#I simply do not think anyone should have to fight to get a diagnosis for literally anything

[raeofgayshine]

Today was a supremely crappy day, so I ordered myself an early birthday present (by like two weeks but still) and it should come right around my actual birthday, and I was going to do it anyways after I got birthday money but you know

Kind of just been a crappy little while, I’ve been working on my gender playlist to help and since I have a feeling I’ll be under my weighted blanket most of tomorrow maybe I’ll post the current version of it. Might even explain some of the songs if I feel up to it.

Anyways doctors fucking suck and I already knew this but being told over and over there’s nothing actually wrong really fucking wears on me. Maybe if we just stopped trying to diagnose me for something I don’t fit and look at the whole picture… but that would make sense wouldn’t it?

[ironwoodcollective]

🎵 Prefacing this by saying this isn't aimed at anyone, it's simply an observation. I see so many systems who claim to be more valid than others due to having a diagnosis. And having a diagnosis is all well and good. But I'm not sure I would want to go that route. I've really only looked into it at all because my best friend keeps gently hinting that she thinks I should. But the thing is, I don't know that I want that. I don't know that I want that on my medical record. I'm finally in a place where I'm looking into gender affirming care. I'm also extremely independent and career focused. I don't want a diagnosis to fuck those things up.

And I'm not not even sure we'd fit the diagnostic criteria anymore. This whole process has been fast, but Firekeeper - the system's guardian - basically just decided to rip the bandaid off. I didn't get to "discover" my systemhood, she came in like a bull in a china shop and was basically just like, "Btw, there are more of us in here, have fun with that revelation, ok byeeeeeee." That was a whole-ass identity crisis. Thank god we were already friends with a few other systems who were eventually able to talk some sense into me. Because I was miserable at first. I at one point wrote a post on an old blog about how dealing with the alters was like drowning in a molasses flood. Not... the most flattering of comments. But I think because of that, we've learned to communicate well fairly quickly. The curtain was drawn back and that was it. It wasn't quite that simple, but we function now.

Yes, we get upset with each other. Yes, sometimes we don't all know what's going on. Yes, we're still trying to figure out how things work. But I know I no longer panic over suddenly being somewhere I don't remember going, for instance, and the presence of the rest of the system is no longer distressing. The problems I was having with things like amnesia have also been less severe since I stopped trying to fight the alters. I may not always have memories of something, but usually somebody does. And we've learned to communicate those things fairly well. Overall, there isn't much distress anymore. So I don't think we qualify.

Idk, I'm not an expert by any means. But I do not foresee trying to get a diagnosis. I don't feel I need one to know who I am - who we are - and to handle day to day life. This isn't meant as syscourse, it's just my own feelings on my personal experiences. If you want a diagnosis, that's great. I hope you can get one. If you don't, that's great too, and I hope no one tries to force any labels you don't want on you. Ultimately, I feel like it's just inviting more problems than I want to deal with. And I wish everyone could understand that way of thinking.

[celibate-batjokes-mpreg-yaoi-911]

"has over 100 quotable lines" made me wonder if its true. so here im going to go over the tdk script and list every single quotable line. i consider a quotable line something i can actually imagine a normal human person (Not someone from r/NolanBatmanMemes) quoting on purpose (specifically from this movie, so lines that are very generic weren't added) even if the person hearing it might not get the reference.

You have any idea who you're stealing from?

Criminals in this town used to believe in things.

Whatever doesn't kill you simply makes you stranger.

I told you my compound would take you places. I never said they'd be places you wanted to go.

Not my diagnosis.

I'm not wearing hockey pads.

Batman has no limits.

I make my own luck.

You either die a hero or you live long enough to see yourself become the villain.

And I thought my jokes were bad.

I'm gonna make this pencil disappear.

What happened? Did your balls drop off?

It's simple. We kill the Batman.

If you're good at something, never do it for free.

Enough from the clown!

Let's not blow this out of proportion.

You think you can steal from us and just walk away?

Perhaps you should read the instructions first?

You wanna know how I got these scars?

Why so serious?

Let's put a smile on that face.

Any psychotic ex-boyfriends I should be aware of?

We are tonight's entertainment.

You remind me of my father. I hated my father.

You look nervous. Is it the scars?

Now I see the funny side. Now I'm always smiling.

Then you're gonna love me.

Very poor choice of words.

Some men just want to watch the world burn.

I did bloody tell you.

He's not being a hero. He's being something more.

Oh, excuse me. I wanna drive.

Depending on the time, he may be in one spot or several.

Never start with the head. The victim gets all fuzzy.

Even to a guy like me, that's cold.

You complete me.

Don't talk like one of them. You're not.

Their morals, their code... it's a bad joke.

They're only as good as the world allows them to be.

I'm not a monster. I'm just ahead of the curve.

The only sensible way to live is without rules.

You have nothing to threaten me with. Nothing to do with all your strength.

In their last moments people show you who they really are.

I'm a guy of simple taste.

This town deserves a better class of criminal.

It's not about money, it's about sending a message.

Everything burns.

Do I really look like a guy with a plan?

I'm a dog chasing cars. I wouldn't know what to do with one if I caught it.

I'm an agent of chaos.

You know the thing about chaos? It's fair.

This is too much power for one person.

We really should stop this fighting, otherwise we'll miss the fireworks.

Can't rely on anyone these days. You gotta do everything yourself.

This is what happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object.

I think you and I are destined to do this forever.

You'll be in a padded cell forever.

Madness, as you know, is like gravity. All it takes is a little push.

You think I wanna escape from this? There is no escape from this.

It's not about what I want, it's about what's fair!

I'm whatever Gotham needs me to be.

Not the hero we deserved, but the hero we needed.

Sometimes the truth isn't good enough. Sometimes people deserve more.

Sometimes people deserve to have their faith rewarded.

He's the hero Gotham deserves, but not the one it needs right now.

We'll hunt him because he can take it. Because he's not a hero. He's a silent guardian, a watchful protector. A dark knight.

ok thats it. thank u for coming to my tdk talk

[rosiewitchescottage]

Hi, just read your bio and curious what being anti-gender ideology means to you? I’ve never heard that in connection with being pro LGBT, and the internet has a lot of mixed information.

Hiya laneans. Polite questions that make me think are always good to see.

Pro LGBT means I'm for gay rights. To be specific, I'm right behind consenting adults of the same sex being able to have romantic relationships, free from discrimination.

And yes. I do include the T. It's still only recently that being transgender meant something both specific and objective (listen to the experiences of an elder like Buck Angel, for example.)

Being trans was linked inextricably with biological reality and the diagnosis of a mental illness.

I support the right of people with gender dysphoria to live as members of the opposite sex, for the relief of their symptoms. And free from discrimination.

Anti Gender Ideology. You may have gathered. I respect biology and sex based rights.

Gender Ideology probably isn't a technical term. But it does describe the people who treat womanhood and manhood simply as something that one can choose to be. In other words Self ID, gender above sex.

Now, don't get me wrong. I'm not against gender non conformity. In fact being for that is a big part of this.

I don't understand how anyone (outside of the symptoms of gender dysphoria) can say that they don't 'feel like' a man or a woman.

A female woman can be feminine, masculine or androgynous, however feels best to her.

A man can be masculine, feminine or androgynous, however feels best to him.

Absolutely some people are bona fide transgender/transsexual and need to live as the opposite sex. I want them free to do this in safety.

But I look at how many detransition stories are coming out. And something is going wrong.

Apparently body dismorphia can come with other reasons than gender dysphoria. And it seems as though too many people are being pushed to transition, when they don't need to do so.

I will treat a trans woman as a fellow woman. But is she female? Will she ever be female? No! And if she has gender dysphoria, then her being male is at the very heart of it. (I've listened to both trans women and trans men explaining these things.)

A trans woman is a trans woman. And I don't see that as her being 'lesser than'. But she isn't exactly the same as I am. And I won't pretend otherwise. She's male, I'm female.

A trans man is a trans man. He's female, so he's not exactly the same as a male man. I won't say that 'men get periods too'. Because they don't! Trans men can do, because they're female.

I won't condemn a lesbian who won't have sex with a trans woman. Because she is same SEX attracted, not simply same gender.

If a lesbian is happy to be with a trans woman because they're the same gender. Well that's up to her. But Same Sex Attraction is something that people are still fighting for in some parts of the world. And I won't take that lightly.

Then there are single sex spaces. No. I'm not a TERF. I don't say that no trans woman should be in women's spaces.

Because that would be unfair. But we need to have gatekeeping.

We can't just let a male person say 'I'm a woman ' and let that be enough.

Gender dysphoria is a solid, objective reason for a male to be living as a woman. And I'm OK with that.

But we're back to Self ID and it's not a matter of saying that trans women are dangerous. I disagree with that whole heartedly.

The vast majority won't be. BUT without gatekeeping, what do we do to stop violent criminals (and it has been happening) from simply saying 'I'm a woman', in order to access women only spaces, with some deeply vulnerable potential victims?

I don't just think it's bad for women. But I also think it spits in the eye of genuine trans women and trans men too.

Wow! I rather went on a bit there, didn't I? But you asked a great question and I wanted to do it justice.

Love and Hugs to you.

[valiumgf]

sorry if this is dumb or weird. for several years i’ve been dealing with hallucinations and stuff, it was questioned whether or not i have schizoaffective disorder or not. i feel like i don’t take my symptoms seriously, and i can’t Explain them or anything. do you think it’s worth talking to my psychiatrist about, to try and get some answers?? idk. i’m ashamed to talk about this with anyone

oh anon honey don't be ashamed, I had to fight so hard to get doctors to take me seriously and as discouraging as it was sometimes it was the best thing I could have done for myself <3

I'd ask to be evaluated for a psychotic disorder tbh, the first time I went in (for my psychotic disorder, I've been in the ward a lot) I was laughing a lot and couldn't take it seriously so they didn't take me seriously even tho I was obviously in psychosis and what was making me not take it seriously or being scared was my Inappropriate Affect! I'd encourage you to look into that and see if maybe that's impacting your way of reacting to these experiences!

I really think you should bring it up with YOUR psychiatrist (not one that doesnt know you already) and mention that Other People have encouraged you to look into it (cause unless u have really good rapport with your psych they might think your insight means it can't be a schizospec disorder).

tbh I wish someone had told me this when I was trying to get help but: if you keep getting discouraged don't give up, I was told that if u have enough insight to kinda "snap out" of things after the experience is over it is super important to get help ASAP, I also don't wanna scare you but you should stay sober for a little bit if u use substances cause that will muddy the diagnostic process, I also wouldn't name a specific psychotic disorder I'd simply say you want to be evaluated for a psychotic disorder cause some things are concerning u and other people have been encouraging you to get help

ily and if u ever need to talk I'm here <3 I know how scary it is trying to get answers, just keep trying until they give you an explanation that makes sense (even if it's not the diagnosis you think it is, but it can't just be based on assumptions get them to explain in detail why they believe what they do!!

[sad-little-lost-ghost]

Warning: Vent Ahead

I'm not sure if overstimulation is the correct term for what happens to me, since I'm not currently diagnosed with anything. But whatever it is, it makes me incredibly angry when it happens. On the worst cases I scream, cry, kick, hit my head, slap myself, and even bite myself. A meltdown I guess? I've never done it in front of people, not even my family, because I know I'll look insane (it's not like most people would look kindly at a grown woman crying over something as seemingly silly as "there was a repetitive noise and it made me angry"), but I do get the urge to do it when I'm getting overwhelmed in public. Yet I am forced to suppress it and, thus, I become and irritable nightmare. This is the first time I "say it out loud" and it feels a little liberating. I've been living with this for so long and it's frustrating because I don't personally know anyone else who goes through it and I feel so alone. I've never even told my friends. In part because I'm not about to treat them like my therapists, but mostly because I don't want them to think differently of me. But I wish I had the courage to communicate it to them, so that they understood that it's nothing personal if sometimes I don't want to be touched; or I need to leave a room to be alone; or I simply don't want to go somewhere because I know I will be irritated the whole time. I should probably see a professional about this but, honestly, I have no energy to fight for a diagnosis right now. Plus, I can already hear my family gaslighting me, saying that I'm "normal", that there's "nothing wrong with me", that I'm just "being dramatic". Such is my silly little life. Vent over

[jeanfrancoisgeschwind]

Jean-Francois Geschwind Tips To Help Win The Cancer Battle

Jean-Francois Geschwind Professional tips provider. Cancer is a common occurrence in the lives of many people. Statistics show that most people will have some form of cancer at some point in their lives. While this is a sad fact, there is little need for worry. With the current state of medical science, cancer can be stopped in its early stages, and the tips in this article will show you how to do so.

One of the best ways to avoid getting cancer is to avoid doing things which may cause cancer. Two of the biggest offenders when it comes to causing cancer are smoking and tanning beds. Staying away from these two things gives you a much better chance at being cancer free.

Battling cancer can be the biggest fight of your life. You need to be informed and in control of all the options you have. Don't be afraid to ask questions of your doctors, nurses and other medical caregivers. Research your type of cancer and empower yourself with knowledge. Arming yourself for battle can help you win the war!

Here is a helpful tip for anyone that is suffering from cancer. You should try your best to focus on your goals. Make sure you find time for your most meaningful activities and priorities, while focusing less on frivolous activities. By doing so you can conserve strength and be less stressed.

Jean-Francois Geschwind Expert tips provider. While battling cancer, try your best to maintain a normal lifestyle. The more normal your lifestyle is, the less chances you have of becoming stressed and facing anxiety. Stress and anxiety can make cancer sufferers lose sight of hope in their troubling time. If any adjustments must be made to maintain a normal life, then consider them.

Sit down and go over your goals and priorities. A cancer diagnosis provides a good reason to re-evaluate and reflect on your life. Some things that were important may no longer be as important as they were before. Are there activities that you have been thinking of doing or people you haven't seen that you would like to?

Don't change your life drastically. It may be better if you try to maintain your lifestyle as it was while introducing necessary modifications. A big change can increase your stress level and confuse the people around you. Take every day at a time and make changes to your life as is needed.

Maintaining a healthy body weight is a great way to fight against cancer. Overweight individuals tend to have a lot of free radicals making their way throughout the body, and this can cause tumors to start to grow and spread. Always work to maintain a healthy weight to reduce your risk of getting cancer.

Jean-Francois Geschwind Qualified tips provider. Simple moral support can help someone with cancer is indescribable ways. Something like a simple "I love you" said to someone can have a lasting positive effect that helps people to heal and grow. Emotions play a big role in the fight against cancer, and reminding someone of your love for them is good for everyone involved.

Expressing your love for someone with cancer doesn't always have to be done vocally. You can simply be there for a person physically to assist them and to show your moral support. Some types of cancer are incredibly rough, and the patient might not be able to care for him or herself. Make sure you're there for them.

It is suggested that young woman get the Human papillomavirus (HPV) vaccine before they begin to become sexually active. The vaccine is said to help prevent cervical cancer. HPV is one of the highest risk factors involved with cervical cancer. Other factors include family history. Getting a pap smear regularly is also a great form of prevention.

Jean-Francois Geschwind Skilled tips provider. It is important to seal any wooden decks or outdoor play sets manufactured before 2005. Play sets that were made of wood before 2005 had a pesticide that contained arsenic. If you put a wood sealer on it you will prevent the chance your child will come in contact with the arsenic and develop cancer.

Know your family history. Once of the causes of skin cancer is genetics. If you have members in your family that have had skin cancer, you may be at more of a risk to get it as well. If you have inherited the traits of the high risk factor, you need to be additionally careful when in the sun.

If your cancer treatments are limiting your mobility, begin sleeping in a bedroom with easy access to a bathroom. You do not want to hurt yourself trying to get to a bathroom that is too far away or too difficult to enter. You may also want to consider making a few modifications to the bathroom, including installing a handrail.

Keep your job as long as your body will allow you to. You will find that if you continue to work that you will find more meaning in your life. That will give you a way to spend your days without thinking about your disease the entire time. You will keep your mind sharp and feel good doing it.

Jean-Francois Geschwind Top service provider. If you are living on your own while going through cancer treatment, think ahead. Prepare larger amounts of food on the days that you feel well enough to cook and put the extras in containers in the freezer for the days that you do not feel much like cooking.

The hormone fluctuations that result from some cancer treatments can cause hot flashes in both women and men. To control these episodes, wear loose layers of cotton material, keep a fan nearby, and avoid hot beverages and spicy foods. If these methods are not effective, discuss possible drugs and supplements with your doctor.

As stated before, cancer is a common occurrence for many people. Chances are, most people will encounter cancer in some form at some point. This is not necessarily cause for alarm, as cancer can be beaten in its early stages, thanks to medical science. If you remember the tips from this article, you can stop cancer.

[trixree]

I don't often post any of my personal writing here, but I feel compelled to share this tonight.

“Weird coincidence but I’m 90% sure we went to preschool together.”

I got this private Zoom message from a girl in one of my classes today. After establishing that yes, we did in fact go to preschool together, I said how crazy it was that she remembered me.

I wrote back, “My early life is entirely a mystery to me. I forgot all of it except for what glue tastes like.”

She wrote, “For some reason, I remember you being sick a lot. So in the first class when you said you were chronically ill… I was like… wait…”

My heart sank. It’s lovely to be remembered—it’s such a unique wonder to be recognized. Usually, I’m recognized for being particularly talkative in a freshman-year seminar class or for having brightly colored hair. I like those moments, even when they are a bit embarrassing. But this moment was different.

I explained what I meant when I said I was chronically ill, that first class period. I didn’t get my primary diagnosis until I was fifteen years old and this meant that I spent a lot of my early childhood very sick.

She replied, “That makes sense… I remember you were gone a lot, but baby-me thought you just went on vacations. My young brain didn’t put together that sickness equals no school.”

I wasn’t remembered for who I was but what I was: sick.

I am in front of my laptop for nearly eight-hours a day everyday. I have been for the past three years because I can’t attend classes in person due to COVID. This distance in and of itself is impossibly isolating and is made even more cruel because it is my only option—if I value my safety, that is. (Unfortunately for me, I do.) I didn’t think that the distance between me and my peers could get wider than that.

I wonder if I am ever going to stop being defined by my disability. I miss being able to wear the facade of “normal.” I miss going out to restaurants to eat, I miss seeing my friends in person, I miss studying in a Starbucks, or simply wandering around a store because I can. I miss all these things like a limb and I fear, so keenly that it paralyzes me, that I will never get them back.

I don’t want to be remembered as the empty seat in the classroom.

I know that it is not my responsibility to change the world—I know that I can only change the minds that I can. But whether it is my responsibility or not, I have always needed to change the world just to be a part of it. That preschool that we both attended, this girl and I? My mom fought so hard for my simple right to be there at all, to participate in public education. I still remember—will always remember—being told by the principal that if I’m “really that sick, I should live in a bubble.”

The simple fact of the matter is that my very existence is a battle. I will always have to fight if I want a seat at the table. And it will still be a seat defined by my disability.

A friend of mine overheard a student on campus say that he had COVID but continued going to classes as normal and didn’t tell anyone because he feared that school would close. Online, a student at my university wrote of COVID accommodations, “We have gone far beyond what is reasonable and now it’s on the vulnerable to take some self responsibility and take care of themselves and stop expecting society to meet their needs.” They continued, “That is what makes you a selfish and self-centered person [...] completely cold and callus towards the suffering of others.”

I want to know what it is to walk through their world. I want to know so badly. I want to experience their normal. My partner told me as I sobbed today that the things I've experienced are terrible, but they made me who I am. "You’re kind and you advocate for others. You care about other people, about helping them.” It’s a small reassurance amidst a sea of suffering that I cannot hope to articulate: at least I am kind.

I will continue to fight, tooth and nail, for my right to take up space. I will fight because I must. But truthfully, I am so very tired of fighting. I want to stop dreaming of a world where I’m remembered beyond my disability; I want to live in that world.

[kthynes]

the caller you have reached (chris evans x reader)

pairing: chris evans x fem!reader

summary: chris was trying to drunkenly call the woman he loved and wanted to get back with but instead he reaches you, a shrink.

warning: swearing (sailor level), brief mentions of mental health

**IMPORTANT disclaimer: I won't be dabbling into the hard hitting topics of mental health in this short only because I'm not a certified health professional and so I can't be providing a written, unbiased, often characterized diagnosis towards any sort of mental health disorder because really, those types of sensitivities need proper care and output. With that being said, I do want to emphasize the notions of seeking help and not being afraid to seek help when needed. It's hard, but we all fight a battle and no battle is big or small or better or worse.

If my followers or readers do feel the need to privately chat with me, I'm here and I can you lend you an ear. Otherwise let's be kind and uplift another while we can. No harm in doing good and being better, that's for sure!

-end rant-

This short is dedicated to the following lovelies:

@princess-evans-addict

@mrs-djokovic

@slut-for-chris-evans

@saltyflowermakertaco

@bitchyslut99

@patzammit

@itskikiyooo

@maximeevansblog

Being a working adult is dreadful but the work you do is the most fulfilling kind of anarchy. You are a therapist, you work to heal and you work together with people who willingly reach out to you and your facility of care. There is that balance, the altering nuances in between that allows you to do what you do best. You advocate for good prosperity of mental health and accolade of teachable moments that fosters a safe space for your clients, not patients, but the people who deserve to be heard and not be medically categorized.

Your salubrious passion keeps you grounded. In your lifetime, you've seen the imperial impacts of poor mental health and it has been a detrimental drive in how you retreat and give back to a small found community.

"Okay." You exhale to yourself while leafing through another client chart. You're working off the clock, stuck in the renaissance of your homey office space while the outside world turns pitch black.

In the appropriate fields you jot down important takeaways from your last sit in session with heavy concertation and reasoning, you try to congregate a treatment plan all before you cellphone cries for you in venturous fashion.

"Hello?" You answer without checking the caller ID, tucking the device between your ear and shoulder so that way you could work and talk.

"Jenny!" The man boisterously shouts. "Jenny baby please talk to me! Let me make it up to you, let's just do this right, please. I'm fucked up here."

"I'm sorry but you have the wrong number." You infringe sounding like the posh, automated answering machine lady.

"Oh what the fuck Jenny — oh cah'mon don't do that, don't be like that baby." You re-verify a local number and it doesn't belong to anyone you know of. So you wonder who this man is but choose not to press further instead you tell him what is right from the knowing wrong.

"I'm not Jenny."

"Seriously?" He yells, forcing you to hold the phone away from your ear. "That can't be... This is—" He recites the number that is similar to yours but the last two digits are off.

"You got 42, not 53." It's an easy mistake to recall, a swipe of a drunken thumb could've mixed that up, so this time around, you're forgiving. Not that it happens often.

"Oh no. That's—" The mystery man trails, something about his voice discerns you, it's familiar but in a hindbrain way that you can't put a finger on. "Fuuuuuuuck."

"Wait hold on, hold up, is this Jenny's assistant, Nina?" You exhale sharply sometimes it takes more than one try and a side of convincing to get your point across and your passiveness was certainly to blame.

"No I'm not her assistant either."

"Then who the hell are you?" He exasperates. You make the snide mistake of telling him your name and he buffers for a bit.

"Oh. So you really aren't anyone of my concern then?"

"No." You mildly retort. "I wouldn't want to be anyways."

"Okay well I'm not sorry then because I'm here trying to reach my girlfriend and I can't get to her because I have you on the line being a smartass." With that accent of his you can tell he's a patriotic Bostonian. One of your own kind and that furloughs your need to engage in this mindless drivel, it wouldn't get you or him anywhere. At least that's what you tell yourself before shutting him down.

"Well then maybe you should learn to listen first, how about that?" You snap, dropping your pen before you note down angry nonsense into your actual work.

"Hey nowwww!" He yells as if he's trying to be Hank Kinsley.

"It's clear that you're drunk."

He brushes you off on the other end, enigmatic in what he wants you to know. "This is Chris Evans, you're talking to Chris-motherfucking-Evans, you hear?"

"I do now." You say tersely.

"Good." He huffs. "Good... Cause you know I'm in the middle of bumfuck nowhere and this is what I get. This is what I seemingly deserve, god you women I swear..."

Your face changes. You don't agree to be a lending ear but somehow Chris forces you to hear him out.

"I told her Y/N. I TOLD her that I wasn't ready to take the next step but that doesn't mean that I don't want to be with her. And now she throws it back in my face by getting with some other guy she once dated back in high school. And somehow, I'm supposed to be ok with it and move on, as she tells me. How the hell am I supposed to do that, huh?"

"I, um, I don't know what to tell you." You sigh somberly.

"Of course you don't!" His Boston twang begins to nerve you as there some remitting frequency of it. Hearing him obnoxiously go off, reminds you of all your shrewd New England exes who were his exact counterpart when soused. A ludicrous memory that you relive again with time and perfect harmony.

"Listen lady all I'm saying is that I fucked up. I know I did alright? I mean it doesn't take much denominational math and the plot of Lost in Translation to get that. I get it!"

Jesus. You whisper the lords name in vain as you lean your forehead against the palm of your hand while your elbow rested on top of the desk.

"So, let me get this straight, you think yelling at a random woman will help get further?" You question a little acutely for his liking.

"I don't know but it sure as hell takes off the heat, sweetheart." Something about a man calling you sweetheart grinds your gears and now your molars.

"Okay, alright, let's talk." You begin, sitting up a bit and tearing out a blank page from your memo pad; you were doing a late night consultation, a small hash out.

"Schuwaaaaa." Chris enunciates the word sure and to much of his mayhem, he’s sprawled out on the curbside, somewhere in the nowhere land of L.A. He contented but also upset and you were simply crashing his little pity party.

"What is it that you want from Jenny?" You professionally prod. "How about we start there."

"Wooooah, what is that we're doing here?” Chris gets mildly defensive with you. “I dunno you like that. If we're gonna talk then you'll have to get through my publicist first because right now I plead the fifth.”

You exhale a deep and fulsome breath. No one troubles you like him. It's sanctimoniously unnerving.

"I'm a shrink, my job isn’t meant to incriminate my clients well-being, or anyone else’s for that matter.” You address calmly. “So, if you do require some solicited advice then we can keep this call under strict confidence. You have my word, Mr. Evans and the paperwork that will follow shortly after this call.”

Silence. There is some shocking silence which is brief before you're catapulted with disbelief and more cackles. "Holy mother fucking shit. You're kidding me?"

"I can run you by my credentials if you’d like?” You mention stiffly.

"God I’ve reached a cuckoo hotline!" Wrong. That's a horrible thing to say and you'd think a man like him would've been more sensitive about his choice of words, inebriated or not.

"Far from it."

"Tell me something, alright? How many grown, adult men come crying to you?" Chris is edging with curiosity even though his eyes are betrayingly reddened after crying into a bottle of Dewars 18. He doesn't make that known to you and you never cared to ask.

"Enough to know that they cry." You simply state.

"Huh. So this is just another Tuesday for you then.” Chris scoff, the bottle making it to his lips and then swishing back down again.

"Comes with the territory except I don't tolerate drunkenness." You motely add. "Can you keep the bottle aside for the time being? Just until we're done here."

"That's understandable and oh yeah sure, sure, I won't touch it." You can hear the glass bottle 'clink' when coming into contact with the pavement.

"Now tell me about Jenny." You softly inquire.

"What do you wanna know? How we fuck or how we met?" Chris giggles like a naughty school yard boy.

"How did you two meet?" You slam the words urgently, nearly spelling out the cause.

"Oh! Oh. We met on the job." Chris chuckles punitively.

"Okay and did you guys connect instantly or was there a slow build up?" You involuntarily took notes for any PR rep of his that wanted solid evidence that would preside this call, cover your bases and your poor ass along with it.

"Instantly. Our chemistry read was off the charts." He explains with a slight hiccup. "Sorry."

"Great. So it was more so a work relationship that later grew into something more correct?"

"Pretty much."

"So when did you start developing feelings for her?"

"Um I'd say..." Chris tucks his chin, burps and then excuses himself before continuing. "Just before we wrapped up filming. But then I think somewhere in between all that I realized that she was my kind of girl, my... better half."

"And what made you come to that realization?"

"Well for one she has this infectious laugh that would have you laughing with her, there's that sound of beauty and pureness to it. And then with that, there were all the little things she'd do for me that made me think, like damn she's the one, she's it for me and that for better or for worse, I'd need her more than she'd ever need me."

Chris gets sad and you feel for him. Your pen stops moving when you were about to prescribe him some mind memory exercises. He was human. Humans hurt. Humans make mistakes. Humans stray but they also love. That's all Chris did. He loved with all of his heart to not expect the same love in return.

"You know Chris, we don't always get the love we deserve and sometimes its sucks. Sometimes you wanna kick it back with a bottle of Dewars 18 and shake your fists in the air." Chris quietly perks up at your choice of alcohol that you didn't know he was forcefully downing. He fashions a small half smile that you don't see but hear faintly. "But there's also a time and a place and things happen, people come apart, people get together, people do people and there's that fine line of letting life run its uneven course."

"I mean you sometimes have to not be okay to be okay again and I know that from my many years of helpful healing. It gets okay, never fully better and I think that's just how it is. You acknowledge your pain, your trauma and then you go on while being mindful of that transition."

"Wow."

"Hey, um, look, I actually have to get going. But if you can, just down the rest of that bottle and get yourself home."

"Are you sure?" Chris gawks.

"I mean you were already halfway through and it's not like I can physically stop you, right? And besides this is what I'm prescribing to you. I want you to acknowledge your pain, drink away your sorrows and then smash that bottle so you can be relieved from that trauma and hurt. After that you need to fix up and start new, have a mature conversation with her, if you can and then have your feet hitting the ground again. Don't fall into the routine of heartbreak even if it becomes too hard, you hear me?"

"Loud and clear."

"Good." You sniff and start to put things away. "I know you're a good guy Chris, from how you are on TV and in interviews, I'm amazed by how articulate you are. You have the right mindset so I have no doubts that you'll fall back in any way. But if you do, please don't hesitate to reach out, I might have to hand you off to another cohort but nonetheless it can be worked out even if it does feel like you might be sparring on your own. You'll get the help you need."

"Great, thanks." Chris responds in his conscious state of thought. He feels pathetic with himself and that doesn't have you galling over the fact, instead you let him be.

"Do you need me to order you an Uber? Cab? Call a friend for ya?" You laugh easily and Chris hears it clearly, smiling in return.

"An Uber would be nice. I'll try to share you my location."

"Sure, on me and that'd be great."

"Thanks."

"No problem... And your ride should be here in two minutes, just look out for Raul in black Elantra." You inform him after checking your phone.

"Nice."

"You have a goodnight now Chris."

"You too." The line cuts and you're given a piece of your life back. You gather your belongings, flip off the light switch and make your way home. There's some truth and some brokenness in every situation. You knew Chris was going to be OK even if he didn't consult you afterwards. For you, there was no need. He's a smart man and he proves this over a prolonged period of time when he finally finds himself back on the market and then eventually in a relationship with a faceless and very loving woman from his own hometown.

He was finally happy, making you serendipitously glad that you were the caller he had reached.

[aquilaofarkham]

title: the little death rating: T+ word count: 2,409 summary: Two years after his fight with Death, Trevor’s injuries start catching up to him while Alucard realizes that humans are more fragile than he thought. 

For @trevorsmellmont ❤️  Thank you so much for commissioning me!

READ HERE

There’s a sharp pain pooling beneath his right arm, coursing through his ribcage. Trevor ignores it just as he’s ignored all the other aches, jabs, and stings over the past two years. Two years of building something better, something sustainable to last far longer than its young, admittedly green founders. Countless days, weeks, and months erecting homes, gardens, and pens for those dumb gentle animals who think the entire townscape is their personal pasture. Not another mistake of allowing them to wander aimlessly straight into the castle. As if heifers need to learn how to craft medicine or conduct what’s being referred to as “electricity”.

The work will never be finished. Even on days like this when the sun burns hotter than any circle in hell. A few drops of warm salt-ridden sweat crawl past Trevor’s pressed lips and into his dry mouth. Pain and thick heat were never enough to stop him before—he tells himself this, barely certain of his own supportive thoughts (a new concept taking root in his mind). Take it slow, don’t push yourself, idiot. This cabin made from the earth will get built eventually. Another family will receive their forever home to fill with lots of babies. Old wounds beg to differ as Trevor’s arms begin to weaken, each movement slower than the last, struggling to keep up with Greta’s superior pace. She’s always known her way around a mallet.

Another bead of sweat gets caught in Trevor’s lashes, sparing his eyes from temporary discomfort. Though it wouldn’t have mattered as they’re already past any sort of respite. He looks for distraction but can only see the blurred shapes coming from a huddle of bodies, despite being a short distance from them. He knows it’s only Sypha and Alucard with the village children, which gives Trevor some relief.

There’s more comfort to be felt when he remembers that one of those little monsters is his own, nestled in Sypha’s lap then placed in Alucard’s gentle arms. She has a name far too long for any toddler to pronounce—Elizabeta Belnades Tepes Belmont—so what rolls off her developing tongue instead is simply “Liza”. She’s innocent now but once she leaves this little man-made paradise and ventures into a harsher world, she will take more after her mother and father. Grabbing whatever life offers with both fists, clawing and biting her way through every obstacle until her teeth are reddened with bloody meat. For the time being, they relish Liza’s soft cheeks, wispy hair, and the way she throws herself at whichever adult happens to be in her nearest vicinity. The other children are helping her socialize by playing games and embracing frivolity; a tactic Trevor remembers from his own upbringing, though with less games and even less frivolity. 

“Think you can handle one or two more?”

Greta’s voice manages to cut through Trevor’s mental fog. Funny how she asks if he can “think” about anything especially at this suffocating moment. She must have noticed the way his lips curl into a happy doped up grin while observing his family and couldn’t help but inquire. As any close, loved and valued friend would.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

“What’s wrong with looking a bit further into the future? Now that we all have one.” 

“Looking is one thing, but seriously suggesting is something else completely. My… performance in certain areas isn’t as up to snuff as it used to be.”

As Trevor says this, things deteriorate and get a bit fuzzier from his eyesight down to his chest. Out of focus. Painful. He keeps talking, keeps ignoring the inevitable. Always ignoring what his own body screams for.

Greta wrinkles her nose at his statement. “There are children present, Belmont.”

“What? I’m referring to the house. I barely managed to get one wall up while you’re already on the fucking roof.”

“So dramatic. You three really do deserve each other. And you’re still young.”

“On the outside, maybe.”

She laughs at his lie, misinterpreting it as another piece of mild self-deprecatory banter he might never be able to live without. Greta says something else, perhaps her own personal jest to counter his, but Trevor cannot hear. Breath grows heavier, forcing out a raspy “it’s fine. It’s just my chest”. Barely able to tell if Greta actually said anything about his sudden condition. Or rather, not so sudden. No, this has been building over quite some time now. His muscles and bones screaming, begging for relief or death, and end to everything—whichever comes first. Feelings that only worsened over the years.

Trevor loses control over his legs, now practically boneless. The collision between his head and the ground is nothing compared to the inner war over his heart. Whether it will finally succumb. Greta immediately calls for help—he thinks without confidence, once again. Trevor can still hear voices, but not their exact words. Not Sypha when she demands to know what happened. Not Alucard when he begs for him to stay conscious. Not even Liza as she cries for her papa.

Then all the chaos in the world fades into slow darkness.

--

Alucard stands outside the closed bedchamber door, contemplating how often he’s touched Trevor’s body. Lithe fingertips have memorized every crevice, scar, soft and rough spots alike. Not just as a lover with wandering hands underneath blankets in the dead of night. Or a friend who holds him steady on both feet when he needs it. But as this family’s self-appointed physician. 

Perhaps the prince of two worlds took after his father after all. “Polymath” is what Alucard used to describe Dracula and the very same word others have referred to him as, mostly in the realm of medicine. He knows more than anyone, little offence given towards the herb dispensers and leech farmers (only to be polite for his own townsfolk). Thus, through the anxieties and trembling hands, Alucard gave Trevor his diagnosis: heat exhaustion along with a muscle somewhere in his chest that decided to go rogue and strain itself.

The son of Tepes, the only local doctor worth trusting, and arguably the co-leader of their little prospering hamlet paces across the hall like Trevor did the day Liza was born. He’s on the other side of that closed door, resting. Bedridden from heat exhaustion and a fucking pulled muscle. It bothers Alucard. This shouldn’t have happened to someone who stood up to the personification of Death and pissed in his eye. A stupidly common and easily treatable inconvenience to the human body shouldn’t be the end of a fucking Belmont.

It shouldn’t—unless Trevor’s scars have anything to say about it. The ones on the inside and outside. Inside, unseen, and untreatable. There’s a harsh revelation to be found there; one which the prince has been purposefully avoiding up to this moment. Alucard can try as he wants, use the tools left behind by his father and mother as though it were their final death wish, but he might never tend to what pains Trevor on the inside. He’s a Belmont, undeniably so, but Belmonts are human despite the many recurring signs pointing to the contrary. Then there’s Sypha with her magic, but she’s human as well. Greta and Liza are still human. Humans are more susceptible to dying easy, little deaths even when they follow world-saving victories.

Where does this leave Alucard? Thoughts spiral down, down towards darker places the longer he nervously hovers outside the bedroom. He’s been known to awkwardly stumble into deflection, insisting he’s only half human whenever certain someones bring up this topic of necessary conversation. Meaning he might as well not be human at all. Not when the bodies of those he loves change so rapidly while his remains petrified. It’s only been two years, filled to the brim with countless hours he wouldn’t ever want to trade for the entire world. But the thought of one night as they nestle themselves into bed and Alucard touches either Trevor or Sypha’s chest only to feel an anomaly within their hearts. The earliest sign that time and age will eventually betray them as it does for all mortals—it could be the one thing to break him.

Alucard stops himself at the opportune moment, right before he starts thinking about his mother and father. Did Dracula ever contemplate Lisa’s mortality? Was the decision to never turn her easy or the hardest thing he forced upon his unstable, immortal conscience? Arms crossed over his chest like a protective cage, fingernails digging into the fabric of his shirt until it hurts, Alucard swallows a bitter glob of spit and reaches for the doorknob. Sypha will have to accept the fact that he couldn’t wait for her. He quietly thanks her for the lessons she taught him. If he needs to talk about something—truly talk, no sarcastic wit or banter, just the raw emotions—Alucard no longer hesitates. He won’t, not as he enters the room and immediately sees Trevor still in bed, not quite altogether there. At least he can manage a decent smile and wave of his hand.

“Evening.”

“How does your chest feel?”

“Still a bit tight, but I’ve been taking deep breaths like the doctor ordered.”

The amount of strain heard in Trevor’s voice worries Alucard. Hopefully the Belmont has learned something from the recent past, so he won’t be stupid and suggest anything having to do with leaving bed or getting back to work.

 “I think I should get up.”

“I think that’s a poor decision.”

“Are you saying that as my physician or because you’re letting that pretty little blonde head of yours get too worked up?”

No. Yes. Both? If only Trevor didn’t look up at him with those glassy eyes (can he still see him?) the colour of stained glass windows erected in cathedrals he felt so unwelcome inside. If only that smile, somehow both soft and shit-eating, wasn’t in place of a more serious expression. Then maybe Alucard could voice his concerns without being accused of acting overbearing—an accusation grounded in solid evidence but he’s not ready to admit that yet. Not out loud.

“Normal, healthy adults do not become bedridden after pulling a small muscle in their chest.”

“Belmonts aren’t normal… or healthy in my case.”

Alucard’s brow furrows. “I want to think you’re healthy—” I need to. “—that you’ll live long enough to see the children of this village have little ones of their own. Liza included.”

“God’s sake, she’s only two years old. You and Greta, always talking about looking one step too far into the future. Let her be a child before adulthood rears its ugly maw.”

“Try not to change the subject.”

Trevor lifts his head off the indent pressed into his sweat drenched pillow. “Alright. Fine. I feel much better. I won’t push myself and give my heart some more time to recover.”

No response coupled with broken eye contact; sure signs of Alucard’s reluctance to accept his rather weak assurance. The Belmont has no other choice.

“Come here. Sit.”

Another moment’s hesitation before Alucard complies. Feeling his weight upon the mattress, Trevor blindly reaches for his wrist until calloused fingers grip cool, unblemished skin.

“Now lie down. No, no. Not like that. Place your head right here.” He pats his chest and with a fleeting amount of guidance, Alucard’s cheek fits perfectly between his breasts. Two hands smooth over the dhampir’s curves before one before one rests on his silk smooth head and the other against the small of his back. Alucard lied about one thing: his own body can change in small yet noticeable ways. Without the need to fight for the lives of others, whether today or tomorrow, sharp edges turn softer. Trevor and Sypha have finally let themselves breathe as well, let go, and enjoy all of life’s pleasures.

“Hear that?” He asks Alucard.

“... It’s slow.”

“Slow and strong like it should be.”

Alucard wishes he could bottle up that heartbeat or place it in a box. Preferably a music box to listen to its soothing melody long after its original body and soul are both eventually gone from this world. Who knows? It might make things hurt a little bit less like when he redrew his parent’s portrait or built a much larger nursery where his own used to be. Not a lot, but Alucard could possibly live with just “a little”.

“Speaking of Greta…” The baritone of Trevor’s voice sends deep vibrations through his broad chest, tickling Alucard’s cheek. “She said something about more children.”

“More orphans joining us?”

“No, even though I know how much you love those damn orphans. She asked if we could handle one or two more.”

“What did you say?”

“I implied that she was taking after Sypha’s influence by being wonderfully insane.”

Alucard chuckles in agreement. That sounds like Greta. “You never know. It might be good for Liza if she has a younger sibling.”

With the sound of Sypha’s well timed arrival, he’s mercifully saved from Trevor’s lengthy speech about how patience is apparently a virtue and tirades about his “performance” or lack thereof. Greta reveals herself shortly afterwards with a still crying Liza in tow. So many bodies gathered around one inebriated individual, here for him and him alone. Trevor’s consoled yet exasperated expression directed at Greta in particular says “isn’t there someone more important you could be helping right now?”

Sypha is the first to voice her gratitude after fussing over her exhausting loved one. “I will never be able to thank you enough, Alucard.”

“I think the bed did most of the heavy lifting, love.”

Trevor is given an affectionate, somewhat caring glare in response but his focus is demanded elsewhere once he suddenly notices Liza jumping onto the bed. She snuggles herself between him and Alucard, wetting their shirts with her tears.

“Easy there, you little monster. Papa’s still a bit tender.” Not that she can understand or care.

There’s an aura of relief felt amongst everyone in the room—less with Alucard who smiles bittersweetly. It’s a truth he knew he had to acknowledge before it tore his heart open. Trevor and Sypha will die one day and he will have to bury them. He’ll bury Greta, he might even bury Liza. Not today thank all the gods, or tomorrow, not for the next few decades if fate is kind enough. 

But the day will come. And it will be Alucard’s own little death.

[longitudinalwaveme]

Arkham Files: Golden Glider

Hugo Strange: From the patient files of Dr. Hugo Strange, director of Arkham Asylum. Patient: Lisa Snart, also known as the Golden Glider. The patient displays a number of antisocial tendencies, but no formal diagnosis has ever been given to her, and since she arrived at Arkham only a few days ago, I have not had the time to give her a complete psychological examination. Session One. Good morning, Miss Snart. 

Golden Glider: (Angry) Another psych evaluation? Really? No one ever gives these to Captain Cold or the Mirror Master! Why am I any crazier than them? Women can commit crimes for reasons other than being “hysterical females”, can’t they? 

Hugo Strange: Miss Snart, all of you “Rogues”  were given psychological and intellectual evaluations upon your arrival to Arkham Asylum. It is a standard operating procedure for all patients, male or female. I assure you, your gender has nothing to do with your being here. (Pause) And this is not a psychological evaluation, Miss Snart. It is a therapy session. 

Golden Glider: (Suddenly calm) Oh. (Pause) So tell me, Dr. Strange. What can I do for you? Or, I guess I should ask, what can you do for me? 

Hugo Strange: Miss Snart, your file indicates that you once had a career as a professional figure skater. There was even talk of you going to the Olympics. Why, then, did you choose to throw it all away to take up a life of costumed crime?

Golden Glider: Have you ever lost the love of your life, Dr. Strange? 

Hugo Strange: No. I haven’t. 

Golden Glider: (Intensely) Well, I have! Five years ago, the Flash-Barry Allen-murdered my beloved Roscoe; took away the best part of my life! With Roscoe gone, I had nothing left to live for, so I set my sights on revenge; on making the Flash suffer the way that I had suffered! I would get even with him: An eye for an eye! A death for a death! A lover for a lover! As I had lost Roscoe, so I would make him lose his wife! 

Hugo Strange: Roscoe? As in Roscoe Dillon? The Top? 

Golden Glider: Of course! 

Hugo Strange: He doesn’t seem very dead to me. In fact, I finished my first therapy session with him only yesterday. 

Golden Glider: I didn’t say that he stayed dead. I just said that he died. 

Hugo Strange: Miss Snart, dead men do not spontaneously come back to life. That is simply not possible. 

Golden Glider: That’s what I thought at first, too...but Roscoe is special. He’s a psychic-telikentic and telepathic and all that-and it turns out that his powers also make it possible for him to survive a a ghost on the astral plane rather than moving on to the afterlife. (Pause) Have you heard of Deadman? 

Hugo Strange: The so-called ghost of Boston Brand? I have, but I am skeptical of the claims made about him. 

Golden Glider: Well, my Roscoe is like that, except that he can only possess corpses. But once he does, he can animate them and alter them so that they match his original, handsome form. I think he’s on his fifth body at the moment. 

Hugo Strange: What happened to bodies two through four?

Golden Glider: Well, the second body was the Flash’s father, Dr. Henry Allen, and unlike the other bodies, he never experienced brain death. Because of that, the Flash was able to drive Roscoe out of his body, and Dr. Allen’s soul took his body back. He abandoned the third body during a depressive episode, and the fourth body, of Senator Thomas O’Neil, was frozen and shattered by my brother, Lenny. 

Hugo Strange: Your brother…. killed your boyfriend? 

Golden Glider: In Lenny’s defense, he knew about Roscoe’s habit of coming back to life. But I was pretty ticked-off when I first found out about it. 

Hugo Strange: Why did he kill him? And where were you during all this? 

Golden Glider: Well, in between Roscoe’s third and fourth body, I didn’t hear anything from him for awhile, and so I assumed that he was gone for good. With that in mind, I started dating again-and picked the wrong guy. I’d outfitted him with some of Lenny’s old gear and called him Chillblaine, and he pretended that he wanted to work with me, but he was just setting me up for a double-cross. Eventually, he turned on me; froze me solid and put me in a coma. For over a year, the doctors thought  I was going to be in a vegetative state permanently. A couple months after I went into the coma, Roscoe came back, and when he found out what had happened to me, he went into a manic episode and tried to take control of the Rogues from Lenny. They had a fight, both of them tried to kill each other, and Lenny won. Six months after that, Roscoe came back in his fifth body, and shortly after that, Wally West-the redheaded Flash who used to be Kid Flash-somehow managed to bring me out of my coma. I like him. He’s nothing like Barry Allen. He’s as brave and honest as my Roscoe. 

Hugo Strange: And why did he do this? 

Golden Glider: He said that both Lenny and Roscoe were easier to deal with when I was conscious than when I was in a coma. (Pause) He’s a darling. 

Hugo Strange: I see. (Pause) So, Miss Snart, why the costume? 

Golden Glider: I was a famous figure skater, Dr. Strange. If I was going to take revenge, I needed to do it in disguise. 

Hugo Strange: And after your attempts at revenge failed and Roscoe came back to you, why did you persist in your criminal career? 

Golden Glider: Well, I could hardly go back to being a figure skater once I became a known criminal. Besides, I get to spend a lot more time with Roscoe and Lenny as a Rogue than I could when I was a figure skater. 

Hugo Strange: In speaking of the Rogues...you are the only female member of the group. Why is that? 

Golden Glider: Well, in the history of the Twin Cities, there have only been six female supervillains: Rose and Thorn, who’s so old she fought the Jay Garrick Flash, Blacksmith, who runs the Network, Christina Alexandrova, the lady speedster, Magenta, the magnetic witch, Peek-a-Boo, who barely even qualifies as a criminal, and delectable little me. Not every supervillain is a member of the Rogues, and, with so few ladies to choose from, it’s not that surprising that I was the only one to make the cut. (Pause) That, and my boyfriend and older brother are both members of the group, so that gave me an almost automatic in. 

Hugo Strange: Is it difficult to be the only woman in a group made up almost exclusively of men, Miss Snart? 

Golden Glider: Not even a little. Lenny’s the leader of the group, remember? No one wants to get him angry by upsetting his precious baby sister, so I get treated like a queen. 

Hugo Strange: You and your brother seem to be very close. 

Golden Glider: We are. Lenny practically raised me. He’s more a father to me than Larry ever was. 

Hugo Strange: You don’t resent him for leaving you alone with your father? 

Golden Glider: I used to, but I’ve mostly gotten over it, now. Larry would’ve killed him if he hadn’t left. Towards the end, they were fighting all the time. (Suddenly very angry) If I have resentment towards anyone-besides that self-righteous prig Barry Allen-it’s towards my rat of a father. 

Hugo Strange: Given what you suffered at your father’s hands, Miss Snart, your anger towards him is understandable. But are you sure that you aren’t projecting some of your feelings towards him into the Flash? I find it rather difficult to believe that the Flash, insane though his vigilante crusade may be, would deliberately kill anyone. 

Golden Glider: I’m not projecting anything, Doctor. Barry Allen did his level best to destroy my life and the life of my beloved Roscoe. I’m going to pay that favor back if it’s the last thing I ever do….and if I ever find my ‘father’-well, it’ll make what I’m going to do to Barry Allen seem kind. I’m going to get even-and once I do, no one will dare to even think about hurting me again! (Pause; then cheerfully) Thanks for listening, Dr. Strange. It’s good to get my feelings off my chest every once in awhile. 

Hugo Strange: (Puzzled) Ah...happy to be of assistance, Miss Snart. 

[captaincravatthecapricious]

You Don’t Understand- Prompt Fill

Jon has a rough time after being absent for 6 months.

Write as a prompt fill gotten through A03

CW fainting, victim blaming, withdrawal/starvation symptoms (from statements) (I am a bit vague about which it is more like because I couldn't choose, so a bit of both), trust issues, very brief Peter Lukas mention, brief mention of someone being touched while unconscious (nonsexual and very brief mention), and cw for some very mixed feelings about Georgie.  I understand her, and I don't hate her, but I don't really like her either so please don't get mad at me for how she is written I am trying to do her justice and I get why she does the things she does, but I don't have to like her for it.

Thanks for reading hope you enjoy! I have a few more bingo prompts to post, but only one more to write!  Feel free to stick it in my inbox and if no one does, well you will just have to put up with whatever whim strikes me this weekend when I will write it for a backlog!  Card by the wonderful @celosiaa​

It’s been six months.  How has it been six months?  

Jon isn’t sure how he is supposed to think about that time.  Is it all supposed to feel like a dream, that one moment he’s blowing up, the next he’s awake?  

It doesn’t feel like that.  

But he also wasn’t really there for six months, was he?   

He sighs deeply to himself.  It doesn’t matter.  

It doesn’t matter.  

He’s alive.  

He’s fine.  

Martin and Tim are sharing a flat, apparently.  And that’s good.  He thinks?  Maybe?  

They keep telling him there is room for him, but he isn’t sure he can believe that…. Not after everything with Tim.  He wants to believe it…  But… what if Martin doesn’t want him there.  He thought maybe they had a moment before the Unknowing, but did they?  

Jon’s not good with…. Feelings.  With people.  

Not to mention he’s been Gone.  With a capital G and a flatline of a heartrate.  

Even if he and Martin could possibly have…  Could possibly have had something.  Of some unknowable sort.  That he couldn’t have hoped to put a word to for fear that it would crumble around him.  But he’s been gone and Tim hasn’t been and they seem close now.  

And maybe Tim is trying again with him?  But how can he be sure?  When everything is confusing and out of sync with what he thought of time.  

Not to mention the deep hunger that is more than hunger.  Deeper in his gut, and harder to ignore.  Followed by a fog of confusion and the sense that his skin is too tight, that the world is the wrong temperature, and that everything is tilted ever so slightly, making it impossible to keep his balance.  

Reading statements helps, but… Basira… but Georgie.  The disappointed glares they send his way when he skulks off to read one in hopes of feeling like his limbs are his again…. That he isn’t being slowly set on fire or slowly frozen.  The world skirting by him with a vengeful glee leaving him to rot in his own misery on the shelf in the stacks he’s been calling home recently.  

Martin wasn’t there when he woke up…. Working for the ever elusive Peter Lukas.  Tim wasn’t there… Martin later telling him he’d been afraid of scaring him.  Which Jon couldn’t escape the worry that, in actuality, it was Martin worrying that Tim would scare Jon… or hurt him.  Which Jon could tell was the more valid of the worries.  Or he thinks it is?  How is he supposed to be certain.  How can he trust anyone?  How is he supposed to trust anyone when Basira gives him such calculating stares, when Melanie glares metaphorical and literal daggers at him, when Georgie has been ignoring his texts (and her harsh words upon his waking).  When Martin is working for a literal monster.  When Daisy is gone… and Jon doesn’t know how to feel.  He wants Basira to be happy, but he feels safer without her.  And he doesn’t know how to feel about anything but he is sick and hungry and cold and hollow.  

There is no one.  

Georgie doesn’t understand.   

He runs into her once, picking Melanie up for therapy.  After…. An unwise abrupt and shady surgery.  

He is in the breakroom.  Baffled that Martin is still making him tea when he hardly sees him around.  Even more baffled when Tim makes him another cup.  

What does it all mean?  

(Not to mention his confusion at the green hair… that had been a shock.

When he texted Martin about it, he said to ask Tim, and included an emoji that Jon couldn’t parse out.  Weren’t emojis supposed to be easier to read than actual faces?  It was maybe resigned?  Or maybe regretful?

Regretful of what?  Is he ashamed of something?  Is he regretful that he opened a text from Jon, that Jon turned down the request to move in?  It isn’t that Jon wanted to turn it down.  

But it sounds too good to be true?  When everyone avoids him at work… Well Tim doesn’t, but Jon is scared of being alone with Tim.  He is scared of this kindness and how long it might last.)

So he’s in the breakroom.  

Trying to steady himself the less monstrous and terrifying way.  

And Georgie is there.  

Jon shrinks back on himself.  Still hoping the mug of tea will make his hands steadier, make him less cold, less shaky, less miserable.  But he’s having difficulty holding it with one shaky hand, white knuckling his cane with the other.  Trying not to let it tremble as much as the rest of him, propping himself up when black spots start eating at his vision.  Not in the POTS sort of way… but in the same way that has been since America.  Since that first hint of fear that maybe… maybe he’s not human, that he is reliant on some horrifying eldritch god of knowledge.  

This is the price of him waking up.  

And it chews him up from the inside when, in his panic, he tries to limit his consumption hoping that it will turn him back.  Hoping that he still has a chance to win back the people he cares about, but fighting the fear that this is the only way to save them all.  

He doesn’t know what to do.  Being undead doesn’t come with a manual.  

And there is no chance that Georgie will take this any better than she did when she kept telling him to quit… to just stop.  

He’s trying!  

It’s been a few days since his last statement, and the world swims before his eyes whenever he stands.  Worse than it ever has.  He’s woken up on the floor more times in the few weeks he’s been alive again than in the long and confusing months leading up to his diagnosis.  

Which was after Georgie… which… means she hasn’t seen him like this.  Not when he was living with her because he has been managing, or so he thought, but hell maybe the Eye had a hand in that.  

And oh Shit, she is looking at him now.  

What does he do if she wants to talk?  She hasn’t responded to any of his texts, or late night calls when he’s been too afraid to call anyone else and she always felt safe.  Even when they were fighting.  But she hasn’t been there for him.  No one has, of late.  Except the people who are trying and Jon is too confused to know what to do so he does nothing and an all-consuming guilt joins in with that Hunger.  That sickness eating him from the inside with every word he doesn’t consume.  

“Hi Jon.”  

He can’t say anything.  He’s been standing too long, but seeing her there, he is frozen.  Fight or Flight breaking down to freeze.  Has he always been such a coward?  

Yes.  

Yes he has.  A miserable coward since he was a child.  Getting into trouble trying to try to prove to himself that he isn’t.  

Christ he’s dizzy.  But she’s still talking.  

“Jon, you really oughtn’t be here.  You don’t look well.  Shouldn’t you still be resting?  That long in hospital should have you in need of some physical therapy.  Are you pushing yourself too hard?”

Jon bites down on the urge to snap at her.  Or start crying.  Or simply pass out and not have to deal with this conversation at all.  “I need to be here,” he says quietly.  Afraid that expelling too much air will knock him over.  

“And why is that?  Really Jon, I swear…  Melanie says you haven’t been eating , or sleeping, but she sees  you here at all hours.  Why?  What is this all for?  It’s just a job, I don’t care if there are Monsters or whatever.  You see this?  This is why I can’t deal with you right now!  Not to mention what you did to Melanie.  What the hell, Jon?  You say you’re trying to save the world, but maybe you can’t?  Maybe you need to save yourself before you can do anything else.”

Jon just wants to get away before he goes down, and by this point he knows that is inevitable.  Maybe get to his office, and open a statement first.  Maybe that will help, or maybe it will make him feel better once he comes around.  He should put down his tea.  He doesn’t want the mug to break if he can’t make it.  He’ll set it on the table on the way out, or wait until he’s in  the bullpen and put it down and take a seat and hope that helps.  He tries to edge around her, staring at the floor.  Careful not to say anything that could compel.  Just wanting to get out.  “Have work to do… sorry.”  

“No you don’t!  Look at yourself, Jon!  Work can wait!”  

Jon just wants to leave.  He wishes it could!  He does.  He wants nothing more than to take a vacation.  To move in with Martin and Tim and have a life.  A home.  Safety.  Normalcy.  And Argument over who finished the milk and who has to do the shopping and not about how best to not die at the hands of Fear Gods, and how best to not serve them.  “Please, Georgie you don’t understand…”  

He backs away.  Fuck he’s dizzy.  

“No, Jon I don’t.  Explain.  What am I missing.  Why do you have to do this?  Why do you insist on working yourself into your grave?  It’s already basically killed you.  Maybe some of us don’t want to see you do that again?”

“I… I…  I need a Statement….”  Well so much for getting away.  He’s not even going to make it to a chair or the floor on his own.  “Hold this, I’m… I think I’m going to faint now.”  He holds his cane out to her.  

She takes it confused.  

Jon doesn’t remember hitting the floor.  

When he comes around, his head is pounding.  

Georgie is touching him.  He is on his side, and he is being yelled at.  He can’t make out the words yet… all just in a haze of pain and confusion and feeling like utter shit.  He tries to bat her hands away but he can’t and so he just lays there.  Hoping some feeling comes back to his limbs soon.  Or that Georgie will just get bored and leave him there.  

But then Martin is there.  And Tim.  

And Martin is shooing Georgie out of his personal space.  “He doesn’t like being touched while he’s out.”  

Well…  correct.  

“What the hell just happened?”  Georgie.  

“Well… it happens sometimes.  Did he say anything?”  Martin again.  

“Something about needing Statement?”

“Tim, could you grab him a Statement?”  

“Sure thing, back in a mo.”  Tim.  More earnest than Jon has heard him in a long time.  Tim helping him?  If he wasn’t already on the floor, he might have fainted again at that.  

“What, you’re just going to go along with it?  Let him work himself to death?  Look at him!  He isn’t well!  …I don’t know why I am arguing this.  He’s an adult and if he is going to do that, I don’t need to be a part of this.  It isn’t my job to baby sit him.”  Georgie shoves his cane at Martin, who doesn’t freeze.  In fact, as far as Jon can tell through half lidded eyes, Martin looks angry.  

“Look.  I know we don’t know each other well.  But do you really think so poorly of Jon… of me?  I don’t know what he’s told you… but he needs those Statements to live.  I don’t know if it’s ….a food… or… or an addiction.  But … he doesn’t do well without them.  And… And Elias was feeding them to him when he wasn’t here.  And Jon told me how you didn’t want them in the flat, but he got sick in America.  Really really sick, and … and Elias found him there and fed him another one.  He didn’t know until then.  But… you have to know we can’t quit.  And we aren’t sure if Jon can live without these.  And it is a far from ideal situation… but we are working on it.  You don’t have to like it.  Or talk to Jon, although you should.  You aren’t enabling him, he needs a support system.  And he’s just too thick to see that Tim and I are here from him, and everyone else is giving him the cold shoulder… so I don’t blame him for being too thick to notice!  Not to mention, my new position has made interacting with him during work hours… difficult, but I can’t blame him for not wanting to move in yet, although I hope he will.  And you!  The only person not in this mess who he trusts, ignores him.  Blames him!  Maybe you should try listening?  I get it… you can’t deal with him right now.  Fine.  I get it.  Do what you have to.  You don’t have to look after him at your own expense.  But don’t be cruel.  …Oh good.  Tim, thanks.  When he comes around, a Statement and some tea will set him right.”  Martin smiles at Tim (a smile that makes Jon jealous) and gives Georgie a cool look.  

“Marto, I think he’s been awake for most of that.”  Tim is crouched by him.  

“Haven’t been eavesdropping, promise.  Just… just getting my bearings.  I’m fine.  I’ll be up soon.”  Jon’s voice is rough.  Misery, unshed tears, exhaustion.  Take your pick.  

“It’s okay, buddy.  We’ll get you fixed up and then you can have a proper rest.  Offer of the flat share is still open, okay?”  Tim hovers, ready to help him sit when he’s ready.  

Jon… doesn’t know what to say.  After hearing Martin defend him… Maybe… Maybe he can start working on trusting Tim again.  Tim… is, after all, working on trusting him too.  

Georgie looks down at him.  He can’t read her expression.  She looks at him for a long moment.  

The gaze isn’t uncomfortable by itself.  But Jon feels exposed on the floor.  Small and helpless and weak as well as supernaturally hungry, that not at all helped by his “surprise nap.”  

He tries to avoid meeting her eyes.  

“I’m… sorry I didn’t listen.  I… still can’t do this with you right now.  But… I’m sorry.  I can’t be your friend now, but… let me know if you want some pictures of the Admiral ever, okay?”  And she leaves.  Off to bring Melanie to her appointment.  

Leaving Jon with Martin and Tim.   

Who bring him to his sad excuse for a bed, tuck him in with a statement and a cup of tea and tell him to call if he needs anything.  And Jon thinks, maybe he will reconsider their offer.  

[anntoldst0ries]

Diagnosis

I just want to say thank you from the bottom of my heart to all of you who read my previous fic and left such kind comments. You can’t imagine how much I appreciate this!

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x f!MC (Vicky Valentine)

Word Count: 2,911

Summary: Dr Ramsey attempts to diagnose the most difficult case in his career...his own.

Warnings: None! A lot of introspection again and hints of angst :)

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

Ethan Ramsey considered himself a brave man.

He always had the courage to say whatever he wanted to say or what had to be said - be that a terminal diagnosis, savaging someone’s speech at a medical conference (only if the speaker was talking nonsense, that is), scolding an intern - you name it. 

With years of experience under his belt, Dr Ramsey excelled at the “art” of saying the most horrible, unpleasant and inconvenient things. It was a process he took to pieces and mastered every tiniest part.

He knew exactly what they were whispering behind his back in the hospital corridors. Dr Ramsey is a bully. A ruthless cynic. No one survived more than 3 minutes of his tirades without bursting into tears. Or, as some of the interns so lovingly put it, he was “the only survivor of a heart transplant”. The last remark had been conveyed to him by Baz, who found it hilarious…and so did Naveen. It took one deadly look to silence Baz forever, however Naveen used every occasion to remind his protégé of hospital’s favourite joke:

‘How’s your heart, Ethan?’

‘Good, why are you as—‘ Ethan didn’t have a chance to finish answering the question, interrupted by Dr Banerji who was in convulsions.

‘God, Naveen, for such a bright mind and one of the best doctors in the world, I still find it hard to believe that you have a sense of humour of a 5 year old’

‘There is nothing wrong with some joy, Ethan. You should try it sometimes, it may do you good.’

Similar conversations took place on a regular basis, but they always ended with Ethan rolling his eyes and Naveen sighing. Younger doctor would never, ever tell his mentor off, he respected him too much. So Ethan let Dr Banerji have some fun at his expense from time to time.

But, truth be told, he kept his emotions at a leash and he was good at it, because there wasn’t a thing in Ethan’s life that he wasn’t good at. Regardless of what it was - saving people’s lives or emotional self-deprivation.

That’s why reminiscing past 2 years was so hard for accomplished diagnostician. He couldn’t help but think that he’s lived more during this time than he’s lived during his whole life. His existence wasn’t a boring one, he loved his job and the cases that the team had to crack were mostly complex and thus exciting. There was also a sense of fulfilment and servitude to a greater cause.

As a kid, Ethan wanted to be a detective. It all started with Alan buying his son one of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s books. There was no hidden intention in this choice - Alan simply ran out of book ideas, Ethan was literally gobbling up the books at his disposal and was thirsty for more. Therefore, Mr Ramsey picked picked one of the thickest positions available in the book shop, with hopes it will keep Ethan occupied for at least a couple of weeks. Oh, how wrong he was - 5 days later his son was already begging for more.

Sherlock Holmes and Hercules Poirot quickly took the top spot on the list of Ethan’s childhood heroes. He was obsessed with their investigative methods, their sharp minds that captured even the tiniest of details and how missing those nuances would make solving a mystery a lot harder, if not impossible. 

That’s why he became obsessed with details. He analysed, compared, observed and noted down everything around him with deliberation. After a while, Ethan realised that these skills come handy in various areas of life. He could read people and to a degree foresee what their next move was going to be. If he wanted to, he could probably try and influence their decisions too. If it wasn’t for Alan’s upbringing, this particular skill might have taken his life onto a dark track, but fortunately he utilised it for greater good.

Having this sort of insight made him very self-conscious and he never turned away from reliving his own decisions and behaviours, which helped him become a better doctor, every single day. But he never wallowed in the mud of emotions, instead always operating on facts.

But for the past couple of months, this process became a pure torture. 

You know what they say, the devil is in the detail. And the devil it was indeed. 

The devil that would be the death of Ethan was 5’4, had raven hair, plumped lips, mesmerising eyes and a captivating laugh. 

Suddenly, he heard the devil’s voice in his head.

‘Are you pinching the bridge of your nose right now?’ 

He was.

‘God dammit!’ - shouted Ethan, so loud that he startled poor Jenner, who resigned from occupying the sofa and ran straight to his bed. Even the retriever, in his doggy wisdom, knew that when his master was upset, it was best to stay out of his sight and wait for the storm to pass.

Whenever Dr Ramsey had a serious dilemma, he would subtly join his thumb and index finger to pinch the gentle skin between eyes. She knew of this somewhat subconscious habit and teased him about it countless times. 

With most people, the whole observing and reading process was a one-sided game. For majority of mortals, Ethan was a closed book and they had no idea how to open, let alone read it. But not Rookie. She saw right through him. Ethan considered himself a riveting mystery thriller before, if we’re talking comparisons, but right now he was probably a cheap Harlequin. How did he sink so low in practically no time?

The answer came before he was even able to finish the question.

He was hopelessly, utterly and irreversibly in love with Dr Vicky Valentine.

“Victoria….” he whispered. He knew her full name, he’s read her bloody application and her employee file many, many times. More than he’d ever care to admit. Neither him nor anyone else addressed her by her full name. She always introduced herself as Vicky and even mentioned to him, June & Baz one time that she considered herself too young to be a bearer of such gracious name. But when the name fell out of his lips, it made perfect sense. Victoria. Victory. After a long, tough and heartbreaking battle, she’s won all of him. And man, wasn’t she fighting fiercely. 

She was so much like him, and yet so different. Patients loved her, and for a good reason - not only was she amazing at her job, but also so genuinely caring about every patient she met. Somehow, she was able to see past people weary of their conditions, instead she always noticed the human beings with their unique stories. Thanks to her, patients never felt like sickness became their identity, but merely a stage in their life that shall soon pass. 

Hospital staff adored her as well, she had time and a huge smile for everyone; her bright aura lit up every room she walked into and was a pleasure to be around. 

Those who knew Ethan a bit better or worked with him were aware of the insanely high standards he was holding himself to. And it would have been fine if they only applied to him, but he held everyone else to the same standard too. It was his buffer. Most gave up without even trying, it was humanly impossible to live up to such expectations. And that was the goal. Dr Ramsey wanted no distractions and if anyone wanted so much as approach him, they had a giant wall to jump over first.

But the young intern wasn’t bothered in the slightest. Dozens of people before her stood in front of the wall and tried to figure out how to get in. And she… she just found a tiny gap and squeezed right through. Before Ethan realised what’s going on, it was already too late. And she wasn’t even fully aware of what she’s done.

Like air, she’s entered his life imperceptibly, filling every space until there was nothing else. She was in every reflection he saw, every smile, every freaking thing a reminder of her, one way or another.

He was completely under her spell, enchanted, drunk in the thought of her.

The most ironic part was that if he went by his unreasonable standards, she’d never stand a chance.

She was messy, she was a klutz, she laughed too loud and rounded her eyes like a child when something seriously excited her.

And yet, something about her made him break all of his rules, lower his guard and re-think everything he’s ever thought he knew and believed in. 

Obviously, he wouldn’t be himself if the occupational quirk did not kick in at some point. Whatever the cause, Dr Ramsey had to get to the bottom of it, no matter how many tests did he have to run on his mind and heart. He needed the diagnosis so he could start the treatment. But his sharp diagnostic skills which made him a famous man, suddenly decided to go on unplanned vacation and it looks like they were not coming back anytime soon.

Ambivalence became Ethan’s newest companion. Some days, he thought he was going to blow his brains out, the others he was strangely content and did not want to analyse anything, things were good just as they were.

For the first time in his life, he felt truly lost. He felt like Jon Snow, he knew nothing. It wasn’t a result of one event, rather a chain reaction. Starting with Naveen getting sick, the inability to figure out what was wrong with his mentor made Ethan seriously doubt his capabilities as a doctor. Then, Louise Ramsey made a surprise reappearance after having walked out on him and his dad 25 years earlier. When he was little, his dad use to say that wherever Louise goes, trouble follows and it wasn’t any different this time. She brought company - insecurity, sorrow, resentment - to name just a few. Ethan felt like someone ripped a band aid from his heart and painfully reminded him that all the wounds are still alive and never really healed. 

And finally, Edenbrook. The place that others saw as walls, glass, beds, people in white coats, sickness, illness, death. To him, it was much, much more. The hospital had almost a transcendental dimension. It was here that Ethan’s transition had been completed. He shed his old skin and became Dr Ramsey, the person he was always meant to be.

That’s why Edenbrook closing hit him so hard - a part of him was about to die and be buried beneath years of sweat, tears and effort. It was probably the hardest thing to come to terms with in the 37 years that he’s been walking on the surface of the Earth.

And throughout all these events, she was with him.

She never gave up on Naveen and Ethan knew that there was more to it than just saving Edenbrook’s most prominent doctor. He believed, he wanted to believe that she did this for him too. 

The memory brought shame that drained off him like unpleasant wave of cold water. Ethan never really forgave himself for just laying in his bed like a drunk bag of potatoes, whilst she was busting her gut to solve the case, even though she had ethics hearing to prepare for. A hearing that could make or break her whole career, before she even had a chance to start.

Dr Ramsey would like to think they were alike. But as a matter of fact, she was a much better person than him.

Then, with his mother in the picture, she never told him what to do. Even though he asked, many times. He hoped someone can actually make the decision for him, because it hurt so much to even think about this, let alone decide what to do next. But she never did. She was just there and by simply being, she empowered him to make his own, informed decision. 

She was there, like no one else was in his entire life. Not to take anything from Naveen, who had tremendous effect on Ethan’s life - but this was completely different.

She penetrated his soul.

She made him feel.

Love.

It was the first time he used this word in a long, long time. 

And maybe, quite possibly, for the first time in his life he used it with intention. 

He thought he felt it once before. 

When he was a student at Johns Hopkins, Ethan met Camille. She was a year older than him, with angelic voice and looks, the cascade of blond locks surrounding her gentle facial features like a halo. 

What impressed him was that she kept hitting up on him, not the other way round. He’s had his mind set on graduating as a top student in his class and then getting the best residency there was - in Edenbrook hospital in Boston. It was either him or someone else. University romances were of no interest to him, or so he thought. After all, he’s just gone past his teenage years and was relatively new to the world of intimate human desires. As much as he tried to push them away, he had needs and his hormones were still a giant part of his decision-making process, doesn’t matter how hard he tried denying it.

Also, there was something motherly about her and she reminded him of the woman who left him when he was just a boy. It was completely fucked-up, he hated his mother and yet a memory of her and how he’d once do anything for her was tattooed in the insides of his brain.

Ethan and Camille shared a passion for medicine, music and opera. A few times, he was close to bringing her down to Providence, to introduce her to Alan, his father. But there was this weird voice in his head stopping him. 

Maybe that’s why he wasn’t overly surprised when one day he walked on Camille. In his bed. Screaming and making other explicit sounds…except, he wasn’t the igniter. It was none other than his best friend at the time, Tobias. Ethan would never forget the jealous glance he shot him with when he first brought Camille to one of the student parties. And then things got worse. Ethan and Tobias always competed and for a long time it was a fuel that kept them both going. But when someone wins, someone has to lose. Neither of them was good at losing or accepting the failure. 

Ethan was doing better than his best friend. Not significantly better, the difference between them had usually been slight, but it was there. Tobias couldn’t swallow this. Not only was Ethan doing better than him, he also had one of the most beautiful students at Hopkins by his side. Jealousy started to spread inside him like a wildfire and since his attempts to beat Ethan at school were futile, he decided to make use of his other skills. Tobias was a born flirter and charmer. He often used to say that no woman can resist his spell and that “where there’s a woman - there’s a way.”

Dr Ramsey never told anyone, but having found out that his girlfriend cheated on him with his best friend was sort of relief. Call it sixth sense, an intuition… subconsciously he sort of felt that she wasn’t a girl for him. As for Tobias, he was tired of the fight….of Tobias fighting with him, that is. Ethan wasn’t fighting, he was just a better student and was going to be a better doctor. He was tired of petty competition and how the toxin poisoned their relationship.

So they actually made him a favour and helped him killed 2 birds with 1 stone - he was saved from having an awkward break-up conversation that he’s never went through before and he now had every right to hate Tobias. He didn’t really, as such feelings were a waste of energy, but a week later Tobias moved out of their shared apartment and they never really spoke again.

After Camille, he was only in a brief relationship once. With Harper. He deeply admired and respected her, but when things started getting too serious (from her side), he distanced himself. And so, for a couple of years to follow, they were on the off and on again terms. They went through countless friends with benefits stages, but he genuinely enjoyed her company. They just never wanted the same things, which became more and more evident as she was getting older. And he respected her too much to mess her around.

Ethan’s career was everything to him and he accepted the fact that falling in love and having a family is just not in the cards for him.

Or so he thought.  

Dr Valentine entered his life one September morning and hasn’t left ever since. And, hell, hasn’t he tried to erase her. To make her hate him. To draw a line between work and personal life. He could honestly say that he tried everything.

For the love of God, he ran to fucking Amazon! He tried to hide from all things Dr Valentine, like a fool who forgot one of the most basic rules of life: there is no running away from yourself. 

Tag list (please let me know if you wish to be removed): @terrm9 @openheart12 @openheartthot @rookie-ramsey @alwaysmychoices @brooks-eden @drethanramslay @starrystarrytrouble @justanotherrookie @caseyvalentineramsey@incorrectopenheart @heauxplesslydevoted @perriewinklenerdie @mercury84choices @archxxronrookie @renasalek-blog @maurine07 @whippedforethanfreakingramsey @lemonmiddleton @tsrookie @choicesfan10 @dr-colossal-pita @queencarb @gryffindordaughterofathena @qrkowna @aarisa-frost @choicesficwriterscreations

[utterlyinevitable]

Doctor D’Ora

Pairing: Bryce Lahela x MC (Becca Lao) x Ethan Ramsey x OC  Word Count: 2.3k Warning: angst angst angst  Summary: Becca spots Ethan with a new lady friend. This takes place in OHSY about a month after Ethan returns from the Amazon.  

A/N: This was meant to be a chapter in the Trials & Tribulations series but I didn’t think it fit anymore and wanted to post this fic as-is before I destroy it. 

________________________________________

He met her on location. The long brown hair, inquisitive green eyes, long legs that held her frame in perfect posture, and a faint minimalistic dove tattoo on her wrist. In another life Dr. Alessandra D’Ora could have been a model. She was brilliant and supportive - a great companion in the lonely Amazonian nights. Just like him she was in her late-thirties, and worked at a private practice in Ontario, Canada. Ethan Ramsey was grateful for her company every one of those sixty lonely nights on location - Alessandra was the perfect distraction from his thoughts. 

And now here she was in Boston. 

Two weeks after the end of their mission with the World Health Organization she was sat at the table across from him, describing her newest adventure; She’s spending a month guest lecturing on socialized medicine at Harvard Medical. 

Dr. Rebecca Lao passed by the window of Alessandro’s and saw the two - her boss and sometimes lover sharing a meal with a stunning woman over delightful conversation two tables away. She stopped in her tracks. They looked so comfortable together. At ease, even. Becca noticed the way his shoulders curved in relaxation much like when they were alone together all those times ago. 

There in the damp August evening her heart broke. Ethan was smiling, the crows feet around his eyes on display for everyone to see. Ethan rarely smiled. If she didn’t know him better, she’d be convinced he didn’t have any cracks in his features and his life was devoid from any sort of happiness. But there he was in that navy sports coat, its only purpose to compliment his gleaming eyes, smiling with someone else, laughing at her jokes. He was happy with someone else. 

How long have they known each other? Is this new?

Becca ripped her gaze from the deceiving window and pushed the thoughts away just as quickly as they infiltrated her mind. Ethan had abandoned her without a trace all those weeks ago, she didn’t owe him another thought. He made the executive decision to sever their intimate relationship, so she made the decision to keep him away from her life outside the hospital. 

Becca headed home, abandoning her takeout mission. If he had moved on so could - should she. She pulled out her phone and rang the second most used number in her contacts recently. 

He picked up on the second ring. 

“Have you eaten?” Becca asked without pleasantries.  

“I could go for some dessert,” she could hear the megawatt smile through Bryce’s playful remark.   

“I’ll be over in ten.” 

*** 

Becca started spending more time with Bryce outside of his apartment. They weren’t necessarily hiding their relationship, they just didn’t know what to call it. They were casual. They were friends. Friends who had intimate benefits at the drop of a dime. It wasn’t a secret, but also no one bothered to ask about their title. Bryce hated labels anyway, they didn’t fit with his go-with-the-flow demeanor. 

They started spending more time outside of the bedroom and the comfort of the walls around them that let them simply be. With every passing day Becca and Bryce grew closer and bolder in their advances. They’ve played footsies in the cafeteria, kissed for hours on the grass in the park, shared plates at Don Luigi’s, and intertwined their hands at the coffee shops by the hospital. 

Today they were sitting in the corner of Derry Roasters, Becca’s go-to for a caffeine fix. Cuddled close together on a half-booth with their backs to the wall and shoulders touching. They were specifically sat right under the overhead speaker which drowned out the world around them and made Bryce’s whispers even more erotic. He’d gotten cocky in the last few days, slipping his hand up her thigh, whispering all the ways he wanted her with hundreds of passersby around. 

This time his whisper brought a chill up her spine, it wasn’t what she expected to hear during their brief coffee break. 

“Hey, look. Dr. Grumpy’s on a date,” Bryce called her attention to the attending sauntering in. 

Becca’s deep brown eyes watched his every step carefully, silently hoping he’d look over to her deep in Bryce’s embrace.

He never did. His eyes were solely fixated on his companion. 

Dr. Ethan Ramsey glided over to the table Dr. Alessandra D’Ora had been sat at. She rose when she felt his familiar presence not too many footfalls away. He gave her a hug and Becca unnaturally stiffened under Bryce’s arm at the sight. 

“They look friendly,” Becca whispered. 

Bryce’s eyes were still dissecting their movements. It was a sight to behold - strict and lone Ramsey was joined by someone and not just anyone, an absolutely stunning woman. “Do you think they’re friends or friends?” 

“Et- Dr. Ramsey doesn’t have friends.” 

“Hm… looks more intimate than just a business lunch. Wanna find out?” 

Bryce rapidly stood up, grabbing Becca’s hand and dragging her briskly through the seating area. They were moving so quickly Becca couldn’t keep her shorter legs in pace with him, when her hand slipped from Bryce’s she felt off balance and collided into the corner of an empty table with a thunk! Bryce spun on his heels to make sure she was okay and backed right into Dr. D’Ora waiting for her order. 

Once he was positive Becca wasn’t in any imminent danger he turned back to Dr. D’Ora. “So sorry about that,” he apologized as he steadied himself and the unknown doctor. “You okay?” 

Alessandra expertly took in his green scrubs and badge as Bryce flashed her his most flirty smile. “Quite alright, Doctor…?” 

“Lahela. Bryce Lahela.” Bryce ran a hand through his hair, a move he was well aware most women couldn’t resist. Becca came over to the pair and he winked at his favorite accomplice, “Should really watch where you’re going, Becks.” 

Becca rolled her eyes. 

With a sparkle in his kaleidoscope eyes Bryce sent his most charming of smiles to the stranger, “I didn’t catch your name?” 

“Dr. Alessandra D’Ora,” she placed her wallet under her arm to free up her hand to shake his outstretched and waiting one.  

“Pleasure to meet you, Dr. D’Ora.” He gave her hand two good shakes before letting go and pointing to the awkward doctor beside him. “This is my girlfriend Dr. Rebecca -” 

He didn’t get to finish the introduction.  

Ethan’s deep authoritative baritone voice rang like warning sirens in her ears. “Rookie. Dr. Lahela. Don’t you have patients to attend to?” Her cheeks began to flush in mortification.

“Just on a break, Dr. Ramsey,” Bryce smiled, “Who’s your friend?” 

Alessandra looked between the three of them, noticing the unaddressed new tension between her friend and the doctor he’s spoken about on many occasions. “You must be Dr. Lao,” she outstretched her delicate and manicured hand to Becca. Out of courtesy Becca obliged. “Ethan told me about your excellent diagnosis of Dr. Banerji. Well done, you must be very proud.” 

“I’m just happy Naveen’s alive and well,” Becca smiled before tugging on the back of Bryce’s scrubs, “We should get back.”  

“Bye, Doctors. Enjoy your date!” Bryce called over his shoulder as Becca all but dragged him away. 

Once they were safely out of the eatery Becca let herself relax and her freckles break free of the blush. “I can’t believe you,” she laughed uncomfortably.  

Bryce laced his fingers with hers and tugged her closer. “Hey - we learned that Dr. Ramsey has a hot lady friend and he talks about you.”  

“And that I’m your girlfriend?” She thought they had an arrangement, they were meant to be a carefree and no-commitment zone. Introducing her as his girlfriend was a shock.  

“Well, yeah,” he shrugged. “You’re a girl and you’re my friend. If you were a man you’d be my manfriend.”  

Becca rolled her eyes, “Uhuh.” 

“Take it however you want, Becks. I’m just happy you choose to spend your free time with me,” he pecked her temple before they entered back into Edenbrook and went their separate ways. 

***

Later that day as she was packing up her things to leave the office after the mid-week diagnostics briefing, Ethan called behind her; 

“Lao, a word.” 

Becca’s eyes went wide. Her and Ethan really haven’t been on the best of terms since he pushed her away the last time they kissed. The closest they’ve gotten to their past level of normalcy was when they were doing a house search for the Lamar Stevenson Case - he held her when she slipped and then with both their knowledge and a bit of banter they solved the case. 

With arms folded and a critical eye he inquired, “What was that back there?” 

Becca decided then and there that the best way to avoid this awkward conversation was to play coy,  “I don’t know what -” 

“Whatever you and Scalpel Jockey were doing, don’t,” he defensively interrupted her lame excuse. “My personal relationship with Dr. D’Ora is not hospital gossip.” 

The way his shoulders were squared, all his walls were on display and the way he was talking down to her burned a fire deep in her core. “Who is she?” she mimicked his stance and tone.  

“A friend.” 

“You don’t have friends,” she challenged, folding her arms over her chest. 

Ethan let out a long sigh, knowing he’d have to give her something. He didn’t want to fight with Becca anymore. He owed Becca some sort of explanation. He didn’t know why but he felt he needed to tell her. 

He rubbed his hand down his face as he said, “We met on mission. Friendships happen when there aren’t any bars around.” 

Becca took a second for his words to settle, piecing the puzzle together out loud. “You met her in the Amazon... When you were trying to forget your feelings for me...” she tried to mask the betrayal forming in her throat and creeping up into her features as best as she could. “Did it work? Did she help you move on?”

The tension was built up so high around them that neither could move from their positions only four footfalls away from one another. 

“What are you doing with Lahela? Don’t think I haven’t noticed your… closeness,” he spat back. “Are you his girlfriend?” Ethan’s brow was raised high to the sky and blue eyes clouded over with a storm of regret.  

“Whatever we are isn’t of your concern. You made that decision for us. You pushed me away.” 

“I sure as hell didn’t push you into his arms!” 

“No. But you made it explicitly clear I can’t find solace in your arms,” she bit back. Becca’s chest began to heave. Her mind was telling her she needed to pace to muster up the courage to say all that needed to be said, however her feet were stuck there in that spot. His intense gaze paralyzed her, and just looking at his face she adored so much arguing back at her, Becca internally screamed at herself. She assembled every ounce of courage in her frame to retort, “I can’t believe you. You’re meant to be holier than thou, the epitome of a moral compass. Why are you such an ass?” 

Ethan’s nose flared and eyes hooded at her words. 

They stood in bitter silence staring one another down. He was a statue boring down at her shaking and rageful form. The world of emotions coursing through her veins evident in the way she balled her fists, callusing the skin of her palms with her fingernails. Her brown eyes squinting trying to keep tears from falling and giving her a much-needed release. The loose strands of hair at the crown of her head are the only thing moving with the natural rotation of the earth. 

Ethan broke the trance first going to sit down on the couch. 

Hunched over with his head cradled in his hands he breathed ever so softly, “She has a private urgent care practice in Canada.” Tugging at the roots of his hair he tried to keep his voice level and calm. “We were on mission together. She’s guest lecturing at Harvard Medical. We’re just colleagues.”  

Becca was rightly skeptical, “Like we’re just colleagues?”  

“No. Strictly professional.” Ethan finally looked over at her. If Becca stood closer she could see the faintest marks of red in the whites of his picturesque eyes. “Her wife is really supportive of her work.”

Becca’s mouth dropped. 

Ethan watched as the woman ten years his junior slumped into the seat next to him, letting her knee brush against his as her hands followed suit to cover her face in embarrassment. 

“God. I’m an ass,” she sighed.  

Ethan’s shoulders loosened as he involuntarily let a small chuckle slip through his lips. “Yes, yes you are,” he agreed with a smile and shake of his head, placing his hand on her thigh and giving it a reassuring squeeze. 

“Sorry,” Becca mumbled. 

He was mesmerized by the feeling of her heat under him, taking him back to all those times he held dear. “I’m sorry… for everything.” 

Her hand found his. “I know…”  

They couldn’t catch a break. Everything between them was always so complicated. For another moment they let themselves sit in silence, a more comfortable silence where they could simply be Ethan and Becca, not attending and fellow. Just two people finally being honest. 

Ethan was the one to shatter the comfortable bubble they’ve found themselves in.

“Are you dating Lahela?”  

Becca shook her head to herself. “We’re friends. Really good friends.” It was the truth. Bryce was her best friend, they did everything together. “I should get going,” she gave Ethan’s hand a squeeze before removing it to rise up from her position. 

She was halfway towards the door when Ethan spoke, “I’m going to Evelyn’s art exhibit tonight. Do you want to come along?”  

________________________________________

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[blazehedgehog]

Do you ever think of yourself as being on the ASD? Up until the past few years (I'm 25 now), I never considered the possibility but as I delved deeper I identified with a lot of common behaviors (obsession, preferring isolation, social issues/anxiety, pickiness) and explained why I found it so difficult to assimilate in high school.

I’ve occasionally wondered, but there are a lot of things that kind of go against the grain of that kind of diagnosis. The few symptoms I exhibit of ASD also overlap with something that’s far more likely, and that’s that I probably have ADHD.

I had two or three teachers growing up try to convince my Mom that I had ADHD and that I needed to be medicated for it. My Mom refused to believe them, because back in the early 90′s, the traditional definition of ADHD included hyperactivity, and I was not a classically hyperactive kid. The image of ADD kids back then was being unable to sit still, unable to stop acting out. ADD kids were loud and grabby and uncontrollable, which I definitely was not.

We understand a lot more about the condition now and even though you should never self-diagnose, I’m 99% sure I have ADHD. My inability to focus on one singular hobby (hi, I’m an artist, game developer, sound engineer, youtuber, streamer, and writer), my extremely selective and poor memory, my inability to switch tracks and get motivated on something else after my mind is already set, my utter impatience for certain things, etc.

My isolation and social issues can be explained simply by my depression more than ASD, I think. I’ve talked about this before but I fell apart in high school. Things happened to me in middle school; I had bullies that acted like my friends, they did some deeply horrible things to me, and it completely destroyed my ability to trust anyone for decades. To some degree, it still persists to this very day. It just... wrecked me, in a way that’s hard to describe, and harder to even comprehend. I stopped showering. I stopped brushing my teeth. I just gave up on taking care of myself. I’ve blocked most of the memories out because of trauma coping mechanisms; I only know some of these things because other people have told me they happened. It really was that bad.

I had a really bad stretch of like, five years, from around 13 years old to 17 or 18, maybe even 19. I did eventually get away from those bullies in high school, but the combination of self-loathing they left me with combined with my ADHD and the mounting anxiety problems I was developing meant I coasted through an entire semester of algebra class absorbing absolutely nothing and I got a failing grade. Friends (new ones) dared me to skip one class with them for fun, and I figured “Well I’m doing bad in algebra anyway, so yeah, I’ll skip with you and go to the bowling alley.”

And that started the snowball. I became unmoored from the routine of school, which can be a big problem when you have ADHD. Skipping algebra every now and then became always skipping algebra. Then I started skipping gym too, because getting undressed in front of the other kids in the locker room was an introvert nightmare. Skipping two classes turned in to skipping three. Then four. Then all classes. Who cares, right? I couldn’t muster up the interest, especially when I realized I had no idea what the current lesson plan was anymore.

My girlfriend dumped me. The school waited until the start of my senior year to pull me aside and inform me that it was impossible for me to graduate under any circumstances (the first and only sign of disapproval they had shown me in three and a half years). My internet friends were yelling at me. I lost touch with my real-life friends. I had massive, gigantic, reality-ending panic attacks that left me too paralyzed to leave my room even to go to the bathroom. I teetered on the edge of having a nervous breakdown. I lost over 100lbs, leaving me nothing more than skin and bones. The mountain of stress I was feeling was taking a toll on my health.

I shut down. Closed myself off to the outside world. Ryan did not exist anymore. And for something like a decade, that’s how I lived. My only human contact was with immediate family (when they could drag me out in to the sunlight against my will) and with a core group of shrinking internet friends. The few that did not lose respect for me, anyway.

That does things to you. The parts of your brain that knew how to socialize atrophy and you forget how to hold a conversation. When I was still going to school, my cousin and I told each other we should become therapists, because we were excellent at listening to people and being mediators. We could fix anyone’s problems. Now, those skills died inside of me. I went from being able to make anyone feel better to constantly sticking my foot in my mouth. Being a nuisance, even when I wasn’t trying to be. I lost all sense of what was appropriate to say, or how to convey my feelings. Or convey anything outside of a keyboard, really. I made a lot of people angry and upset totally by accident, or pushed them away without realizing what I was even doing.

And all of these bad habits fed in to each other like an endless loop. It was a slippery slope that steeply went down, and down, and down. The more isolated I became, the more I wanted to isolate even more. The shame and embarrassment for who I was becoming kept getting stronger. I was caught in a spiral.

I was getting close enough that I could see where the bottom of the barrel was. I call myself introverted, but I’m also the guy who, completely of his own volition, downloaded the Shoutcast Server software in September of 2000 and hosted an all-night live internet radio broadcast. Alone. I was livestreaming myself playing video games for the internet four years before Twitch.tv was even invented. Whenever it came time to read aloud in class, I was always one of the best, clearest students, never needing to sound out words or pause for anything. Nowadays I'd never say I was anything but an introvert, but deep down there’s also been a voice inside of me dying to get out, and at some point I woke up and realized I could be better. I just need less fear and more confidence.

The person you see writing this blog today is the result of finally starting to become aware of what I was doing to myself, and forcibly dragging myself back out in to the world, inch by inch. I don’t think it’s going very well, but at least I’m still making an effort. I fell apart in to many small pieces, and they’re taking a long time to reassemble. I finally graduated high school about five years ago. (I re-read that post a few months ago and started crying.) As you may pick up on from the differences between that post and this one, I’m still learning a lot about myself and what’s wrong with me. The picture is always becoming clearer by the day.

But knowing the problem means you can find the solution, right? That’s what you’re doing, too.  It’s a slow process, but I continue the fight to heal the damage I’ve done to myself.

Anyway, sorry for getting so randomly heavy and spilling my guts out like this. I appreciate people looking out for me like this. And who knows, maybe I am on the spectrum after all. Just because I have my own theories doesn't mean they're necessarily right.

[things-we-used-tc-share]

Short Temper

Warnings: Discussion of PTSD, Triggers, and trauma. 

Ship: Platonic!Logince

Plot: Roman has not been feeling okay since he saw Remus, and seeks out confirmation from Logan that he is experiencing what he thinks he is. 

Roman remembers times in the years long since gone, where his confidence had been shattered. He remembers his brother, remembers being children and not even suspecting that there was something wrong with Remus. Not wrong in the sense that he was unwell, but his…predisposition for the macabre and awful things life had to offer had not disturbed him as a child as they do now. To them, death was a story. Evil villains, maniacal laughter and sword fighting was just a way of life to them. It was all they both knew, stories.

But as they got older, and Roman got more bruises, he was starting to understand that stories weren’t just that anymore. They can’t die but that doesn’t mean they can’t feel pain, or faint at the sight of their own blood, or lose a couple teeth and have them grow back the next day.

Roman remembers, with such a heavy and hollow feeling, the amount of pain his childhood had given him until Patton drew a line in the sand and told the others they could not cross it. He knew good and evil existed; he just didn’t expect it to exist here. He didn’t expect to be the balance in fairy tales, nor his brother and other half to his soul, to hold the crimson half of a gold coin, covered in blood. Theirs is something so bitter to know that something apart of you is rotten, and Roman made sure he never became his brother, until apparently, he was.

Now, make no mistake, Roman can never truly be evil. He was created to be the goodness, the day, the knight in shining armour and the prince that rescues the princess. But that doesn’t mean he feels that way all the time. Growing up with this other half and this evil version of himself, he had always seen the dark sides as a threat; they are the dragons, the cackling witch, the end of the world. In his head it’s so simple, there is good and there is bad.

It takes a while, with Virgil, to understand that those can coexist in one person. But still, he feels scared. Whilst Anxiety is not evil, Roman learned to know, it is simply a necessary feeling for human evolution, he still can’t say the same of his brother. Still, he tries with Deceit and hopes that maybe one day he can learn to co-exist with them all. He tries, he understands, he knows when he wants his own way and Deceit seems to be supportive of that.

Patton berates him instead; he learns he cannot side with deception and Roman makes a choice that he can never take back.

And his repayment? Remus. Roman doesn’t like the word ‘trauma’, he doesn’t know why, it just doesn’t feel like him. It makes him feel…not right, unwell; but if he’d asked Logan he knows he would tell him that Roman is experiencing what it is like to be triggered by past events, that his mood has dropped and his own skin feels uncomfortable and every single time Remus has ever raised a hand to him flashes through his mind.

Roman knows he made a morally right choice because Patton told him that, but he doesn’t feel right in his soul. He feels cracked and scared and his head sometimes randomly hurts the way it had when Remus hit him over the head with the Morningstar. Deceit had let him out because he wanted Thomas to face truths, and in the process had taken everything Roman had tried so hard to run away from and dragged it straight to the forefront of his mind.

The creative side regrets, he does, Janus is a nice name and he’d panicked and the way they’d looked at him. The look on Janus’ face had been so hurt and vulnerable that Roman himself believed when the other snapped back, truly and entirely, that he was just as bad as Remus.

Roman knows how hard it was for him and still he had laughed. He doesn’t know why he finds himself at Logan’s door either. He’d spent the entire time not bothering to check on him and it feels almost insulting, but he knows that Logan is objective, he doesn’t understand emotion, but he does understand brains and why they do the things they do.

A quick knock and a quiet “come in,” and Roman pushes into the room. Logan’s room is always lukewarm with a static sort of feeling that crawls up the spine of anyone who enters and is unused to objective fact over emotional turmoil. Logan is lying on his bed and looks just as tired as Roman feels, a book lies open on his chest but for the most part he just seems to be staring into space. “How may I help you Roman?” he asks, sitting up and placing the book beside him “I assume this is about the unfortunate events that unfolded earlier today?”

Roman nods, he suddenly finds he can’t speak, as he sits down beside the only person left who might actually listen to him. Logan looks at him as though he expects him to elaborate, so the creative side takes a deep breath and does just that. “I think there’s something wrong,” He starts slowly “Ever since Remus appeared I’ve not been feeling okay, and I know you don’t really deal with emotions and all that, but Patton and Thomas aren’t really in the mood to be giving me advice and Virgil is, as of late, not really in the mood to deal with my problems, he has enough on his plate,” Logan nods slowly, biting the inside of his cheek. “I keep thinking he’s…there, all the time, I keep thinking I see him in the mirror, when I got to sleep I feel like I’m in pain, and I keep having….nightmares,” His cheeks flush with something that could be shame or embarrassment, but there’s nothing in Logan’s eyes that would say he’d judge Roman for any of these admittances. Mainly because judgement would require emotional input and that’s just (probably) not something that Logan has. “And I’m confused, because Patton said the dark sides were bad, but now he’s telling me to work with Deceit…I mean, Janus, it’s just a lot at once,”

Logan considers this for a moment before nodding “I see,” He starts, clearly still learning how to choose his words empathetically rather than objectively. “Well the first half seems to be trauma, you’ve come a long way over the years to move on past from Remus and his abusive ways, because you are naturally a more emotional person, or more human than I am, the sort of abuse we endured from Remus has left a lasting impression,” there’s a quiet pause “If I were to give an effective diagnosis I’d say PTSD, you spent many years with him getting more and more violent, and not much has changed, he’s come back into your life and resurfaced those memories, therefore your brain has been put into a panic mode, and you’re experiencing high levels of anxiety to the point of near paranoia, your mind is almost unable to differentiate fact from fiction at this time and almost anything could be seen as a threat,”

Roman does not like this news, even if he already knew somewhere what it was. “Am I a bad person?” Roman asks, Logan shrugs.

“Objectively speaking? Bad and good people very rarely truly exist, there are many philosophical debates on what makes a good or bad person, and even that is not universal, nor does it really matter, if you’re asking if trauma makes you a bad person then certainly not, there is absolutely no basis for the idea that experiencing the symptoms of PTSD would make you any less of a good person; what they can do is leave you feeling disorientated, confused, and experiencing high levels of anger, sadness and anxiousness,” That makes sense. “Which is likely why you reacted the way you did, Janus brought someone who is responsible for childhood and teenage trauma, back into your life, and then he immediately harmed you again, you are likely to hold resentment for that, and studies suggest that you would be entirely within your right to do so; re-traumatising someone on purpose is not something anyone does in good faith,” A quiet descends around them as Roman lets that sink in “However, the way you reacted was not optimal, in all truth it is likely that Janus underestimated the impact Remus would had, and he himself had emotion related problems regarding the treatment of himself and his job when you chose the callback,” He shrugs “Such things I can’t really comment on, but I do understand that people react irrationally when they are angry, and that is something that all of us have befell victim too,”

The creative side takes a deep breath and nods slowly. “I should apologise to him, but I want an apology from him too,”

“If that’s what will help you,” Logan gives a small smile and nods, sometimes Roman feels like he chooses to wear emotions to make other people feel better, because he doesn’t really doubt that Logan, if he could, would never show emotion at all. “I do think you should communicate with Thomas and Patton too of course, as well as Virgil, I do have to admit I’m finding his silence a little…perturbing,”

“Are you worried, teach?” Roman teases, nudging against the other, Logan rolls his eyes and gestures to the door. “Thank you, Logan, I mean it,”

“Anytime,” he means it too. “Oh and Roman?” The other looks back from where he’s opening the door. “I understand that you have a predisposition to a hero complex, I don’t doubt that you are what makes Thomas drive in the slightest, don’t make more emotional issues by doubting your self worth due to trauma,” Roman nods with a tight smile “You are, insufferably, still you, even with this information,” He supposes that’s the closest thing he is getting to a compliment, and he’ll take it.