#I hate nausea so much throwing up gives me anxiety I’d rather do anything other than throw up I’ve literally forced myself asleep to try and

[eepyjay]

Currently experiencing the worst combo known to man, a headache with nausea

[mochegato]

Hope on Board

Chapter 7 –  Polished, Public Appropriate First Date

Chapter 1     Chapter 6

“She will like whatever you do with her.  She’s pretty easy going.” Tim advised plopping down on the couch next to an upside Stephanie, poking her in her exposed side and receiving a warning kick to the head as a result.

Dick gave Tim a cynical look and ran his hands through his hair.  He groaned and ran to the mirror to fix his now messed up hair.  

“No cologne tonight?” Stephanie asked sniffing the air.

“No.  She asked if I would hold off on it for a few weeks until her stomach settles a bit more.”  He turned to look at Tim.  “And I want it to be special.  I want her to feel special.”  His anxiety apparent in his every fidget, hesitation, and tap of his foot.

“What, you don’t think making her feel constant nausea is special?” Stephanie asked with a smirk.

Dick threw his comb at her which she caught easily.  “No, I think I have to make up for making her feel like that.  She’s been miserable constantly.  I want her to feel good.”

“You think stuffy and pretentious is the way to go if she’s feeling miserable?” Stephanie asked curiously, trying to cock her head closer to right side up in order to see him better.

“It’ll be something nice for her.  This is going to work.  She’s going to love it,” he said more to reassure himself than convince the others. “She’ll get to dress up.  Get really nice food.  Everything she needs to feel better.”

“She told you she’s been miserable?” Damian asked suspiciously.  “Seems manipulative.  If she’s even really feeling sick at all.”  He batted away the pillow Stephanie threw at him without bothering to look up from his homework.

“She isn’t like that. And she’s pregnant you tiny gremlin, with your niece or nephew, if you remember.” Tim hissed.  “And she doesn’t need to latch onto anyone.  Give her ten years and she will be one of the leading names in fashion in the world.  Why do you think I partnered with her in the first place?  She doesn’t need Dick for money.”

“Enough.  I’m not discussing this tonight,” Dick thundered, scowling at Damian.  “She hasn’t said anything, but I can hear it in her voice whenever we talk and see it in her eyes whenever I see her.  She keeps saying she’s fine and plasters on this fake smile, like she doesn’t want me to worry.”

Damian scoffed, but refrained from continuing.  Tim spoke up instead.  “She didn’t fake the vomit before our meeting earlier today… or after.”

Dick’s head whipped over to him.  “She threw up in your office today?  Twice?”

“In the bathroom, but yeah.” Tim nodded in confirmation.  “I don’t think she expected Tam to see her or tell me about it.  She threw up then went into our meeting like nothing was wrong. As soon as the meeting was over and I’d returned to the office she rushed to the bathroom and Tam said was just heaving that time.”

Steph nodded. “Probably didn’t have anything in her stomach to throw up anymore.  Happens a lot.  I don’t know if it makes it better or worse.  They both really sucked.  It all really sucked actually.  The idea of eating made you unbelievably sick, but not eating made it worse.”  She righted herself on the couch, throwing her legs over Tim’s lap and leaning against the arm rest.  “And don’t even get me started on those bitches who don’t get any morning sickness.”

Dick hummed in consideration. His brow furrowed deeper the more he thought about it.  He really didn’t want her hiding things from him, which admittedly was rather hypocritical of him, but if she was suffering, he wanted to know.  “If it’s as bad as Tim says, maybe you should let her decide where you go instead.  There’s probably food she can’t eat or makes her feel sicker than others and there may be something that her body is craving.  And it may change from moment to moment.  It did for me.”

Dick gave her a small, understanding smile.  “Thanks, Steph.  I’ll think about it.  Now, wish me luck.”  He shot them a nervous smile and left to pick up Marinette for their first date.

<><><><><> 

“Are you sure you’re okay with this,” Marinette asked again.

Dick laughed and shook his head.  “I told you, it’s fine.  I like Batburger.  This is great.”  

“But you put so much effort into something nicer.  And you definitely dressed for something more elegant,” she moaned.

He pulled her into a side hug as he guided her to a place to sit in the park.  “I hate pretentious.  I’d rather just hang around and have fun… I mean, unless you like fancy restaurants, then…”

Marinette cut him off with a laugh.  “No. No, I don’t.  I mean every once in a while is fun and I love the outfits at big events obviously, but I’d rather just do something where we can relax and have fun.  Act like ourselves, not a polished, public appropriate version of ourselves.”

Dick smiled and motioned to a bench with a nice view of the park.  She nodded and sat sideways on the bench so she could talk to him better. “You mean polished, public appropriate like cursing repeatedly at the host’s son at the biggest social event of the year?” He smirked at her.

Marinette groaned and hid her head in her hands.  “Don’t remind me.  I can’t believe I did that.”

Dick laughed and wrapped his arms around her to pull her into a comforting hug.  “It’s fine.  Very justified… considering.”  Marinette made a noncommittal grunt and leaned into his chest, lowering her hands slightly.  “But I agree,” he started slowly, “occasionally is nice, but relaxed is better.  And galas especially are draining.  They’re so boring and annoying.  Maybe next time… we can go together?” he finished quietly. His heart was pounding in his chest as he asked.  Was he being too forward?  Was it too forward to ask the mother of your child to attend a family event?  That wasn’t too forward, right?  He didn’t want to scare her off on their first date.  

Marinette looked up at him in surprise.  “You…” She smiled at him for a few moments.  She turned back to her food and pulled out her batburger.  She looked back at him with a smirk.  “Pretty confident this date’s going to go well, huh?”

Dick blinked a few times. He chuckled and gave her a charming smile, pulling his burger out as well.  “I’m hopeful.”  

Marinette looked at the burger before she took a bite and shook her head.  “I can’t believe you have a restaurant themed after your heroes.”

“Vigilantes,” he corrected her.

“Vigilantes, right. Sorry.  I’m not used to that.  Paris and New York had heroes not vigilantes.”  She moaned happily as she took a bite of her burger.  “Oh my God.  I don’t know if it’s just the pregnancy, but this is the best thing ever.”

Dick laughed and took a bite of his food.  “That’s definitely the pregnancy.”

She hummed again as she rapidly ate her first small burger.  “I don’t care.  This is exactly what I needed.”

Dick watched her for a few moments before taking another bite himself.  “So, how was your day today?  I heard you had a meeting with Tim,” he asked in as casual tone as he could manage.

Marinette’s eyes lit up. She rapidly chewed the bite that was in her mouth before launching into a description.  “It was great!  We finalized the designs today, well as much as we can considering I’m just now seeing the fabrics they designed, which means I can start working on making the designs.  Tim had some really great suggestions and now we’re starting to plan for the show for fashion week.  Thankfully, a team at WE is handling all that so I can focus on the designs.  I have more than enough time for the show, but I’ll need to have options in my store for people to buy once the show is over and that will take time.”

She took another quick bite of her second child sized burger and started bouncing in her seat.  “I’m so excited to get my hands on the textiles. I’d only been briefed on what they were designed to do and felt samples before today.  Next week I’ll get to actually work with them.  Oh, and Tim introduced me to the man who did most of the designing for the textiles.  That was amazing.  I really liked speaking with him.  I’m really looking forward to working with him more.  He was so knowledgeable and had great suggestions and considered my suggestions.  It was really enlightening for both of us, I think.  He might go back and adjust his designs based on my suggestions.  It felt like a really good understanding and respect. I was so nervous about signing the contract considering I am so new and I’ve never done… well anything, and WE is so huge.  But I think this is going to be really great for both of us.”  

Dick felt his chest tighten slightly.  Not that he was jealous.  And there was no reason to be.  This was a work colleague.  It was important that she had a good relationship with her colleagues in order to succeed and he wanted her time at WE to be enjoyable.  But that did nothing to lessen the tightening in his chest. “So, who was the designer?”  Was that nonchalant?  That was totally nonchalant, right?  He was cool.  It was fine. The woman he liked and was carrying his baby was having enlightening, amazing conversations with another man. That was fine.  Good even.  That was ideal for her.  He absolutely did not want to punch the enlightened, amazing man in his amazing, enlightened jaw.

“Lucius Fox.  He’s the sweetest man and so smart.  I don’t know how he thinks of all the things he does but it’s amazing to watch.”

Dick let out the breath he had been holding and gave her a beaming smile.  “Yeah, Lucius is amazing.  We all love him.  He’s a close friend of the family.”

“I can see why.” She nodded taking another bite.

“Anything else happen?” he prompted casually.

She considered his question. “That’s pretty much everything.  I can go into more detail on things if you want me to, but yeah, pretty much.  How was your day?  You never told me what you do.”

“Oh, I… do security with Bruce… in my own division.” He gave her a disarming smile.  It was his standard lie, but for some reason it felt wrong to use it.

“You work at WE, too?” Her eyes lit up with excitement.  “Maybe I’ll bump into you next time!  Or maybe we can get lunch together.”

“We can try.  My hours are odd.” He winced internally.  The lie was going to be harder to maintain if she was going to be there frequently.  He looked up to continue deferring the possibility but got caught in her eyes.  They were so bright and hopeful.  He couldn’t let that fade away.  He was sure she would understand, but he didn’t want her to have to.  He could come into the building more often, make the lie more realistic.  He smiled back at her.  “But I can make sure I’m there for that.  I can pick you up and take you to WE.  I can walk you to Tim’s office and give you a kiss for good luck before you start your day.”

“That sounds like an incredibly lucky start to my day.” She snuggled closer to him and gazed up in his eyes.

“It will definitely make my day better.  Anytime I see you, it makes my day better, happier,” he said earnestly, running his fingers up her arm.

She beamed at him. “Yeah?”

He looked lovingly in her eyes as he traced along her cheeks and jaw, resting his hand gently around her throat.  “Yeah,” he whispered back.

She bit her lip and looked down, a blush settling on her cheeks.  She suddenly swallowed heavily and threaded her fingers through his. She moved their hands to her lap with a reassuring squeeze.  She breathed out slowly a few times before finally looking back up with a strained smile. Dick furrowed his brow.  “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” She diverted her eyes and took a small bite of her burger.  

He didn’t need to be a trained detective to read the signs she was giving out, the sudden shift from affectionate to slightly closed off.  From leaning into his touch to leaning away from him.  Her soft, warm smile turned tight and strained.  Her breathing had turned labored.  Her relaxed posture was rigid.  He would think he had done something and she was uncomfortable but she was still squeezing his hand.  “Marinette…” he urged her softly.

“Sorry,” she grumbled, looking down with a guilty look on her face.

“Morning sickness?”  She nodded, still not looking him in the eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It’s not going to last forever, just a few more weeks, and… I like you touching me.  It’s just the pressure on my neck triggered a reflex. In a few weeks it’ll be fine and I don’t want you to think you should stop,” she explained, the blush on her cheeks now from embarrassment.

Dick smiled roguishly at her. “You like me touching you, huh?” Marinette rolled her eyes but her deep blush betrayed her pleasure at his comment.  Dick brushed the bangs out of her eyes, and let his fingers linger in her hair, making sure not to put too much pressure on her.  “Marinette, it’s okay to tell me the truth.  I want to know.  It isn’t a burden you’re laying on me by being honest.  You aren’t just complaining.  You’re telling me the truth.  You’re letting me be part of this.  We’re in this together, aren’t we?”

“Yes, of course,” she answered automatically.

“Then I want the truth. You’re not going to scare me off. I’m not going anywhere.  I’m not going to be disappointed in you or the baby. I’m not going to get frustrated and pull away.  I’m here for the whole messy, miserable, chaotic, amazing, miraculous process.  I want to support you, both of you.  So if you’re so sick you’re throwing up before and after meetings,” he gave her a pointed look. “I want to help.  I can pick you up or bring you food or interrupt the meeting so it doesn’t go long.”

Marinette looked down guiltily and started fidgeting with her fingers.  “Tim knew about that, huh?”

“Tim knows everything that goes on at WE,” he confirmed.

Marinette let out a long, deep sigh.  “I didn’t want him to know.”

“Why not?”

“I… I can still do my job,” she insisted.  “I don’t want special treatment because I’m carrying his niece or nephew.  I want to get better and make sure this project is successful, not get coddled.”

Dick opened him mouth then shut it again.  “Tim would go soft on you.  So would Lucius,” Dick agreed.  “But only if they thought you were doing your best.  If they thought you were shirking or not putting your best effort in, they would let you know.  But they aren’t going to push you into the hospital.  They wouldn’t do that even if you weren’t pregnant.  Okay?”

Marinette gave him an unconvinced smile but nodded.  “Okay,” she agreed.

“Alright.  So, how are you feeling?”

She shrugged.  “Right now, pretty close to okay.”

“So… not good?”

“There is no good. There’s just less terrible.  And this is just the first week of it.  I’m scared I’m going to have to start taking medicine for it and I’d really prefer not to do that.  They say it’s safe but… I don’t want to take anything unless I absolutely have to.  Hey, do you think I can get another burger?”  Dick smiled and started to pull out his second burger for her before Marinette put her hand on his arm to stop him.  “Actually, ignore that.”

He shook his head at her again.  “Marinette, you can have my burger if you want another one.”

She looked at him self-consciously.  “I know. Thank you for that, but if I eat too much it’ll make me feel sick too.  It’s better to maybe come back another time or get something small on the way home.”

Dick nodded. “Okay, if you’re sure.”  She nodded and reached into her bag, pulling out the last item in it.  She giggled and held it up for Dick to see. “Hey, baby’s first toy!” He exclaimed excitedly.

She looked at him with soft eyes and nodded.  “Baby’s first toy,” she repeated dreamily.  

Dick reached out to rub her belly but stopped just short of touching her.  “Is it… is it okay for me to…” he nodded toward his hand and her belly.

Marinette pointedly eyed his arm that were already wound around her waist, but his gaze was so earnest, her teasing comment died on her lips.  “Yeah, yeah it’s okay,” she whispered softly instead.

He ran his hand over her belly reverently.  This was his first time running his hand over the baby.  Her belly was still flat, no external indication there was more developing beneath the surface.  He could feel her lithe muscles through her shirt.  But underneath the muscles was their baby.  Their baby.  Their baby was growing and developing.  And then one day in no time at all the baby would be there, in his arms, looking at him, trusting him, needing him to protect it. And he would do anything he had to in order to make sure his child was safe.

He looked back up at Marinette with a warm smile.  He tightened his arm around her waist, pulling her closer to him.  She cupped his cheek and stretched up to kiss him.

She hummed contentedly as she pulled away and laid her head on his shoulder.  He laid his head on hers and squeezed her again.  Marinette picked up the figurine to get a better look at it.  “It’s Nightwing!” She held up the small black and blue figurine for Dick to see.

Dick shook his head out of his stupor and sent her a sly smile.  “Yeah, I remember you saying he’s your favorite.”

“Oh my God.  I don’t even remember talking about him.  How embarrassing was I?”

“How embarrassing do you get?”

She stuck her tongue out at him and shoved a few fries in her mouth.  “Sorry can’t,” she motioned to her full mouth, “eating.”

Dick laughed and stole a fry from her.  Marinette gasped in mock outrage.  “You would steal a pregnant woman’s fries?  I think I need to call Nightwing to take you away.”  She winked at him.

“You’re right that was ungentlemanly of me.  Here take my fries in reparation.”  He pushed his fries over to her.

“I was kidding.  I’m not going to steal half your dinner.”

“It just means you have more for me to steal.” He smirked at her as he reached over her and past his fries to steal a few more of her fries.

She giggled and took one of his fries.  “Who’s your favorite?”

“Mine? Oh, um…” he had to think about that.  “Wonder Girl, I guess.”

“Oh I didn’t know we could include heroes.  That changes my answer.  Why is she your favorite?” She turned back to her fries missing the pout that settled on Dick’s face.

“She’s got really good moves in battle.  She uses just enough force, but not too much.  Like she is more concerned about hurting anyone unnecessarily.  But she’s really protective of her team and goes out of her way to help anyone who needs it.  Or maybe I just have a thing for black haired, blue eyed, kickass women.” He smirked at her.  He stared at her for a few moments and he knew he shouldn’t.  He knew he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t stop himself.  “But let’s go back.  Who’s your favorite if you’re including heroes?”

“Chat Noir.”

“Wow no hesitation there at all.  That… that hurts.  I feel betrayed.  And why is he your favorite?”

“That I’m choosing a Parisian hero instead of a Gothamite?” She raised an eyebrow.  Dick mentally cursed himself.  She didn’t know he was Nightwing.  Of course she wouldn’t get the reference.  Marinette missed his grimace as she reached back to grab more fries to eat as she talked.  “He’s a really good guy.  Really sweet and kind.  I guess kind of like Wonder Girl.  He went out of his way to help everyone he came across, though I suppose all the Paris heroes did that.  He had amazing control over his powers and was so compassionate.  Always thinking of others before himself.  He saved me a few times.  Used to stop by my balcony to talk sometimes… eat some free pastries. He was a friend.  We kind of grew up together… I mean… as much as a hero can with a civilian.”

She gave him what she hoped was a convincing smile.  It wasn’t. Dick made a mental note to do some research on Chat Noir and see how close he was to Marinette.  He cringed again.  That sounded pretty creepy.  He couldn’t do that.  “I haven’t even met Nightwing,” Marinette continued oblivious to Dick’s inner turmoil, “so Chat wins by default.”  She looked at the figurine again and cocked her head to the side.  “I need to make some Miraculous team dolls for the baby.”

“Should I be jealous?” Dick raised his brow playfully.

“Over me or the Parisian hero dolls or the pastries?”  Her smile was coy but her eyes were sultry.

“How good were the pastries?” He leaned closer to her.

“Very.” She leaned in closer. “My parents make amazing pastries. So do I.”

“Maybe you can show me sometime.”

She nodded “I’d like to. I just need to know what you like.”

He traced her jaw with his finger. “I like you.”

She groaned and rolled her eyes, but moved closer to him with rosy cheeks. “You are so cheesy.”

He gave her a cheeky grin. “I haven’t even started yet.  I like your eyes.” He slowly kissed both of her eyes.  “I like your nose.” He kissed the tip of her nose.  “I like your cheeks.” He kissed both cheeks and brushed his thumbs over her cheeks after he kissed them.  “I like your ears.” He gently grazed his teeth over her ear’s shell.  His felt a warming in his chest when her breath hitched. “I like your jaw.” He laid small kisses along her jaw to the other side of her face.  “I like this spot right here a lot.” She sighed happily as he ghosted nose over a spot below her ear and kissed it.  “I like you.” He pulled her in for a passionate kiss.  She whimpered as his tongue slipped between her lips to meet hers.  She trailed her hands across his shoulders and up his neck slowly until she reached his hair.  She pulled gently to pull him closer.  His arms tightened around her waist, pulling her into his lap.

After a few moments she pulled away breathing hard and rested her head on his shoulder, focusing on the ground.  Dick waited for his breath to level back out and leaned close to her ear.  “And chocolate.  I like chocolate.”

She nodded slightly, still not looking at him and breathing deeply.  His brow furrowed in concern.  He gently rubbed her back.  “Marinette?” She hummed quietly and held up a finger to let him know to wait.  He gave her a nervous smile.  “That bad, huh?”

She chuckled lightly and took another deep breath before looking back up at him.  “Maybe we should hold off on tongues for a few weeks too.”

“Ah,” he nodded in understanding and cringed.  “Gag reflex.”

Marinette hummed and settled back against his shoulder again.  “And everything triggers it right now.  Breathing triggers it.  Thinking triggers it.  Ugh.  I can’t wait for this part to be over.”

Dick wrapped his arms tighter around her, but made sure to leave them light enough not to put too much pressure on her stomach.  “Sorry you have to go through this.  I promise to work on making my kissing less gag inducing.”

She giggled into his shoulder, enjoying the feeling of his chest shaking with laughter as well.  She pulled away just enough to look him in the eyes and rested her arms around his shoulders.  “Chocolate.  I can make that happen.”

Dick frowned at her.  “You just almost threw up again.  Maybe don’t push yourself.  I’m more worried about you than getting some pastries,” his voice was suddenly tender.

Marinette smiled up at him and ran her fingers along his cheek, settling her hand on his neck.  “I think it’s funny that you think I’m going to wait to start baking things for you or designing things for you.  I’ve already started making plans and coming up with ideas.”

“I’m not going to convince you to take it easy am I?”  She gave a resolute shake of her head.  Dick shook his head and gave a defeated sigh. “Then, I’m sure I’ll love whatever you come up with.” He leaned down to give her a chaste kiss.

Chapter 8

Tags:

@dickinette-february @demonicbusiness @ichigorose @iloontjeboontje @ladybug-182

[kindofcashton]

𝕕𝕚𝕤𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕟𝕖𝕔𝕥𝕖𝕕  •  chapter 18  (Calum Hood AU)

IT TOOK AWHILE for the shock to subside before I could even think of moving.  I stayed rooted to the spot, gazing out at where Calum had disappeared and left me behind.  The sun was finally gone from the sky, bathing me in a cool darkness that made me shudder.  I kept hoping to see the headlights of a familiar red mustang approach, willing him to come back to me.  But as the seconds dragged on, I knew this hope was futile.

Scrambling for my phone, I called an uber and hugged my knees to my chest as I waited on a bench.  My mind was oddly empty, despite what had just happened.  I suppose I was numb to Calum’s betrayals at this point; his leaving me in the dust was hardly a surprise.

With my head in my hands, I didn’t even hear the uber pull up until the driver rolled down the window and hollered, “Hey!  I’m here!”

Throwing myself into the backseat, I mumbled a faint greeting and closed my eyes.  The driver clearly thought I was a mess, and he thankfully stayed quiet for the entire ride.  My head tilted against the cool glass window, and I felt nausea rise in my stomach.  Everything from my heart to my head to my stomach was hurting; Calum inflicted full-body pain.  I couldn’t imagine walking through the front door, what fury waited for me at home.  Surely he’d yell some more, insult me until he was blue in the face.  And I would take it, because I knew I was putty in his hands.  One kiss would make me forget all about the pain I felt now.

I was surprised to see the driveway empty of his mustang when I finally arrived home.  It shouldn’t have been a shock that he didn’t come home, but for some reason I was crushed by disappointment.  Yet again I had unrealistic expectations about Calum.  I half-expected him to be waiting on the front porch for me, ready to bare his soul in an apology.

No one was waiting for me, and I entered the dark house alone.

Everyone was asleep, so no one would realize the destruction that occurred tonight.  I refused to let my thoughts wander as I showered and got ready for bed, bile rising in my throat when I glanced into Calum’s empty room.  My head hit the pillow, but I knew I would not be sleeping tonight.  Anxiety gnawed at me, making me think up a million scenarios of where Calum was right now.  Asleep in his car on the side of the road?  Hunched over a bar, drowning his sorrows in whiskey?  Or was he in another girl’s bed, kissing her lips and feeling her skin and giving her his heart?

Needless to say, it was a fitful night’s sleep.  The next morning I must have looked particularly awful, because Luke asked what had happened to me.  I truncated the truth, explaining that Calum and I got in an argument and he ditched me after we got dinner.  Luke was angry at Calum for abandoning me, but I just waved his sympathy off.

“It’s fine, really.  He’s so hot and cold, I shouldn’t have been so surprised.”  I absent-mindedly stirred my coffee, still feeling queasy.

Michael had joined the conversation a few minutes before, and shook his head firmly now.  “No, it’s not.  He can’t just leave you on the side of the street.  What did you guys argue about anyway?”

I bit my lip, unprepared with an excuse.  “Er...something stupid.”  A thought crossed my mind, and I added, “I asked if he wanted dinner and he freaked out and thought it was a date.  I guess even after dinner he was still being weird about us being together, which we definitely are not.”  I felt satisfied with this, since it wasn’t exactly a lie.  Half-truths seemed to be my strong suit lately.

Luke frowned.  “Do you think he secretly wants to be together and was just trying to cover it up?”

I almost laughed; after the blowout, I knew Calum definitely did not want to be with me, but this was a nice sentiment.  “Maybe,” I answered with a shrug.  “I never know what he’s thinking.”

Michael snorted.  “None of us do, Scar.  We just roll with the punches.”

I feigned a smile, connecting my gaze with Hannah who was overhearing our conversation in the living room.  Her frown told me she knew there was more to the story than I’d said, but she knew better than to confront me in front of the guys.

The rest of the day was business as usual.  I had a shift at work, then a phone call with the community college about my admission.  Hannah and I dialed up a movie and ordered pizza when the guys went over to Ashton’s for the night, and so the two of us had a girl’s evening.  Hannah didn’t pry about Calum, but I did admit to her the fight was much more serious.  She told me not to worry, he always did this, but it didn’t ease my anxieties.

When I woke up the next morning, Calum was still missing.  No one had heard from him, and all their calls went straight to voicemail.  The guys didn’t seem nearly as worried as I was, but I forced these feelings down.  It’s fine, Scarlett.  Besides, he doesn’t deserve your attention.  For the rest of the day I forced him out of my mind, distracting myself with work and shopping with Hannah.  Luke and I ran errands after dinner, and I was grateful for his quiet, steady friendship.  Listening to him tell stories about work made me wonder what it would be like to be with a guy like him as opposed to Calum.  Luke was kind and open and incredibly understanding.  Calum was mean and closed off and impatient.  I still saw Luke as just a friend, but for a minute I let myself imagine a different guy who would actually treat me right.

The end of the second day came, and still no sign of Calum.  I knew when I woke up on the third day he’d still be AWOL, and my suspicions were proved correct at breakfast.

“All of his shit is here, he has to come back,” Ashton insisted, joining us for pancakes and waffles that Hannah made.  It was a lazy weekend day, none of us having work and deciding to get together for an extravagant breakfast.  As I tore at my pancakes with my fork rather than eat them, I tried to believe Ashton.  Calum would come back.  He’d have to.  And when he did, I could confront him and get some answers.  Until then, worrying was pointless.

But the pit of nerves inside me only deepened as the hours passed.  I faked plenty of smiles and forced a lot of laughs, but still I couldn’t banish the panic I felt.  More than that, I missed Calum.  Spending every night with someone had felt so good, and suddenly my bed was cold and empty and I yearned for his warmth.

“Are you sure you don’t wanna come?” Hannah asked again.  She and the guys decided to catch a late movie, and I declined their offer to come.  I felt physically sick with worry, and played it off like the pancakes that morning had me nauseous.

“No, I’m alright,” I told her.  “I don’t feel well, so I would hate to ruin the movie.”  I doubted Hannah believed me, but I knew she wouldn’t nag me any further.  I just needed a night to stew and hopefully get over myself.  

“Okay,” she said gravely, clearly unconvinced.  “Call me if you need anything, alright?”

I rolled my eyes, attempting humor.  “Yes, mom.”  She laughed and waved goodbye, and when the front door shut I was finally alone.

It turns out, isolation doesn’t do much to help with stress.  I could barely pay attention to the TV, and I was so queasy I didn’t even want to make dinner.  I just laid on the couch, watching shapes move on the screen but hearing nothing but a gentle droning in my mind.  It would be a long night.

At least that’s what I thought.  Maybe an hour after the others had left, I heard the door open with a bang.  Shooting up off the couch, I heard the stomping of a very disoriented person as they tried to close the door.

“Shit,” the person murmured, and my heart lurched; it was Calum.  Slowly making my way over, I folded my arms and prepared myself.

It was Calum.  He wore the same clothes as he had on the last time I saw him, but they were considerably more wrinkled and dirty looking.  His hair was a mess, and his eyes glinted wildly in the dark.  His staggered movements and overwhelming stench told me he was drunk.  Finally he got the door shut and leaned against it, exhausted from the effort.  His inebriated eyes found mine, swimming with alcohol.  I swallowed roughly, the nausea coming on again.

“Scarlett,” he slurred, raising his hands.  I saw a beer bottle in one of them, sloshing with dark liquid.  Calum’s gaze was shifty, and he struggled to stay standing.  He stumbled forward as if to embrace me, and I stepped back.  He saw this and pouted, swinging his arms out.  “What’re you doing, baby?  Didn’t you miss me?”

At that moment, the nausea and anxiety transformed into stone cold fury.  I set my jaw, glaring at him.  “Where the hell were you?” I demanded.  “It’s been three days, Calum.”

“Pssh, relax,” he chuckled, hiccuping.  “I just...wanted to have some fun.  You’re so wound-up and annoying, so I needed a break.”  I ignored his cruel words and closed my eyes, willing my breathing to relax.  Calum knew exactly how to work me up in the worst way.

“You reek,” I criticized.  “Go take a shower.”  Not wanting to be under his scrutinizing gaze any longer, I stormed up the stairs.  But he was hot on my heels, and I felt his warm breath hit my neck as I fled. 

Attempting to lock myself in my room, I turned to see Calum blocking my door.  “Why’re you so mad,” he slurred, eyes rolling.  “’S not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal?” I cried.  “You were missing for three days!  No one could get a hold of you!  None of us knew if you were alive or dead, Calum!”  I was furious at myself for reacting this way, but I was more furious at him for brushing it off.  He deserved to suffer after making me worry so much.

Calum didn’t reply to my yelling, only slumped against the door and took a swig of beer.  He finished the bottle and tossed it out into the hallway, exhaling loudly.  

Scowling, I tried to push him towards the bathroom.  “Come on, you need a shower.”  It took a lot of effort to lead him away from my room, and I finally sat him down on the toilet seat.  Flicking on the light and closing the door, I started the shower.  Calum watched my movements as I tested the temperature and adjusted the spout.  Crossing my arms, I gestured for him to get up.

“You seriously stink worse than a brewery.  I’m not talking to you until you shower.”  I didn’t even know if he wanted to talk, but he didn’t react when I brought it up which I guess was a good sign. 

Sighing, Calum closed his eyes against the harsh ceiling light and leaned back, kicking off his shoes but not moving to take off his shirt or jeans.

His head hitting the wall, Calum’s expression was suddenly very raw and vulnerable.  He looked broken, like a little boy rather than a grown man.  “It’s my dad,” he murmured, so quietly I almost missed it.  “He’s back, and they want me to see him.”  The bitterness in his voice hurt my heart; I couldn’t imagine the pain of learning someone he’d despised for so long was back in his family’s life.

He got angry all of a sudden, brows furrowing in fury.  “That’s not even all of it.  He’s been back for years.  My mother has known where he’s been for years, and only now do those bastards tell me.  I mean...what the fuck?”  He gripped at his curly hair, pulling it out of frustration.  His muscles were tense, and I hesitated before approaching.  He was like a wounded lion; pitiful and sad, but still capable of ripping me to shreds.

I knelt before him, resting my hand on his thigh.  Calum kept his face covered with his fists, breathing hard.  I breathed out a sigh, unsure of what to say.  “Showering will make you feel better,” I settled on, voice soft.  “Come on, get these dirty clothes off.”  I felt like a mother helping a little child, and a pang of hurt struck me when I wondered if Calum ever had anyone care for him like this before.

Gently, I helped him lift his arms so I could remove his shirt.  Being so close to him made me dizzy, and it was especially painful considering how drunk and angry he was at the world.  Calum might have made a lot of mistakes, but his life certainly didn’t make things easy.  I felt waves of pain rolling off of him, and as they absorbed into me I had to fight tears out of my eyes.

I tossed his soiled shirt to the floor, throat drying at the sight of his bare torso.  His eyes were glazed and looking at the floor, so I slowly grabbed his arm to make him stand.  Calum was like a zombie when I undid his belt, holding my breath as I slid his jeans down.  Undressing was such an intimate act, and I’d done it a dozen times with him before.  But this time, removing his clothes gave me no gratification.  Every inch of skin revealed was just more pain, and I stood up at last when he was only in his boxers.

“I think you can handle the rest,” I whispered, preparing to leave him in the bathroom.  As I turned I felt him grab my arm, his hand warm and firm.  Gasping, he pulled me to face him.

“Don’t go,” Calum begged under his breath, pulling me to his bare chest.  He reeked of alcohol and swayed with intoxication.  He’s drunk, that’s why he wants you, I reminded myself, tears pricking at my eyes.

“Calum--”

“No,” he interjected, holding me tight.  His forehead dropped to my own, our eyes closing as our breathing synced.  “Stay.  Stay with me.”

Lips parting, I gazed up at his desperate and pleading eyes, knowing full well I could not resist him.  So instead of fighting, I pulled my own shirt over my head, never breaking our gaze.  He watched me undress, expression full of emotion as I stripped down to my underwear.  He went to take off his boxers, and I unclasped my bra.

The shower was hot and steaming.  A waterfall of droplets fell onto Calum’s head, wetting his skin and only dampening me slightly.  I watched as water beads slid down his chest, making his skin glisten.  He held me in his arms and pulled me into his wet body, flipping us so the water streamed over me now.  Leaning my head back, I let the rainfall cascade over my face and neck, wetting my hair and leaving crystals of moisture all over me.

Calum’s warm hands slid up and down my body, grazing over my breasts and my hips until he settled on my waist, tilting his head down to capture my lips with his own.  This kiss was incredibly different from the others we’d shared; his lips were earnest and gentle, the usual fiery passion now a lulled heat.  Soft fingers rested on my cheeks, and I pushed my own through his wet curls.  I felt him harden against my thigh, and he leaned back to press his lips to my jaw.  I closed my eyes, relishing the wet heat as he dragged down my neck, biting lightly and causing a moan to rise from my mouth.

His strong body pushed me against the shower wall, and naturally my leg lifted to wrap around his waist.  This caused my center to spread, and I felt his cock slide against my heat deliciously.

I was breathing hard as Calum sucked on my neck, hands splayed out across his wide back as I pulled him closer to me.  One of his hands rested by my head on the wall, the other sliding over my abdomen until he reached where I was aching for him.  I felt his palm slide across my core, collecting the moisture there and letting it mingle with the shower water.  Moaning, I gripped his hair tighter and sloppily kissed his ear, breathing statically with each move of his hand.

His fingers dipped and circled in my folds, finding my clit and pressing on the sensitive bundle of nerves.  My hips bucked into his, and I moved my own hands lower so I could reach him.  As he worked my clit, I found his cock and slid a wet hand along his shaft, causing his breath to hitch.

“Oh, Scarlett,” he groaned, the words like music to my ears.  I worked his length slowly, running my fingers over his swollen tip and feeling him twitch in my palm.  As we pleasured each other, our moans twined together and our lips fumbled in a kiss.  I was close to my edge, and judging from how stiff he was I knew Calum was as well.

The fact that we didn’t have a condom flitted across my mind, and I leaned back to connect my eyes with his.  But what I saw there took my breath away; Calum was looking at me like he never had before.  Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the steam from the shower, but I swore he was looking at me like I created the whole world.

Exhaling softly, I reconnected our lips, forgetting my inhibitions and wanting only to feel him inside of me.  He understood my unspoken desire perfectly, lining up with my entrance.  I felt his tip press into me, and almost cried out from the teasing feeling.

Hooking an arm around his neck, I tilted my hips forward so he pressed in even more, causing my eyes to roll back.  Calum got the hint, and with one flick of his hips he was inside of me.

I would never get used to the feeling of him.  The stretch was unlike any I’d ever experienced, his body fitting with mine like a puzzle piece.  The angle was entirely new since we were standing in the shower, and as he slid out of me I braced for the feeling of reentry.  Sure enough, when he rocked back inside I felt fireworks of pleasure explode inside my body.  Somehow he was hitting even deeper than when we were in bed, and I had to hold on for him for support as he thrusted.

“God, shit,” I cried out, sucking on his ear while he snapped his hips up inside of me.  I was barely staying vertical, the feeling too overwhelming as my knees buckled.  Calum’s strong hands wrapped under my bum, lifting me up so he could thrust harder and my body weight was pushed against the wall.  I wrapped my legs around him, inviting him deeper inside of me.

Without the layer of a condom between us, I could really feel him.  Somehow I felt closer to him this way, truly connected.  No barriers were in the way, and feeling him slide against my walls was a euphoria I would surely become addicted to.

Wet skin rubbed against wet skin, and my nails grazed down the wide expanse of his back.  Calum’s breath washed over my face, his lips parted and eyes closed in bliss.  I let the pure sensations take over, my mind clear of anything except the pleasure he was giving me.

I was nearing my end as his thrusts increased, and my breasts pushed into his chest as I panted.  Calum gripped my ass harder, pushing faster and deeper to deliver us both to our orgasms.  One last thrust hit just the right spot, and a tight ball of pleasure evaporated into sizzling bliss that soaked through every inch of my body.  Just when Calum neared his end he pulled out of me, letting the spurt of white liquid land on my abdomen.  His moans of ecstasy filled my ears, and I clasped his wet body to mine.

We both took a minute to come down from our highs, and finally I opened my eyes to meet his.  Calum gently let my feet hit the floor, and I used my hands to steady myself against him.  Gazing down at me, Calum pushed a lock of wet hair behind my ear.

Wordlessly, I grabbed the soap and began sliding it across his torso.  Calum watched silently as I cleaned him, washing away his pain and letting it spin down the drain.  Next was the shampoo, and I ran my fingers through his curls with a frown.  Calum kissed my down-turned lips, just a light ghosting of contact, and it eased some of the tension in my shoulders.

We washed each other in the scalding water until we stood clean and rejuvenated.  I couldn’t tell if Calum was still drunk, but his expression was definitely clearer than it had been before.  I didn’t know how I felt about what just happened; on the one hand, Calum and I were never closer or more open with one another than when we were having sex.  On the other, if his drunken haze was the only reason he wanted to do it, then it was meaningless.

Refusing to dwell, I stepped out of the shower after switching off the water.  Wrapping myself in a towel, I padded out of the bathroom, thinking that this was it.  But Calum only went to his room for fresh clothes before joining me in mine.  I was unsure how to feel about this; secretly I was overjoyed, but outwardly I remained stoic.  I pulled on a pair of panties and was about to find a shirt when Calum gave me one of his.  Avoiding his eyes, I pulled it over my head.

He wore only a pair of sweatpants, and my legs were bare save for the underwear.  Tentatively, I slid into bed and pulled the covers tightly over myself.  Sensing my trepidation, Calum hesitated before joining me.  Naturally, of course, our bodies moved towards each other until I was laying in his arms, curled against his chest and relishing the gentle stroking of his hand on my back.

We must have laid there forever before either of us spoke.  I didn’t know if I actually wanted to confront him, or if it was time to distance myself and let him go.  But then the sound of his broken voice and the sight of his pain-filled eyes flashed through my brain, and I sighed.  I couldn’t let go of Calum if I tried.

Twisting my neck to look at his face, I said softly, “So what are you going to do?”  About your dad, I wanted to add, but I knew he understood my meaning.  Saying those particular words out loud would’ve hurt even more.

Calum took a deep breath, chest rising underneath my cheek.  I curled my fingers around his bicep, worried he was going to flee.  But he merely shrugged, eyes staring at some point in the wall.

“Nothing,” came his simple answer.  “I don’t want anything to do with them.”

This is what I expected.  I didn’t blame Calum for resenting his parents, especially after years of lying to him, but a small part of me still wished he’d see them.  It was the part that longed for my own parents, the part that missed them every single day.  I would give anything for one last chance to be with them.

“I understand that,” I began slowly, praying Calum wouldn’t react angrily to my suggestion.  “You have every right to be mad.  But...my parents are dead, and I wish I had one last chance to talk to them.  I know it’s hard, but what’s harder is living without them.  And it would be nearly impossible to live with yourself if something happened to them and you had turned down an opportunity to make amends.”

While the words hung in the air, I held my breath.  This was the only attempt I planned to make in order to sway Calum; if he refused even after hearing this, then I’d give up.  Changing his mind was an impossible task.

Calum’s arm tightened around me.  A gentle kiss was placed on the top of my head, and I knew this was his way of comforting me.  He’d never outwardly give me pity over my dead parents, but gestures like these showed me he was there for me.  I nestled deeper into his embrace, drinking in the smell of his skin.

I thought the conversation was over, because a long stretch of time went by.  I was on the verge of sleep when Calum’s voice rumbled softly, “Fine.”

Glancing up at him, I knitted my brows in confusion.  “Fine?”

His brown eyes were conceding, for once in his life.  “I’ll go.  But only if you come with me.”

A small gasp left my lips.  This was yet another instance of Calum claiming he needed me.  I felt a flutter of hope in my chest, the first one in so long.  Biting my lip, I ran a nervous hand through my damp hair.

“I don’t know, Calum.  They’re your family, and I don’t want to pry or overstep--”

“No,” he stopped me, caressing my face with his hand.  I melted into his touch, unraveling under his fingers.  “I can’t face them if you’re not there.  I need you.”

My heart skipped a beat at the familiar words, but I kept my face neutral.  Nodding, I responded, “Okay, I’ll go with you.”  Once the words left my lips he pulled me in for a kiss.  I happily obliged, savoring the taste I had started to forget over the last three days.  His arms were wrapped tightly around me, holding on to me as if for dear life, but he didn’t need to worry.  I wasn’t going anywhere.

[thebrighteye]

Protector

I was broken you made me whole again The only one I trusted more than myself -What I Believe [Skillet] Febuwhump Day 14: "I didn't mean it." | Fandom: Overwatch (Pre-Fall) | Angela & Gabriel

AO3 | FF.net | Works

"Did you know that my parents died in the war?" She asked, the sudden change of topic making him blink with surprise. "Angela, what--" He started, but she spoke over him. "They died, leaving me an orphan with my grandparents. Already an outsider – the girl without parents – I buried myself in my academics because I had a burning need to prove myself worthy. So, I flew through school – all the way through university and medical school." Angela didn't know where the words were coming from, only that she needed to say them and he needed to hear them. "Then, my grandparents died - and I was truly an orphan then, with no one at all to turn to." She sighed as her eyes dropped to her lap. "I didn't have any friends, because who wanted to be friends with a child that was smarter than them? It was incredibly lonely, with teachers that had no time and peers that avoided me, so I drowned myself in my studies and ignored the looks and the whispers." Angela shrugged as if to say it happens sometimes, that it didn't matter - though clearly it did, considering she was recounting it to him now. "It was no different at the hospital; I excelled, moved up the ranks, and my peers hated me even as they respected me. I had no friends – not someone I'd gossip with or laugh with, though I admit I throw myself into my work so deeply that I have little time for such things, as you know." She smiled derisively, as if it didn't bother her – though if it hadn't, she wouldn't be talking about it, forcing the words out for him to hear. "Then you and Jack showed up, and I decided to join Overwatch – even with my misgivings. I expected it to be much the same, especially with my less-than-stellar opinions." She took a breath, having almost forgotten how to breathe in her need to speak. "But it wasn't. I have friends here – honest friends, not the ones that wait for you to stumble so they can pull the rug out from under you." Angela glanced up and saw that Gabriel was listening intently, still curious as to what – exactly – her point was. "You, Gabriel, you were my first friend – and I doubt you even knew it, because you're good with people in a way that I'm not. You and Jack and Ana, you were my first friends, ever since I was a small girl that still had parents." She took a shuddering breath and gripped her legs with fingers that trembled. "So believe me, Gabriel, when I say that I can't lose you – any of you. I have lost too much." Angela let out a breath that sounded like a sob. "But you go, all three of you - and you take risks, and you save people, and you get shot - and I am left behind to wait, hands wringing, praying that this time won't be the last time, that you will return home whole or on a gurney for me to put back together and not in a body bag for me to bury." Her words were heated with anger and terror and anxiety: because they made her stay behind, because they didn't trust her to survive on a battlefield, to watch their backs like they watched each other. She let the anger fuel her because anything else would lead to tears, and she just couldn't. Jack had led the team that flushed out the enemy, making sure the way was clear so she could move unhindered. Ana had watched out for her, making sure that they knew there was an enemy behind them so that she wouldn't be hurt. Gabriel had stayed at her side the entire time, and, when it came down to it, he jumped in front of a shooter for her. "So instead of letting me learn how to be useful, you three protect me like a delicate china doll. You shoved me aside to take a bullet. You gave me a concussion, but I still dutifully stopped your bleeding and even pulled a bullet out of you, because you're important and I didn't have time to take care of myself without endangering you." She practically growled the words. "Wait- you had a concussion and you performed surgery on me?" Gabriel's voice was indignant, and she rolled her eyes; he had, of course, missed the point entirely. "You're fine. All your pieces are in the right spots." She snapped back. "A concussion?" He repeated. "Yes. Blow to the head, causes dizziness, nausea? Stop me if any of this sounds familiar." Angela retorted dryly. "I know what a concussion is, Angela. Why were you doing anything with a concussion?" He demanded. "There you go again, coddling me! You had four bullets in you, and you still did your job – you," she hesitated only briefly, "killed the man that would have killed me. I get slammed into a wall – your fault, by the way – and you act like it's the end of the world!" She yelled, fury rising. "My fault? Excuse me for saving your life!" He yelled back, his own temper fraying. "But that doesn't give you any right—" Angela started yelling right back. "I'm the doctor; I have every right." Her words battled with his to be loudest. "—to perform surgery on anyone with a concussion." His eyes were blazing just as much as hers were. "You're the doctor; you should know better." "Are you dead? Dying? Missing pieces?" Angela demanded. "No, because I did my job. You. Are. Fine." The door opened, and both turned to glare at the intruders. Jack stood in the doorway, Ana a step behind him, both looking rather surprised to find the two of them at each other's throats. "My, someone's in a mood today," Ana remarked blithely, recovering first. "You must be feeling better, Gabe." She pushed Jack inside and closed the door behind her. "Now, what's got you both so riled up?" Angela crossed her arms and glared at Gabriel. "He doesn't think I'm capable of being a professional." She accused. "She had a concussion and was operating on me; I'm pretty sure I'm allowed to be pissed about that!" He met her glare with one of his own. Ana clicked her tongue and shook her head. "Simmer down, children." They both turned their glare on the older woman, who just laughed. "You're both right, though you're too angry to see it. Angela, darling, you shouldn't have been doing anything in your state – but in her defense, she was very protective of you, Gabriel." She winked jovially, and Angela found herself blushing despite herself. "Despite her injury, she still performed admirably, and had she been anyone else, you'd probably be praising them." Ana glanced at Jack, and he nodded in agreement. "Now, apologize so we can talk," Ana said, hands on her hips as she waited for them to get on with it already. "I'm sorry I yelled at you, Gabriel." Angela murmured, eyes downcast and genuinely contrite; now that the wind was out of her sails, she felt extremely remorseful. "Yeah, I know, doc. I shouldn't have yelled either." Gabriel sighed. "I didn't mean it." "Good. Now that that's done, Angela should have a report for us." The blonde doctor made a face as the other two found seats, but she sat up straighter and pushed her hair behind her ears dutifully.

So, like, 99.99% of this has been written for over a year (or three). This was originally going to be a scene in my long fic "Forging" (it would have been part of / the end of the second scene of the 8th chapter "Determination"). But, it got scrapped and put into my giant pile of 'stuff I eventually want to post somewhere' and now, well, here we are!

[pisati]

I keep getting that feeling I always get when I feel like I need to write something, but it’s all played out. I’ve gone over all of it. old feelings I don’t care to rehash because they’re gone, all the bullshit with my mom, feeling like I want to leave, waiting til something happens. 

something feels blank. blanker than usual. I didn’t start the 150 XR wellbutrin until last tuesday, but I’ve been feeling pretty bad all month so far. the first week of the month was PMS week, and usually I give myself a little space because I know it’s always at least one of the moods or the cramps or the nausea that week. but it never picked back up. I did have a rough go of it last week and I feel like I’m still recovering. any little thing is enough to put me in a mood. my mood tracker has shown pretty consistently low marks the last 3 weeks and I don’t know what that’s about. I can’t correlate it to anything in particular.

the root of it comes down to fear. not an anxiety fear; a dread fear. I’m scared things won’t work out, but I’m not anxious, if that makes sense. I know something will work out one way or another, but beyond that I’m scared of never being where I want to be. never being able to do something I enjoy, never being able to earn enough, never being able to even physically feel better. I have to hope that something will improve; I don’t want to look at things as so black and white. but the concept of “never” is still a very real possibility and I can’t ignore it. I’d take even marginally better, but it’s still kind of depressing to think that I might not ever be back to the way I used to be before I “got sick”. or whatever the fuck happened to me. I don’t remember being healthy and it breaks my heart to think that I may never be able to feel it again. 

I went on a walk the other day and I came back in much more pain than when I left. I had a rough night as far as my jaw, and I took 400mg ibuprofen to stave off the headache I woke up with. I came back home after 2.5 miles to my entire face hurting. pounding headache, my nose burning and everything around it hurt. I smelled blood. I even felt a little drippy so I blew my nose (once I could pull myself off the floor), but there was no blood. I’ve never gotten a nosebleed. maybe I was mistaking the rats’ cage smell for something metallic.

I didn’t even have the energy to be upset that I came home from yet another walk and all I could do was curl up on my floor with my eyes closed. once I could open them I went to open twitter on my phone and hit a random app, only realizing it wasn’t twitter a second or two after it opened. I opened my closet and then tried to throw my tissue in the laundry hamper, because for some reason my brain confused my desire to put my clothes in the hamper with the tissue I was holding. only realized my mistake once the tissue was in midair. once I pulled myself off the floor I took another 400mg of ibuprofen, changed, and got back into bed. I hate crashing like that. I didn’t think my cognitive function got noticeably worse after exertion but apparently it does. thankfully it doesn’t last for long, but... this has never happened before. maybe in a year or two it’ll take me even longer to recover. god only knows.

that’s scary. I’m already waking up almost every day with a headache. I can’t control how much sleep I get, even when I take something for it. and nothing works for more than a few days at a time. my jaw’s been hurting for just about a year now, and that causes all kinds of head pain. when everything in my head hurts for no reason and ibuprofen doesn’t make it all go away... that alone is enough to make me hate existing.

I feel like I shouldn’t ask myself “what if I get worse?” and just focus on my day-to-day. but the fact is, it’s already gotten worse. I’m doing the best I can, though sometimes it doesn’t feel like the best I can do. I suppose instead I could ask myself “what if I plateau?” what if it stops getting worse? that’s at least semi-hopeful. but what if I never get better? I can’t just ignore that possibility. the thought that I may never be able to support myself in the kind of society we’ve created is so fucking depressing. I’m still remembering that time either last year or in 2017 when it hit me very suddenly that I also may never have someone with me and I may need to be okay alone. I don’t have a plan for the possibility that I get worse.

I used to hope one day I’d get married. I guess I still have that hope, but it’s a much more nebulous concept at this point. it almost doesn’t seem like a realistic thing for me to set as a goal. I will say it’s probably spared me a lot of anguish to essentially have written it off. if it does happen it’ll just be one of those nice things, I guess. I remember being in middle and high school, being so incredibly jealous of my best friend for always being in a relationship, all my friends who would talk to their crushes and get close enough to date them. I’d had some moments, but they never went anywhere. I’m sure I spent all those years pining over some dumb boy or another. one to the next. I remember how devastated I was when I thought this one kid in my math class might have liked me back and he asked another girl to junior prom. I didn’t even go that year. charlotte had her boyfriend, everyone else was asking everyone else. I went to senior prom just because I felt like I should at least go to one high school prom in my life, but nobody asked me. it felt like a waste of time and money anyway. I still have my dress, I don’t know what to do with it.

just... all that pain I was in. and I don’t feel any of it anymore. I’m not all that jealous of anyone. maybe it’s because I’ve since learned that being in a relationship doesn’t entail being in a good relationship. I’ve learned over and over again. from friends, from my parents. it would be nice, in theory, I think. a good one. I like going to the store with someone and actually enjoying shopping (but when was the last time I did that?). I don’t think I’d like any of the sappy stuff (have I ever?) but the idea of someone who likes me enough to even try, that’s.. wow. I haven’t even entertained those thoughts in a long time. I guess I feel it’s almost pointless to. I hurt myself enough in the past over lacking it, why keep that up? maybe I had this ideal in my head, and now I’m not even sure it’s possible. I don’t know what a secure, loving relationship is like. it’s like when people tell me I don’t know what I’m missing when they try to get me to eat some food I’ve already refused. you’re right; I don’t know. and I will never have to know if I never try it. nothing for me to be all that upset about. 

but then I think about my future. what if I don’t have anyone, ever? the incident that sparked that existential spiral was so benign. I was sitting at a stoplight and watched a van turn out of the cross-street; a woman driving and an older woman in the passenger seat. I flashed forward to my future. couldn’t picture myself having anyone to drive me around when I got old. I don’t mind being alone now, but what happens if I get older and have nobody? I couldn’t even be like my dad; he at least had me and my brother as crutches. what if I get worse and I’m alone?

I know I see things differently than I used to. I feel differently. I know I’ve been feeling blank most recently; the lows still hit pretty hard but I just feel stuck in them. rather than needing to fight myself or find a way out of them. I let them run their course. I remember feeling less skeptical of people’s intentions with me. I guess it didn’t occur to me that other people could experience attraction to me but not to me. because that’s not how I am. I remember being amazed the first time a boy went down on me. wow, he must really like me if he’s willing to do that. amazing how I’ve managed to backtrack on that idea entirely. oh god, this again. I know that look. I feel every hesitation in movement, every second too long the eyes land on any part of me. please don’t put your hand there. please don’t want me. you don’t actually. you think you do for now but you don’t. you don’t mean anything you’re doing. you want what you want and once you’ve got it that’s it. it’s got nothing to do with me and in fact you wouldn’t even be thinking like that if you knew me and on and on. do I value myself that little? or do I trust other people’s intentions that little? do I have good reason to? 

that kind of thinking contributed to the blankness. I don’t feel at all the way I used to. I’m not sure I know how to. could be that I just haven’t had the opportunity to, but it’s hard to know. sometimes I ask myself if I see it as a loss of innocence; I’m sure that’s part of it. I at least understand now that not everyone likes people for who they are and are attracted to them in that way if they like them enough. I don’t know why that should prevent me from being able to feel how I did before. why it should make me so distrustful. so stressed at the prospect of someone being interested in me. I used to want that. very much. there’s a chance that one of these days it’ll happen and it’ll be good and healthy and not painful, and yet... I don’t seem to believe that it’s possible. I put a stop to just about everything before it even starts. I can’t even begin to reason out why, besides self-defense. self-preservation. but what’s left to preserve?

bad experiences in the past might be a reason, sure, but I’ve accepted at this point that I let myself get hurt. other people don’t see things the way I do. it is what it is. I’ve honestly forgotten a lot of it; how bad it hurt. I wrote post after post about it while I was in it; paragraph after paragraph and never resolving anything. it just hurt so bad. I can barely remember it but the fear is still there. kind of like with my mom. I forgot a lot of the shit she did to me in high school. I forgot that all of that was probably the reason I don’t feel comfortable telling her anything, even now. I forgot the reason, I kept the fear. 

sometimes I like writing with no objective. it’s nice to get some of the running narrative out of my head. sometimes I get close to whatever it is I feel like I need to write about, but sometimes it’s just a feeling that doesn’t quite go away. these are things I know I’ve thought about and haven’t ever really expressed; sometimes it’s just nice to find the right words. sometimes it’s the same things, and I feel like I need to get them out over and over. 

I really do need to focus on the few good things I have coming up. I’m seeing one of my favorite bands on sunday, and maybe if I stay late I’ll get to meet them. maybe. I’m not looking forward to all the grown-ass men who are likely going to make the audience annoying at best to be in, because that’s been the case both other times I’ve seen them, but if I can get to the venue early enough and get up front hopefully I’ll be alright. 

one of my best friends is coming down next week for a show; he said he can come down wednesday and maybe stay til friday, but I reminded him there’s a book store of sorts in baltimore that we really like and they’re apparently overflowing with books; he was already aware of this and the fact that they’re only open on weekends, so he said he’d check his calendar and see if he could stick around til saturday or sunday. that’ll hopefully be nice. just getting to spend time with a friend. I don’t really have anything in mind to do for all that time, though, besides the show. we’ve always managed to figure something out. I’m not really sure how I feel about it. spending time with him used to be a really nice thing for me but ever since the latter half of 2017 I’ve been even sort of nervous about it. it’s weird to be so distant from someone you’ve been so close to; this person’s seen me naked and yet I’m a little unsure of how to act with them. maybe because it was never clear-cut. because I got hurt and pulled back. because he told me he missed talking to me. I’m not sure how to be much of anything but blank around him at this point. we can still talk and joke like we always have. I just feel weird about all of it. I just need to focus on the fact that he’s a friend who’s coming to visit and it’ll be a nice few days. that’s it. digging up the past doesn’t serve much purpose at this point anyhow.

pride’s coming up; Aria and I are going to do the parade with the ace meetup she found again, and she wanted to do a craft day, so I’m going to have to decide on a shirt design I want. I like the shirt I made years ago and wore to pride last year, but I think it’s time for something else. I’m excited to plan outfits and all that with a fellow ace. I’m still amazed after all these years we still vibe so well and we both ended up ace, ha

farm jam’s coming up too, and I’m trying to plan a little better than I have in previous years. I need a new tent; I want one of my own that’s taller and at least a little bigger; I have a cot this year and I don’t think it would fit very well in the tent I have now. not to mention it’s a tent we’ve had for years, it’s not even mine, and I used it last year and it was really hard to deal with. the queen air mattress I’d been able to borrow filled the whole tent so it was near impossible to get in and out, plus it didn’t even fill all the way so I was really struggling to get up from it. it was almost impossible to change clothes. plus I had The Bucket, and there was almost no room to use it comfortably. also not ideal when you need a light in the tent, and then people can see all the shadows inside. it would be nice to get one of those darkening tents. but the ones I’ve found are all pretty low to the ground. maybe I’ll go to the sporting goods store one of these days, instead of searching the same few tents on amazon. I need to figure out my food situation too, but I think I know how I can be better prepared this year. meal prep is easy enough, and I can always pack snacks that can be taken home in case I don’t get around to eating them there. the challenge is going to be finding things that either don’t need to be cooked or don’t need much in the way of cooking. we have a fire pit every year but it’s very hard to cook over an open fire, contrary to what you’d think. it took me at least an hour last year to get water hot enough to cook the ramen I brought, and even then I don’t think it boiled. I know there’s things I can make that don’t need to be cooked, but I’ll definitely have to prep it all beforehand. we’ve had issues in the past where everyone in the group will pack enough for themselves and also for everyone else, thinking people will want to share. then we all have so much extra food we end up having to bring home. I did better last year, but still had extra. I need to think of other things to bring to the farm too, so I won’t be bored. I didn’t think I was all that bored last year, and I didn’t even use most of what I brought. maybe just a crochet thing or some other craft (maybe my stones for wrapping?), and my guitar. a book too; it was nice having The Book Thief last year. I think I brought it my first year too, and it was nice to have as company while my anxiety was doing what it does. I’m sure I could pack lighter this year, but I also don’t want to bring too little, you know? one thing I won’t skimp on is blankets. I brought as many as I could last year and I was still cold at night. it gets into the 50s at night. maybe I should see if I can find a little cordless space heater? or something that can keep my tent warm at night that won’t catch everything on fire, lol. [a quick google search told me that portable tent heaters do exist. that might have to go on my shopping list. I get entirely too cold at night and this year I won’t have a queen-sized mattress to hold all my blankets]

then of course scotland. I haven’t traveled internationally... well, I’d say in a few years, but I did just go to Cozumel last year. it didn’t quite feel like international travel, though. we went to a resort, with a bunch of other white people vacationing and the Mexican staff catering to us. the last genuine experience I had was Iceland. it doesn’t feel like it’s been 3.5 years, but it also does. I miss it a ton.  I don’t know how my anxiety’s going to do with this. I already know I’m going to struggle a little through farm jam. it’s happened every year. then I’m going to have to come home and, within a few days, get on a plane. two planes. alone, for the first time in my life. I know I’ll be nervous once I stop moving. I’m not sure why that is. I want to say it’s got something to do with unfamiliarity. once I stop moving I can become more aware of where I am and what’s around me. I don’t know where the issue comes from with unfamiliarity, but I’ve always had that. something like neophobia, but not quite. I don’t really feel afraid of new things, necessarily. just some deep-rooted discomfort with it. I feel like most people have some level of discomfort with things they’re unfamiliar with; that’s only natural. but not everyone gets anxiety attacks over it. could be partly because anxiety triggers nausea, and from there the emeto anxiety takes over. it’s hard to know. I’m just glad I have a pretty decent handle over it. I could be in much worse shape mentally, for sure. so many people I know have issues much more complex than mine and while mine aren’t exactly easy to deal with, I’ve been able to power through a lot of them without help. and I think doing that made me stronger in some ways too. I don’t want to know where I’d be if I had some kind of vice as a crutch.

I would say I forget where I was going with this, but it never had a direction to begin with. 

tomorrow I need to clean the rats’ cage, and I need to write a letter back to my friend in jail. I got his letter maybe a week ago and I need to just sit down and come up with something to write in response. 

seems like a lot of my time lately is spent waiting to get through the day. I’m nervous to come back from scotland. I’m nervous that I’ll have heard back from this job by then, and I’m nervous either way it goes. I’m of course nervous I won’t get it, but I’m also not ready to lose my down time if I do. I feel like these last 10 and a half months have breezed by. like they didn’t even happen. I still don’t feel rested enough. I’m already kind of dreading going, because I’m dreading coming back. I hate being so bothered by the fact that everything ends. 

I don’t really have much after that to look forward to. my birthday, maybe. I don’t have the energy to do anything for it this year. I don’t have anything I want to do. nobody I really care to spend it with. just a few years ago I was sad thinking my friends forgot and I tried to make plans to be around them for my birthday so it wouldn’t completely suck. I just don’t care anymore. sad to already be so disenchanted with the few little things in life people seem to care about. I would say, well, maybe I’ll have a job by then, but it’s a saturday this year. cool.

I’m not looking forward to winter. already. barely out of this last one and I’m already dreading the next. I really need to move somewhere where it’s warm year-round. everything about existing feels so much worse when it’s cloudy and grey and cold. 

it’ll be a year in september since my dad passed. a month and a day after my birthday. we told some of his friends that we wanted to do a celebration of life for him, but that still hasn’t happened. I’m not sure if it’s going to, and I’m not sure how that’ll look to friends and family. I almost don’t care at this point. I should have told people to mourn how they saw fit. I’m sure that’s what he would’ve wanted anyway. a celebration of life if nothing else, but dad wasn’t really one for parties either. I know he wanted some of his ashes scattered in Iceland. one of these days I’ll be able to do it. but I know he’d have been just fine with people remembering him in their own ways. I miss him a ton. I knew I would, of course, but it never really hit me how permanent it’d be once it happened. I really would never be able to talk to him again. as frustrating as it could be, I do miss his random calls and rambling to me for an hour. his text puns. how he’d sometimes bring me a bowl of ice cream at some point in the evening when we were watching something or I was on my computer. 

sometimes it hits me how different things are in my life already. I never saw them like this, and I can’t say I really like it. I’m 24 and I don’t have my dad anymore. I knew since I was 13 that one day this was going to happen. but still somehow it didn’t seem real. I still had my dad, after all. he was sick, but he was there. I don’t even have my sick dad anymore. I watched him dying. I felt his cold, stiff hands. I didn’t get to say goodbye. sometimes I still look at the box of ashes at the foot of my bed and it hits me like a truck again. 

I’m honestly a little scared that no matter how good things get for me, it’ll never be good enough. I don’t know what to do about that feeling. I do feel like I appreciate where I am and what I have and how lucky I’ve been, but maybe I need to work harder at that. 

I’m tired of this feeling. I don’t know what it is. besides blank, it’s just... unpleasant. it’s not even melancholy. something does feel bad, but it’s not quite sad either. maybe it’s just all these little worries eating at me. I’m sure I’d feel a lot lighter not having to worry. but wouldn’t everyone?

I’m tired of thinking. I spent all day wanting to get up and do something and I didn’t. I wanted to work on my crochet bag, and I didn’t. I wanted to work on that letter, and I didn’t. I took a nap, I watched a lot of hulu, I did some crosswords, I ate a few things, I stayed in bed. I just don’t feel up to much. I don’t like much of anything about the person I’ve been lately, but I don’t know what to do about it. I can’t induce energy. sometimes a shower and picking up my room do make me feel a good bit better, but man. I don’t feel up to showering every day while I don’t have to, but I feel so gross if I don’t. my hair’s been a pretty big source of distress for me lately. there’s nothing I can do about it and that makes me feel even worse. it’s so thin and it looks worse when it gets greasy, which it does very quickly because of 1. how thin and fine it is, and 2. how naturally oily my fucking skin is. sometimes I wish I could lose a bunch of weight so I wouldn’t look so big with such thin hair. maybe with a skinnier frame it wouldn’t look so bad. I don’t know.

I guess I should61ry to sleep. I’m afraid it’ll be just another one of those nights. the last few I’ve only managed to keep myself out for 4 hours max at a time. could just be one of those phases I’m in. yesterday I was so fucking tired. going for 15-16 hours on 5-ish total hours of sleep, and I was out quicker than usual just before midnight. still felt half-awake by the time my phone dinged at 4:30 ish. I’m pretty sure I woke up at 2-something having to pee. hard to remember. 

I’m just kind of tired of existing right now. I can’t say everything sucks, but I feel just so beat up. I don’t think I have a purpose here, but it’s hard to even find anything that makes me feel like my existing is worth it at all. I don’t know.  

[slothgiirl]

blinding part 1 (a theo raeken/reader story)

mariella gallagher, lydia’s younger cousin, has always had a soft spot for theo raeken, and now that they’ve brought him back to help, she can’t seem to help herself when it comes to him. it also doesn’t help that she’s slowly losing her grip on whatever powers she has as an empath. 

ao3 // part 2 // part 3 // part 4 // part 5

“So why can’t I go with you exactly,” I asked Lydia after she was done explaining the plan to everyone except Hayden and Mason who were actually in class like they ere supposed to be. If my aunt wasn’t faculty who knows how we would be getting away with suddenly leaving class, ditching class, and arriving late all the time. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather go with you.”

Just the thought of encountering the ghost riders again was enough to make me want to vomit. And seeing as Scott and his packs whole m.o. was to run towards danger instead of away, we would probably run into them sooner rather than later.

My cousin sighed impatiently, “because we don’t know what we’ll find at Caanan. At least here we know what we’re dealing with.”

“Even if we don’t know how to deal with it yet,” Malia said with a scowl.

“I’d still rather take my chances with whatever you find there than the ghost riders.”

Kira threw an arm around my shoulder, smiling as reassuringly as she could after the ghost riders had taken a whole party full of teenagers down in the bunker and none of us had been able to do anything to stop them, “don’t worry Mari, I’ll protect you. I won’t let them come near you.”

“And you’ve got Liam,” Scott said smiling at his beta.

“Just hurry back,” Liam told him, “we’re stronger together.”

“Hell yeah,” Malia grinned.

*

I took my seat next to Kira in art, happy to be able to phone in this class. Ever since the ghost rider’s showed up I’d been jumpy and stressed and I kept scratching at my arms. What made it worse was I could feel how freaked out the rest of the pack was.

It was almost enough to make me want to take my meds again.

Almost.

“You wanna talk about it,” Kira asked, not looking up from her painting. Her still life wouldn’t have looked out of place in a gallery. Meanwhile I was still cleaning up all my sketch lines and pretending that I knew how to shade objects.

I shrugged, “it’s fine. We’ll figure this out soon and then-“

“Don’t say that. If you’re not okay then talk to me about it,” she told me, looking over at me, “maybe it won’t solve anything but you might feel a little better.”

Sighing, I put my charcoal, giving up on getting any work done when I could barely keep my hand steady. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to talk about it, but the only person that I had ever felt comfortable talking to about my so called powers, that were completely useless and more of a pain in the ass than anything, had turned out to be a horrible person and was now rotting wherever the skin walkers had dragged him down into.

“Mari?”

Her concern was warm, gently waving towards me, the mental equivalent of a hug. I might as well. “I’ve just never not sensed something from anything. But the ghost riders,” my voice broke, remembering the events from the bunker, “there was nothing there. Nothing. Like they weren’t alive, at least not in any sense of the word I know.”

“I thought they were going to take me,” I tell her, looking down at my feet as I wipe the welling tears from my eyes. “I mean at least you can all fight or do something. I just feel so useless sometimes. Like I can sense what people are feeling, even catch some thoughts if it’s a strong emotion but that’s it.” Hell, werewolves could sense emotions by smelling the air or scent or chemosignals whatever those were.

Her concern spiked, intertwining with a tinge bitter guilt.Kira leaned over and squeezed my shoulder, “but they didn’t get you. And you’re not useless. You’re kind and gentle and you calmed Liam down, anchor-less Liam and Malia. Like made them calm down.”

“Stiles can help Malia calm down.”

Kira rolled her eyes, going back to her painting, “just take the damn compliment.”

I laughed, “still think your kitsune abilities are way cooler.”

“You wouldn’t if you were the one training with my mom. I wish I could montage through all the five in the morning wake up calls.”

We both laughed.

“Mariella? Kira? Please be mindful of the noise level in here,” Mrs. Sanchez called out to us.

We both nodded.

When I went to pick up my slab of charcoal, my hand was steady enough to risk my sketch.

*

“So Scott leaves and you immediately decide to try and catch a ghost rider,” I ask Liam and Hayden skeptically.

“We can’t just sit around and do nothing,” Liam said defensively.

“Well you can all try and do that,” I said, “I’m going to go to therapy and not deal with any of this and especially not go looking for trouble.”

“Trouble kind of already fund us Mariella,” Mason said gently, “and we need to figure out how to stop them. If we catch one we could figure out what they want and make them leave.”

Which made sense even if their plan was insane and they still had no way to channel that much lightning at once. “Okay,” I admitted, “but I still want no part of this.”

“Couldn’t you do it,” Hayden asked Kira as she walked up to us gathered around Liam and Mason’s lockers. “I mean you are a lightning kitsune aren’t you,” she clarified raising an eyebrow.

“Thunder,” Kira corrected, “and yes I could if we had a few decades for me to learn how to channel that much lightning at once.”

“Sorry,” she added, looking around at us, her shame and insecurity leeched into the air, “but I just don’t have the training yet.”

“Yet,” I said, hoping to reassure her. Her mom was a thousand years old, Kira had plenty of time to get all her nine tails and become an amazing thunder kitsune.  

“Sure you’re alright going by yourself,” she asked me, changing the subject.

I shrugged. It was pointless to lie when three of use were supernatural creatures who could hear someone’s heart speed up when they lie, so why bother. “I’ll live.”

“Corey and I could go with you,” Mason offered. “Safety in numbers and all that.”

“See,” I said throwing the rest of them a pointed look, “it’s not just me.” They’re all werewolves and suddenly they think horror movie logic of splitting up and dying doesn’t apply to them.

“Not like you can drive,” Liam said shamelessly.

“I was nervous,” I protested for what had to be the thousandth time, “and the dude was an asshole, he wanted to fail me.”

“Didn’t Lydia say you ran a stop sign?”

I groaned, “it wasn’t even my idea to get my driver’s license. I don’t even want to drive. You don’t let crazy people drive cars.”

Mason grins, “but you’re not actually crazy.” Which was true. It turned out that everything that every psychiatrist had chalked up to hallucinations and paranoia was actually true.

“I thought I was!”

*

Miss Morell smiled sharply as I took a seat on her couch. “I’m assuming you’re still off you’re medication.”

“Yeah,” I said, feeling guilty about it all over again. “I just feel better without it. And I’ve only had one migraine this week so progress,” I told her twiddling my hands. “I mean I should eventually start to be able to block people out. . .right?”

“And if you are not able to block people out,” Miss Morell asked the question that had kept me up so often over the last few months, “what will you do?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I mean I don’t want to always have to deal with people’s emotions in my head. When someone around me gets really sad it makes me sad, their emotions bleeding into mine and I hate that. It scares me. But I also  don’t want to spend the rest of my life dazed from taking anti-psychotics. No combination of pills felt right. Some were really bad and this last one muted things pretty well but I still felt wrong.”

It made being around Liam hard. No one ever knew what would set him off and I hated how I could feel his anger well up inside my throat like it was my own.

How I could feel my lab partner’s anxiety and nausea turn to stress the longer I sat there next to him, all my own thoughts magnified in funhouse mirrors until I was stressing over whether I had remembered to write my name on the test even though I knew I had. Over whether any of my friends in Beacon hills were really my friends or if they were just being nice to Lydia’s cousin.

“Have you considered a solution that isn’t on on end or the other,” Miss Morell asked, her emotions as remote as she herself could be, a god deigning mortals with her presence.

“What do you mean?”

“You could take a low dose,” she explained, “just enough to keep your own mental health intact without cutting yourself off from your own abilities.”

“I don’t know,” I said, thinking about how excited I had been when I realized that the connection went both ways. Their emotions could bled into my own, but I could also influence people’s emotions.

Would I lose all the progress I had made?

“You don’t have to make any choices now,” Miss Morell said smiling for the first time since I’d arrived, “Just something to think about. I’ll see you next week?”

“Yes.”

Because I had to go to therapy. It had been one of my dad’s conditions of coming to live with my aunt instead of spending my time going in and out of a psychiatric ward.

*

Third wheeling to Corey and Mason wasn’t actually bad. It certainly didn’t feel as much as third wheeling to Malia and Stiles had been or Scott and Kira. Liam and Hayden were just a nightmare of too much PDA.

They also didn’t even bring up the ghost riders even once which immediately made me love them. We hadn’t spent much time together seeing as I was a year older and had spent most of my last year in Beacon hills in a hazy fog of anti-psychotics in hopes of shutting everything out.

“Don’t hate me,” Mason said, as Corey chose a song off his phone, “but I think Troye Sivan is massively overrated.”

“No,” Corey protested, “that’s just-you’re wrong.”

“You can’t tell me I’m wrong just because I don’t care for his music. I’m entitled to my opinion especially when my opinion is right.”

“Doesn’t make it an opinion then does it,” Corey quipped back and I tried to block out the nauseatingly sweet smell of fondest and love that filled up the car. I take it back, Corey and Mason are just as bad as the other couples although Lydia and Stiles are mostly pop rocks and something refined like channel no. 5 so it really wasn’t bad.

Corey played a song before turning to look at me, “what do you think Mariella?”

“I-“

“You’ve got to listen to the whole song first to get the full experience.”

“Okay,” I told him, “but I can already tell you it sounds fine but I probably wouldn’t go out of my way to listen to it again.”

“Told you,” Mason laughed.

Corey shook his head, “you two have no taste.”

“Oh I think I have plenty of taste,” Mason replied looking over at his boyfriend.

Corey blushed, his face achieving the level of pink many beauty youtubers could only hope to replicate, “I think you mean I have great taste.”

I popped my earbuds in and raised the volume as high as it would go hoping to block them out as they drove to go drop me off at my aunts house. Six months and I still hadn’t gotten any better at blocking people out. Lydia wasn’t even sure if I could.

I sighed and stared out the window.

[dvoyd]

giant steaming pile of vent.

it’s hard.

it’s hard to care anymore. it’s hard to live anymore. i mean it was always hard, a struggle, fucking torture really (internally at least), but at least i always had a reason to keep going. cuz my mom wanted me to.

now, especially over the last year, something’s changed. it’s like i’ve become, more than anything just a burden on my mother. i know i always was, but i thought that i was one she was willing to take on not only because i’m her child and she loves me, but because she genuinely likes having me around and enjoys being with me

it doesn’t feel like that anymore. now i just feel like some thorn in her side. now i truly feel like i’d be better off dead, because i can’t even conjure up the genuine thought of ‘well at least my mom would miss me, at least she wants me around.’ i just feel like some fucking leech or pest-- granted i always have --but one that was enjoyed despite that, instead of just tolerated out of some... i dunno, sense of parental duty?? guilt???

these last few months have marked a sharp and dramatic decline in my emotional and mental health, due to various reasons (both online and offline), and i can’t find solace anywhere it seems. i genuinely feel that my mom wants nothing to do with me, and it’s not out of paranoia either.

not only have i observed marked and repeated differences in her attitude and desire to even spend time with me, one of the major IRL issues that has caused a severe amount of stress is that she’s been seeking a romantic partner via online dating. she didn’t even see fit to let me know about it until she was already dating a dude after a couple DAYS, and it was going very fast.

i have a ton of personal issues with this, one being that i hate my dad and have very few actual fond memories with him, two that witnessed my mom go through emotional struggles after divorcing my dad and go through dating a few guys who hurt her (i was only a little kid back then but i still recall it). three that a majority of adult males that my mom has associated with (platonically, either friends, coworkers, or like, hiring them to do work on the house / cars / etc) have tried to hit on / flirt with her multiple times, even after she gave indications she wasn’t interested, AND on top of that most of them were MARRIED. and scumbags. even just random male strangers have hit on her.

on top of all of this, i have no siblings. i was raised by a single mom. thus, i never learned how to share her; i grew dependent on her in so many ways, including emotionally, and i am incredibly possessive of her because she is one of very few people in this world that i have ever loved. she and my dad divorced when i was 3, and while i did have minimal contact with him over my childhood and adolescence, i never got emotionally close to him. my mom did briefly date a couple times after him like i said, but it just hurt her more and she stopped after that. she’s never tried since and i never really expected her to.

but she tells me that she’s not willing to live her life isolated and hidden away anymore. that she needs to be with someone romantically to be happy. basically being with me isn’t enough. i know i obviously can’t give her what she wants, but it just... hurts. especially since not only does it make me incredibly anxious and scared and angry and hurt and frustrated and all sorts of things, but also that i realized that i’ve always been willing (and i think even went with the expectation that i’d do so) to reject all romantic and sexual opportunities or potential just to be with her. maybe it’s sad, idk, idc, but thinking about it, it probably doesn’t come at that big of a loss to me because i’ve never experienced either of those things to begin with. i’ve never had sex, and i’ve never dated or had a romantic partner. hell i’ve never even been on a DATE.

now the whole dating thing happened like a month ago and it ended up ending like a week later because when she met him irl she didn’t feel the same chemistry that she did on the phone or computer, but she’s still determined to find someone else. but to make shit even worse and all the more terrifying, my very life hinges on whatever schmuck she picks. she was willing, as i overheard her tell one of her sisters on the phone, to literally pack up her bags and move to wherever that one guy wanted to go. AFTER JUST A FEW DAYS OF TALKING TO HIM.

like i understand that she wants to be happy and even though she cares about me, my being in her life isn’t going to stop her from fulfilling whatever else she needs in her life. like, i’m obviously not going to like or enjoy it, but i’m aware that i either have to put up with it or gtfo. but the fact that she’s willing to pull the rug out from under my feet for some guy she met on the internet (that she claims she had this ‘soulmate’ kind of connection with, yet apparently it only works over the phone/computer, smh) after just a couple days??

you cannot say that you love and care about me and what i think/feel and yet are willing to give me the proverbial middle finger like that. i’m aware that i’m 25 and her parental obligations to me ended the day i turned 18 but holy fuck. that’s just cruel. (not to mention i’m disabled even if the state won’t fucking acknowledge it and have mental + physical illnesses that aren’t all diagnosed because doctors are assholes and want to shove medicine down your throat rather than help you.)

so after having a huge emotional meltdown like a week or two ago over this and the fight we had over it which we never really resolved, on top of other drama (again both IRL and online), basically this whole summer has been a depressing and anxiety-ridden shitfest that has crushed whatever positive growth i managed over the last few years concerning my mental health, because i have suicidal thoughts and urges prominently and daily (i say prominently cuz i technically always have suicidal thoughts, yay depression, but they’re kinda ‘muted’ and in the background and basically get pushed under the rug, thus never acted upon) and my physical health is feeling it too.

i’ve been admitted to the hospital 3 times for suicidal + homicidal ideation / attempts, but all 3 were when i was an adolescent. obviously i’ve had plenty of ideation since, and i did have attempts after as an adult, but the last one no one even knew about (it obv didn’t work), i tried to overdose, but it basically gave me a pseudo-stomach flu (throwing up, nausea, dizziness, etc) and that’s what my mom thought i got until i told her what i did. promised her i wouldn’t do it again which is why she didn’t report it.

but now i’m an adult so that means i’d go to the adult unit and that my mom has no weight in the decision of getting me in or out, though that just assumes i’m unsuccessful. i’ve had enough attempts by now to p much know what it’ll take, and even though i promised my mom i wouldn’t

at this point it is clear i’m nothing more than a burden. that’s not anything more than the reality. i’m 25, no job, no job HISTORY or experience, mentally ill and disabled...

like, my potential in life is gone. it passed me by a while ago. i lost it. i tried to make things better, i tried to get help. i went through a program that was supposed to help people like me GET experience and get a job, but then my mom’s work changed their insurance (which is my mom’s insurance, and through her, mine as well) and the program didn’t accept that insurance. so i had to stop going literally right after i finished the registration process :))) 3 fucking days of filling out paperwork and having to sit there and wait and listen to old people and be in uncomfortable situations, all for nothing

the job market is shit. the pay is nowhere near what a ‘living wage’ actually is, as plenty of millennials can tell you. i’ve submitted tons of applications in the past, and only once have i ever gotten a call back for an interview, went to said interview and got an email back like a week later and was denied. this was for an entry level job at a fucking turkey hill, to basically be a CASHIER or similar. like?? if i can’t get accepted for that lmao.......

basically what is the point in putting myself through more suffering? at least a year or two ago it felt like i was suffering for a reason, or that i had a chance. what do i honestly and realistically have to look forward to?

world war 3?

yeah no thanks

[shkid]

Condensing posts:

he got a job, i had a panic attack

So last night I ended up going out. We had our last ever university class, and a bunch of us went out for food. I was ready to hit the library, to prep for a meeting with my dissertation advisor today, but a couple of folks were making me feel bad for wanting to leave. So I stayed and had a couple of drinks. I wasn’t feeling great, but was drinking vodka blackcurrant, because I didn't want anything fizzy. Gradually people left, and one friend started trying to manipulate people to stay out. Fair enough, she had gone to a great deal of effort for having a night out, and the people who said they were gonna stay out ended up bailing early. I kinda felt for her, because there’s nothing worse than having to go home when you’ve got a good buzz going on, and no-one else is feeling it. I promised her one last drink. One last drink turned into a few (inevitably), multiple keys, and missing our last trains. We walked home, talking over each other, and smoking. My mouth was so dry and I already knew that the next morning wasn’t going to be good. She left mine just after 2am, and I went to bed. I slept maybe 45 minutes before getting up with such a thirst. I sipped a pint of water, and was trying to force myself to sleep, but of course I was still wired. honestly must have got up to the toilet about 7 times. My stomach was absolute agony. kept falling asleep for 5 minutes at a time, and then waking up needing a drink, or checking my phone etc. I watched the sunrise which was cool. I had drafted out an email to my supervisor at about 6:30am saying that I wouldn't make it in. I was dry heaving, but there was nothing in my stomach to throw up. Felt like shit for a couple more hours and then eventually got about 45minutes from 9:15am-10:00am. I felt like a new woman. So i got my bag packed and headed into town. Getting off the train I started to feel sluggish, and anxious. I bought a sports drink to try replenish electrolytes but was moving as if I was wading through gravy. Stepped foot in my faculty’s building and my heart was racing. My fitbit said my heart rate was >120. I was sweating, dizzy and nauseas so went to the bathroom. splashed some cold water on my face and rubbed up my cheeks. I looked transparent, and needed to get some colour in my cheeks. I walked with gravy legs to my advisor’s office and she greeted me by saying “how are you?”. I just said “I’m so sorry, I can't do this. I’m not well. can we reschedule?”. I think she was pissed. she said “how long have you been feeling ill? you should have just emailed me to cancel. You look very peaky, I think you need to go home to bed. Maybe go to your doctor”.

I sat outside in the rain and watched my heart rate come down, and my breathing regulate. I emailed her to say I was feeling better and that I think it’s just anxiety. The only other experience I have of that feeling, was the one time I had a panic attack in school (and that was 4 or 5 years ago now)! I reckon it maybe was a panic attack, but probably my baseline anxiety wasn’t helped by the coke comedown, hangover, and dehydration. i’m kinda mortified. She emailed me back and suggested that with her “year tutor hat on” she wanted me to seek support from counselling or my GP for strategies to help. I came home and have just dozed all day. My high-achieving brother on the other hand, got a permanent teaching contract at the school he’s been doing his probationary work at. I’m delighted for him, but feel like it highlights the complete worthlessness I feel about myself. lol.

shkid

what’s the harm in talking about self-harm?

Today I talked to a friend in great depth about my past with self-harm. I’ve only known her for four years(!) Took me long enough. In my 8+ (omg) years, I’ve barely mentioned it to my nearest and dearest. I still have close friends and family who have absolutely. no. idea.

This is a good sign. I’m writing a paper about NSSI and discovering so much about myself, as well as the kids I’m advocating for! Learning to break down the stigma in my own head. We NEED to start talking about NSSI, even if it’s difficult. It needs to become less of a taboo. Too many kids are suffering in silence! If I could speak to my 16 year old self, I’d tell her to believe the people who say that it’ll get better. Learning to forgive myself, and trying to practise self-compassion.

shkid

Sack her, employ a new one

So today was only the second time I met with a student counsellor and it was fantastic. Well actually it was very difficult throughout the actual session but I left feeling so much better. I really struggled to talk today, but I think I've maybe identified what my issue is. I've always known that I'm a bit hard on myself and whilst this can serve a purpose, I think it's become somewhat debilitating. I've always been "a bit depressed" and it's likely because I am literally my own worst enemy. Or at least, my worst enemy lives inside my head as my self critic. I was able at one point throughout the session to be mindful of this and correct something that I said; "I'm no good at talking". Sylvia helped me acknowledge that I couldn't be so bad at it because I had seeked out help and had gone to the session despite knowing I was going to find it difficult. I said to Sylvia "I wish I could just sack her, and employ a new one!" My self-critic is very good at what she does. But I wish she could tone it down a bit. Since the session I've caught myself saying demoralising things to myself, that I would never say to anyone else! A quick google, and the self critic describes me perfectly - often engages in self destructive behaviours! That's me. Whether consciously or subconsciously I've always been one to put myself in destructive situations. Questioning intimate relationships and worthiness of these. Me. To a tee. Sylvia asked me to think of what ugly thing's inside of me that stops me from being able to be kind to myself. The first word that came into my head was "worthless" and no matter how I tried to think of something else, it hung about there. Eventually I said it out loud. And I started to well up as the word came out my mouth. Sylvia was aghast and said she felt sad inside. So did I. I always THINK that I'm worthless, it's just I never acknowledge properly how wrong that thought is!! Thoughts are not facts. When it's just in my head I allow it to be true. That I'm not worth loving. That I'm not worth friendships, a career, a life. But out loud that's ridiculous - Sylvia had me explore things that I could be proud of and take ownership for. I struggled to think of any examples to start with, but have managed to come up with a couple since.

shkid

i’m so irritable

every little thing is bothering me. Today I slept in, which was the first thing that pissed me off today. Fitting that I woke up already hating myself and with reason to. That’s a new record.

had to skip any sort of human routine, and rush to get a train to a class I didn't even want to go to. sat in the class and my group had literally done nothing for the group task. I suggested what we could write for each question, and when it came to the presenting back to the class bit, my friend, (although today feels like a ‘friend’) looked over at me and then to the back of the class where another friend was sitting and raised her eyebrows to give a knowing look of “oh look, C____ isn't going to present today, like every other week” (or maybe I’m just paranoid), so i fucking did present. as a massive fuck you to her and all the others in my group. then once I was done, I kinda juts looked down at my book and started welling up because I was so upset and angry at how my friend had acted with me all morning.

after class, I walked to the library with said friend, and she was all “oh sorry I’m going for lunch with ____, I mean, you can come if you want?” which I took to be an invite to decline her invite. so i went to the library for all of 23 minutes before leaving because I was upset and couldn't focus.

Come home, and think about trying to make a start on some assignment work, but my fucking flatmate (who I really dislike at the best of times), had moved my laptop and work sheets from the dining room table, and spread out her own work. this is annoying for a few reasons. 1) she whinged about wanting a desk in her room for so long that I gave her my desk from my room - so she has a bloody desk in her room and I don't. 2) I spend nearly all my time in my own room, but today was a day where I actually wanted to be able to used the dining room table to try and start on some work. 3) It’s the only fucking table in the flat that I can work at, unless I invited myself to use my old one in her room?!?!

So frustrated. So unmotivated. Still sad. Still lonely.

(but having a check-in with a counsellor tomorrow which is much needed and hopefully will be a good opportunity for me to be able to talk to someone rather than vent to a fucking blog that no-one reads anyway)

shkid

I was having a bad day, and then it started raining

And when I say raining, I mean a torrential hail pellets driving into your face downpour. And my jacket isn't waterproof, and my jeans were clean on this morning but are now soaked. I'm getting really pissed off. I have so much uni work to do and yet can't mentally focus to do it. I was sat in class today, completely not focused. No drive at all. I am REPULSED by my body and yet won't do anything about it. I have no motivation to exercise and find it hard enough to do some simple body weight exercises in my room. I use food as an emotional crutch but then feel even worse after I binge, than I did before. It's a constant Catch 22. I want to cry but my body doesn't allow it. I well up and feel emotional, and yet I can't produce enough tears to actually cry. I don't want to be around people and conversation requires so much effort and I get so irritated at irrational things, and yet I get so down about being lonely. More than anything, I want to self injure but I can't. I can't ruin my chances of being able to swim soon, or upset my boyfriend when he sees my thighs next. I've already "accidentally" burnt my arm on the oven too many times. It's so fucking difficult.

[findingkaraskye]

VII: Anxiety - Part 3

Who's ready for another long post from me? Honestly, I’m not. I’ve been feeling like some realllllllll shit. But writing is a great outlet for me, so I’m hoping this will make me feel better. But to start, because once again it’s been a while, here’s a quick update on how life has been going. 

Anxiety is at a high for some reason and I know it’s from lots of stress and worry lately because Grandpa is still not looking good. He’s currently in hospice care, and any second could be his last here with us. I go straight to the care facility right after work everyday to hold his hand and play his favorite Andrea Bocelli song he used to sing to me (in Italian too! My Korean gangster lumberjack, leather-booted grandpa used to sing in Italian to me all the time as a kid!). Nausea, numbness, nightmare almost every night, my emotionless being, and lethargy from my medicine still never faded. I felt like real crap every single day, and would still be throwing up a couple times a week. I finally saw my psychiatrist the other day and told her I wanted to stop taking medicine. It’s scary because I know how bad I was before I started, but with these side effects interfering with every day life, I feel like I’d rather deal with my mind every day instead. And now that I’ve been more open with this part of my life, I feel more confident that when those dark days do start to come back, I can go to the people who have reached out to me for help. And of course I will continue seeing my therapist. Right now I’m doing a weaning system to slowly take my body off the pills, i.e. cutting them in half, taking them everyday and then cutting to once every day, and then stopping once I run out. I’m very nervous about going back to being extremely depressed with all those anxiety attacks, especially with the constant worry for my grandpa, but hoping I’ll be more willing to accept help from people.

Anyway, onto anxiety part 3. This is something that has REALLY been stressing me out even more lately, as I progress in my career, daily life, and with relationships with everyone around me. It’s a worry and wonder that looms every moment in the back of my mind, and honestly gets me really down (despite meds) and makes those questions that crowd my mind really go into a frenzy (wish I could describe this better). This anxiety I have is that I’m not doing enough in my life, or that I’ve missed out on chances, or that I’m not doing well in my life. I think it’s something that a lot of people might relate to as well. 

I’m always wondering what my life would be like today, if I had done things differently in the past. And it does stress me out a lot, because yes, I am living the best I can right now, with a full-time job straight out of college supporting myself, my family and best friends supporting me, and the people who continue to keep me grounded. But I the question always looms in my mind, “what if?” What if I had just stayed in New York City when I had the chance? What if I had just let myself cry and be a kid when my dad went to jail? What if I never made the decision to make the first cut on my wrist, and to just go get help? What if I didn’t quit the rowing team? What if I went to that other college that my mom didn’t want me to go to? What if I just talked to this person about everything I wanted to say? So many of these questions just create a maelstrom in my mind that just keep flooding and flooding until I can feel my hand shaking at the anxiety that I never did enough. 

I’ve said in a previous post, that I feel like I’m failing my grandpa sometimes, because he always taught me to be so strong and courageous, but here I am feeling weak and helpless to myself and everything around me. I’m having trouble explaining this more in detail, but I just feel like in all the years preceding today, I could have done so much MORE to make my life better, and to help support those around me. Because I’ve always tried to be the tough one, the rock for my family. I want to give them everything they gave to me, the love, the opportunities, the freedom, the growth, and anything else. But I feel like I’m unable to do that, and it stresses me out. Because here they are taking care of me now, with me as such a different person. This may sound cliché, but I do feel extremely fragile. As if there are so many cracks in me, that if one more bad thing happens to me, I’ll finally break and will lose control of myself and my mind. 

I’m the oldest kid in my family. I want to do everything to be there for my family. I want to help pay my parents’ bills, and for my sisters to be able to do the fun things college kids should be able to do, and for my brothers to just continue to living as carefree kids. My heart broke today, when we asked my 13 year old brother if he wanted to go to summer camp, something he used to LOVE for the  experience and the relationships and lifelong friendships me made, and all the opportunities it got him. And he simply said, “I don’t want us to spend money.” And I seriously almost cried. He’s 13 years old. He shouldn’t be worried about things like this. And I think I mostly cried because he reminds me of myself during my parents’ divorce. Trying to be strong, responsible, and mature, even though he should be savoring his youth as a kid. I want my siblings living the life I couldn’t, because I wouldn’t let myself. But even as I take them out to movies or lunch, or play with them everyday, I still feel like I, myself, am lacking in so much more.

All this anxiety definitely comes from the constant stress on myself to be strong and to be supportive. Maybe it’s an oldest child syndrome. But I also think that its because of everything I’ve been through. I don’t want to be a burden, I want to be a form of support and something to be proud of with everything. But I’m not even proud of myself. 

It’s hard. It really is. It really is a burden. And I still don’t feel like I’m explaining it as best as I can. Anxiety is such a shitty thing to have. And I hate myself for having it in so many different ways and aspects of my life. Honestly, I get so irritated with myself for thinking this way. But I can’t help it. It’s so hard for me not to ask myself, “Why are you this way? What’s wrong with you? Why can’t you be normal? Why can’t you be what you should?” And I suppose this applies to all the other ways I have anxiety, like my body image, overthinking, self-consciousness, relationships, etc. I wish I could just turn these feelings off with a switch. But the mind is such a complicated thing. It can just take complete control over you. 

Anxiety really sucks. I didn’t want to end this post on a bad note, which is where it was going, because I started to feel so negative, because of course this anxiety topic weighs on me EVERY. WAKING. SECOND. OF. EVERY. DAY. so I of course started to feel even more shitty than when I started this when I didn’t even feel like writing. But here I am, at the end of yet another stressful post where I’m sitting here crying again like a fool. But I want to end by saying, yes, anxiety is the shittiest thing ever. Especially compared to depression. It comes out of nowhere and just tears your mind apart. But I am so thankful for the people who have reached out to me from this blog. And just like you are all here for me, I’m here for you too.