she told me, "not again"

Now I've gotta tell her that I'm lovin' her friends

345, that's where we stayed

She told me I'm a narcissist doing it again

Took a bunch of acid and she told me, "not again"

Now I've gotta tell her that I'm lovin' her friends

My dreams of riding a unicorn while eating cake was suddenly interrupted when a loud ringing woke me up. Stretching my hand and patting for my phone on the bedside table. Recognizing how I had an incoming call, I swiped to accept it even though I was not awake or aware enough to check who was calling. “Hello?”

“Is this Ms. Y/F/N?” a woman asked as soon as I greeted her, I took a second to check my phone and only then did I notice how it was an unknown number that called me, “Yes, this is she, who’s asking?” My bones had suddenly become frigid in anticipating what the girl on the other end had to tell me. “Well your information was listed on one of our customer’s wallet and we had to call and let you know that Carter Baizen has passed out from drinking which resulted in him collapsing on the floor, head first.”

I let out a grunt as I put the call in speaker mode and got off the bed to throw over a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie, “Was he with anyone when he was drinking? And is he unconscious? And what address is your bar, by the way?” I was already outside my apartment and headed for my parked car by the time she had replied and given me the information I asked for.

Curse words and frustrated mumbles were leaving my lips as I was driving around the city, hoping to get to Carter faster and in time to prevent any unfortunate event from happening. Upon arriving at the bar, I was already opening my door before I had even parked my car and stormed inside the establishment.

“Hey, I was called in earlier for a patron who passed out and fell head first?” I approached a girl who was mopping floors near the entrance door, she nodded and told me that she was the one who called me and led me to where Carter was. They were kind enough to move him from the floor and lay him down on one of the booths.

I quickly took in his state — there were a few buttons of his long-sleeved polo that were unbuttoned, there were faint traces of alcohol in his shirt and face, while there was also a bit of blood residue from his head wound as a result of collapsing from the floor. “Thank you for calling me right away and for taking care of him, but I was wondering if you or another staff would be willing to help me bring him to my car?” the girl nodded and called for one of their male employees to help me bring Carter in.

That night was probably the most nervous and anxious I have ever felt; knowing that Carter could possibly be facing health problems from drinking too much and hitting his head. Seeing him this way has always affected me and has made me feel responsible for his well-being — not only because I was hired as his assistant, but because I was the only one who managed to tolerate and be with him for this long time. 

Fortunately enough, the doctor ruled that there was nothing currently wrong with his liver and kidney following his night of over intoxication. But that didn’t mean that he was completely out of the woods; I was warned of how if he spends more nights like this, it could probably lead to the failure of his organs to properly function. To add even more salt to that wound, he informed me about how Carter hitting his head was also dangerous and that it could have resulted in a serious head injury — but that wasn’t the case in this scenario. The medical official also told me that Carter was lucky for it did not lead to any complications and that he should be safe from it as long as he drinks responsibly and moderately to avoid these things from happening again.

And I've been seeing somebody

But I've not found a way to tell you

That I'm seeing somebody

There's not a nice way for me to say that

I've been seeing somebody

You know I want you to be happy

Since I'm seeing somebody

And then maybe we can get on with it

“You know, you don’t need to bring up what happened every time?” He said as he walked past me to grab his clothes and get dressed. I rolled my eyes and sat down on the ottoman as I stared at him, “I don’t need to? That’s where you’re wrong, Baizen. The only reason why I keep bringing it up is because — guess the fuck what — I’m the only person who gives a fuck about you! I’m the one you call every time your ass is too drunk to drive or when you’re high as the fucking clouds! Or if you can’t call, guess who’s name and number you have written down in your wallet? It’s mine! So yes, I bring it up every fucking time since I don’t want you to seize your night so fucking hard that you end up deceased the next day!” I angrily let out.

He was done dressing up by the time I had yelled out my grievances, “I’m sorry that I can’t stop myself from drinking or having a night out!” This unapologetic remark from him just angered me further, “Well then let me help you! Let a therapist or some other professional help you get through this! You don’t have to do it alone, Carter.” I reminded him as I stood up and put my hand on his shoulder, to show him how I was gonna guide him through this.

He pushed my hand away and walked towards his dresser and put on some cologne and began fixing his tie, “No, I don’t want your or anyone else’s help. Alcohol is the only constant in my life; it always has been and it always will be.” when these words have left his lips, I froze up in disbelief and hurt. I was there with him when he was struggling to establish himself as a businessman, saw his struggles and victories, and even outside of work I was the only who cared enough to make sure that he was fed and hydrated despite his busy schedule.

“What do you call me then?” I sadly asked him and this got him to stop his movements and turn to me. However before he could explain himself or go near me, I had already collected my things and headed to exit his room and suite, “Be at the office before 10:30 am, you have a meeting with representatives of the Eichner Enterprise at 10:30. The rest of your schedule will be emailed to you.” 

[scripttorture]

I was wondering, is there a drug that can be injected into someone that can hurt them physically? Maybe cause a burning sensation or something? If not then I just won't get that specific during that part of the story, but I try to be as accurate as possible.

Yes but as a general rule drugs are rarely used to torture people and an injected drug is particularly unlikely to be used. (For those who don’t know, part of the reason I can answer this question confidentially is because my day job is in medical drug testing. I work at a place specialising in lung diseases, we are very busy right now.)

 There have been cases, I won’t say this impossible. But I would caution against suggesting that anything this rare is ‘typical’ torture and I feel like this particular idea skirts pretty close to apologist ideas about ‘advanced’ ‘scientific’ torture. And torture can not be advanced or scientific by its nature.

 Here are a couple of factors that might explain why the use of drugs is rare in torture:

Expense

Difficulty forcible administering drugs to a struggling victim, especially without training

Detectability of drugs, ie they leave evidence in the victim’s body

Difficulty obtaining or justifying the presence of drugs on site, ie it makes sense for a specialist hospital to have chemotherapy agents, it does not make sense for a police station to have them

The risk posed to torturers by having drugs in a setting that doesn’t make sense: it makes abuse obvious to inspectors.

The necessity of calculating dosage for each victim or risking obvious injury and death

 If you’re writing a story that’s set in the modern day and more-or-less in our world then drugs are probably not a good pick. At least not unless this particular method adds something worthwhile to your story.

 I feel like you’d need to explain why torturers are putting themselves at risk of detection and going to so much extra effort for this one victim. Torturers are pretty lazy, if there’s a lower energy or simpler way of hurting someone then that is what they’re likely to do. So why would they use this compared to say, a stress position?

 I could see this working in an alternate world, but I still think it wouldn’t be a common form of abuse. If torture is legal and the torturers don’t have to worry about being discovered, then perhaps this would be more likely. But that doesn’t get over the fact it would still be more difficult from the torturer’s perspective. It also doesn’t get over the fact it would be more expensive then a stick or a bucket of water.

 For more typical tortures by country I have a masterpost on National Styles over here.

 I’m telling you all of this to give you some background. If you feel like there are good plot reasons for using drugs/injections in your story then feel free to do so. Just be aware of the issues surrounding this particular trope and, well the reality.

 If you’re dead set on using this there are some additional problems to do with- basically how difficult it is for someone with no training to safely inject a struggling person.

 Injections of even small amounts of air can be lethal. Needles can break, blunt or bend.

 Based on the standard disposable needles we use at work (which are also used in hospitals) I’d suggest breakages are less likely now then they were in the past, but those things can definitely bend, get blocked or come off the syringe if they’re not attached properly.

 All of which can make injections of air, injections of the wrong dose or big spillages more likely.

 I think overdoses would be quite likely because I don’t think torturers would bother to calculate dosage levels properly. I don’t think they’d account for changes in body weight, health or the victim being on a starvation diet.

 Overdoses are not necessarily lethal, depending on the amount and the drug in question. But they can be extremely damaging. And the exact form of that damage depends on the drug.

 Torturers might actually try to give victims overdoses because the effect they’re after is an unwanted side effect of the medication, not its purpose. And side effects are generally more likely with increasing doses (incidentally this is part of why drug developers are so interested in systems that deliver the drug only to a specific part of the body, it means a reduction of dose and side effects).

 There’s also the uh- issue that the drug will continue to do what it’s designed to do as well as cause pain. And in a person who doesn’t have the disease the drug is meant to treat that can be a long term problem.

 All of this adds up to a high chance of random death, scarring around injection sites, bruises, bleeding and damage to blood vessels. It can mean long term health problems, possibly development of disease, as a result of being given a drug.

 Having said all of that, if you’re dead set on the idea and convinced it adds something useful to the story- then I think the class of drugs you’re looking for are chemotherapy agents.

 I’ve not worked on cancer drugs. My knowledge of them comes from my university courses and colleagues. And errr not to get technical but they’re really fucking scary.

 A lot of chemotherapy agents are designed along the principal that they will probably kill the disease before the patient.

 Most of them work by attacking and destroying dividing cells. Because cancer cells divide quickly. But so do a lot of healthy cells. They destroy the gut lining, hair follicles, the inside of the mouth and a lot of cells generally involved in immune response.

 The result is that this entire class of drugs often causes pain, as well as nausea, vomiting and a host of other nasty things.

 The first chemotherapy agent? Mustard gas. Dissolved in a solvent and injected. It causes burns at the site of injection and a lot of pain.

 It also works. It’s an awful treatment but it is still used against some forms of blood cancer.

 Repeated exposure causes cancer. I don’t just mean for the victim character.

 Any regular exposure to these drugs is potentially dangerous. Including for people administering them badly and without protective gear. They may also start to experience some of the side effects.

 Wrapping this up, I think it’s best to weigh up the risks this scenario poses in your story and think about whether the characters would take those risks. Consider whether there’s a way you could use those risks later in the story. Perhaps this torture case is really easy to prove in court because there’s medical evidence of the damage the drugs did. Perhaps one of the heroes finds the villain’s lair because that was a really weird place to be getting shipments of these drugs.

 I hope that helps. :)

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[lassieposting]

Tell us about Lucifer’s depression, suicidal ideation, self-harm, and past abuse. I mean I can see the self harm, both the obvious In cutting off his wings and the like as well as the unhealthy self medicating, and the abuse - which honestly comes across as a murky gray area, like some verges on abuse but isn’t quite- but the other things... I need them pointed out to me.

GLADLY, ANON

okay so, to cover my ass: this is just my personal take as someone with trauma & suicidal ideation who self-harms. other people with different trauma and different relationships with self-harm/suicidal ideation might see this whole thing completely differently. This post could be triggering, please pay attention to the triggers in the tags. I am not a professional psychiatrist, and if you are struggling please seek professional help. 

i’m gonna break this down into sections bc, surprise surprise, it got rly long

THE ABUSE:

Now, you’re absolutely right that this is kind of a murky grey area, because at this point we really only have one side of the story: Lucifer’s. And obviously, he’s biased. 

the family dynamics:

But let’s take a look at the family dynamics we see in-show. We’ve only seen a fraction of Lucifer’s family, but it’s still fairly obvious that the ways they interact with one another are unhealthy and tend towards abusive, especially when aimed at Lucifer. 

We have Amenadiel, who: 

Is obedient to his Dad on an almost brainwashed level until he falls. 

Blames everything - including his own actions/failures (i.e. saying Malcolm killing humans is Lucifer’s fault, even though Amenadiel himself raised Malcolm from Hell) on Lucifer.

Does not know how to respond to affection or praise, even though he clearly appreciates and enjoys them (i.e. when Trixie hugs him and says she thinks he’s good). This is the son who’s in God’s good books. And he still clearly doesn’t receive affection or praise often. 

Openly competes with Lucifer for Dad’s attention/love, to the point of rubbing it in his face when he discovers he’s the favourite

Is complicit in Lucifer’s abuse - taking him back to Hell (thereby isolating him), threatening him when he doesn’t want to go, and cutting off any attempt Lucifer makes at reaching out to connect with humanity - for billions of years to try and win his Dad’s approval. 

Straight up tries to have Lucifer killed.

Says he’d love to go to war (with Lucifer, and presumably with Hell as a whole). 

We have Uriel, who:

Takes it upon himself to enforce what he believes is his Dad’s will; he had no instructions from God when he came to Earth. 

Delights in getting the opportunity to beat up Amenadiel, and gloats about it. 

Threatens - and harms - the first good thing Lucifer has had in his life in eons as a way of bullying him into doing what Uriel wants.

When Lucifer complies, Uriel decides to kill both Goddess and Chloe, purely out of spite because Lucifer was “being difficult”.

(There is an interesting meta here on Uriel’s potential motivations that I really like, but this is looking purely at his actions.)

And we have Goddess, their mother, easily the most manipulative and emotionally abusive of the lot. She:

Admits to destroying things God cared about - attacking humanity with plagues and floods etc - out of malice and to get his attention. 

Happily releases Azrael’s blade into human hands, hoping for widespread human deaths, to get her ex to get back in touch. 

Plays Lucifer and Amenadiel off against one another like a pro for her approval. 

Only ever touches her children when she’s trying to manipulate them - there’s a good meta on that here. The one exception to this that I personally believe to be a genuine attempt to comfort (both him and herself) is when she hugs Lucifer after he’s just killed Uriel. 

Doesn’t actually care about what Lucifer wants - he’s told her outright that Earth is the only place where he feels wanted and respected, and she knows he has a life he enjoys and a woman he’s falling in love with, but she expects him to abandon Earth and go back to the Silver City with her regardless - to the point that she actively tries to dismantle his human life and kill his loved ones to leave him with no ties to Earth. 

The picture this paints to me is of two incredibly narcissistic parents who see their children as extensions of themselves rather than as people in their own right. If you compare Lucifer - who’s an asshole, but fundamentally a good man - to his siblings here, you can see that the two who stayed in Heaven have caught fleas from their parents - and part of Amenadiel’s redemption arc is him realising how toxic and damaging his family is, giving himself a damn good flea bath, and doing his best to be a better big brother to Lucifer and a better son to his mom (and, later, a better father to Charlie than his Dad was to him). 

angel life cycle

So apparently in canon, angels were created as adults. My personal headcanon is fuck that, baby angels, but we’ll go with the canon explanation for this, because honestly it still lines up with my theory. 

Even if you’re “born” with a mature adult body and adult-level speech ability etc, you still won’t have an adult’s wealth of life experience, or maturity, or social skills. You’re still going to have to grow and learn and experience situations to learn how to cope with them. 

Now, Tom Ellis has said in the past that he plays Lucifer as essentially having the emotional maturity level of a teenager, which I think is honestly perfect. For an immortal being - or at least a being with a lifespan of many, many billions of years - it’s actually fairly believable that the angels are (depending on the age gap between them) either still in the “adolescent” life stage or emerging into the “young adult” one. 

Lucifer says that he’s spent “most of his life” in Hell. If he’s only a young adult now, at ~11 billion years old, that means he’d have been a juvenile (in terms of life experience/emotional development, even if he was “born” with a fully mature adult body) when he was sent to Hell, and the reason he was sent to Hell is because he wanted free will and started “acting out”. 

Even if your 12-year-old is the most unpleasant, rebellious little shithead on the planet, you don’t kick him out of the house and spent the next decade sabotaging every attempt he makes to connect with people or improve his life. Because, you know. That’s your kid. You signed up to have him, that’s normal shitty teenager behaviour, and the chances are he’ll improve with age. God and Goddess went scorched earth on Lucifer because he was behaving in a completely normal way for a kid beginning to mature into a grownup. 

lasting trauma

Lucifer’s parents’ treatment has left some crazy deep scars. 

He uses a neglectful broken home as an analogy for his celestial family. And he does so incredibly smoothly; this is clearly an analogy he’s thought about before. Chances are he’s seen this dynamic on TV and identified very strongly with it. 

He talks about his mother abandoning him as his “lowest point”.  Not his Fall. Not any of the horrific things he’s seen in Hell. The point where he realised his mom doesn’t love him enough to protect him. 

He doesn’t understand what he did wrong. God punished Lucifer harshly for wanting to control his own life, because narcs often see their children’s developing independence as a threat to their own control over their kids’ lives. Obviously He wouldn’t see it like that, but he’s clearly never explained to Lucifer why what he did was “wrong”. This family has a chronic communication problem. 

He’s paranoid as fuck. He constantly suspects God of having a hand in the events happening around him, and any time it seems He is involved, Lucifer immediately sees whatever’s happening as an attempted manipulation. It never occurs to him that creating Chloe - someone immune to his powers who can really love him without any kind of supernatural influence - could be an olive branch or an attempt to give him what he actually needs. He doesn’t believe his Dad would ever do something positive to/for him. 

He’s so badly traumatized by his childhood that he reacts like this to being called by the name his Dad gave him. And he’s clearly doing well in therapy - he might not know the word for it, but he knows he’s being (unintentionally) gaslit here. He doesn’t handle it well, but he doesn’t put up with it either, refuses to accept being told to see his Dad’s abuse as a sign of love. 

He believes he’s unloveable. When Linda gently suggests that maybe Chloe kissed him purely because she likes him, he tells her that’s impossible and reminds her his powers don’t work on Chloe. He doesn’t think there’s any way someone could love him for who he is, unless he’s either giving them something or using his mojo on them. And it’s his family that’s conditioned him to think that way - look at Amenadiel alone, how many times he tells Lucifer he’s evil throughout the show, as casually as if he were telling him that his hair is brown. This is just a fact of the universe in that family: water is wet, leaves are green, Lucifer is irredeemable garbage. 

He doesn’t for a second hesitate to believe that his Dad wanted to kill him. Or that he would kill him given the opportunity. He even thinks Chloe is his dad’s attempt to get him killed for a bit. 

THE SELF HARM

the wings: 

The blatantly obvious one - and the most deliberate - is when he cuts off his wings. Now when Lucifer talks about this, he frames it as him taking back agency over his own life, freeing himself from his Father’s control, and making a statement about his intention to stay on Earth. 

But when you look at him, he doesn’t look victorious, or like he’s looking forward to starting a new life. Physical pain aside - and an amateur amputation would be agonizing - he looks almost like he’s grieving, gritting his teeth through something he feels he has no choice but to do. 

Someone did a fantastic meta that I thought I’d reblogged at some point that says something like “this isn’t the devil in his moment of triumph against god; this is an abused boy mutilating himself to spite his father”. I wanted to link it, but I haven’t been able to find it again (if anyone finds it, please let me know so I can add a link).  

the self-medicating:

I don’t think he realises this is a form of self-harm, and I don’t think he does it to hurt himself deliberately. But he comes to Earth to overindulge in all the things he can’t have in Hell, all the things he’s been cut off from. 

Touch and affection, which he gets through sex. Oblivion, which he gets by drinking. Euphoria, which he gets from drugs. Socialisation, which he gets from being surrounded by people at all times and partying it up 24/7.

It doesn’t matter to him that the touch is from a stranger, it doesn’t matter that the affection only lasts one night, it’s something and that’s more than he’s getting in Hell. He buries himself in those things to forget that he has to go back. He can bury himself in the next line or the next shot or the next attractive body and, just for a little bit, he can forget who he is.

Sending Lucifer to Hell in and of itself is cruel. Angels are clearly social creatures, and he’s been in solitary isolation for billions of years - it’s a miracle he hasn’t gone insane. Yes, he has the demons, but they don’t interact with him by choice and he’s not safe with them. Hell denies Lucifer everything a young person needs to grow into a stable, healthy adult. 

the self-sabotage:

We also see that he’s got a tendency to sabotage himself when he’s on a downward spiral. This usually comes out one of two ways - either:  

He tries to chase away the people who care about him. This comes from being so terrified of being abandoned and rejected again that he’d rather run them off himself than wait for them to inevitably (in his mind) decide that he’s Not Worth It and leave him. For example: 

He tries to push Linda away when he’s grieving after killing Uriel. 

He punches Dan in the face and gets himself thrown off the case by Chloe - she’s already warned him she would bench him if he didn’t pull himself together. 

He throws Chloe’s initial rejection in her face when he’s on his self-hatred bender in S4. 

He’s absolutely vicious to Amenadiel in this scene, when Amenadiel is trying to communicate that he loves Luci and wants to support him. 

Or he talks shit about himself. You can always tell when he’s having a bad time; he’ll start coming out with shit like, “I’m the devil, remember, I’m evil.” His real view of himself will slip out from under the mask of confidence and vanity. Chloe cuts right to the heart of this in S4; he’s been told so many times that he’s responsible for all evil that he now believes it. He blames himself, even as he vehemently denies having ever made anyone do anything. 

THE SUICIDAL IDEATION:

Jesus fuck, it’s a good thing Lucifer is in therapy. 

The first time we see him actively attempt suicide is in 1x13 when he’s being framed for shooting the street preacher. It’s a case of “the straw that broke the camel’s back” here - he’s been having a really rough time lately:

Groups of zealots are cornering him in the street accusing him of murders he didn’t commit 

Being accused of things he didn’t do is already a trigger for him

His own brother tried to have him assassinated.

His bodyguard and oldest friend betrayed him.

He’s just found out the detective makes him vulnerable. 

He knows Dan - and therefore probably other work colleagues as well - think he’s got something to do with the satanic murders. 

And now Chloe is turning her gun - and apparently her back - on him. She’s no different from anyone else. He was stupid to ever trust her, etc, etc, and now he’s spiralling.

She was the last rock keeping his head above the ocean at this point, and when she goes to arrest him, he goes under. We see that mania come out very quickly; he starts laughing hysterically and tries to goad an inexperienced uni into shooting him. He pretends to have a gun, knowing the cop will fear for his life and instinctively shoot. Since Chloe’s right there at the time, and he now knows he can be hurt around her, that’s attempted suicide. He wants to die. He even admits to Amenadiel he was trying to achieve “a good death…or at least a nice and messy one.”

No one ever addresses this bloody hell why

And then there’s the case with the shooter in the hospital. Lucifer’s grieving Uriel at this point, and he’s up to his eyeballs in self-loathing. He killed his brother. He really is the monster everyone believes he is. He’s spent the entire episode up to this point trying to make people punish him. He’s riled up Chloe at a crime scene and she’s told him off. He’s punched Dan, and Dan didn’t retaliate. He turned down Linda’s offer of continued therapy in a way that’s almost a challenge; he wants her to snap back at him. And when none of these little punishments are enough for him, he escalates and escalates and eventually he steps in front of the sniper’s intended victim and, again, goads him to shoot. He goes a bit further this time, though; he outright begs the sniper to shoot him, and reams the guy out when he says he didn’t think Lucifer deserved it. 

Again, he knows Chloe is there. This is a suicide attempt. He even admits to Chloe that he didn’t care about the intended victim, he was just trying to get himself killed. She doesn’t believe him. And it’s never addressed again, and I’m salty. 

Anyway I hope this clarifies some stuff for you anon? and I’m sorry it took so long to finish I rewrote this so many times for Maximum Sensitivity and kept including stuff and taking stuff out and it got SO LONG and i had to condense it and i have A LOT OF FEELINGS ABOUT THIS OKAY I HAD A LOT TO SAY

[transephiroth]

an important post: abuse from friends, friend abuse. please read and reblog.

TW: abuse ment, bpd ment, ed ment, suicide ment, ptsd, trauma, death ment. gaslighting ment.

i don’t know what exactly what has compelled me to make this post at nearly 1:00 am on a school night just like every other, but i think the importance of advocacy of preventing, spotting, and stopping abusive friendships is to talk about them with the same respect as any other form of abuse.

i’ll give you a small overview of my personal experience with abusive friendships: when i was 16, my father committed suicide. i was not aware he was my biological father at they time and actually found out he was not my half brother, but my biological father. my father, who’s name i will not mention. i won’t even use fake names they’re hard to keep track of. i found out my mother, an abusive drug addict, slept with her husband, my apparent grandfather’s, adult son from a previous marriage consensually. one way or another, my father was forbidden to be involved in my life, and my grandfather raised me as his own. (in case you’re going to ask about inc*st, my father and mother have no relation, she is not his mother.)

the shock of learning this and grieving his death from the few negative interactions he and his mental health had on my family when i was a baby, was intense. i had no friends at school and felt incredibly lost and vulnerable. when i was in this place i met my best friend. we bonded over a shared hatred of my ex boyfriend, who was an abuser, who was dating her ex best friend.

this should have been a red flag, but i ignored it.

i took the first friend i could find after my ex took away all my friends in an effort to isolate me after my assault. this was probably the worst part of my life, and one of my first real suicide attempts was only days before my father died. the first friend i found, the first soul i recognized i clung to.

when me and my friend, who we will call P, were inseparable. but there was a very clear and distinct difference between us. P was a star in the band at school, she had great grades, tons of friends and was quite conventionally attractive. she was involved in a lot of extracurriculars and overall had a very nice demeanor.

this should have been a red flag. as harsh as it might sound, idealizing anyone is unhealthy. if someone appears to you as perfect, it’s not paranoid of you to wonder if it’s hiding something. it’s hard to tell when someone is being genuine, especially for myself with autism. nice words and a smile can pretty much fool anyone.

i, on the other hand of P, dropped out of band and just about every other activity after my assault, and was in and out of intense therapy and psych visits throughout all of high school. i never could go a school year without a visit. to this day i have gone a whole year however :)

I was an autistic shut in who quite honestly, cried a lot, smelled bad, was clearly poor, spoke funny and came to school drunk. we were not the same.

i don’t want to go over every painstaking detail, so i’ll try to summarize as best i can the first two years of our three year relationship.

P was diagnosed with BPD about a month into our friendship. she told me i was her FP/favorite person, and showed me videos to learn about BPD. i remember watching hours and hours of information about BPD to accommodate her the best i could. what i didn’t realize however, was that she was lying. she didn’t have BPD, or at least couldn’t be diagnosed because we were 16.

red flag. i knew this was a lie because i had been in therapy for years. it took me a long time to peace it together but i accepted it and beget told her, until this moment, that i knew.

i fucking knew.

months of friendship included constant easy to see through lies, fabrications, pathological rants, and pretty much changing her “back story” every day. it was draining not to mention it, but the few times i did, she got physical. i have scars on my right forearm from her nails, which were long and broke skin. she would tell me she would pay me back for things and never show. she would make fun of things i told her in secret to our friends, my trauma. my dad.

“dark humor”

over time, she convinced me to drop every single friend i had except for her. she had gotten me literally completely vulnerable and isolated.

when covid hit, my mom, of course, kicked me out. i moved in with P and her family. my time there over quarantine was very monotonous, but i’ll never forget that for basically 8-9 months, she never let me out of her sight. i felt like i had to just do whatever she wanted because her mother let me live there for free.

p knew i wanted to move away from my mother and the chaos of my home life for years.

right before quarantine, P got her first boyfriend. she had never had a boyfriend and had been to scared to get one. i was really happy for her, i encouraged her to ask him out while she was at a weekend school event.

P then began to manipulate not only me, but him. to this day i don’t know what’s become of either of them, but i really couldn’t care less anymore. when trauma heals, you get a sense of apathy.

P would frequently belittle me, mock me, kick, trip and slap me, force me to pay for things for her and her boyfriend on the spot, and steal from my purse.

eventually living with p, third wheeling with her less than charming boyfriend, who i honestly just didn’t mind. we weren’t friends, but i was respectful to him and treated him the same way i would treat a friend from school or something.

p has a family i won’t bring up because it involves minors, but her mother has a psychotic disorder and refuses to be medicated, so the house is full of ripped door hinges, holes in walls, smashed items and more. it’s really unsafe there, and during my time there i found i really began to internalize as a person. i developed an eating disorder and my ptsd and autism felt much more out of control.

i had been diagnosed with autism for nearly two years at that point, and living in that household made me realize just how damaging meltdown after meltdown without anyone understanding can damage your psyche long term.

i wanted to leave. i had saved my money from my jobs and got an apartment. p insisted on coming, saying she didn’t want to live with her mom anymore. i didn’t want her to come, but i agreed. she got a co-sign. i knew it was a bad idea because i heard what they said about best friends living together. i just can’t believe it really happened.

we talked about growing old together, raising our kids together. i was going to name my first daughter after her. we were going to be neighbors. her husband and my wife would be best friends just like us, but that’s not what happened.

we lived together from August 2020-November 2020

to give a quick summary of the inevitable end of this relationship, P and I had two kittens together. i asked her if she could put them away for inspection so they didn’t run out the door while i drove our third roommate, a whole other mountain of a story, to work.

she didn’t do it, instead slacked off to go to her boyfriends house. so i came back and had to put the cats away at record speed and our other roommate was late to work.

even if this was somewhat small, it was the breaking point for me. i grabbed my phone and texted her, DEMANDING she explain why she couldn’t do this one thing for me. i have never been that angry in my life. we had a phone call where i just lost it and unleashed all my anger and all my hurt about everything she had done. i was sobbing and barely making sense but i couldn’t just keep letting my life carry on this way.

i wish i remembered how the phone call ended, but all i remember was telling her “if the cats run and we can’t find them, then we are done being roommates.”

the next morning i woke up and she had blocked me on everything. i drove to the apartment and saw that overnight, according to block times at like, 3am, she had taken all our shared furniture, all my birthday gifts from not two weeks prior, all the gifts i bought her, most of my clothes, one of the apartment keys, my high school diploma, the paperwork for the cats, and not just our two shared kittens, but my third roommates cat as well.

cue search party with my partner and his friends and my other roommate for P and the cats. i found her at her house with her mom and boyfriend. i walked out and she was on the phone with my grandfather, telling him i was threatening suicide. i ask her where the cats are, she says they are at a friends house.

if we flashback in the story, we literally only had each other, so i knew it was a lie.

i managed to argue through to negotiate at least my other roommates cat, but only after P’s mom blocked us in the driveway and called the police saying we threatened her daughter

(reminder people in this group were black and asian ☺️ so she just calls the cops fall 2020)

luckily the cops saw the proof she blocked me so i couldn’t have threatened her, and let us leave.

that’s the end of the friendship. i could bore anyone who has read this far further by explaining the nightmare realm that is the legal troubles with the apartment, but the internet doesn’t need to know everything does it?

as the winter has gone on i’ve had months to basically remake myself as a person. i had to firstly face the damage P had done.

but before i get into that, anyone who is still reading first, ily, but also, if you’ve had ANY relationship that sounds similar to this, THAT IS ABUSE.

Plain and simple. It is abusive. Physically, emotionally, mentally, verbally. nobody deserves that. not P. not you. not me.

friendships can be all someone has. not everyone is born into good families with loving siblings and great parents and tons of cousins who live .3 milliseconds away. families are divided. families, like mine, are divorced. families are broken and families sometimes aren’t even families. humans need relationships, and an idealistic person who we think maybe could save us and fix the world, won’t.

you can be taken advantage of by the person you trust the most just as easily as a stranger.

it’s not wrong to face the abuse they put you through, know it was wrong, and feel valid that it is was wrong.

what i went through with P was horrible. the detachment of my only friend hurt. but i bounced back. i’m still undoing some of the damage, but i have great friends and a wonderful partner. i have two rescue cats who mean the world to me.

life gets better after abuse, but the bad days and the pain aren’t invalid because of this. i have trauma from what P put me through. abandonment like that is traumatic. but it’s not the end. feel what you need to feel to feel better.

if anyone read this far and wants to vent their own experiences, or share more advice on preventing these relationships feel free. it’s almost 1:30 now, i should go to bed.

it feels good to get that off my chest.