#anyway a few weeks ago i realised my worst fear is no longer death. but the death of my friendship with my beloved friend. and thats fucking

[early-october-skies]

Me when we don't speak anymore by bears in trees

[engie-ivy]

do you have a fic where remus confronts Sirius of believing he was the spy (like maybe canon divergence - they all live) and refuses to agree that just because there was a war doesn’t mean he should’ve not trusted him or used the excuse that he’s a werewolf not to believe him

Hi!

I have fics that deal with the suspicions and false accusations during the war! But these do take on a more Fluffy path, and eventually lead to them being understanding and forgiving of each other's behaviour😅

You might like the confrontation in

If Tomorrow the World Crumbles

“Well, what am I supposed to bloody think, then?” Sirius shouted back. “You’re obviously keeping things from me! How is this sketchy behaviour going to make anything better? Why couldn’t you just come talk to me, so you could have proven that you’re not-”

“Because I shouldn’t have to proof anything to you!” A hint of pain was seeping through in Remus’s frustration. “All my life I’ve had to proof myself to everyone, and all my life I’ll have to continue proving myself, simply because of what I am, but not to you. Never to you. You’re supposed to believe in me! You’re the one person who’s supposed to be on my side.”

And here's an excerpt from my longer fic

If Only You Knew the Whole Story

He’s sitting in a chair. His arms are handcuffed behind his back and his ankles are chained to the legs of the chair. Protective spells are placed around him, making it impossible to come any closer than half a meter in his vicinity, though there isn’t much he could even do without his wand. His long, dark hair is tied in a messy bun with loose strands falling over his face, and he still has the muggle clothes on he was wearing when he got arrested.

He’d been wearing muggle clothes a lot. When James teased him about it, he told him to go try and ride a motorbike in flapping wizarding robes and then come talk to him. No one particularly minded seeing him in tight fitted muggle clothes anyway, as the man has always been unfairly good-looking.

He looks up as Emmeline enters the room, his grey eyes empty and emotionless.

Sirius Black.

“I didn’t think you’d come back. You seemed rather pissed off when you left the last time.”

“I’m pissed off at you by default. But I did some fact-checking on your previous claims.”

Black rolls his eyes. “If you looked him up in the Animagus register, I could have told you-”

“Actually, I went to a more direct source.”

“Hello, Black.” Remus steps in the room, his eyes focused somewhere on the logo on Black’s worn-out band shirt, deliberately not meeting Black’s eyes, his mask of indifference firmly in place. Emmeline understands his need to not show any emotion in front of Black.

Black’s face, on the other hand, is a whole different story. It’s hard to imagine his eyes were so void of emotion just a moment ago, as a variety of emotions passes over his face.

Disbelief. Hope. Fear. Guilt. Pain.

When he speak, soft and barely audible, his voice sounds so broken that it sends a shock through Emmeline’s body. She can tell Remus feels the same, as his eyes snap up to Black’s face.

“Remus? Please...”

“I messed up, Remus. I messed up so bad. But if only you knew the whole story-”

“You’re going to tell me the whole story,” Remus interrupts, his voice cold and bitter. “The real story.” He opens his palm to reveal the small flask of Veritaserum.

Now, Emmeline was expecting anger. Anger as Black would realise he wouldn’t be able to make up stories anymore. Anger as he saw his plans of manipulating Remus with his lies go up in smoke. Emmeline may have understood shock, that they would actually dare to force him to take the truth potion, or maybe even panic, now that his ploy is officially over.

What Emmeline did not expect, however, was the look of sheer hope on Black’s face, like he’s a dehydrated man who has been wandering the dessert for days and Remus is holding a glass of fresh, cold water.

“Yes,” he says pleading. “Yes, please...”

It completely catches Emmeline off guard, and she can tell Remus is also thrown off. He stares at Black dumbfounded and seems unsure what to do next. He fumbles with the flask, opening it and sliding it across the table towards Black.

As they can’t get near Black with the protective charms surrounding him, Emmeline doesn’t know what they would have done of he had simply refused to drink the potion, but then again, that would have said enough of itself, wouldn’t it? Now, however, Black wastes no time in bending forward, taking the flask between his lips and throwing his head back, gulping the potion down.

After Black has dropped the empty bottle back on the table, he sits motionless in his chair, his eyes closed. Remus is staring at him intently, his mouth in a hard line and his knuckles turning white where he’s gripping the edge of the table. The moment can’t have lasted more than a few minutes, but it feels like an eternity. Despite all her talk about only doing this for Remus, not believing anything will come of it, Emmeline feels nerves coursing through her body. There’s a heavy tension hanging in the room and the air feels thick. Emmeline can only imagine what this moment must be like for Remus.

After what seems like hours, Black slowly opens his eyes. “It wasn’t me.”

So few words hardly more than a whisper, but their impact couldn’t have been greater if he had shouted them in their faces.

Remus’s legs threaten to give out from under him and he supports himself on the table, staring at the wood while gasping for air.

“It wasn’t me, it wasn’t me, it wasn’t me.” Black repeats the words like a mantra.

Remus lifts his head, and upon seeing the pain, hope and confusion on his face, Emmeline wants to run to him, support him and start questioning Black, but at the same time she feels like she needs to stay out of it for now, this needs to be between them.

“What wasn’t you?” Remus breathes. “I need to hear you say it.”

“Everything. Any of it. The murders, the betrayal. Rem, I wasn’t even the Secret-Keeper!”

“But... But...” Remus tries desperately to order his thoughts. “Peter?”

Black nods silently.

Remus shakes his head. “No, no. James insisted! He would never choose anyone but you!”

“No, he wouldn’t.” Black replies as he shifts his gaze downwards, sadness reflecting in his eyes. “Not until I convinced him to. Merlin, I thought I was so clever! A perfect way to throw them off track. Who would even consider it being anyone else?”

“But you told me it was you! Those evenings we spent talking about it...”

“I lied! I lied to you, Remus.”

Remus stares at him for a while. “You didn’t trust me.” It’s not a question.

“We knew there was a spy,” Black says, looking absolutely miserable. “We just didn’t know who.”

“And I was the logical choice,” Remus states. “I assume because I’m a dark creature?”

“Yes. It was because you’re a werewolf.” Black looks Remus straight in the eyes. “Because you have fifteen years of experience keeping secrets and hiding who you are. And you’re so damned good at it! Better than anyone I know. Dumbledore always chose you for the most secret missions. You were the only one amongst us no one had any idea of where they were going or what they were doing.”

“That wasn’t by choice!”

“I know, I know. Remus, you have to understand. We didn’t think you were the traitor, we just couldn’t be absolutely sure that you weren’t the traitor.”

Remus swallows and looks away. “What’s the difference?”

“The difference is that I felt with every fibre of my being that I could trust you and you would never hurt us!” Black speaks. “But at that time, I couldn’t allow myself to feel, I had to think. And logical thinking, shutting off all emotion, said that none of us could say with one hundred percent certainty that it wasn’t you. With Harry’s life at stake, we couldn’t afford to take any chances. It was best not to tell.”

Remus nods, but he’s still not meeting Black’s gaze.

“Remus, please look at me,” Black says earnest. “I need you to know this. We still would have died for you in a heartbeat, Lily, James and me. We still thought the world of you.”

“But I thought the worst of you!” Remus’s breath hitches. “I despised you, wanted to hate you! If I had found you that night, I would have...”

He doesn’t finish his sentence, doesn’t need to.

Black doesn’t look shocked, or even angry. He just looks immensely sad.

“Why wouldn’t you have? I fucked everything up, Remus. I lied to you, I trusted the wrong people, I distrusted the wrong people, I convinced James to take a path that lead straight to his death. And I can’t even do the only thing James asked me to do in case the worst would happen! I can’t even take care of Harry, like I promised I would. I abandoned him in my failed attempt at revenge, another one of my numerous mistakes. I literally can’t think of a single thing I haven’t screwed up these last weeks.”

Remus just stares at him. Only after a long silence, he speaks.

“You really are... you.”

Black just blinks at him.

“I mean, the boy who snuck out of the dorm to keep me company in the hospital wing, the boy who bribed the house elves to make my favourite chocolate cake on my birthday, the man who wanted me to stay with him when I had no place to live and never let me go, the man who once attacked five Death Eaters on his own because one of them had tried to use the Cruciatus curse on me... That person was not a facade, an act or a lie. That person was really you. You’re really that person.”

“Telling you I was the Secret-Keeper was hard for me, as it was the first and only time I ever lied to you, I promise.”

“I know,” Remus slides down in the chair across from Black. “And it’s okay, Sirius. It’s okay.”

Sirius closes his eyes for a moment. As he opens them again to look at Remus, they’re filled with relief.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “It’s just... You’re the only person who I couldn’t bear to see me as a monster.”

Remus smiles softly. “Yeah, I know that feeling.”

I hope you still like it, though it might not be exactly what you're looking for!

[vickypoochoices]

Partner In Crime part 6.

[MASTERLIST.]

Part 5.

Wrapping the thick fluffy blanket over her shivering body, Lyla reached one frozen hand out shakily, stuffing another chocolate in her mouth.

There was no point even attempting to fix the heating problem, she’d lived here long enough to know that she was clueless when it came to anything like this. And Zig was so handy. He’d know exactly what to do. Shame he was out again, with his new girlfriend Cherry. Whore.

Lyla smiled to herself as the word danced on the tip of her tongue, accidentally spilling out to the empty apartment. Zig could keep her for all she cared, if he was willing to do the dirty with someone named Cherry of all the fucking names under the sun, then he could keep her and all the STI’s she was bound to have picked up. Slut. Lyla managed to keep that last insult to herself, pulling the last chocolate from the box into her mouth, barely taking the time to savour the taste.

Who says she needed Zig anyway? If she sat here for the next three days eating chocolate then there was a small chance her wedding dress would no longer fit surely. You can’t get married without a dress right? Knowing Dean he’d have a back up dress, and a back up for that one too. She’d come up with all kinds of solutions to her problem this evening, every one of them knocked back. Run away? Too obvious! Dean was a rich prick, he’d hire someone to sniff her out in an instant. Lock the door and barricade herself in the apartment? He’d either pay to have the damn building knocked down or he’d just leave her to starve to death. The latter being her preference if she had a choice in the matter.

Lyla sank back onto the couch, pulling the blanket over her head and huddling under it’s warmth. The overwhelmingly familiar scent that she knew as Zig’s stung her nostrils, feeling a sharp stab of pain surface unexpectedly. I don’t care. I don’t care. I don’t care.

She shot up hurriedly at the rapping on the door, blanket trailing on the floor as she padded over to the peephole.

“Aaron?” Her nose scrunched up in confusion as she pulled the door open.

“Hey chickadee. Woah, why’s it feel like the North Pole in here?” Aaron stepped forward and around her, heading straight for the kitchen.

“The man of the house is out.” Lyla replied dryly. “And the heating’s on the blink again.”

Aaron dipped his head under a white cabinet in the corner of the kitchen, hands twisting a few knobs. Huh, so that’s what that thing is!

“No worries, I cracked it! Sucks that Zig is out though, it’s been a while since we last caught up!”

“Wasn’t he just round yours a few nights ago? He slept in until 6pm the next day, said it had been a long one with you.”

“Ahh sorry chicky, I don’t think so. That’s why I came round actually, to check Zig’s okay. It’s been weeks since we last hung out. Is something going on?”

Lyla’s stomach dropped, tears pricking the back of her eyes as realisation sunk in. He’d been lying to her all along. He’d been fucking that bitch this whole time.

***

“So Ziggy, I’m only in town for a few more nights. Can I count on your company?” As she shook her deep red mane the perfect waves fell just short of her breasts, tightly compacted into a figure hugging dress. Not that Zig had even noticed.

He took a steady sip from his bottle, running over how to play this in his head. “Do you have to go?” What the hell was that you desperate fuck?!

She ran her tongue along her lips, thick with sticky gloss and overly plump. “You’re sweet baby, but we both know this isn’t going anywhere.”

Uncertain how to respond, Zig found himself giving her the slightest nod in recognition, a meek smile on show.

“For what it’s worth Zig I appreciate you taking the time to get to know me.”

“Of course why wouldn’t I...”

“We don’t need to pretend any more sweetie. I know you aren’t interested in me. Don’t get me wrong, i’ve had fun playing with you, but you’re a good boy at heart. I’d eat you alive given the chance.”

“I...”

“You have a girlfriend, I know.”

“How?” He felt a warm rush creep over him at her choice of words, the idea of Lyla being his girlfriend one day, after all this shit was over, made him giddy with excitement. But how could Cherry possibly know that? He’d been careful not to mention Lyla’s name, not wanting to drag her into this mess if he could help it.

“What I wouldn’t give to have someone look at me the way you do when you think about her. You’re so oblivious, it’s adorable. Those pretty little eyes of yours light up all of a sudden, and it’s like I don’t exist, no one else exists. You can carry on a conversation but you’re not really here. Don’t even think about denying it, after all these dinners we’ve been on I think i’ve finally got you sussed.”

Zig was rendered speechless, taking a moment to catch himself. Good going Zig!

“Am I that obvious?” She offered him a teasing smile, the bags under her eyes crinkling upwards as her face stretched wide, despite the mound of make up attempting to hide them.

“Even if I wasn’t so good at reading people, there’s no way I could ever miss that massive hickey you’ve been sporting all week.”

Zig’s hand swiftly trailed to the sensitive spot on his neck, the once dark purple bruise having faded to a yellowing brown. He’d completely forgotten it even existed, his mind fixed on more important matters recently. He felt a pang of regret as his mind wandered to Lyla. How little he’d seen of her recently, how badly she must be feeling. He just needed her to hang on a little longer. There were just three days left until the wedding and he wasn’t about to give up now. He was close to finding a way out of this, he could feel it.

“Which leads me on to my first question. What are you doing here with me? I get the impression it’s the last place on Earth you want to be.”

“That’s...not entirely true. I could think of worse places for sure. You are a lovely girl Cherry.” A genuine smile slipped into place. He meant it. As much as he didn’t want to have to be in this position, dipping into what little savings he had to take out a stranger every night in the hope she would eventually open up to him about her idiot ex boyfriend, she had been friendly and kind, despite clearly seeing through him.

“Okay sweet boy, save the speech. My next question for you is how did you find me?”

“With great difficulty. Sheer grit and determination some might say.”

She chuckled warmly, casting him an appraising look, teeth sinking into one talon like ruby red fingernail, a decoy to hide the sincere smile slowly spreading.

“Alright alright. I have my fair share of secrets myself, I’ll let you keep yours. Just let me tell you something handsome. I suspect me and you may have a common enemy. And he’s the reason why I have to skip town soon.”

“Why?” Zig sat forward in his seat abruptly, back straightening, eager to hear more.

“This is my life now. This is the only way to stay safe. As a matter of fact, i’ve never risked so much before as I have recently just by being here with you.” Cherry discreetly glanced around the restaurant, seeming to be on edge all of a sudden.

“Will you tell me about him?”

“Is there any point? You already know anyway. What’s the plan here kid, get me to stand up and testify for you somewhere that Dean’s a dirty scumbag that beats women up because he can?”

“He...Hurt you? He hit you?” Shit. Lyla swore he’d never gone as far as to hit her, but what did Cherry stand to gain from lying about it to a stranger? That made no sense. She was telling the truth.

Her eyebrows raised as she watched his face in silence for a minute before continuing. “And the rest.”

His mouth gaped open, fear stabbing his chest as his thoughts turned to Lyla.

“He had me fooled for a while. We were young, first proper relationship for both of us. I thought I was in love with him. Sure, he was controlling. But in a way it turned me on. And the possessiveness, I liked it. I thought that’s what I wanted. Someone to tell me I was theirs so often I couldn’t possibly forget. I got a rise out of his jealousy, it made me feel sexy and wanted. I struggled for years afterwards, thinking I was the fucked up one. I was so young, naive and stupid.” Her chin wobbled as she placed a hand over her mouth, taking a moment to compose herself.

Zig reached over, placing a comforting hand on the top of her shoulder, a weak smile the only response for a full minute.

“Anyway it is what it is. As soon as he got that ring on my finger everything changed for the worst.”

Zig’s head snapped up. “Ring?”

Her head bobbed up and down in an uncertain nod. “I thought you knew. That’s why you went to the trouble of tracking me down right?”

Zig’s brow furrowed in confusion, words failing him.

“It seems Dean has done a good job of covering his tracks then. Money will do that for you. Of course his parents know, they were the only witnesses we actually had, he arranged the whole thing. They put on a good show, but deep down I know they are terrified of him. They know what he really is. He’s the one with all the cash these days, he’s the powerful one. They’ll stick by him no matter what.”

Zig ran a shaky hand through his hair, struggling to control his breathing. “So you end up leaving Dean, get a divorce and he pays you off to keep quiet. Why are you constantly moving around then?”

“What...No. That’s not right! I don’t need or want that prick’s money. I ran away and I left him yes, but there’s a reason I’m always on the move.”

“What are you saying Cherry?”

“We never got divorced. We’re still married.”

***

Zig all but skipped through the apartment door, gathering Lyla up in his arms and spinning them both round on the spot just once, before he recoiled, her hands slapping at his chest hard. As her feet settled onto the ground she wasted no time in putting distance between them, her eyes dark and cold.

“Don’t.” Lyla barked, a blush creeping up her neck as she struggled to control her anger.

“What’s going on Lyla?” Deep grooves surfaced as Zig’s forehead crinkled in confusion.

“As if you don’t know! Are you that fucking blind?”

“Talk to me baby.”

“Don’t you dare! Don’t act like you give a damn about me. I trusted you Zig...I...fucking trusted you!

The sound of Lyla’s sobs echoed through the silent apartment. Taking a tentative step towards her, Zig winced, resisting the urge to clutch at his chest as it painfully hammered away quickly, too quickly, on the brink of breaking there and then.

“Please talk to me.” He managed, his voice wobbling as his nerve slipped.

Lyla’s eyes narrowed as she rounded on him, jabbing him harshly in the chest with one pointy finger, throwing as much of her weight behind it as possible.

“Now you want to talk? So you can sweet talk me like you did before? I thought you were different Zig. I thought you actually gave a damn about me. Yet here you are, thinking with your dick and fucking around like every other jerk out there.”

At some point she’d traded sharp jabbing fingers for heavy relentless pounding. Zig stood there, too shell shocked to react, taking the full force of her anger wordlessly. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

“I... What?” His scrambled mind started racing, trying to make sense of the accusations she was so freely throwing around.

“Just so you know, she’s definitely a stripper at the very least with a name like Cherry.” Lyla’s voice was dripping with sarcasm, her mouth twisted into a unpleasant smirk.

Zig’s pounding heart stopped thrashing at the sound of Cherry’s name. How the hell did Lyla find out about that? And why was she so angry? All he’d done was try to help.

His mouth took over, a quick comment slipping out before he had a chance to even process what he was saying. “I’m pretty sure that’s not her real name.”

Lyla’s eyes blazed as she bit back equally quickly. “Look at you defending her, how sweet. Well I hope she’s worth it all Zig.”

“What the fuck is going on? This is all for you Lyla. For us. You need to listen to me.”

“No Zig. I’m done with you.” The definitive tone in her voice made Zig suddenly take note of his surroundings, eyes falling on two buldging suitcases at the hallway entrance.

“What the...”

“I’m moving in with Dean.”

“You what? Why Lyla? Whatever you think is going on, it's not worth running away to shack up with that vile prick!”

Lyla’s back straightened, her face impassive. “Say what you want about him Zig, but one thing I can tell you is he would never cheat on me.” Her eyes searched his, before roaming his face. She took her time, following every inch of his face, committing it to memory, before snapping them shut, head lowered, unable to look at him any longer.

“I’ve already blocked your number. And for the record, you're not welcome at the wedding. Neither of us want you there. Goodbye Partner.” Her bottom lip trembled, faltering for just a second, before collecting her bags and striding out of the door, leaving Zig rooted to the spot reeling. Fuck!

Part 7.

Tagging: @zigortega4life @emerald-bijou @littlegreenmoo @krsnlove @choicesthot

[darkcivet]

Of Unsound Mind

A GaaSaku Fanfic

Alternate Links: FF.net & AO3. Pairing: Sakura/Gaara. Summary: It's only when her life has crumbled down around her that Sakura finally finds some kind of peace. GaaSaku. Modern AU. Rated M just in case. Warning: Psychologically dark elements. (No blood or gore.) Sexual themes.

There were many words used to describe Sakura Haruno during her fall from grace.

Anti-social. Cynical. Violent. Bossy. Obnoxious. Friendless.

And those were the friendly examples.

There was also, whore, bitch, psycho, tight-arse, freak, and various interpretations of the hysterical woman stereotype.

It was depressing enough to be called these names, and more heart breaking to embody them. But the worst part was that they came from people she’d never have suspected. From people she loved and had trusted for years. Some hadn’t even waited until her anger had reached its crescendo before writing her off.

She’d lost her cushy office, her friends, her aghast family, and all hope of returning to her former life; Sakura was at least grateful that her OCD meant she had a decent amount of money saved up for this seemingly unending rainy day.

It was in moments like this, that she took pride in her tight-arse ways. It was a cold slap in the face in the wake of the reality of her responsibility to clean up her mess.

And somehow, sitting on a chair, next to others arranged in a dysfunctional, sparsely spaced circle and being lectured on the meaning of her anger issues did not strike her as particularly constructive. But Sakura had no intention of reacquainting herself with her inner demons, so she had to try to put it behind her.

For years, she’d built a damn in her mind to keep her inner, sanctimonious persona quiet, but it had all come crashing down several months ago when she’d been tossed aside for a more available girlfriend. A seemingly innocuous event that many others went through and came out the other end unbroken, but not Sakura Haruno. She snapped like a proverbially twig over a roaring fire. It was like letting a beast out of a cage that had been perfectly crafted to contain it. White hot rage; she had no control of herself, and for a short while, all Sakura knew was the burning, angry harpy that lay within her mind.

The need to make someone bleed for it.

Now, she had no-one. No friends. No family. No glimmer of a hopeful future. Her inner had driven them all away.

That was why she was here of all places. A group anger management session; the judge had been clear that evading these weekly torture sessions would land her back in Konoha Psychiatric Hospital. She couldn’t go back there. Everyone there was crazy. It would drive her insane.

“Let’s begin, shall we?”

Doctor Kato – possibly the hospital’s most likeable tight-arse. She was always friendly enough to Sakura, but the pinkette could never fully respect someone who played by the rules so religiously. Squashing herself inside a tin can and answering, “how high?” whenever her superiors said, “jump”. It boggled the mind.

She sighed, sitting up straight in an effort to not be called out. Again. Today was her first session in a group and this whole anger management thing was just another part of her community service – though the question of who she was supposed to be helping right now, was anyone’s guess.

She forced herself to listen as Shizune Kato started her morning sermon.

“Anger management is the process of learning to recognise your anger for what it is and control it. Anger is an emotion we use to mask feelings of fear, inadequacy, guilt, confusion, depression, hurt, or loneliness. It is not uncommon for us to fall into this trap when we feel too helpless to do anything else.”

Sakura rolled her eyes and regressed to slouching in her chair. Shizune tended to drone on about the definition of things. As both a Clinical Psychologist and a nationally recognised motivational speaker, she was the enemy of succinctness

Sakura smiled at that.

She’d been acquainted with the brunette for years, but never truly known her. Despite her pleasant yet oddball nature, Shizune wasn’t the most charming person Sakura had ever met, especially one-on-one. They’d both been mentored by the great Lady Tsunade Senju – an actually motivational person who didn’t like to get up on podiums and talk about it.

Sakura interned with Tsunade straight out of high school; she’d been interested in psychology for years, because of her inner, fascinated with the inner workings of the human mind. Keeping her inner quiet helped her pass as “normal”, but she always got the impression that Tsunade knew her favourite protégé had issues.

Their bi-weekly “let’s build a snowman” sessions were a dead giveaway.

“Sakura?”

The pinkette snapped out of her internal musings and rattled off a few facts about herself while keeping it impersonal. Shizune gave her an odd look and Sakura sat up straight again, suddenly self-conscious.

But she couldn’t help but lose focus again as the brunette pointed to each of her patients in turn, asking for introductions. Even though this was her first group session, she knew some of these people anyway, from her time in hospital. There was the girl who’d run over her boyfriend when she found out she was pregnant. The older man who beat up the teenage boy who was screwing his trophy wife. Another girl who blamed God for her voices and repeatedly stole from and trashed her family Church. Not to mention the guy who attacked a mime because he wouldn’t give him directions.

Some Sakura knew only by face, but it was a safe bet they were all violent in some way.

But there was this one guy that everyone seemed to be giving a wide berth. He had this dark aura around him, like a solid barrier made of hate and bloodlust. His blood red hair seemed to finish off the look of death and wrath nicely. Not to mention that he was the only person she’d ever seen with a kanji tattoo on their forehead of all places.

“Gaara?”

Sakura watched the others suddenly become uninterested; she imagined Shizune only called on him because those were the rules.

The redhead grunted out his name and something inaudible; she caught the words, “temper”, “family”, and “fucking”. Shizune didn’t press any further.

Sakura couldn’t take her eyes off Gaara as the introductions continued – some clearly more enthusiastic than others.

Based on appearance alone, she gathered he fit into the goth stereotype, but she’d never been much of a profiler. Her field of study was psychiatric rehabilitation and Sakura had just been promoted before her life went to shit. She was rising fast for someone her age. And enjoying the perks that came with a higher paying job.

‘I miss my office.’

She blinked heavily as Shizune started talking again.

Gaara swivelled in his chair suddenly and unintentionally caught Sakura’s eye. Though clearly startled by her attention on him, he didn’t look away. She felt her face warm under his stare. She’d heard that, during his first therapy session, he threw a chair out the window and broke the psychiatrist’s teeth when the man had tried said “hello”. They said the shrink needed counselling after that. Though plausible, she highly doubted that had happened – he wouldn’t have been considered for group sessions, if he was that easy to rile up, surely.

“Who wants to talk about why they’re here, first?”

Shizune’s voice snapped Sakura to reality and she tore her eyes away from Gaara to listen to the pregnant girl whine about men and how unfairly the “quacks” had been treating her, but she could still feel his eyes burning a hole in her.

His dark aura shifted, and he seemed a bit content then, to Sakura. She chanced a look at him; he didn’t look ready to kill her. His reputation had to be wrong, then. She had to remind herself how easily rumours could get out of hand.

Unlike her therapy companions, Sakura had a degree in psychology. She had a many great deal of things that were no longer important anymore. Like people in her life.

“Sakura?”

She mentally cursed herself for not paying attention and sat up straight, realising she’d slumped again. “Y-yeah.”

Shizune smiled at her. “Why don’t you share something more in depth with the group.”

She wasn’t here for her health, that’s for sure.

Sakura cleared her throat, avoiding Gaara’s gaze; it was getting unnerving. “Um. I’m doing these sessions as part of my community service.” At Shizune’s insistent look, she added, “I... uh, had a breakdown.”

“That blows.” One of the girls gave her a sympathetic look.

Sakura just stared back at her. The old her would’ve smiled back and maybe engaged her in conversation; the new and improving version didn’t have the energy for that shit.

“Moving on.”

Shizune rounded off the session and they started to file out. Sakura noticed that Gaara wasn’t asked to add anything more in depth. She sighed and stood, stretching out her muscles and keeping her attention settled solely on herself; a certain redhead was still staring.

“Same time next week!” Shizune called.

Sakura hurried out, unwilling to remain under such close scrutiny any longer.

This group therapy thing was going to be exhausting.

 .:.

 “Got a light?”

Two weeks later, Sakura decided to bite the proverbially bullet. He’d been staring at her on and off, and she had finally worked up the nerve to approach him. In between bouts of self-loathing and therapeutic jogs along the beach, she’d been keeping up-to-date in the world of mental health. Call her an optimist, but she figured it would help her get back into it once all this community service was over.

It beat picking up rubbish – that was on her morning schedule.

Gaara was Shizune’s problem case, but Sakura wanted to reach out to him. She wanted to see if anything she did or said could make a difference. This would go a long way to seeing if she still had what it takes to be a Psychologist. Obviously, it would be in a non-professional capacity, so she couldn’t be reprimanded for it.

In her planning stages, Sakura noticed he took the time to smoke both before and after the sessions, like he was bolstering himself for battle and then rewarding himself for not annihilating everyone. That was a start. So, she used their common ground to start a dialogue.

Without removing the cigarette from his mouth, he looked up at her question, stared at her for a second, and then nodded his head. She swore to herself up and down that she would quit these disgusting things one day. But that day was not today.

He tossed a red lighter at her and grunted out, “this is going to kill you. You should give it up.”

She fought the urge to roll her eyes until after he turned away. “I will if you do.”

He didn’t respond.

They’d just spent an hour in a gruelling session, so he clearly needed to unwind.

Sakura took a seat two feet from him, overlooking staff parking; they were far enough away from the front doors of the hospital to not be called out, but she somehow figured Gaara was less concerned with that rule and more concerned with solitude.

She stayed quiet, settling in and lighting up. He didn’t ask for the lighter back straight away and she waited until she was ready to leave before returning it. Gaara’s pale fingers stretched out to grasp it, and she made a note of how he deliberately avoided her touch, before standing to leave.

Slow and steady; she didn’t want to startle him. It was a good start. His moods during the sessions was always dark, but some days he was clearly holding on by a thread. For all the darkness and chaos that stormed inside Sakura’s head, she had a feeling what he kept bottled up inside was worse.

 .:.

 The following week, Sakura beat Gaara to his usual smoking spot, prior to their weekly torture session. She didn’t light up during the six days they had off and felt no urge to do so until she drove into the Konoha Hospital parking lot and remembered what she was about to do.

Yeah, the dark aura around Gaara still intimidated her. And the mindless prattling of her fellow therapy inmates made her want to slap their heads together and tell them to grow up. The redhead continued to stare at her during the sessions and then ignore her when they fell into silent, mutual cancer inducing stupors. She knew it was wrong, but she couldn’t help herself.

One month on from their first interaction, she decided to finally break their monotony of silence.

And then chickened out when his head snapped around and he stared at her, suddenly, like he knew it was coming. Jade orbs stared blankly at her and she summoned her courage, mentally berating herself. She’d come this far.

“I was thinking...” Sakura drifted off; his eyes widened, and lips twitched. The cigarette hanging lazily from his mouth jerked with the movement. “...of smoking something a little stronger next week.”

He blinked slowly, almost owlishly, and then looked away from her. She almost continued talking several times, waiting for him to respond.

“Don’t do that.”

“I just–”

“You’ll just get sent back to the loony bin.”

And that was the end of that.

Sakura felt herself flush with anger; she wanted to rant and rage at him, tell him he didn’t know what the fuck he was talking about. She closed her eyes and concentrated on her breathing instead. It wasn’t her intention to fly off the handle at him. She just needed to focus. The object of her rush of anger sat quietly as she calmed herself.

And just like that, she was calm again. She sighed, put out her cigarette and turned to face him. He was looking back at her, those intense eyes curious; she almost forgot what he’d said to annoy her. “I didn’t know you cared.”

“I don’t.”

It took a few seconds to sink in, but before she could formulate a response, he stormed away from her and back toward the front doors. A full ten seconds later, Shizune’s voice drifted over to her and Sakura knew she’d lectured Gaara on the rules involving smoking near government buildings. There was no way, however, that Shizune was brave enough to confiscate them.

Sakura joined them and was both annoyed and confused when Gaara pointedly ignored her for the first time in weeks.

‘Men.’

 .:.

 Sakura arrived early the following Wednesday, and sat in her car, writing in her journal. She wanted to get down everything she was feeling before heading in there – last week, Shizune had suggested this when the pinkette let it slip that she’d almost lost her temper again. She hadn’t had a black out in almost two months. She was getting better.

But Gaara’s attitude was not conducive to her mental health.

The worried look on Shizune’s face bothered Sakura too – she’d figured out that two of her patients were smoking together, outside the hospital and wasn’t amused. That dark aura around Gaara was more powerful than Shizune’s disapproving glare, but the brunette’s made Sakura feel guilty. That was nothing, however, compared to how Sakura was feeling now.

Tsunade’s car was in the lot, today. She was here.

‘Did Shizune go running to shishou about my fascination with Gaara?’

Sakura was torn between annoyance and happiness; it wasn’t their business, but it had been too long since anyone cared if she got herself hurt. Was she supposed to feel angry or comforted? Maybe both? She was a red-faced child wrapped in a warm blanket brandishing a bloody knife with one hand and nursing a cup of hot cocoa with the other.

She wasn’t crazy. She knew she wasn’t. The dark voice inside of her was quiet and she hadn’t lost control in so long. Sakura felt like everything was falling into place. The only hiccup was where Gaara fit into everything. Anyone with eyes could see he was worse off than her – he may never get better – but she didn’t know his history. She didn’t know how bad off he was.

She had to find out, if she had any hope of putting her fascination with him in the proper context.

The tap on her car window startled her, but somehow, she wasn’t surprised to find Gaara’s questioning stare on her; rugged up against the cold, his red hair poking out from under a black beanie, and his breath fogging up her window. She took a moment to truly appreciate how good he looked before he indicated wordlessly behind him – toward their usual smoking spot – and she nodded in acquiescence.

Sakura smiled after he turned to lead the way. It seemed she wasn’t the only one that look forward to these morning rituals.

 .:.

 An hour later, Sakura was trying to sneak glances at Gaara while pretending she wasn’t interested in doing so. Tsunade had taken over the group today, with Shizune nearby taking notes, and the busty blonde was currently questioning Gaara – in a way that no-one else had the balls to do so.

Everyone else normally avoided looking at the emo boy who had a reputation for trying to kill people for looking at him wrong, but today they were staring unabashedly as he was questioned. Like he was an animal in a zoo. His simple, clipped responses delivered in angry undertones that promised pain and retribution didn’t deter Tsunade; his audience was hooked on every word.

When the blonde finally relented, everything went deadly quiet and Sakura found herself alone in watching him. Shizune and Tsunade conferred as the session came to an end and the pinkette forced herself to not get up and follow Gaara as he stormed out.

Murmuring broke out, but she ignored them, making her way over to Tsunade. The blonde hugged her.

“Sakura, it’s been too long.”

She smiled. Her first real smile directed at anyone but Gaara for a while. “Yes, shishou. I’m glad to see you.”

She wanted to question Tsunade – she undoubtedly had information on Gaara that she needed.

Shizune would be against it – that girl had never met a rule she didn’t worship – but Tsunade was the type to indulge her pupils, be they present or past. During her internship with the busty woman, Sakura had often had access to information she wasn’t supposed to know. She trusted her. She knew she wouldn’t repeat anything she read or heard. It was a level of trust Sakura had never had before and was sorely missed in her life.

That “I have no-one” voice in her head was sounding further and further away the longer she felt the warmth of her mentor’s smile on her.

‘How could I ever think shishou would turn on me?’

They both understood mental illness and didn’t judge it.

Tsunade spoke before Sakura had a chance to ask her; that mind reading thing of hers was still annoying, after all these years. “If this is about your sudden interest in a certain redhead, you know I can’t tell you anything.”

A bubble of annoyance swelled in Sakura’s chest, but as her mentor made a show of shuffling her papers, the pinkette forced herself to calm down. Shizune sat nearby, finishing off a few notes; when she was done and left to find something to eat, Tsunade indicated to Sakura to take a seat.

“I want to preface this with I understand,” Tsunade said. “Gaara’s a good-looking boy and you’ve always had a thing for the emotionally closed off type.”

“Shishou–”

“Let me finish.”

Sakura nodded her head, admonished.

The blonde pinched the bridge of her nose. “You’ve been through so much lately and your life has become a black sinkhole. You’re so cut off and confused; you know you are,” she added, when the pinkette huffed in annoyance. “It’s understandable to find comfort in a kindred soul. But Gaara’s different than you. You should be more careful with him.”

Sakura frowned. “Why?”

Tsunade lowered his head to whisper and the pinkette leaned in conspiratorially. “It’s in his file, but you didn’t hear this from me.”

Sakura nodded; her heart pounding in her chest. Doctor-patient confidentiality was still a thing between doctors, but Tsunade loosening her tongue was motivated purely on a personal level. She’d always thought of Sakura as the daughter she never had.

“What he has is a touch disorder; his anger manifests similar to an extreme case of Skin Hunger.”

Sakura nodded, understanding. Skin Hunger was a yearning to touch, basically; if Gaara’s anger was connected to this, she assumed it meant he lashed out when touched. All awhile craving that touch.

It was interesting.

“Don’t set yourself up for failure with him.”

Sakura frowned. “What do you mean?”

“All I’m saying is that whether your interest is professional or personal, don’t get your hopes up. So far, all observable outcomes from people trying to get close to him have resulted in some form of violence.”

“I already understood: you’re saying he always attacks people who touch him.”

“Or it manifests itself sexually.”

Her eyes widened. She didn’t need to know that part.

Sakura was already checking Gaara out every time he passed in her field of vision. She didn’t need to know that an accidental touch on her part could end with her flat on her back and screaming his name.

She was definitely going to make a point of not touching him.

“He is not a rapist, Sakura, I assure you.” Again, Tsunade was reading her mind. “I spent six months working with him after I was asked to profile him; he’s capable of a great many things, but he isn’t capable of that.”

‘No... he’s not going to force me.’

Sakura knew that, despite her initial concern. He was the type to make her want it. Badly.

‘He already has.’

She closed her eyes for a second, just absorbing everything Tsunade had told her. Her attraction to the redhead had started without her really noticing and escalating into full-blown, make-out session with herself.

It gave her goose bumps and made her never want to go to bed fully clothed again. And strangely, gave her a desperate craving for cheese and ice-cream.

It boggled the mind.

“Then why is he here, among people?” Sakura realised the answer the moment she’d finished asking but had to hear it.

“This is the only thing keeping him out of jail.”

Anger management for most people was a program with steps and slogans and learning about yourself.

And that annoying prayer circle thing.

For people like Gaara, it was avoiding the worst-case scenario of getting locked up and never seeing the light of day again. She felt sorry for him, though she was sure he wouldn’t appreciate it.

Sakura was torn between continuing her curiosity driven desire to crack him open and give him his space, so he could get through these sessions untouched. She really wanted to pick his brain.

(Must be the therapist in her.)

“Lady Tsunade!”

“That’s my cue.” Tsunade hugged her former apprentice. “Just be careful, Sakura.”

“I will. I promise.”

Sakura stayed in the chair for a few minutes before remembering she was technically standing Gaara up and rushed out to find him. He was leaning against the building, his hands in his pockets, eyes closed, and no cigarette to be found.

She hesitated to disturb him, but as her feet carried her over to the enigmatic redhead, he seemed to come to life and turned to face her. The look he gave her was new; she wasn’t sure if it was calculating or distrustful.

Had he heard her conversation with Tsunade? No... he’d have been too far away, and they were whispering. But her shishou had questioned him pretty intensely and Sakura stayed behind to talk with her afterward. Perhaps he just put two and two together. Her mind went back to what Tsunade had said about being his therapist for a while.

‘They already know each other.’

Maybe he wasn’t as bothered by the questioning as she’d thought.

“I’m not a good person,” he said gruffly. “But I won’t hurt you.”

‘Is there anyone around here that can’t see right through me?’

“Okay...”

He sighed.

They shared sessions once a week, and every time, Sakura followed him outside afterward to ask for either a cigarette or a light. He would grunt one-word answers to her questions and then take off on his Kawasaki without so much as a glance in her direction. But today had gotten under his skin, apparently.

He watched her, waiting to see if she would flee from him.

She gave him a small smile. “I was thinking...”

He scoffed. “You do too much of that.”

“...that maybe we can do an experiment.”

He didn’t ask for clarification, but the question weighed heavily in his eyes.

“I... think maybe we could do that thing Shizune suggested last week. Together, I mean.”

She was too cowardly to put it into words, worried he’d hear the hope in her voice. Basically, Shizune had suggested to all her patients to let their anger out on something constructive – kind of like kickboxing or tae kwon do – in a controlled environment, with a partner. Sakura tried to school her features so Gaara didn’t think she was excited by the idea of getting hot and heavy with him. His calculating stare pierced right through her and he raised a non-existent eyebrow.

“If I let my demon out, it will break you in two.”

He really knew how to end a conversation.

 .:.

 “You ever tried to kill yourself?”

Every week she asked a question, he answered it, then he asked her something, and the cycle went on. It was the only experiment she suggested that he would go along with. Now, with only one more shared group therapy session left, Sakura was feeling the deadline to break through him fast approaching; the end of having him in her life.

She thought of the craziest question she could conjure; the rumours of his violence having escalated to murder lingering on the edge of her mind. And the question blurted itself out of her mouth before she could stop it.

Gaara didn’t look offended though, just nodding his head slowly. After a minute, he asked “you ever killed anyone?”

“No.”

She came close once, though. It wasn’t something she was particularly proud of. It was a line she didn’t want to cross. Even in her darkest moments while her inner was in control, that last breath and final punch to the gut never came. She never did it. It was why she’d been carted off to the loony bin rather than jail.

Sakura was not grateful to her inner, but rather grateful it at least wouldn’t do that.

“It’s almost the same thing,” Gaara said. “Except the pain isn’t yours.”

Her heart was racing now, but she just had to know. “What does it feel like?”

Sakura had no idea what she was expecting from him – perhaps, “horrible” or “it feels like dying”. She held her breath, waiting.

“Only an idiot would ask that.”

She seethed. “Fuck you. It was just a question. Why are you such an arsehole?”

He reached over to her and she stiffened. Gaara gave her a wry grin and plucked the unlit cigarette from her fingers without making physical contact; so absorbed in their game, she hadn’t remembered she was still holding it.

“It’s my turn to ask a question.”

She huffed. “So, ask.”

“Why are you such an arsehole?”

Sakura sighed. She rubbed her forehead and groaned. His light chuckle startled her. “What’s so funny?”

He waved her cigarette at her patronisingly. “I don’t think you understand the rules of this game.”

“I don’t like this game anymore.”

“You don’t like to lose.”

“What? I’m not losing.” She frowned, realising her slip. “This isn’t a competition.”

He just shrugged.

Sakura glared at him; as usual, he was unfazed. The nerve of him! When he continued to ignore her heated glare and put her smoke in his mouth, she growled. “Fine. I’m an arsehole because it keeps people away who I don’t want to deal with.”

He stopped flicking his lighter to stare at her. “And that’s all?”

“No.”

He gave her a Cheshire grin. “Why else?”

“Why else?”

Gaara nodded and inhaled; shuddering and closing his eyes for a few minutes. He looked like a satisfied cat that had just dismembered a bird. Or maybe a whole flock of them. She could just visualise the speck of blood on the corner of his mouth while his tongue darted out to taste it again.

She shuddered, then shook herself, almost forgetting to answer his question. “I don’t like that goody-two shoes act. I used to play it all the time. It’s annoying. Why are you so pushy?”

“It’s fun. Why were you in the loony bin?”

Sakura bit her lip to keep from snapping something inappropriate at him. It wasn’t until she regained control from her inner that she’d been locked up. It wasn’t fun. It wasn’t a game. She’d have thought he, of all people, wouldn’t make light of that.

“Sorry,” he whispered.

She offered a small smiled. “No, it’s no worse than me asking you what it feels like to kill someone. I shouldn’t have asked it. I just...”

“Wanted to know.”

“How do you read me so well?”

Gaara shrugged. The truth was, it was like looking into a mirror – one with pink hair and a cute little nose, but a mirror nonetheless. She was a version of himself without the need to tear things apart. He loved that.

Sakura fiddled with the hem of her shirt. She wanted to avoid that murder question, but she didn’t want to ask anything trivial. Everything seemed bland by comparison.

“Why... when did you start smoking?”

He snorted. “Lame.”

“Stop telling me how stupid my questions are and answer me.”

Gaara stared at her blankly. “I was thirteen.”

“Why?”

He sighed. “My turn.”

“Sorry.” Again.

He nodded but said nothing. After a few minutes, she started to fidget. As soon as she opened her mouth to tell him to ask her a question, he spoke.

“When did you start smoking?”

“Talk about lame questions.” She giggled when he glared at her. “Fine. I was nineteen. But I don’t smoke often. Never have. Uh... why–”

“No more simple questions. I’m bored.”

She bit her lip. “I noticed you don’t touch people.”

“That’s not a question.”

“Can I touch you?”

He didn’t stiffen like she thought he would, just stared at her – almost unseeingly. “No. Why do you want to?”

She blushed. “Uh... because...”

He rolled his eyes.

“Craziest place you can imagine having sex.”

“On a plane.” Gaara held her gaze unblinkingly. “The last time you had sex?”

“Uh.” Her face must look like a tomato by now. “Um. Maybe... a year ago.”

Gaara had put out his cigarette (her cigarette, the thief), and was leaning closer to her. She could feel his breath on her skin. She had to get the topic away from sex before she touched him and let him crawl inside her. And die. She would literally die.

“Uh...” She cleared her throat. “Where else in the world would you rather be right now?”

That was a safe topic, surely.

“Inside you.”

‘Fuck me.’

She stuttered. “What happened to you not wanting to touch me?”

“I never said I didn’t want to.”

“I thought–”

“Doctor Senju filled your head with the he can’t touch people routine?”

Sakura growled at him. “Are you accusing her of lying to me?”

“Just skirting around the truth.”

“She warned me to be careful with you.”

“Kittens aren’t supposed to be masochists,” he snarled.

“I’m not a cat.”

“Yes, you are.”

She frowned at him. “What’s gotten into you?”

Gaara smirked devilishly, his fingers now tugging at the top button of her shirt. She made no move to stop him, but Sakura had gone stiff, terrified of the animalistic look in his eyes.

He stood, leaning over her, and shoved her backwards; she’d been sitting on the edge of a concrete garden, hedge flowers at her back. Gaara held her down, climbing over her; she spared only a momentary thought for the fact that her shirt was getting dirty and was laying at an odd angle before gasping. His hand was on her throat; his body encased hers. Fingernails scraped along her neck; not enough to bleed but enough to hurt.

“Do you ever dream of me?”

Gaara was continuing their game, even as he nipped her throat and settled between her legs.

“Y-yes.”

Gaara shifted his weight on her to kick her legs apart. “Is this what you wanted?”

She licked her lips. “Y-yes.”

He chuckled when she groaned. There was a sharp pain along the back of her legs from being held down like this, but she ignored it. What she really wanted suddenly scared her. “Wait.”

Gaara growled; his grip on her throat tightened and Sakura gasped for air. “No more waiting. He wants you.”

Sakura coughed and spluttered. “He?”

He added a little more pressure but eased enough to allow her airflow. “Yes. He’s been thinking about you hot, wet, and wriggling underneath me.”

“Are you...”

It suddenly clicked. Sakura had an inner – a voice that spoke to her and lashed out. A female voice. It wasn’t inconceivable that Gaara had something similar. From her one-on-one sessions, she’d begun to unravel her inner; to see the reflection of her psyche for what it really was. But clearly, Gaara hadn’t made that leap into redefining himself. He still thought of his inner voice as something separate from himself. Something that can’t be overcome because it had a mind of its own.

She pushed her pity down and shifted into medic mode. He needed her more than she needed him, right now.

“You can pull away if you want.”

It pained her to deny herself something she had grown so desperate for, but maybe taking it slow and letting this come more naturally would be good for her, too. Sakura had no doubt they would progress that far eventually, but in the bushes, just out of sight of the hospital entrance, was not the place to have sex with him for the first time.

They had time.

“Gaara.” She reached up and touched his forehead. The complicated kanji felt just as smooth under her fingers as the rest of him did. Almost like it wasn’t even there. “Push him away.”

He growled down at her, almost like that persona was speaking through him. “I will fuck you. I don’t play games and I don’t fuck around. Next time you push me, I’ll push back. This is your only warning.”

He shoved her again, and then jumped up, moving away from her. But he didn’t go far before half turning to frown at her. “If you do that again, he’ll kill you.”

She swallowed heavily, watching him through her blurry vision as he limped away from her; whether he was in pain from something he did to himself or being so turned on, she couldn’t tell.

She’d pushed him too far. She knew it.

And if it wasn’t for the fact that he had already proven himself to be possessive, Sakura would worry about never seeing him again.

No.

He wasn’t done with her yet.

[foundcarcosa]

cccxxvii.

What would you change about yourself if you could? >> I... don’t know. I don’t know, really. I know there are some things I wish I had a better time dealing with, but it’s difficult to name what those things are. And just about all of the things about myself that give me problems are trauma responses, in which case changing the behaviour or the thought process without addressing the root cause would just be putting more bandages on a deep wound that requires surgical attention. Who is your hero? >> Hmm. What really makes you angry? >> I’m not terribly in touch with anger, since it’s an infrequent occurrence and kind of... random, when it does happen. Responses of mine that I used to think were angry ones are usually just overstimulation/meltdown responses, not actually anger. So. IDK. If you could choose to do anything for a day, what would it be? >> My days all belong to me, so I don’t know what I could imagine differently from what I already do. Would you rather vacation in Hawaii or Alaska, and why? >> Hawaii, because the weather would be more agreeable. I think Alaska is amazing, I’m just not as equipped for that climate.

How would your friends describe you? >> I would rather let them describe me than attempt to read their minds. If you could go back in time to change one thing, what would it be? >> I would rather not. What would you do if you won the lottery? >> Hmm. What’s the tallest building you’ve been to the top in? >> One World Trade Center, aka one of the great nonhuman loves of my life. What’s your favorite zoo animal? >> I don’t know, I rarely go to the zoo. If you were a superhero, what powers would you have? >> Matter manipulation, which really just covers it all. How many pillows do you sleep with? >> One. What is the most daring thing you’ve ever done? >> When I was eighteen, knowing nothing of the true and full nature of the world, I fell in love with a drug addict (in a feeble attempt at self-defense, I didn’t know he was one until I was already in love with him), and I lived with him, and I risked money and life to keep him alive. When our living arrangement fell through, I picked myself up and moved to New York City, alone, with no real money to speak of but with enough precious teenage stupidity to not crumble under the weight of impossibility or despair. --Or maybe it was a combination: of precious teenage stupidity and having already learned that life was constant struggle, and not realising that I could want anything different. Either way, Tommy died a few months later, I figured out the layout of the entire city and its subway system, and homelessness became my default state of being for the next 10-odd years. What’s your favorite type of foreign food? >> The flavourful kind. Is your glass half full or half empty? >> Whatever was in the glass, I already drank it. What was your favorite subject in school? >> --- What is the most unusual thing you’ve ever eaten? >> From a USian perspective, I guess shark or octopus. Do you collect anything? If so, what? >> No. What was your favorite food when you were a child? >> I don’t know that I had one. What sound do you love? >> Distant traffic through an open window at night. If you could choose to stay a certain age forever, what age would it be? >> I can’t imagine being any older than I am, and I can’t really remember exactly what it was like to be much younger than this, so that’s difficult to answer. If you could work on only one project for the next year, what would it be? >> --- If you were immortal for a day, what would you do? >> Actually, I’ve been immortal for many days. After all, I didn’t die any of these days, so I was at least temporarily immortal. Only death proves mortality. ;) What fictional place would you most like to go to? >> I’m not sure. They all have their problems, and a lot of them are problems I really don’t want to be in the middle of. What jobs do you think you’d be really good at? >> I like to imagine myself as a bartender, but that’s probably dumb. I was a merch boi for a while and I know I was good at that, so. What would be the most amazing adventure to go on? >> All of them. What would you consider to be your best find? >> Find...? What takes up too much of your time? >> Fear. What do you wish you knew more about? >> I’m fine with my level of knowledge. I learn new things every second, anyway. Who has impressed you most with what they’ve accomplished? >> I don’t know, I’m not really impressed by the accomplishments of people because I generally assume they’re capable of a lot anyway. Most people’s setbacks are self-imposed, and I’m not saying that to invalidate people’s roadblocks or imply that every shitty thing in their life is their fault. Brains just make mountains out of molehills, it’s common for everyone and no one’s exempt from it. What’s something you like to do the old-fashioned way? >> That’s a good question and I know I have an answer for it, but I can’t think of it off the top of my head. What’s your dream car? >> As much as Elon constantly makes me sigh heavily and put my head in my hands, I still want a Tesla. What’s the best thing that happened to you last week? >> Hmm. How different was your life one year ago? >> Sigma lived here, Sparrow worked somewhere else (Meijer?), I was broke as hell because the NOLA trip and Sigma’s idiotic rent blunder bankrupted me, and I hadn’t met Wednesday yet. Where is the most relaxing place you have ever been? >> Hmm. What are you looking forward to in the coming months? >> I’m not sure what’s happening in the coming months. What is one thing you really want but can’t afford? >> To travel. What website do you visit most often? >> This one. What’s special about the place you grew up? >> Elizabeth, New Jersey, is surrounded by refineries and power plants and various other forms of big industry. When people make those jokes about New Jersey smelling bad, it’s actually Elizabeth and surrounding areas that they’re talking about, and it’s all from heavy pollution. (Most of NJ does not smell like Elizabeth. The Garden State is not a misnomer, it’s just that most people don’t see anything but the parts closest to NYC, and miles and miles of Turnpike.) During the time I was born, respiratory problems (among other disorders too, I’d bet) were pretty much expected in newborns (I was an anomaly). I actually knew a lot about Elizabeth because my father lived there for 40 years and is one of those people who will study everything about a place he lives in, but I’ve forgotten a lot seeing as I haven’t lived there since last millennium. What are you absolutely determined to do? >> [re]learn to live without fear of dying. What is the most impressive thing you know how to do? >> Adapt. What is the best compliment you’ve ever received? >> I don’t know. What do you wish your brain was better at doing? >> Processing anxiety. I don’t have any experience in doing that since it’d never been a problem until now, so I’m still figuring it out. Have you ever given to any charities? >> No. What is something that your friends would consider “so you”? >> Trying to seduce aliens or demons or something, probably. What risks are worth taking? >> Living. What do you take for granted? >> I’ve taken everything for granted at least once, like... come on. A constant state of total appreciation is almost impossible to attain. We need our brains for other shit. What makes a good life? >> I don’t know, I’m just trying to live, not worry whether it’s “good” or not. Who’s fuckin counting, anyway? When do you feel truly alive? >> Hm. Have you ever saved someone’s life? >> I don’t know. Maybe indirectly or by some six degrees of separation shit. What are some of the turning points in your life? >> Hm. What’s the title of the current chapter of your life? >> I don’t know. That sort of thing is best figured out in hindsight. All stories are told from either the past or the future, not the present. What mistake do you keep making again and again? >> Whatever it is, I’ll probably make it again tomorrow. What do people think is weird about you? >> That’s not for me to say. What have you created that you are most proud of? >> Xibalba. What’s the best and worst thing about getting older? >> The best thing so far has been just the gaining of experience, and the processing of that experience, and seeing the way experience changes me. The worst thing so far has been the bodily changes -- not appearance-wise or anything, just... the sensitivities and weaknesses the body develops as it ages. They start small, but I’m sure they’ll only pile up as time goes on. Hopefully my ability to adapt holds fast. What genre would a book about your life be? >> That kind of liminal space between a fiction book and a biography. What lifestyle change have you been meaning to make for a while now? >> Hm. What food have you never eaten but would really like to try? >> I can’t think of anything right now. Where do you get most of your decorations for your home? >> This place isn’t very decorated in the first place. It’s mostly just stuff Sparrow brought over from her previous dwellings. Which celebrity do you think is the most down to earth? >> I wouldn’t know. Do you think that aliens exist? >> Sure, why not. What mythical creature do you wish actually existed? >> They all exist. What’s your cure for hiccups? >> I don’t have one. I haven’t had hiccups that lasted for longer than a few minutes. If you could visit any famous world monument, which one would you visit? >> I don’t know. Any of them, I’d imagine. Angkor Wat looks really neat. Macchu Picchu? Cristo Redentor? Mount Kilimanjaro? The world’s full of wonders. What outdoor activity haven’t you tried, but would like to? >> I think I’ve tried the ones I’m interested in already. I just want to do them again. When was the last time you slept more than nine hours? >> I don’t remember. 

[catsafarithewriter]

.24. the protection of laughter

He pulls Haru out of harm’s way, and the final attack of the cockatrice’s death throes miss her. Its dying wails saturate the air and he can feel her shaking.

“Did it work?” she whispers. There’s something akin to hysterical relief bubbling at the edge of her words. “Did we kill it?”

There’s violent hissing, which shifts into the hiss of rapidly-rising steam. They both recoil as the stench of burnt flesh passes them by.

“I believe so,” he says.

A pause lingers between them. His arms are still wrapped around her from hauling her away and at this proximity he can feel the frenzied beat of her heart.

“Do you think Toto will be okay?”

“It merely turned him to stone,” Baron assures her. “I expect he’ll be a little sore, but nothing fatal.”

“For a moment there, I was sure we weren’t all going to get out.”

She misses the silence from Baron.

“Quick thinking back there,” she adds, her mind jumping from one moment to the next as she tries to make sense of the last terrifying five minutes. Fear has rendered a few memories unaccounted for, and all she’s left with is a vague collection of hazy images. “Although, it seems a little awkward if it’s own reflection kills it. How did it drink without dying?”

“Very carefully, I imagine,” Baron replies.

“Right.” The worst of the shaking has subsided now, and she still hasn’t moved away from him. He wonders if she has forgotten. And then she relaxes into his hold and that thought vanishes. “Thanks for saving my butt back there.”

He chuckles, and he hopes she misses the tremor in his voice. “Hardly how I would have phrased it, but you’re welcome.”

“You’re just out of touch with modern vocabulary, old man,” she teases, and he feels the ghost of a laugh tickle her lungs. She tilts her head back to meet his green gaze, and her eyes fill his vision. There are times he can barely believe she’s real and it fair steals his breath away. “Shouldn’t we be getting going? I believe we have a very cranky crow to find.”

She starts to rise, and he tightens his hold around her. She falls back against him with laughter on her lips. “Baron?”

He keeps his back to the wall he’s leaning heavily against. “Not just yet.”

“You know that if we don’t find Toto before Muta does, Muta is going to draw silly faces on Toto, right?”

“I have no doubt.”

“And you’re still okay to stay here a moment longer?” She doesn’t move to rise again though. “Are you really prepared to deal with the hell it’s going to raise once we get back to the Sanctuary?”

He’s glad in that moment that she can’t see his face. “I think I can risk it.”

“Fine. But you’re dealing with it, not me. I had a hard enough time trying to convince Muta not to bake Toto into a pie after the blue paint incident.”

“If I recall correctly, you got roped into helping Muta return the favour with green paint.”

She laughs then, and he savours the sound. “Glow-in-the-dark green paint, actually. Toto lit up the Sanctuary for a good month after that.”

Numbness creeps along his spine, winding down from the wound along his back. He already can’t feel his legs. The breath catches in his throat and it dawns on him that he’s actually afraid.

“Yes, I remember,” he breathes. Has it always been painful to breathe? “We had to cover him with a blanket for the Bat Kingdom case.”

“I didn’t realise it was going to stay on for so long!” she defends, but the giggles soften her plea. “Hey, but it was better than Muta turning him into pie, right?” She leans her head back and once again he is captivated by those eyes. “Don’t tell me you never got dragged into their fights.”

It’s an invitation to share, and he briefly wonders if he has enough strength left to tell a tale or two. He keeps the pain from his eyes and fights for a returning smile. “Once or twice,” he admits. “Especially in the early days. Toto once managed to convince Muta that there were two of me in the Bureau.”

“No.”

“Oh, yes. I spent a week performing rapid wardrobe changes to keep up the ruse.”

The numbness has stolen his arms and he can barely feel the laughter as it erupts through her. “I guess that explains how you managed to change clothes so quickly back in the Cat Kingdom.”

“What do you mean?”

“You took the time out of saving me so you could change out into that fancy dress disguise. Don’t think I didn’t realise.”

“We still escaped in time.”

“Barely.” She rests back against him and now the paralysing poison is spreading across his lungs. He battles to keep his breathing steady, to hide the truth from her for a few more precious moments.

“But,” she continues, gentler this time, “you did save me in the end. So I think I’ll overlook any unnecessary dramatics. Plus, you did look dashing in that costume.”

Another flash of beautiful brown eyes are thrown his way and the urge to kiss her flitters vainly across his mind. He feels the years he’s wasted dancing around his love for her now aching keenly in his soul.

The poison finishes pooling through his lungs, and his next breath doesn’t come. His chest spasms and his throat makes an ugly croaking noise when air doesn’t come.

He watches those soft eyes turn sharp with horror, and Haru peels herself free from his weakening grip.

“Baron? Baron!”

A momentary respite grants him a solitary breath and the pain briefly lessens. Enough for him to realise he’s collapsed into his side.

The wound. The wound is visible now, he thinks. Confirmation comes in the form of a hitched sob in Haru’s throat and light hands brushing across the gash running between his shoulder blades. He would recoil from it if he had the strength.

“Why didn’t you... Baron, why didn’t you tell me...?”

No.

She’s crying now; he can hear it in her voice. His heart aches from more than the encroaching poison.

“No use,” he manages. “No cure for cockatrice venom. We both know that.”

“No. There has to be something we can do! Magic or a trick or medicine or... or something. We have to... you can’t...” She clings to hope while her words become increasingly fractured. “Not like this... You should have told me-”

“I didn’t want... to stop you laughing,” he whispers, each word painfully formed on airless lips. He finds a smile and it settles across his mouth and eyes. “I can think of nothing else I’d want to listen to in my last moments.”

She laughs, obligingly, but it’s a bitter, tearstained sound. “You weren’t meant to die yet,” she says. “I had things I wanted to tell you. I thought... I thought I had time. We had places to see and things to do. You promised me dinner, remember?” A hiccup catches in her voice as she fights the sobs. “And I was going to sneak you into the cinema. You’ve never seen a 3D movie, you said. And... and the Star Kingdom. You were going to take me there for New Year’s. You said the sky looks like it’s... it’s made of...”

“Diamonds,” they chorused together.

His own smile wavers. Words cannot tell how proud he is of this young woman. “Well, that’s the trick,” he says. “You do those things anyway. You make dinner and you go to the cinema and you visit the Star Kingdom and... eventually... life finds a new normality.”

“But, without you-“

“You’ll be fine,” he promises. “Because you’re strong. And you heal. And that is the way it’s meant to be. You cannot grieve forever, Haru.”

“I’m gonna grieve for long enough,” she replies. “It’s gonna hurt for long enough.”

The poison takes his sight and now he can feel the paralysis shadowing his mind. Haru is right; they had both assumed they had all the time of a mortal lifespan. It had never occurred to him that he would be the first to leave.

And all that wasted time...

He doesn’t know who says it, but the words linger between them. Words that should have been said years ago. But it was too late now. Far too late.

“I love you.”

[letmewritemylife]

I’m Sorry

So don't apologise, I'm losing what I don't deserve. - Linkin Park (Burning in the Skies)

A/N Don't hate me please

TRIGGER WARNING Major character death

Maybe being some sort of modified human is not the worst thing that could ever happen. Maybe it just takes time and a little effort to accept who you are. Maybe you can be at peace with who you are if you really want to. But what about others? You can't control how people react when hundreds of files disappear from the S.H.I.E.L.D computers and are sent to an unknown base, belonging to no one but the Agency X itself. Or at least, Lara can't. Lara can't control all the thoughts, doubts and fears rising in other people's minds. She could go on forever repeating over and over she hates with all her heart the Agency, but she could never stop people from looking at her suspiciously, silently accusing her of something she has never done. There are thousands of crimes Lara could be accused of, but this is not one of them.

This is why she can't accept Fury telling her she's no longer allowed to have contact with the S.H.I.E.L.D and the Avengers. She just can't. She screams at him, she screams her lungs off repeating they have no proof against her and for a second she can even see Fury agrees with her. He doesn't say it, but Lara knows it. But this is not up to him. This is up to Secretary Ross, who is completely sure about what has to be done: Lara must be kept away forever. "And be grateful I'm not sending you to jail." Lara can't stand it, she can't stay silent. "What would you imprison me for? Something I haven't done? You have no proof against me! You can't me use to cover something you don't want to investigate!" "Something you haven't done? You are the only one here who has ever had any contact with this organisation, so you're the only one who could be responsible of this crime." This is when everything falls apart. Lara is raging, screaming and insulting Ross, Tony and Natasha are trying to convince Ross that what he's doing is senseless and Stephen is keeping Lara from killing someone. The other Avengers are silently supporting Lara, Steve is trying to calm down Lara. "Investigations will be made, you just have to follow these instructions for a little and-" He doesn't have the time to finish the sentence since Lara is already accusing Ross of receiving money from the Agency X. This is when she leaves, barely keeping her powers from tearing Ross' body apart. Stephen follows her out of the door, but Ross is not done. "Don't let her go, not anymore," he says in his earpiece.

Lara is rushing down the hallway, a concentrate of rage and fury, when she feels someone stopping her from behind. She turns to see Stephen, begging her to stay. He's not an Avenger, she can stay with him and Wong at the Sanctum. But Lara has a presentment on how things will end up. No investigation will ever be made, she will never be forgiven. They will never let her go. "I… I would love to, but I can't. I know how these things work. In no time I will be accused of something else and you'll end up in jail for helping me. I won't let this happen, you don't deserve it." Stephen is about to protest, but she hugs him tighter than she has ever done before he can say a word. "I'm sorry," she whispers against the Cloak as she squeezes him one last time before letting go of him, running down the stairs. Stephen tries to stop her, but she's gone, chased by a few agents of S.H.I.E.L.D sent by Ross.

You never realise how many agents are out there until you have to run away from them, until you have to get to your old house to get your fake documents and start a new life, hoping not to get caught in the process. Lara barely holds back tears while she hides her phone and ID under the floor of her room. She hears the sound of cars racing down the street as she takes her fake documents out of her bedside table. She doesn't have the time to take anything else, policemen are already banging on the door. She runs out the back door, chased by the few agents who have noticed her. Getting to the underground station is harder than expected, but desperate times call for desperate measures, desperate measures being the good old tricks from unrealistic spy movies. Get on the subway, wait until they're behind you, get off the subway and take the next one. Stupid, foolproof, banal, but it works. The next subway is crowded, but there doesn't seem to be any policeman. Lara attentively studies all her IDs. Sharon, Martha, Jean, Carol, Katie, Sam, all fake identities she used when she worked as a hit man. Giving people her real name was not a smart idea. Her eyes stops on an old passport, a photo of a young, smiling girl with orange hair glued on it. Amanda Ross. The girl working with the Agency X. "This one will work just fine."

It's been three weeks. In the end, Lara has chosen to go to Philadelphia. The city has changed a lot, but she isn't in the mood to be excited by it. She has already changed life a lot of times, she didn't remember it being so painful. "How do you know this is gonna work?" A male voice captures Lara's attention as she sips her cheap coffee in a rather small diner. Another man answers the first one. "Those guys know nothing about us. The only problem we had is currently hiding somewhere like the coward she is." This sounds interesting, surely more interesting than the boring film review Lara was reading. "And how do you know she won't get in the way?" "You know what? I hope she comes. Feige will be happy to see her." Lara freezes. Now she knows what her plans for the evening are. 

As soon as the two men get up and leave, Lara leaves a banknote on the table and leaves as well. She follows them to their car and then attacks them. She blocks one to the ground with her powers and threatens the other with fire. It's a matter of seconds before the two are willing to give Lara the information she wants. "The Agency has a base not far from here, forty minutes by car.  They have been planning an attack to the S.H.I.E.L.D. for the last two months. You were too close to finding it out so they made sure to get you out of the way." "So it's your fault if I'm here?!" "Not completely. We just left them some traces leading to the Agency, nothing about you. Looks like your friends weren't sure about your loyalty right from the start." "Shut up before I kill both of you." "If you kill us, how do you plan on finding our base, smartass?" Lara rolls her eyes: these two are idiots, but she still needs them to get to this famous hidden base. When they get there, Lara knocks off the two guys, stealing their access cards and entering the building from a service door. The first person she meets is a young scientist who almost screams when he sees her. Almost, because Lara is fast enough to cover his mouth before his voice calls anyone. Lara has no idea what's wrong with her, maybe sleeping less than five hours a day has made her look like some sort of mythological monster, but this man declares right from the start he is ready to help Lara if it means having his life spared. She didn't plan on killing him anyway, but who cares. "I heard you're planning to attack the S.H.I.E.L.D. Care to explain it all to me?" "Okay,  well- This was not my idea, okay? It's not my fault if Mr Feige is broke and the S.H.I.E.L.D is rich and you were in the way and-" This is going to be a long, oh so long interrogation. "Whatever, get to the point." "Fine. They want to kill everyone. This scientist a lot of time ago discovered this thing, the Substance Y, which is highly radioactive and its radiation is extremely toxic. But not toxic like poison. It kind of destroys all your atoms and leaves you trapped in some sort of limbo between what is matter and what isn't. Whatever, you're dead. And it's a good plan, cause after you've taken this radioactive substance you can't get rid of it without someone absorbing the radiation. So they wanted to call the S.H.I.E.L.D, tell them something like "hey, we've got your magic friend" and when they come here to either help you or bring you to jail they kill them all." The scientist looks extremely relieved after his confession, but Lara has never been so worried. "Someone has to die, then…" "Yeah, if you want to say it like this." "And tell me, when are they calling the Avengers?" "Well, they did it two hours ago." Lara freezes. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Then something comes across her mind. Someone has to die. "Where is this Substance Y?"

The laboratory is big, clean and tidy. Just like every laboratory worth this name. The terrible and fatal substance is nothing but a small amount of blue liquid that could barely fill a glass. When Lara enters the room, there are just five scientists inside. Easy target, it takes her less than fifteen minutes to knock them out. As she stands before the table that the substance has been left on, Lara can't help notice how insignificant it looks. She can't believe that all her powers come from such a little thing. The unbreakable glass is hot to the touch, especially considering Lara's naturally low temperature, the air around it has light blue undertones. Lara's fingers tighten around the test tube, harder and harder until the glass shatters. The liquid is burning hot and is absorbed by her skin faster than expected, but the pain is above imagination. Lara lets out a scream as she holds her wrist in pain, before something hits her in the back of her head and she passes out.

Lara opens her eyes slowly. The room is bright, too bright for her eyes to stay wide open. "I hope you're satisfied now, Johnson." The voice isn't new to Lara. She turns her head to see no one but Mark Feige himself standing not far from her. "I won't be satisfied until I see you dead." He steps closer, a malicious smirk on his face. "I'll just ignore your extremely unkind answer. I have an offer for you. I give you the cure for the poison you've so stupidly taken and you work with me again. What do you think?" Lara doesn't even need to think it through. She spits right on his face and grins. "This. This I think of your offer." Feige gets angry, so angry his face doesn't move a bit. He slowly cleans his face, then points a gun under Lara's chin. "You should never ever play with fire if you don't want to get burnt,  understood darling?" She lets him finish, but as soon as his dead glare rests on her eyes, Lara kicks him in the stomach and uses her powers to break her handcuffs and make the agents around her fall down. "Darling, I control fire." The following fight is fast and Lara is one step from killing Feige, but then her hand fades away, leaving nothing but an atrocious pain. Feige kicks Lara down and runs away, leaving her on the ground trying to earn a few more minutes before the inevitable. With a lot of effort, her hand comes back, but she knows well it won't last. The noise of the Quinjet landing just reminds her she has to be quick. The last thing she wants is anyone seeing her.

She knows it's stupid, she thinks about it over and over as she rushes through the halls, trying so hard to avoid all the Avengers running around the building. Maybe they could help her, maybe… No, no, they can't. No one can. If she had wanted to live, she should have thought about it hours before, when she had decided to avoid anyone the same torture she was going through. She holds back a scream as she recreates her leg. She doesn't know if it hurts more letting the Substance destroy her body or reversing the process soon after. It probably ends in a draw. She sees a golden spark coming from the hallway on the left. Fuck. She turns right. Where is Feige? The only reason why she hasn't let herself die is to kill that joke of a man. Now she is just hoping to find him before the Avengers find her. She doesn't hate them, it's just… She is not so megalomaniac as to believe that anyone would ever despair of her.  All she wants is to avoid any fake talk, she doesn't want all her faults to be condoned for some hypocritical gratitude. She doesn't want to be remembered for some sort of good girl by all the people who hated on her and accused her of being a traitor. Then she thinks of Stephen, Tony, Wanda, Bucky, Natasha, all those people she was close to. Maybe they will miss her. Maybe. But if they never find her, they will never miss her, right? This is why she is running, running as fast as she can to find Feige and have the pleasure to kill him once and for all. But things don't go the way she wants.

Less than an hour later, Feige's body is thrown off the roof by his son and heir, Jonas Feige. Lara can only stare at the old man being pushed down by a kick, a scream escaping his mouth but lasting no more than a few seconds, then silence until he crashes to the ground. A miserable death for the man of Lara's nightmares. Now she just has to wait until her time comes too.

She notices it when the pain becomes stronger and her powers can't hold it back anymore. She sees the fingers of her left hand slowly fading away as she clenches her teeth, a scream dying in her throat. But she also sees a red piece of clothing turning her way. And she runs. She runs making her way through the few agents left. She makes it to a little room where there is almost no one. She kills them all and stares at her left arm disappearing. She doesn't even try to bring it back. She just can't. She is not strong enough. It's already too tiring staying silent, despite the heinous pain. But then someone calls her name and she knows she can't run away, not anymore. She can just read terror on Stephen's face when he sees her, half disappeared and half agonizing. But maybe she can run away. Once and for all. Someone has to die. She tears down the ceiling above her. She gives all the strength she has left to the Substance Y. She lets herself be torn apart, she lets all her atoms explode. And when Stephen desperately uses the time stone to stop the ceiling from falling down, there's nothing left to save.

[mentalality]

Anxiety and the Analytical Mind

I've always known I have a tendency to think a lot; I think my way through problems, I think about all the possible outcomes of a situation I'm worried about, I think about all the things I want to do with my life and haven't, I think about all the mistakes I've made and how I could've done things differently, I think about why I am the way I am.  Yes, it IS exhausting!!

Of course, it's one of those chicken-and-egg-scenarios as to which came first; did I become an anxious person because I analyse everything, or was I an anxious person who figured the best way to deal with things was by analysing everything to death? 

And therein lies the main problem with being this way; I'm now analysing why I analyse!!  By trying to work out how I became this way, I'm putting all those cogs in motion again, tying myself in knots; the difference now is that I ask myself, "What is the purpose of this?  Do I have to gain anything by analysing it?".  The answer is so often "No - it's pointless". 

That's one of the greatest lessons I've learned; it's all very well being analytical, but I don't actually solve anything or feel any better by thinking it through.

Through many of my posts I've mentioned self-acceptance, being kinder to yourself etc., but this is one area of my life that I've had to be hard on myself about.  I've had to completely overhaul my cognitive style because it was an unhealthy way to live. 

My mantra used to be along the lines of "I think, therefore, I am"; I knew I was a thinker, sometimes it even served a purpose (essay-writing springs to mind), but I saw it as something fundamental to my personality that was fixed, concrete, and immovable.  To a degree I was even proud of it sometimes, because it gave me an air of the intellectual and I was glad to have that identity to cling to. 

As I got older, I was sometimes aware of how anxious I got about things, but I convinced myself that it didn't matter how much stress it caused because it was the only motivator I had.  At school, I found there was a correlation between how anxious I got about something and how well I did; it seemed to me that my anxiety made me care about doing my best. 

The one term I stopped trying as hard my grades started to slip and it scared me so much I fell back on my anxiety to get me through.  I had seen that other people appeared to do well without seeming to try very hard and I was getting tired of everyone's high expectations, so I thought it wouldn't do any harm to slack off a bit; I could at least stop getting worked up about it all the time, right?! 

The problem with this was I never had any faith in my abilities or intelligence.  Had I believed I was capable, I would have been able to give things my best shot without worrying about it, knowing that my best was good enough.  But I never believed that, even when I would get high grades.  By testing the water with trying less hard than usual, I proved to myself that I NEEDED the anxiety in order to do well.  Had I not being such an over-analyser, I might not have come to that conclusion; but I always wanted to know WHY.

The quest for the "Why" in everything feels like a worthwhile goal.  Intuitively it suggests that you have a curious nature and a keen intellect, because you want to understand.  That can be true, if you don't let it rule your thinking. 

In some ways, it can be a destructive force; wanting to pick everything apart and reduce it down to its smallest parts.  Sometimes it can destroy any mystery or magic about the world, and that feels sad.  The creative part of me tells me that there are things we aren't meant to understand, that there is beauty in looking at things as they appear rather than trying to discover why they are beautiful. 

Take a rainbow, for instance; there's a scientific explanation for it, and whilst it's accurate and true, I would far rather marvel at the beauty of the colours and the transitory nature of the rainbow than dwell on refraction of light through water and the visible wavelengths of light the human eye can detect.  I'm not trashing science, in fact, most of it I love and find fascinating, but not at the expense of enjoying a pure moment.  Being able to truly enjoy what is around us is a big part of the human experience, and sometimes in order to appreciate things, we simply must STOP.

"What is this life if, full of care, we have no time to stand and stare." - Leisure, by WH Davies, 1911.

I had a support worker for a while (a few years ago) who could see how much time I was spending worrying about things, analysing everything and living my life at double-speed.  Even though I wasn't doing a lot with my time, my mind was constantly busy and I was mentally exhausted a lot of the time.  I didn't know there was any other way to be; I couldn't see inside anyone else's mind and watch how their thought processes work. 

This lady was very wise, very perceptive, and had brilliant ways to help you understand some fairly fundamental things about yourself.  She told me I'd been living my life as if I was on a packed, rush-hour commuter train, hurrying everywhere & trying to get to places as quickly as possible.  She said I needed to get myself on the equivalent of the German Bummelzug or Bummelbahn; the slow train that takes the long, scenic route to all the little regional stops and gives you a chance to sit back and take in your surroundings, enjoy the ride.  

It was such a perfect analogy and it made so much sense.  My support worker then got me to think about if there was any genuine joy in my life; did I do anything for pure enjoyment?  I realised years of guilt and worry had stopped me from doing anything like that.  We started to build more activities in that encouraged me to just "Be", to just experience some joy, to do things I could get lost in.  That was when I started to see another way to live, beyond the constant anxiety and perceived weight of other people's expectations.

I'm not saying I don't experience anxiety anymore, I'm not saying I live without worry.  I still have a tendency to think about things, to retreat into my thoughts and to try and solve things by analysing them.  The difference now is, it's not a constant stream of thoughts.  The medication I'm on calmed the physical feelings of dread and panic I was experiencing all the time, and made things feel much less overwhelming. 

Over time, I then worked with my counsellor to manage the anxious thoughts better.  She got me to regularly do a few new things to get me out of some bad habits.  Before, I felt I couldn't do anything spontaneous because it hadn't been planned and all the outcomes analysed for possible danger (to my mental health).  I would mentally prepare like that even if I was seeing someone I knew very well.  My counsellor got me to explain what my thinking process was, asked me how it helped me cope, then suggested that next time I try not to prepare. 

It took a while for the penny to drop, but I learned that all my preparation served no purpose, if anything, it gave me more to feel anxious about.  Very often, the things I worried about never happened anyway.  So we put up a marker; in the case of people I knew well, I didn't really need to prepare to see them, I should just go & enjoy myself.  At first it was hard to break the habit of mental preparation for everything, but slowly it has become less of an effort to prevent it and now I hardly think about it.

Once that particular ball was in play, it helped other things to fall into place.  Time after time I would outline my worries about an upcoming situation in therapy, then the following week we'd review how the event had actually turned out; each time my worries were unfounded.  I started to join groups, clubs & do activities, take on new challenges, and each time I'd tell my counsellor how scared I was, she'd say "Just give it one session, and if you don't like it you don't have to go back", then the following week I'd report back that I'd enjoyed myself. 

After a few months of this, she pointed out to me that I'd been quite brave, but also, she hadn't heard me say one negative thing about any new thing I'd tried out.  She said "Every single new group or activity you've tried, the outcome has been so much more positive than you ever expected".  My jaw hit the floor at this point, I hadn't realised; not only had all my worst fears never actually manifested at any point (which was always the best I ever expected), but I had actually really enjoyed it all - even being around other people.  It was very clear to me then exactly how my anxiety and tendency to over-analyse had held me back in the past.

I haven't lost my insatiable desire to understand why things are the way they are, that's a big part of who I am.  I see it differently now though.  I try to use it in places where it has a purpose.  I use it to write, to pass on the lessons I've learned about mental illness, mental health, cognitive styles, personality.  I used it to get a degree in Psychology (the ultimate "Why" in the academic world).  I use it in my counselling sessions to better understand myself and face some of the darkness from my past that I needed to forgive myself for.  My mind is no longer my enemy, but it does need channelling effectively on a regular basis in order that I don't stray back into my old ways.

What does feel frustrating and unfair sometimes is when I think about the notion of ignorance as bliss.  I feel as though people who don't over-analyse, who have less active minds, or perhaps even are less intelligent, have the deck stacked in their favour.  Logically, it should be the case that the more intelligent you are, the more able you are to deal with the challenges life throws at you, but so often I've found that the opposite is true. 

The even greater irony is that people I know who have never suffered from clinical anxiety will tell me it never occurs to them to worry about the things I've told them I worry about!!  I was angry about this for a while, but these days I understand that you never know what challenges everyone faces, so it isn't fair to judge that someone "Has it easy" - there's often no such thing. 

We are all just doing our best with the lot in life we've been given.  There is no force that seeks to punish us, the universe isn't picking on us personally, there is often no rhyme or reason, so let go of these ideas.  They may make intuitive sense, but I promise you being free of them will help you in the long run.

And don't spend so much time living in your head.  There's so much world out there; so many experiences, so many people to meet and places to go.  If you spend your time thinking and analysing it could all pass you by.  Enjoyment comes from opening your eyes and looking around, taking chances and seizing random opportunities that present themselves (but you have to be able to notice when these occur). 

Turn your analytical mind to your advantage to extract the lessons from your experiences, to notice the positive outcomes, to catch your mind's processes before they descend into anxious thought patterns. 

Yes, my analytical mind has been fuel for the fire of anxiety in the past, but I choose to be different now.  I choose to take control of it, re-direct my energies, and I choose to use it in a healthier way.  Let go of the notion that because you are a certain way there is only one path to follow.  Greater people than me have chosen to re-define what the world considers to be a defect in them, and turn it into their greatest asset. 

Don't let the thoughts take hold of you and become a microscope on your life.  Direct your analytical energies, don't let them direct you.