#but you completely ignore and don’t recognize me being depressed and anxious and shit

[galariangengar]

💭

[rum-and-shattered-dreams]

A rant of personal experiences and trying to do something positive with them:

Okay so procrastination is a huge thing in ADHD. Same with memory issues. (Not that these are always present and maybe some people experience both without being ADHD).

So. Here’s an experience I’m just now (at almost 40) realizing was a thing:

Imagine a huge essay/report/project requiring a lot of research and several sources was due in a few weeks. The advice was always to break it down, take notes, and make an outline. It made perfect sense. And maybe it does help some or even most people.

But for some, like me, it was still impossibly overwhelming and breaking it down was worse. The project was often boring (especially if I had to ignore a hyperfixation to work on it) and even if it wasn’t, it still felt like A LOT when my brain was full of TV static and my memory was shit.

It takes a ton of repetition for me to even temporarily remember something and even then, it will likely be gone again in a few days. UNLESS I learn by actually doing something or figuring it out for myself. And my brain gaslights itself like “do I remember that right? No that can’t be right. Let me look it up for the 100th time to make sure.” And I’m WAY more likely to remember concepts or physical processes but completely forget the terms for them or names of things or important dates EVEN FOR MY HYPERFIXATIONS, damnit... Like, I can do a bunch of crafty stuff and even remember some common terms and items but not the less common fabrics or stitch types or tool names. (Yet somehow I could remember the exact location of hundreds of thousands of items of inventory at my craft store job... even if I didn’t know what they were called. But I stocked them and had physical contact with them so I could picture where they were.) The number one overwhelming thing for me about trying to be a pro at anything is trying to remember terms so it sounds like I know what I’m talking about.

Anyway...

Without acknowledging that, I ended up wasting time by trying to schedule research/work in small chunks because every time I stopped then tried to start again, I wouldn’t remember what I did or looked at last time. (Can I also add that this is why being interrupted is infuriating for me? It probably seems irrational to other people but it’s so hard to get focused on something and now my train of thought is derailed, passengers are dead and injured, and it’s going to take who knows how long to revive the survivors?) And maybe that wasn’t so bad the first time because I’d only have to reread one page of notes. But then it would happen a few more times and my focus would be blurred and I’d repeated myself multiple times in the notes and they’d become a mess and look horrible which was distracting and I’d feel overwhelmed by having to reread and now rewrite several pages and focus would be even worse because I did remember some bits and blanked out while looking at those then stay blanked out then I’d have to reread again to catch the parts I didn’t remember.

But.

If I waited until the last minute, when the consequence/reward system overrode how overwhelming or boring the project was, I could burn through it because I was in constant contact with the material and it was all currently on my mind and I could skip writing notes and an outline and go straight to a fairly decent flow-state draft then keep going through revisions and editing all without forgetting WTF I’d researched. And it would be done in so so so much less time with a lot less effort and frustration.

And...

AND

And then there’s the schedule thing and why it DOES NOT WORK for me. If I schedule doing something (or even if someone suddenly wants me to do something right now) and my brain is like, “nah sorry, just static right now,” there’s absolutely nothing I can do to make it work and I’m just going to get frustrated and tired and depressed and discouraged. But if I keep a loose list of things that need to get done and indicate which are priorities, I can look at it and say “yeah. This one seems doable right now.” No I’m not going to get up and vacuum that spot of cat litter at this exact moment but it’s a good idea to do it soon so I’ll add vacuum to the list and probably get it done later the same day. If the cat throws up, that is an immediate priority so I will get up and make sure they’re okay and clean it because my brain does actually recognize things like that as super important. If a bill arrives in the mail, I’ll stop and pay it right away because I know I don’t have to think/worry about it again if I do. But what sucks about that is that society wants and often understandably needs people to work on a schedule. And I just... can’t.

But I’m trying to take this knowledge and apply it, trying to accept that this is how I function. I function based on a system of priorities that get done in order of “absolutely must be done right this second, whether for my own reasons or outside reasons, even if I need to drop other things” to “this is what I CAN do right now.” Not something pre-scheduled. If I need to leave something to the last minute then I’m just going to accept that that’s how it’s going to be and that’s okay. Then I can free up energy and space to do other things in the meantime rather than worry and be anxious and beat myself up because I should be doing the thing and end up hating things I like doing because they’re not what I should be doing and now there’s a negative association with them. No. Screw that. If all I can do today is play a video game then fine. Gonna enjoy it. Because I now know for a fact, from years of experience, that I will do the important things. They just need to wait until I’m capable of doing them. And... if I let myself stop worrying about old WIPs... They get done eventually too. It might take a few years but as long as I don’t actually decide not to do them, they will get done.

All that said... I still want to look into meds because it would be nice to have more of an ability to focus more regularly. I just need to clear up some other medical stuff first and I’ve got appointments already set up for that.

One more thing... I f$&#ing hate the attitude teachers have about doodling in class. It was literally the only way I could focus during lectures and remember anything they were talking about. I could look at what I drew and remember what was being said while I drew it. F$&% every teacher who took away my notebooks or yelled at me for it. Without it, I’d zone out completely. And THANK YOU to the art history teacher and biology teachers I had who not only understood but encouraged it and actually helped me direct it toward the subject matter by suggesting drawing thumbnails of the art or cell structure or anatomy.

[ephrampettaline]

[ chatzy log with @alessafalling, @isadelavega, and @ephrampettaline ]

Black dust returns to normal. A merm, a fairy, and a witch walk into a bowling alley. First impressions aren’t great. The team picks up a 7-10 split.

Essie leads the way to the bowling alley, much happier in mood since Isa had said she'd hang out, they'd had a great late lunch on the beach, and now they were headed for more amusement. "Been to this place before or is this your first time?"

Isa shook her head. "Never been here before." She didn't really have anyone to go with, and bowling alone was just depressing, so she didn't even consider coming to this place, but now she was excited to have some fun with Essie. She pushed the door open and a rush of fog came streaming outside and as she stepped inside, she looked over her shoulder at Essie. "Is this some extra feature of the place? Will we be bowling in this fog?"

Essie grabs Isa by the arm gently pulling her back a little as they step inside the door closing behind her. "Not usually." she says looking around. It didn't feel right, it felt oddly familiar and it set heart heart at a quicker pace. "Doesn't feel quite right in here." Looking around into the gloom, usually the lights on the lanes were cute and flashing, but now they looked dulled in the mist, hauntingly so.

The moment the words left her mouth, Isa was already feeling something was off. It couldn't be some extra feature of the bowling alley, it made no sense, and when Essie grabbed her hand and pulled her back, it was confirmed. Something wasn't right. It was hard to see through the fog at first, but Isa squinted her eyes - she didn't know how the place usually looked, but all the black everywhere and the destroyed look of it all must have not been the design the place was going for. "What the hell happaned here?" she whispered and despite knowing that it was probably not a good idea, she took another step inside. There was some kind of weird noise coming from the back of the room, maybe from the other side of the lanes, Isa couldn't exactly tell, but that didn't sound promising. "Did you hear that too?" she whispered, not daring to speak more louder.

Essie had already whipped out her phone, she had the department on speed dial at this point, she'd had to call them so many times. But the call didn't connect, her phone didn't even try to connect. It was daunting and Essie sucks in a breath of air as if to steady herself. "I heard it." she whispers, not willing to attract any attention. Her wings tuck back into her shoulders and she clutches the bag that holds Finn a little tighter. "I don't know if we should go look or not, this place looks wrecked."

Ephram didn't recognize the other woman, but Essie, he hoped, would be able to recognize his presence as he carefully approached the two. "Hey," he called in a low voice, holding his hands up, "Essie, it's me, Ephram. I'm here too." He still came towards them cautiously; who knew what all was going on in this strange flipped Soapberry? "Are youn's ... are you yourselves?"

Isa jumped a little when she heard the unfamiliar voice coming from behind them. The name sounded familiar, but Isa didn't have time to focus on actually remembering where she heard the name from, he seemed to know Essie and that was good for now. "What do you mean are we ourselves? Who else we would be?" she asked, frowning at the question.

Essie -still holding onto Isa by the hand- whipped around and gave Ephram the most stricken expression she'd ever worn. "We're us, we just came for a game. What's going on? Is this? A crime scene?" she asks quickly her grip on Isa increasing slightly. "It feels like the mold, but it doesn't look black?"

Ephram nodded at Isa, although he didn't stay looking at her for long; the noise they'd heard from behind the pin setter was getting louder now, more ... /aware/. "That's the question, ain't it. How much of what exists here that's real and not fucked-up." He unslung a golf bag that he'd been carrying over his shoulder, setting the bottom down with a thump against the waxed floor. "Freddie and me -- that's my husband, ma'am, pleased to meet you I'm Sheriff Pettaline -- found ourselves in this messed-up version of a bakery we was headed to and I reckon same thing's happening all over town." Ephram looked at Essie, then at Isa, and rattled his golf bag. "I got clubs, one baseball bat, a rifle, and two revolvers. Pick your weapons, ladies."

Essie was holding onto Isa tighter and she reached up and squeezed the woman's arm in some kind of reassuring gesture. Essie's point about the mold was right, and now she realized what felt off - she felt that uneasiness now that she felt whenever she was near her dressing room. Isa wasn't sure if hearing that this wasn't the only place where something screwed up and weird was happening was reassuring in a way or made her even more anxious, but as if it wasn't enough, the man introduced himself as the sheriff and Isa instinctively took a step back. Just her luck - the one person who walked in on them was somebody she desperately been avoiding since she found out he was a witch. As if this day couldn't get any better. 

Isa took a few more careful steps backward not even trying to be subtle as she stepped in a way that Essie was in between the sheriff and her now. "How did you find us here exactly?" she asked suspiciously, completely ignoring his question and the fact that they had bigger problems at the moment.

Essie noticed the steps Isa took to be away from Ephram and shot her a look. She was incredibly glad the Sheriff was here, and most would be, but Isa was putting her between them. Not willing to waste time trying to figure it out Essie crouches down to the bag. "It's this bad?" she asks Ephram with apprehension at the noise getting more ominous from the next room. She points to the rifle "How quick could you talk me through this model? I've been shooting before but never at anything."

Ephram did look properly at Isa now, his height giving him an unobstructed view over Essie's short frame; he fixed a gunmetal-blue stare on the merm that took rapidly into account her general reaction, what use she might be in a fight, and how much he'd need to factor her into his current list of Shit To Deal With. "I found you same way whatever yon monster is gonna find you," Ephram said flatly. "You're here and I'm here existing in the same space. If you ain't got the means to defend yourself, ma'am, I suggest you stay behind Essie and me here." 

He hefted the rifle out of the golf bag and handed it to Essie, saying, "Same as what we got at the station -- real basic model so you're set. It's got an enchanted scope, but I don't know yet how good our magic works in this place. Freddie's dust worked fine. I ain't tried my own magic so we may yet find out." Ephram slid a hand against one of the revolvers he wore at his hips. "You might wanna reconsider a weapon, ma'am," he told Isa, "even if you ain't planning on gettin' in the thick of things."

Something -- whatever it was behind the lanes -- was moving with more intent now, slipping through the heavy mist enough that they could see a long, thick, crusted tentacle reaching along the dull shine of the floor. And another, and another, and then so many, many more.

Isa felt like she was in between a rock and a hard place, really. Whatever was behind the lanes wasn't too inviting, but being anywhere near the sheriff and his magic and his weapons didn't give Isa any comfort either. If she could have just teleported out of there, she would have, but that really wasn't an option, and then the sheriff had to go and insult her as if her question was dumb (he was the sheriff and this was happening in his town and then /suddenly/ he happened to be there, it was suspicious, of course she had questions) and insinuated that she wasn't willing to fight whatever those things were, and Isa's ego was sufficiently wounded, to say the least. 

"Eres arrogante..." she started muttering in Spanish under her breath, but she didn't have any chance of finishing it, because suddenly tentacles started appearing out of the mist, more and more, coming towards them with intent and Isa reached her hands out in a demanding motion towards over Essie's shoulder the man, "Give me those clubs, damn it." She could at least protect herself more from him with a weapon in her hands too, if she needed to.

Essie ran her fingers over the components of the rifle, just making sure she knew what she was doing. The last time she'd shot a gun had been two years previous at a range back in Scotland. She hoped it wouldn't come to this, but with Ephram saying he'd seen this before with Freddie she trusted that he knew what was required. She'd rather be long range than short range anyway, no bat was going to do her any good she was hardly strong enough. "Dust worked fine." she looks worriedly down at her bad at her side, Finn inside looking up at her chittering in worry. She steels herself for the sight of black dust returning but it comes out it's usual plum purple. Doing the only type of glamour she can she shifts the bags canvas for metal, hard thick metal. Finn will be protected. "Please don't make this a person on person fight." she says standing back up handing a club over to Isa. "We've got bigger things to deal with."

Essie draws the rifle up at the sight of the monster, not making any sudden movements, as if taunting them into action first.

Ephram grunted at Essie's plea for him and Isa not to get into a scrap, reaching the baseball bat out of the bag for himself in addition to his sidearms. "Whatever this beastie is," he said, gripping the handle of the aluminum bat, "it's gonna be a fuckin' nightmare." 

As they watched, it seemed the beast had every intention of going above and beyond Ephram's dire prediction; as the long chunky tentacles sprawled across nearly all of the lanes, a huge bulbous main body squashed out to follow. It looked almost like a scabby brick-red octopus ... if an octopus's head was covered in leaking, misshapen eyes, some of which (grotesquely) had long multiple fringes of eyelashes. Rising up on a thick wedge of its tentacles, the octo-beast displayed the hideous yellowed beak that lurked under its body, as big as a hatchback car with jagged razor edges. 

"MotherFUCK," Ephram yowled, and then to Essie: "Shoot, SHOOT!" as he brought his baseball bat down on one of the reaching tentacles, splitting through the crusted clots to half-sever the limb.

Isa took the club from Essie. "Sure," she muttered, her focus split between the sheriff and those tentacles coming closer and closer. She gripped the club hard, watching as the monster got bigger and bigger and when Isa thought it couldn't get any bigger and she kind of wished Essie and her would have just remained on the beach. They could have been able to avoid this huge octopus at least. If this was happening all over town, however, who knew what other beast they would have encountered there. She wasn't willing to admit, but the sheriff's assesment of the situation was on point, and when a tentacle came around to wrap itself around her, she hit the thing with the club as hard as she could. She didn't have too much upper body strength, but the spikes at the end of the club helped, it was wounded and it was enough for the tenticle to retreat.

Essie took only a split second to decide her priority before taking aim at the main body of the beast. The tentacles coming at them were horrifying but take out the brain and hopefully the threat wouldn't persist. The recoil from the rifle has her take a step back, a string of absolutely filthy curses falling from her mouth. Her first shot hit, but only seemed to sink a foot into the giant. Taking aim again she lets off another, trying to aim for the same spot but the monster was on the move, somehow hefting it's body closer still, while it's limbs came at them.

Ephram smashed his bat into whatever part of octo-beast was near him, tentacles gaping open at the wounded areas and waving high in the air to spray ichor and blood over them all, some of them falling dead and inert. "Keep on shootin' it, jes like that!" he hollered, whacking at tentacles that were in his way as he tried to get over to Isa. She was closer to the main body of the beast, club in a death-grip; Essie at least had some distance to use the rifle from. Ephram had almost reached Isa when he felt one of the tentacles wrap around his leg, over his knee and up to mid-thigh, yanking so hard that he dropped flat on his face with a muffled curse. 

Twisting, he snatched one of his revolvers from his holster and shot into the meat of the tentacle as he was dragged up into the air; the monster gave a hideously high-pitched shriek, recoiling from both Ephram's shots and Essie's, and let Ephram go. He hit the ground hard but scrabbled up again and lunged, shoulder-first, at a tentacle that was moving towards Isa at top speed. "What are you?" Ephram yelled at her, then decided to throw politeness to the wind and grabbed at Isa's face, feeling the tingle of his witch magic revealing her species. "A merm, fuck, that ain't no help, fuck."

Isa kept smashing her club at any of the tenticles that were coming towards her. She knew she wasn't too big of a help, but she was determined not to be useless and at least be able to protect herself from the beast. The spikes on the club was doing some kind of damage at least, and as the same tentacles kept coming towards her, she tried hitting it at the same spot to deepen the cuts she made. She could feel something was happening near her from the corner of her eyes, but she only shot her head over to the action when she heard several shots fired and she saw the sheriff drop to the floor, next second already moving towards her and Isa let out a scream and jumped back, with no luck, because he was faster and grabbed at her face and damn the promise she made to Essie about not going man against man, she shoved the top of her club hard against Ephram to push him away from her. "Don't touch me," she screamed and didn't realize the monster used this moment of no defense to wrap its tentacles around Isa's body and with a loud shriek from Isa, it slammed her against the nearest wall.

Essie was taking ever shot she could, same spot, different spot, it didn't matter the more this fight unfolded. At some point she ran out of bullets however and she had been slowly moving around to get the best aim, too far from the bag left on the ground to scramble for something else. Becoming useless all at once Essie watches Isa shove at Ephram and screams angrily. "WE HAVE A REAL PROBLEM HE-" but her words die as Isa is thrown. There was no time to be yelling at each other. As angry as she was about this damn infighting she needed to get back to the bag. The bag had been kicked and shoved all the way around to the other side of the giant. A distraction. She needed to be a distraction. 

She lets her wings unfold and she takes to the air. She'd always been fast, but now she needed to be faster. Essie steels herself once again, but this time she takes a drastic flight path right towards the body of the beast. In front of it's eyes she flies, it's attention drawn to her she throws a handful of dust in it's face, shifting the handful to be bright, as bright a light as she could make it trying to daze the thing as she hits the floor on the other side of it, on top of the bag she scrambles to find something to reload.

The golf bag was well stocked with ammo as well; although Ephram hadn't had a chance to tell Essie about it, he was gratified (and considerably proud, the fairy being one of his squad) to see that she was going after it as well as causing a distraction to the octo-beast. What was a little less fortunate was that Ephram looked directly at the flash-bang of her dust, which made spots go off in his vision too. But at least it /really/ fucked up the octo-beast, whose many seeping eyes started to blink and ooze as it thrashed around in pain and confusion.

 Rubbing hard at his eyes, Ephram blinked around until he located Isa again, and ran towards her. The tentacle was still holding her fast, drubbing her against the wall in angry lashes as the octo-beast tried to simultaneously rid itself of Essie's more immediate attack, so Ephram drew both his guns this time and filled Isa's captor tentacle with bullets. A veritable wash of briny blood flooded the floor between them, and he almost skidded onto his ass more than once as he made his way over to the merm. 

"You awright?" Ephram asked, refraining this time from touching Isa and instead holstering his weapons so he could grab hold of his bat again. "Did it crush anythang? Break anything? Tell me if you're awright!" She'd been good with the club, what he'd managed to see of her wielding it with dogged intent, but right now he was more concerned with her ability to function than her skill at doing it.

The first hit against the wall knocked the air out of Isa and her body aching from the hit, but the octopus didn't give her a chance to recover, it kept hitting her against the wall, and after the second hit, the club slipped out of her hands and rolled a few feet away on the ground. She needed to do something, though, she knew, so she found herself digging her nails - her not to big or sharp nails -, into the tentacle that was holding her, trying to break the skin of it, hoping to cause at least some kind of pain that would losen the monster's grip on her. Thankfully she didn't have a chance to see if her weak plan would work, because several loud gunshot noises came and the next thing she knew, she was dropping down onto the ground, a painful grunt leaving her mouth. 

She was trying to catch her breath as she pushed herself up onto her arms, her eyes seeing stars from the pain but still looking for the club as Ephram came rushing towards her. She still felt uneasy just with his closeness, but he just got her down from the tenticles' grip, sos he had one good point to him now. "Not sure, probably not," she groaned as she pushed herself into a sitting position, looking around to find the club. The moment she noticed it, she could see a tenticle coming towards them and she yelled, "DUCK," dropping back down onto the floor to avoid the tentacle attack and then started crawling towards the club. "Keep shooting at the thing!" she yelled back over her shoulder towards him.

Essie had been being ignored up until that point. Smallest of the group, though only just a tad shorter than Isa she apparently posed the least threat. That was until she'd blinded the giant. Now she was a heavy target, a thing that could fly a thing that could disorientate the monster and it started to take note. Scrambling in the bag she kept an ear out for the other two, glad to still hear two other voices. Finding the ammo it felt almost surreal as she reloaded. 

But as soon as she raised the gun she was met with multiple eyes directly on her. Still swimming wildly at the other two it had two tentacles specifically for her. She shot at them but a rifle was much slower than a pistol and she lost all her ground. Kicking her metal bag away from the firing line she took the hit. She shot. She took another. And then she was in the air not by her own means. "How do we kill it?!" she yells in anguish as she's squeezed hard, her ribs cracking slightly under the pressure. There had to be a way.

Ephram sprawled flat on the floor at Isa's warning, feeling all that salt-stinking blood soak instantly into his clothes. It itched and stung, but as the tentacle that had been aimed towards them whooshed through the air where they'd been, Ephram let go of his bat and took to aiming his guns again. "Gawd dammit," he swore as one ran out of bullets, then the other, Essie's frustrated and pained cries raising from across the alley. He had more bullets on him, but in a wash of desperate anger, Ephram wrapped his fingers more tightly around the grips of his revolvers and shoved magic through his palms as he banged the bases of them together. Silver-green magic, fairy and witch, streaked up into the barrels, and Ephram fired them off again -- one aimed at the closer tentacle and one towards the octo-beast's body. 

The apple-green projectiles sped faster than his normal bullets, and the octo-beast leaked gushes and spurts of its brackish blood where they embedded. It rose up, smashing Essie against the ceiling and knocking a number of ceiling tiles to the ground -- but it was shrieking loud and cacophanous in pain, its horrendous beak gnashing up boards from the lanes. "Essie! Shove your dust in the bullets, shoot it with your dust!" Ephram bawled, managing to get up to one knee in the slick pool he was flailing in. "You, merm, whatever your name is, jes keep on beatin' up on whatever you can reach, make sure it don't grab you again, and keep away from that godforsaken--" 

Ephram had to cut off there and heed his own advice, flinging himself to the side to narrowly avoid being crunched down on by the octo-beast's beak. It grazed through the leg of his jeans and he snarled, scrabbling away further on hands and knees until he could haul himself upright on a ball return. One that, actually, had a few bowling balls in it. "Well, shit," Ephram said to himself, and picked up one of the balls, letting it fill with silver-green magic before hucking it down his lane towards the underside of the beast.

There was another tenticle swipe before Isa reached the club and she grabbed onto it quick, her grip stronger than before. She tried pushing herself up, but the tentacles were coming so she didn't want to risk getting hoisted up again, so she turned onto her back and hit the tentacle above her several times before it gave her a moment of peace and she pushed herself up onto her legs finally. She didn't pay attention to her surrounding until now, so when she was standing, lookin around, she saw Essie up in the air, getting knocked against the ceiling several times so hard the tiles were breaking, and she started beating the nearest tentacle as hard as she could. 

"Let - Essie - go - you - big - ugly - piece - of - shit!" she yelled, every word emphasized with a hit onto the tentacle - by the end it broke off and she moved onto another, hitting whatever kept coming her way, trying to keep upright while she ignored the pain in her body.

Essie had thrown her arms up over her head, trying to lessen the blows she was getting as she was jabbed upwards into the ceiling tiles. Gun still in her hands she doesn't think using her dust will do anything good within the gun. She's not got good enough control of glamour to be able to do anything of that sort but maybe, just maybe she can rain some more explosive dust down. One of her hands clenching to build up a handful to throw, her teeth grit against the pain, tears in her eyes. Letting the dust go she closes her eyes firmly, letting both hands once again brace against the ceiling as the dust goes off like firecrackers in her giants eyes once again.

The octo-beast dragged Essie along the ceiling before dropping her near where Isa was, using the bulk of its remaining undamaged tentacles to wrap around its now terribly-damaged eyes. Entire eyelids ripped off and sloughed onto the wet alley floor, the lashes clumping grossly, and the beast listed to the side as it vainly, blindly, tried to slap at its assailants without knowing where they were. Isa's club-jabbing made it recoil, exposing more of its beak and drippy underside, and as Ephram's magic-charged bowling ball rolled up into its guts and shattered as if it was glass filled with electricity, the octo-beast screamed and slammed its tentacles down with no aim or thought. 

Lunging for the golf bag, Ephram slung it up onto his shoulder and picked up his baseball bat as he ran back towards Essie and Isa. "We gotta git out," he barked, panting as he grabbed at them to make sure they were okay, round them up. A couple of blue-tinged faces peeked out from the end of one lane, the ghosts they belonged to crawling out and starting to come towards them -- but they never reached the little trio. They floated up as they walked until they shimmered right out of existence. "This is where all them ghosts're trapped," Ephram said. It was only a hypothesis at the moment but hell, it was a good enough working hypothesis, and he reached out to help Essie up--

--only to find himself back outside of the bowling alley, in normal Soapberry. Covered in stinking blood and with a long gash from the octo-beast's beak down his left leg. "Dammit, no!" Ephram yelled, glaring up at the building in frustration. Wherever he'd been, he couldn't get back there now. 

Essie and the merm were on their own.

[hybridfanfiction]

Lost In The Echo - 2

Pairing: Keith x Labrador hybrid Lance

Summary: After his brother went MIA, Keith’s life began to fall apart. He dropped out of high school and got a job, barely doing enough for himself to survive. He’s reached the point where even he is worried about how far he’s fallen into the depths of his depression. After learning about emotional support hybrids, he takes a chance and adopts a Lab hybrid named Lance.

Word Count: 3033

Requested

It was nearly closing time when Keith finally stood outside of the hybrid shelter, fidgeting with his hood so it covered as much of his face as possible. It had been a long time since he’d left his apartment for the sole reason of interacting with other people. That alone makes him nervous enough, but he knew what was causing his feet to act like they were glued to the pavement was the particular person he had to interact with. 

Katie Holt was a spitfire on a good day and terrifying on the bad ones. She had once held the title of Keith’s best friend (rather loosely, he’d never said it but he’d never stopped her when she claimed it) and more than likely had felt betrayed when Keith just took off without a word. He knew when he managed to grow enough balls to walk inside he’d meet with the face he’d pictured a million times the past couple years - Eyes bright was anger and hurt, hissing at him like an angry kitten. He knew he deserved it. 

He squared his shoulders and willed his feet to move, wanting to get the inevitable over with. Once inside, he paused to take in the atmosphere with a bit of surprise. The decor was light and cheery, with hybrids and families openly meeting in a floor to ceiling windowed playroom. The hybrids themselves all looked happy and well cared for, playing games or watching TV. Keith had always figured a shelter would look more like...well, an animal shelter. With cages and crying animals, workers giving you the stinkeye and demanding a donation to even look at the animals. This place looked more like a high-class resort inside. 

Keith pulled the hood from his head and ruffled his hair a bit, suddenly feeling way too underdressed with the ancient hoodie that he’d stolen from Takashi years ago and his ripped jeans that were less a product of fashion and more him not caring enough to buy new ones. He awkwardly walked towards the unmanned front desk and just stood there waiting, no sign of a bell or any way to call for help. 

Just as he was contemplating making a run for it, he heard a familiar voice coming closer from a nearby closed door. He watched it open in slow motion, knowing he probably looked like a scared rabbit about to bolt. 

Their eyes met, and instead of the scorn and vicious anger he’d anticipated, they were soft and glistening with growing tears. 

“Keith...” she uttered with a faint almost reverent voice, rushing towards him and pulling him into a tight hug. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders to hold her close, offering a little half smile to the top of her head. 

“Hey, Katie Kat.”

They stood there for what seemed like hours, though it was mere moments. Keith couldn’t even remember the last time he’d hugged someone. Katie was probably the last one, honestly. 

“You’re not stabbing me. Aren’t you mad at me?” 

She didn’t move her face out of his chest, but he felt her grip on him tighten. 

“I was. For a while. Then...I was just sad. I missed you and I was so worried. I was upset that you didn’t trust me or want my help. And Matt kept asking about you, checking to see I’d heard from you yet, and it hurt always having to tell him no.” 

Keith felt guiltier than ever. “It wasn’t like that, Pidge. I was just so angry and - well, you know what happens when I get angry.” 

“You do stupid shit.” 

Keith chuckled and pulled her away from him so he could take a good look at her.  She still kept up with the short hair that suited her so well and the glasses he knew that she didn’t even need; she just liked the look of them. She’d grown a bit taller and her face was sharper. He couldn’t believe how much she’d changed in just a few years. She looked every bit a grown ass adult that had her shit together. He felt proud knowing that even if he was a dud, his friends were doing damn good. 

His musings were interrupted when her foot suddenly slammed into his shin, making him cry out and hop a couple times in pain. He glared at the smirking woman as he reached down to rub the ache. 

“What the hell, Pidge. That hurt.” 

“Good, now we’re even,” she sniffed, then turned and grabbed a clipboard from the front desk. 

“When Hunk told me he’d run into you, I thought I was shocked enough. Then he told me he thought he might have talked you into getting one of our support hybrids, and Lance at that. I felt like I’d entered the Twilight Zone.” 

Keith felt a twinge of unease when he realized both Hunk and Pidge talked about this hybrid like he would be crazy to get him, yet they still kept mentioning only his name. 

“Is he that bad of a match then?” 

“No, actually. At first glance he probably is. On the surface, the two of you are complete opposites. He’s loud where you’re quiet, he’s obnoxiously outgoing where you’re introverted. He’s an unapologetic flirt, you run to the bathroom when Stacy Cobb tries to ask you to prom,” she adds that last bit with a teasing grin as Keith groans. 

“You guys will never let that die, will you?” 

“Nope,” Pidge smirks mischievously and pulls him with her towards the windowed playroom. 

They stand there for a moment in silence as Keith tries to guess which of the hybrids is Lance. There are probably at least forty people in the massive room, so he had no way of picking him out. 

Pidge sighs and reaches out to squeeze his hand comfortingly before continuing. 

“Like I said, at first glance you guys seem like an impossible match. But I have the advantage of knowing what you both have under your armor. You’re both loyal, intelligent, and passionate. Courageous.” 

Keith snorts at that one but she smacks him lightly with the back of her hand on his chest. 

“I’m serious. It may not seem like it from your end, but you’ve always been the brave one. There’s a difference between being heartbroken and being a coward, Keith. Not to mention just coming here today for a support animal is incredibly brave of you. It means you recognize you have a problem and you’re going out of your way to solve it when you could just have easily ignored Hunk and kept to yourself.” 

She sighs dramatically. “Unfortunately, you and Lance are also both stubborn and competitive, so I anticipate some clashing heads no matter what,” she snorts, bumping Keith’s shoulder. 

“However, the trait that you both share that won me over is how you both go all in, and when you care about someone you give them everything. I think that’s what both of you need. You need who will make you a priority and not let you get away with your crap. He needs someone that wants him - that will accept and need him. He’s got a huge heart just waiting for the right person.” 

Keith swallows nervously. “I don’t know. This is starting to sound super serious.” 

Pidge glances up with a quirked brow. “It is super serious. You’re not just renting him until you feel better, Keith. You’d be taking him into your home and making him your family. He’s trained to focus on you and your needs, true, but he’s still a person with thoughts and feelings and needs of his own. He’s not there to replace Shiro - no one can. But it’s okay to live and love and have a family that cares about you even though he’s gone. He would want that for you.” 

He nods silently, because logically he knows she’s right. Doesn’t make it any easier. 

“Do you...do you think he’s still alive out there?” he asks softly, and the hand gripping his squeezes gently. 

“I think if anyone has a chance of surviving the impossible, it’s him.” 

“Yeah,” he sighs wistfully as they lapse into silence again, watching the activity in the room. 

“KEITH!” 

He finds himself suddenly wrenched away from Pidge and into the perfumed embrace of yet another of his old friends, Allura. She was as beautiful as ever, with her long flowing hair and sophisticated manner. Behind her stood a woman that looked ridiculously similar in style to Allura, except her long hair was blond. She was watching the two hug with a fond smile as she observed Allura happily gushing over Keith. 

“Oh, Keith. I missed you! We all did. I am so happy you’re here,” Allura exclaimed, pulling back to observe him. 

“You’re far too thin, however. I’m surprised Hunk let you get away from him looking like that.” 

“He didn’t. He stuffed me until I fell asleep.” 

The girls snicker, then Allura brings forward the blonde woman, looping her arm with hers. 

“Keith, this is our girlfriend Romelle.” 

Keith tried to hide his shock as best as he could, reaching out to shake the blushing woman’s hand. 

“It’s uh...nice to meet you.” 

He glanced over at Pidge when the coast was clear, mouthing ‘Our?’ She winks and holds a hand up, silently telling him she’d explain in a bit. 

“I’m going to demand an old fashioned dinner at Uncle Coran’s soon because we all need to catch up, but you’re probably anxious to meet Lance. I’ll go get him for you!” Allura smiled brightly and hugged him once more before dragging Romelle off with her towards the back. 

“So ‘Our’, huh?” Keith turned to a smirking Pidge with a raised eyebrow. 

She shrugged, trying to act like there wasn’t a smug cloud circling the air above her. 

“Yeah, you know. The whole not being into sex thing never went away, and the more serious things got with Allura and me, the more I worried about it. I mean, we’ve been together since high school so she’d never even gotten the chance to do anything but kiss because I actually enjoy that, but I knew she wasn’t like me. She kept saying she was fine with it and that she loved me no matter what. I believed her and we weren’t actively looking to add another, but then Romelle started working here.” Pidge shakes her head with a smile, sighing wistfully.

“She fit in with us so well that it took us a while to realize she was basically already a part of us, just without, you know, titles and stuff. So we asked her out and here we are. Allura gets to do all the gross bedroom aerobics she wants, I still get all the cuddles and kisses I want times two. At first, I thought she was only in it for Allura, which would have been fine with me too, but then we kinda fell in love too. It’s been a whole...thing.” 

Keith chuckles quietly, bumping fondly against her. 

“Leave it to you to end up with the hot harem.” 

She groans dramatically, sporting a shy smile. “Oh my god, shut up.” 

Loud chattering echos down the hallway and they both turn to watch as Allura and Romelle return to them. 

Keith inhales sharply as the person in the middle of the two women smiles at him. The smile alone is stunning, wide and beaming. But the whole package...Jesus. He was beautiful. Slender but lightly muscled bronze-toned skin that he wondered if it was as soft as it looked. Gorgeous eyes and an ass that wouldn’t quit. Golden brown hair - topped with floppy chocolate-colored ears. Because, oh yeah, he’s a hybrid. 

Keith cringed at in inner thoughts, trying to drag them out of the gutter. He wasn’t sure, of course, but he assumed hybrids stuck to their own kind and didn’t like humans in that way. Keith observed the happy sway of the other’s dark brown tail and thought it was more likely the poor thing would run away screaming if he’d just heard Keith’s thoughts about him. 

“Hi! I’m Lance!” the hybrid grins and sticks out his free hand; his other one holding a duffle bag so stuffed he wondered how he’d gotten the zipper closed. 

“Uh, hi. I’m Keith,” he mutters shyly, shaking Lance’s hand. Lance’s large warm hand that was oh so soft. 

No! Stop it, Keith. 

“So,” Pidge started as she ruffled through some papers, handing a couple to Keith. “The paperwork is already finished. I did it all as soon as I heard. The fee is waived, as I’m sure Hunk told you I’d do already. His official adoption certificate will be ready in a couple days because I like to get them notarized, but I won’t give it to you until after the probational period.” 

“Probation?” Keith repeated, crinkling his nose in confusion. 

“Yeah. Our support hybrids generally work with individuals with like, PTSD or other trauma. Sometimes it turns out that they need more than a hybrid can give or they just aren’t a good fit. So probation. A month to see if you think it’s a good fit. If at the end of the month it’s not working, no hard feelings. We’ll pair you up with someone else, or help you figure out something else that might help you. I have a really good feeling about the two of you though.” 

Keith hums as he looks over Lance’s information, not seeing anything out of the ordinary. Same age as him, has been in the shelter for about a year, high marks in all of his training classes. 

“What about you, Lance? Are you okay coming home with me? They told you about me, right? And I’m way more messed up than they even know.” Keith asks, finally meeting the hybrid’s warm gaze straight on. Pidge clicks her tongue with disapproval as he basically talks himself down. 

“Oh yeah. I’ve totally trained for this, man. Plus, you smell great. And you’re pretty, even if you have a mullet.” 

Keith blushes and sighs as Pidge falls into unrestrained laughter. 

“It just grows that way,” she giggled, using air quotations to mock him. 

“Anyway...is that all of your things?” he asks the hybrid, gesturing towards the duffle bag. 

Lance nods and wiggles it a bit. “Didn’t want to collect too much and have to move everything whenever I got my assignment.” 

“We’re including vouchers for buying Lance more clothing and supplies since he’s a support hybrid, so you don’t have to worry about that,” Pidge adds. 

“Okay. Uh, should we go home now? It’s getting late and you guys are closing soon, right?” 

“Yup. You two are free to go. Just keep your phone handy, because we’ll be calling and texting you like crazy now that we have you back in our grasp, asshole,” Pidge grumbled even as she squeezed Keith into a quick hug. “Also, we’ll be staying away from the apartment for only one week. Take the time to get to know Lance and get settled, then we’ll be on you like fleas. And expect a phone call from Coran demanding your attendance to Sunday dinners.” 

“Thanks, Katie Kat. For everything,” he said softly, trying to convey everything he felt into those few words. Her eyes softened as she nodded, automatically knowing what he was trying to get across like no time had passed. Damn, he really had missed his friends. 

“Bye, Lance. Take care of Keith, okay. And don’t let him get away with being a brat,” she turned to hug the hybrid who happily accepted her embrace before turning to the other two women, hugging them as well. 

“See ya, Princess,” he added towards Allura, shooting her finger guns that she rolled her eyes at, though she was grinning. 

“Have a good time, Lance. Be sure to call if you or Keith need our assistance. Keith, it was so very good to see you again. I look forward to Sunday dinner,” Allura winked and walked them towards the front door and watched them walk to the car, waving until it was out of sight. 

❦

Keith ushered the hybrid into the apartment, extremely relieved that Hunk had helped him the previous night with cleaning. It was still an unimpressive place, but at least it didn’t look like a hoarder’s home anymore. 

The hybrid set his bag on the floor and glanced around, his nose wiggling as he scented the place. Keith hoped it didn’t smell like the trash that had built up still. 

“So, uh, it’s just me here and I’ve basically been using the couch. I can keep doing that because I only have one room. You’re free to take it.” 

Lance looks at him sharply, assessing him in a way that nearly made him feel uncomfortable. Like he was just an open book to the hybrid. 

Finally, Lance shakes his head. “Nope. We start out how we mean to go on. Part of healing is routine, as boring as that sounds. Same bed, same time. No couches or mats on the floor. Bed, 10:00pm bedtime.” 

“Bedtime? I have a bedtime?” Keith scoffs. 

“Uh huh. Ten to six is your sleeping schedule. Learn it, live it, love it.”

Keith almost wanted to laugh, like really laugh, at the ridiculous hybrid. 

“Yeah, okay.” 

Lance perked up and directed Keith towards the bathroom. 

“Great! I’m so happy you agree because it’s bedtime right now. Let’s brush our teeth and hit the sack.” 

Keith huffed but let Lance direct him through preparing for bed, deciding it was easier to do so. Besides, he’d already used up more energy today than he had in...he didn’t know. Years maybe. He was actually pretty freaking tired. 

Eventually, he found himself laying on his back in his little used bed, the warmth of the hybrid snuggled in next to him seeping into his bones. It was crazy how comfortable Lance seemed to be with him already, but instead of questioning it, he simply closed his eyes and followed him into sleep. 

[theghostofashton]

survival will not be the hardest part

hi. i know y’all are very anxious to read this. i know how long i’ve kept you waiting, but i’d really appreciate if you’d read this lil thing first.

so, this story, known more commonly as ‘the cancer fic’ is an idea my friend rachel gave me back in april. she’s pretty known on twitter, but not on tumblr, so for those of you who aren’t aware: rachel’s spent a really long time in the hospital over the years. she’s been having a hard time lately, and i...it breaks my heart. i wanted to do something for her.

this is that something.

in this story, rachel is awsten (she doesn’t have cancer. let’s be clear about that. aside from the medical conditions, she is awsten). there are seven main OCs. every single one of them is an actual human being. their names are the same. conditions are not. the main point of this story was the kids, to focus on the struggle rachel’s faced alongside being the person awsten is in the story, to the kids. 

a while ago, rachel came to me pissed about something she saw online, of people making hospitals out to be these “pretty” and “aesthetic” places, essentially glamorizing them. that made me want to do this even more. this is her life. this is what she deals with on a daily basis.  this is the reality of being in the hospital. it’s not pretty or glamorous or idealistic. this is real. it’s raw and real and painful because i wanted to highlight that. 

when i started writing this, i knew it wouldn’t be received the same as my other stuff. this is very OC heavy. it’s very personal. this is the longest and hardest and heaviest thing i have ever done. it’s so personal to me and to rachel and i would really appreciate yall keeping that in mind while you read.

trigger warnings for suicide and depression, also a ton of medical stuff including vomiting...this is a hospital fic, after all.

and finally, this is dedicated to lily. fly high, love. thank you for looking down on us. rest in peace.

September 3rd, 2017 – 10:53 AM

"Aws, we need your help."

He pulls out his other earbud and lifts his head, places a hand over the page in his journal as he looks over to the doorway. He doesn't wait for something else to be said, flips the book closed and loops the band around, pulls out his remaining earbud and wraps the cord around his phone.

"Who is it?" He falls into place beside Geoff as they walk down the hallway. An arm snakes its way around his waist and squeezes his torso. He moves a hand to Geoff's back, closes his eyes and breathes in. "What happened?"

"Nia doesn't wanna take her meds. And she needs a Vitamin B shot too," Geoff says. His voice is low. He runs his other hand through his hair with a sigh. "She's crying. It's bad."

"Fuck," he swears. He picks up the pace, so fast he almost breaks out into a run by the time they reach the end of the hallway. He breaks out of Geoff's hold and jogs past the nurses' desk and a bunch of hospital carts, ignores the multiple cries of 'Awsten, don't run!'. He needs to get there. He needs to be there. He forgot this was happening today he completely forgot fuckfuckfuck-

And when he does, he doesn't stop. He runs through the double doors, into the pediatric ward, and veers off to the left. "Nia..." He breathes. He stops at the foot of her bed, places a hand on the railing and moves to stand next to her head. "I'm so sorry I forgot, sweetheart. I'm here now."

"Awsie!" Nia cries. She stretches her arms out for him. Tears are drying on her cheeks and her lip is quivering. "Don't want it Awsie, don't want it."

He swallows. It feels like his heart is attached to strings and the puppet master is tugging, harder and harder, about to rip the muscle from its suspension in his chest. He takes one of Nia's hands and climbs into the bed next to her, pulls her into his chest and squeezes tightly, presses a kiss to the top of her head. When he looks up, it's straight into Geoff's eyes. He's tapping the end of the syringe with his nail, lip pulled between his teeth, sympathetic smile on his face.

"Tell me when she's ready," Geoff says softly. He nods and looks back down at Nia. Her head is completely hidden from view. Her arms are squeezing around his waist. He can feel the damp spot on his shirt.

He sighs. "Nia, love, hey, don't cry... It's gonna be okay, I promise." He tangles his fingers into her hair and pulls them through, tilts his head down and places another kiss against her scalp.

"Don't like it..." Nia whines. He exhales heavily and tightens his arm around her back.

She doesn't deserve this. She's so young. She should be worried about not having enough time play on the swings and whether the mean boy in her class will steal her toys again, not on the verge of a panic attack over a fluid-filled syringe that comes with its own cocktail of side effects. This is a mountain and it's too big for her tiny shoulders to carry.

"It's gonna make you feel better. Don't you wanna feel better?" Her sobs are starting to quiet. He keeps rubbing her back, pressing the circles in, firm and soft and tight against the warmth of her skin.

"And Nia, hey," Geoff says. "Awsten can stay with you after, if you take it."

He lifts his head to meet Geoff's eyes and sends him a smile. Geoff nods a bit and smiles back, motions to the door and mouths, 'I'll get them to let you. You can't leave her right now. She needs you'.

'Thank you. I love you,' he mouths back.

'I love you too'.

"You'll really stay?" Nia looks up at him, quivering lip and teary eyes. She's blinking rapidly against the sheen.

He leans forward and kisses her forehead. "Of course I will, love. But you gotta take your meds, okay?"

She gives a sigh that is much too long for a seven year old, before eventually nodding and sticking her arm in Geoff's direction. He pulls her head back down into his chest as Geoff cleans an area on her bicep, feels her grip around his waist get tighter and tighter.

And then the needle goes in and she squeezes him so hard he starts to see spots, but they go as quickly as they come. Geoff presses down on the tube to insert the medicine in, and ever so slowly, Nia's grip starts to loosen. She doesn't look back up until Geoff is pressing gauze against her skin and moving his hand to her shoulder.

"Which one this time?" Geoff shows her a handful of band-aids, all various colors with character designs and tiny patterns decorating the tops. Awsten smiles as she settles back against his chest and points to one on the end that displays a smiling princess from some movie he barely recognize. He remembers seeing her on the screen a few weeks ago in the playroom, feeling Nia tap his shoulder excitedly and squeal over how beautiful she looked when she came on the screen. And then black overtook his vision and he didn't wake until the credits were rolling and Nia was snoring in his arms, making little snuffles every couple seconds.

Geoff grins and affixes it to her skin. Nia takes her arm back and turns over fully, moves her head to his shoulder and breathes out warmly into his neck. He moves his arm up to wrap around her and pulls his fingers through her hair again.

"What song?"

"The Pink one!"

He smiles. "Alright love, close your eyes..."

...

September 3rd, 2017 – 12:22 PM

"Aws?"

"Sunshine, hey, wake up."

He blinks rapidly. His head feels heavy, like it's stuffed with cotton and full of rocks that make it so impossibly hard to lift. "Huh?"

"You fell asleep." A pair of lips brushes his cheek. He hums, keeps his eyes squinted and snakes an arm around Geoff's neck. "Let's go back to your room, 'kay?"

"Mmph...carry me..." Everything feels so weighted. He's warm and the position he's in is comfortable. He doesn't want to move and turn cold again.

"Sorry love." He can hear the smile in Geoff's voice. "I'm carrying something I think you'll like a lot more."

"Hm?"

Geoff holds up a large bag. He waves it around for a few seconds, just enough time for Awsten to detect the beginnings of a green logo...

Could it be-

"Holy shit, did you get me Whole Foods?" He tries to keep his voice level as not to wake Nia.

"Maybe." Geoff smirks at him. He reaches out for the bag but Geoff hefts it higher than he can stretch, swings it back and forth while keeping it up in the air. "Back to your room love, then we can eat."

He follows Geoff out of the pediatric ward and down multiple hallways. Geoff uses his shoulder to push open one of the doors to the adult ward, holds it open for him and then walks behind him until they finally reach his room.

"I don't think I've ever loved you more." He says the words through a mouthful of food, five minutes later. He smiles, as Geoff reaches out to wipe at the side of his mouth with a finger. Geoff licks his finger and he rolls his eyes, leans in for a kiss that ends up being a quick peck. He takes another bite and closes his eyes. "Oh my god..."

"It's been a while, hasn't it?" Geoff asks. "Since you've had outside food?"

"Oh hell yeah," he mutters. "The crap they have here is so disgusting, jesus christ..."

He's been back in the hospital for almost a month now. They let him out a couple months ago, let him go home and go back to school and try to become a normal seventeen year old, one whose home isn't a hospital ward and whose reality isn't the rarity of his disease.

And then it happened and now he's back here. It feels like he never left. He knows more of the white walls and antiseptic smell and nurses coming in ever few hours to check his blood pressure and change his IV fluid, of constantly being asked if he's okay, the pokes and prods and needles shoved in his skin, the cannula they forced into his arm and chemotherapy treatments that inject so much chemical into his bloodstream that everything in his body is rushing to get out, like it's the relative no one wants to see at a family gathering and everyone is doing their best to get away.

There's a point, when you live in a hospital, where everything starts to blur together. It all mashes into one, one large ball of prods and pokes and people everywhere, grabbing and pushing and turn over here, no not like that, I need to take some blood, come on Awsten, jut cooperate, okay? Why do you always have to be so difficult?

Some days it doesn't feel like anything anymore. He exists on a separate plane from everyone else, watching his physical form stare at the wall limply. Nurses come and go, lift his arms and shove things into his skin, wrap blood pressure cuffs around his biceps and change his IV fluid, and all he can do is lay there, force his eyes open and try not to retreat back into himself.

You're never alone in a hospital.

"Aws?" He shakes his head and blinks rapidly, lets his eyes come back into focus. Geoff's smile is gone. He's leaning toward him, brow furrowed, sandwich abandoned in its container. "You okay?"

He forces the corners of his lips upward. "Yeah."

"You can't lie to me, sunshine."

"I'm fine," he insists. He puts his own sandwich down and tilts his head to brush his lips against Geoff's. "I love you. Thank you for this."

Geoff uses one arm to shove the food boxes off to the side and scoots forward in the same motion. Awsten jumps, as he takes him into his arms and presses a long kiss against the top of his shoulder. "I love you so much. Please don't shut me out, okay? I want to help you. I'm here to help you."

"You are," he murmurs. "Trust me, you are."

...

September 5th, 2017 – 9:46 AM

"What's this for?"

"I'm not too sure, sunshine." He tightens the wrap around Awsten's bicep and walks his hand down his arm. When he gets to his elbow, he digs his fingers into Awsten's skin, feels around for the vein that should hurt him the least. The most prominent veins are the easiest to stick. "They didn't tell me that."

There are so many needle scars on his arm already. He's spent his entire life being poked and prodded like a science experiment, so much so that he doesn't even have to turn away now. Geoff remembers those days, years before he started training to become a nurse, when he would sit in the chair and hold Awsten on his lap and try to distract him to keep his gaze away from his arm.

It's a pang, a sort of sting that embeds itself into his chest and stabs at his heart. He swallows.

He's wanted to be a nurse for most of his life. Awsten being sick only fueled it. He remembers growing up, spending all his teen years in the hospital by Awsten's side, holding his hand during the chemo treatments and promising through tears that everything would be alright for surgery after surgery.

He's lived this alongside Awsten, but Awsten's been the one going through it all, dealing with the tests and surgeries and chemotherapy treatments, he's the one who was forced to give up a childhood and a normal life to be stuck with white walls and sterilized tubes and overwhelming antiseptic, he's the one whose life will never be any semblance of ordinary. This is his life. He had to give everything up.

He had to give everything up.

There's a lump in his throat. His vision is starting to blur. His eyes are getting misty.

He's wanted to be a nurse for most of his life.

This is one patient he never thought he'd have to treat.

This is one patient he never thought he'd have to treat.

"How much do you need this time?" Awsten's voice isn't high. He doesn't sound shaky or scared. His tone is level. He's not meeting his gaze. His eyes are on his lap, where he's picking at a loose thread on his sweatpants with his other hand.

Geoff shakes his head to clear it. The ache behind his eyes is a balloon that's about to pop. It's pressing against his skull, full of tears, about to rip and tear and spill. It's about to spill. Everything's about to spill. "Not much." He forces his voice to stay steady as he presses the needle into Awsten's skin.

Awsten doesn't even flinch.

He watches the needle go in and keeps his eyes there until Geoff pulls it out and presses gauze against the wound. Geoff drags in a breath, hiccups and tries not to let a sob slip with it.

But sure enough, "Gee? You okay?"

He swallows again. The lump in his throat throbs. His head aches as he lifts it. He looks at Awsten, at his wide eyes and skinny frame, at the thin hair that's just barely started to grow back and look how it used to before the chemicals ripped it all out. He looks down at the gauze he's still holding to Awsten's arm and then at the two tubes of his blood now placed in the sterilized box.

"Yeah, love. I'm fine."

...

"Awsie!"

"Why's Nurse W here?"

"What's the guitar for?"

He exchanges a look with Geoff and smiles, surveys the room and lets his gaze stop on Lily, whose eyes are fixated on him. "Geoff was telling me about a certain someone – or someones – being naughty?" He glances over at Geoff. "Right?"

Geoff's eyes are wide when he answers, "They just don't wanna eat their lunches, Aws. I didn't know what else to do."

"That's not fair!"

"I don't like it."

"It's gross..."

He nods. "I know, guys. The food sucks." He shouldn't even be preaching right now, shouldn't be telling them to eat what's on their plates, because more often than not he throws his own plates out and makes Jawn bring him Whole Foods. "But the nurses get all annoying and yell-y about it 'cause you're all on meds, okay? If you don't eat you'll get sick."

"He's right," Geoff says from behind. "But I'm glad you think I'm annoying, babe. Nice to know."

Jacob starts to 'oooooh' and Nia and Matty quickly follow. They're grinning widely at them, wide eyes and red cheeks paired with large smiles.

He rolls his eyes and leans back to peck Geoff's check. "Oh shut up. You know what I meant."

"Do I?"

"Yeah." His cheeks are growing hot. He drops his head and leans in to whisper into Geoff's ear, "and you are distracting them."

"Well," Geoff murmurs, breath warm against his ear. "You're distracting me." He closes his eyes as their lips slide together, feels Geoff's arm move down to his waist. Just as he reaches up to wrap his own arm around Geoff's neck, Geoff breaks the kiss and takes a step back.

"Uh..." Everything is so hot. His fingers are brushing Geoff's shoulder. He stretches his hand out more, grips onto him and takes a step back so they're standing next to each other. His lips are still tingling.

"But anyway, as Awsten was saying," Geoff continues. "You guys finish your lunches, and he's gonna sing you a song." He glances over. "Right, Aws?"

"R-right," he says faintly.

...

"Alright, what song are we doing?"

"You should sing one of yours," Geoff says. He unzips the guitar case and kneels in front of it to pull the instrument out. "Maybe not something...too sad, if you can? They've cried enough today."

He rolls his eyes and starts to flip through his journal. It may as well be called a songbook by now. At first it was messy feelings, but now they all come out in pretty metaphors that are inadvertently lyrical. "I live in a hospital, the fuck did you expect?"

"You gotta have something happy," Geoff insists. "It's not all white walls and hospital floors, is it?"

"And antiseptic smell," he mutters with a grin. "But no, yeah, I got something."

"You gonna give me the chords, or?"

"It's that one," he says. He forces himself to smile and reaches for one of Geoff's hands briefly. "The one I came up with that right? You helped me write some of it?"

"Aws..."

He swallows and looks down at the floor. "You got it?"

"Yeah."

"Awsie!"

"What song are you playing?"

"Do the pink one!"

"I like the silver one!"

"Does it have to be a color one?"

He takes a breath and keeps the smile plastered on his face, steps back to stand next to the stool Geoff's sitting on and leans his hip against it. He has to inhale again, looking out to all of their smiling faces. Nia's talking excitedly to Lily, nudging her shoulder and whispering loudly in her ear. Lily is smiling and nodding, but her gaze is focused on him. Jacob is pressed against Toby's side, saying something to him, to which Toby smiles and brushes a hand through his hair. Georgia has Rosie on her lap, and she's smiling and nodding as the two year old grabs a lock of her hair and starts to babble nonsense. He has to smile at Matty, who's trying very hard to have a silent conversation with Geoff, making an obvious effort to mouth words. You can do this. Breathe. You can do this. They're probably not gonna get it anyway.

Georgia and Toby will.

But the others won't.

They're counting on you.

You can do this.

"This is a new one," he says, tries to keep his voice level. "I wrote it a few months ago, with Geoff, actually. It's the first time I've sung it since, so...yeah, I guess. This is, I'll Always Be Around."

...

September 8th, 2017 – 3:37 PM

"Awsten? Kiddo, hey, can you come here a sec?"

Geoff stops.

It feels like the words jump-started his heart, shocked it backs into continuation of the never-ending marathon it's been running. The world stops for a second, pauses where it is and tilts slightly, goes fuzzy at the ends and allows the black to creep in.

Awsten's head doctor usually leaves everything up to the rest of his team. He doesn't join in unless things are particularly bad, unless he has a piece of news to give that is anything but standard. He isn't called in unless it's big, unless whatever's going on requires a more drastic treatment or everything needs to be changed. Calling Awsten to his office...

The blood test.

The results.

The results are in.

"I promised Georgia..." Awsten trails off. His words start to get softer by the end. He knows. He's been in here long enough to know what this means. He knows what this means. He knows exactly what this is. He knows. Geoff's heart is racing. It's hotcoldhotcoldhotcold fuckfuckfuck- "Y-Yeah. What's up?"

Geoff wrenches his head up to meet the man's eyes. They exchange a glance. He needs to be in the room Awsten can't be doing this alone he needs to be with him he needs to be with him he needs to be in that room with him- and fortunately, he receives a nod and a small hand gesture. He sets his binder on the nurses' station, ignores her calling after him irritably ­who's chart is this, Geoff? You can't just leave it wherever you want and expect us to...

He jogs to catch up and falls into place beside Awsten, reaches for his hand and squeezes tightly. It's already clammy, slick with sweat. Awsten is shaking. He swallows. Nonononopleasenonononono-

They sit down in the office. He keeps a tight hold on Awsten's hand and tries to take some deep breaths for himself. You are not allowed to panic right now. You cannot panic. Awsten needs you more than you need to panic. Awsten needs you more than you need to panic.

Awsten needs you more than you need to panic.

"What's going on?" Awsten's voice is so shaky. He tries to push his chair closer, gives his hand another tight squeeze. Awsten doesn't even acknowledge it. His gaze stays fixated on the doctor.

The man sighs. "We've been running tests for a couple weeks now, kid. That's what taking bone marrow and doing scans and drawing blood all those times was for. We wanted to make sure we were completely right before saying anything."

"W-What do you mean?"

Geoff swallows. His breath catches in his throat and he clenches his teeth in attempt not to cough. Please no please it can't be that please don't let it be that please he can't deal with this he doesn't need this please don't let it be that pleasepleaseplease-

"When we got your bone marrow sample back," he says. "We found some abnormalities in your white blood cells. That didn't necessarily mean – we had to do a lot more tests and imaging before we were able to confirm anything."

"Just say it." Awsten's voice is so soft. "Please. I need you to say it."

"Awsten-"

"Just tell me!"

"We did so many tests, did the same ones over again, tried to explain this any other way we possibly could...but everything came back the same. The results all point to one thing." He takes a heavy breath and shakes his head.

"Your cancer's back. I'm so sorry, kiddo."

There's a moment. Everything stops. The world is still. Someone hit the pause button.

And then it plays.

And Awsten runs.

...

"Aws- Awsten, hey, stop."

"Let go of me, Geoff!"

He struggles against Geoff's grip, pushes at his arms and fights against the tightening around his abdomen. "I mean it, let me go!"

"No." Geoff's voice is right next to his ear. He feels his breath warming his skin, feels the arms move up to his chest and wrap around him even tighter. "Just breathe, sunshine. I promise it'll be okay."

"No it won't!" The words end in a sob. He shoves at Geoff's chest again, keeps pushing and resisting. Gotta get out gotta go I can't be here it'sbackit'sbackit'sback-

I can't be here I can't do this let me go please let me go I need to be alone I can't do this anymore I don't want it why is this my life why does this keep happening why is it happening to me I don't want this anymore pleasepleaseplease- it'sbackit'sbackit'sback-

It's back.

The scream starts low, at the back of his throat. It feels like his vocal chords are tearing as it comes up. Everything hurts. His chest is open and the poison is flooding in and everything is burning the world is on fire he can't see can't move can't breathe what's going on why won't it stop it'sbackit'sbackit'sback-

"C'mon love," Geoff is saying. "Deep breaths. With me, okay? I'm right here. It's all gonna be okay, I promise."

"D-Don't," he gasps it out and then drops his head. Everything is blurry. He's squinting at the ground. His vision is squid-inked, black spots dancing and moving all around, combining together to obstruct everything. Can't see can't see can't see– it'sbackit'sbackit'sback-

Everything is on fire. The world is white-hot. It's burning it's all burning it's hot everything's hot it's moving it's hot it's too hot it won't stop nothing will stop why won't it stop it won't stop-

He can't see. He needs more air.

There's no more air.

He needs more air there's no more air he needs more air there's no more air he needs more air there's no more air he needs more air-

It's back it's here it's happening all over again I don't want it please nonono take it away I can't do this take it away I don't want it please I'm sorry please I don't want it I don't want it I don't want it-

There's pressure against his arms. The hands clasp his biceps and push him back. He feels the hard surface digging into his spine. His stomach is churning. Everything is spinning. Can't see can't move can't breathe redwhitehotredwhitehotredwhitehot-

"...breathe, Awsten..."

"...sunshine..."

"...doing...well..."

He hears bits and pieces. They all sound far away, like Geoff's voice is being transmitted through a vocoder from another room. It's distant. Everything's distant. He's floating. The world is getting smaller and smaller. He's going higher; ascending into a separate plane of existence where his body is not a battlefield the latest fight just broke out on.

The next breath barely feels like one. It fuels the burn in his chest, the smoldering of his lungs and hiss of everything charring to a crisp and floating down to dig into his chest cavity. It hurts. Everything hurts. It won't stop. It hurts.

It's back it's back it's back it's back it's back it's back it's back it'sbackit'sbackit'sback-

It's back.

...

September 8th, 2017 – 8:32 PM

"It's gonna be okay, sunshine."

He tousles his fingers through Awsten's hair and kisses the back of his head. Awsten sniffles, scoots up slightly and then lets his head flop back. "S-Sorry, I just..."

"Don't start," he mutters.

Awsten does this all the time. When they're alone, in private, it's like he turns into an infinite thank you note, exploding with 'I'm sorrys' and 'thanks for putting up with mes', overflowing and letting them pour out of him like he's a cup that needs to be emptied periodically. "You have nothing to be sorry for, love-"

"Geoff, thank god, there you are." He jumps, hears the door banging open and one of the on-duty night nurses call for him. "I know you're off today, but Jacob's crying and we're short on staff 'cause of the storm, can you help?"

"I-" He starts to say. Movement cuts him off. Awsten pushes out of his hold and slides to the floor, wipes a hand down his face and makes his way out of the room without a word.

He takes a breath and climbs off the bed too, exchanges a glance with the nurse as he makes his way out of the room and picks up into a slight jog in the direction of the pediatric ward. Awsten's long gone from the halls. He moves through quickly, comes to a stop in front of the double doors and pushes through, straight over to Jacob's bed.

"...thunder, okay? Wanna tell me why?" Awsten is curled up on the mattress next to Jacob. He's lying on his side with Jacob's head against his chest and his arm wrapped around Jacob's shoulders.

"I-It's just noise." Jacob's voice is barely audible, especially from Geoff's position at the foot of the bed. Awsten is louder, but not by much. Neither of them notices – or if they have, they aren't paying any attention to – his presence. He tugs his stethoscope to sit properly around his neck and takes a tiny step backward. "J-Just noise..."

Outside, the sky rumbles with another loud crack. The lights flicker briefly. They're gone for less than a second, but it's still enough to make Jacob jump and whimper, turn onto his side and tighten his arms around Awsten's waist.

"It's gonna be okay, love," Awsten murmurs. He presses a kiss against the crown of Jacob's head and hugs him closer. "It's just noise. It'll pass like it always does. You'll go to sleep and have nice, happy dreams, and when you wake up it'll be all gone, I promise."

"I'm scared..."

Geoff swallows. The words feel like a stab to his heart, a Jacob-sized missile that's large enough to burn a hole through the muscle. It starts a fire that stokes and sparks and burns, an ache in his chest that spreads quickly, smolders everything in its path and turns the entire cavity to flame.

"You wanna know what I do when I get scared?" Awsten hums.

"What?"

"I do something to get my mind off it." Awsten removes one arm from his body and stretches to the other side of the bed, pulls a book from the stack on top of Jacob's nightstand. "When I stop thinking so much about what's scaring me, it gets easier."

"R-Really?"

"Really." Geoff inhales, stares at the large smile on Awsten's face; he's grinning with his teeth, crinkling at the corners of his eyes and stretching so wide his cheeks look like they hurt. "Now where were we?"

"Harry's just about ta be sorted!"

"Oh!" Awsten's eyes go wide. "That's a really good part! What house do you think he'll be put in?"

"Slytherin!"

"What? Why?"

Jacob is giggling by now. The tears on his face are starting to dry up. His cheeks are pink and his smile is bright. He was sobbing ten minutes ago, and now he can't stop smiling.

Just noise.

...

September 12th, 2017 – 2:26 PM

They have a name for these days.

Amongst the nurses, they're called 'sudden death'.

The days when someone's kid is sick and someone else went on vacation and forgot to alert everyone else, when circumstances have piled in and formed a bullet that shoots the entire hospital in its foot. They have too many patients and not enough staff and that means they have to overcompensate and a job meant for six nurses has to now be done by three.

Having practically grown up in this hospital, he's been around for more than he can count.

You can tell by a nurse's tone of voice, the manner in which they handle things, their pace; the tells of 'sudden death' are hardly difficult to spot. People are grumpy and annoyed when they're stressed. It takes a special kind of person to shove that all back in and lock it far enough that it doesn't come oozing and seeping out into their personality.

And sure, Geoff is a really special person, but he's not that special.

The kids have all needed something today. Everyone's been fussy and grumpy and tired; they're spiking fevers and running around all over the place, tired of being cooped up inside but too unwell to be taken out for a walk. The cabin fever is setting in with Geoff's resolve headed closer and closer to the bin.

He can see it on Geoff's face. His eyebrows are furrowed and his lip is pulled between his teeth as he scribbles something into a chart. His hair is a mess, his scrubs are stained with something – some kid probably threw up on him and he hasn't had time to change – and his eyes are red.

He wants to say something, wants to slip behind him and wrap his arms around his waist, wants to breathe you're doing great, love. I know you're stressed and everything's a lot, but you're handling it really well against his ear, but he knows it wouldn't help. He knows Geoff has a lot of work to do, and distracting him – even if it is to try and help him relax a little – will only stress him out even more.

The news has felt like a hurricane. A natural disaster that's eclipsed their worlds and turned them on the side. It feels like that. The world's been turned 90 degrees, flipped onto its side, but everything hasn't moved with it. The world has changed but everything else hasn't and the limbo is lingering.

It's too much. It's all too much.

"Nurse W?"

"Nurse W..."

"Nurse W!"

Geoff jumps. The binder wobbles on the tray he was leaning on, and crashes to the ground. He blows out a heavy sigh and leans down to pick it up. "Give me a second, Matthew."

Awsten winces. He looks over at Matty, barely catches a glimpse of his wide eyes and quivering lip, before tiny footsteps pound against the tile floor and the four-year-old runs out of the room.

He sighs.

Matty's had a rough day. He spiked a fever overnight, so the nurses have been all over him, checking his vitals every hour to make sure he hasn't caught an infection. He's been bound to his bed in case there actually is something wrong, which doesn't bode well for a hyperactive four year old that loves to run around and play. He doesn't do well without his daily playroom time.

"Aws, fuck, I didn't mean to, could you..." Geoff trails off. He shakes his head and looks down at the chart in his hands.

"I got him," he replies. He knows exactly where Matty'll be. His favorite place in the hospital is that damn playroom. It's not much compared to a child's playroom at home, but the hospital has manage to accumulate a ton of board games, along with a foosball table, a pool table, and multiple video game systems. The room is massive, with tons of windows and brightly colored walls. And the kids spend every minute they can spare inside; a reminder of the future to tide them over. "Hey love, everything's okay. Geoff's just grumpy today. He has a lot of work to do because some of the other nurses didn't come in."

"He's mad at me," comes the tiny voice. He follows it to the edge of the foosball table, kneels down and presses his ear to the ground, sees Matty curled up underneath. "I made him mad."

Awsten sighs. His heart feels like it's being pulled, like Matty's piece is trying to break away from the others and descend into the bottom of his stomach. It's this ache that funnels out from deep in his chest, awakens every time one of the kids is upset and coats everything with a light layer of pain. "I promise he's not, Mats. He knows you've had a hard day and you didn't mean to bother him."

"I hate staying in bed."

He smiles. "I know you do, kid. The doctors were just worried today, hm." He scoots closer to the edge of the table and stretches a hand out. "When you guys randomly get fevers in the middle of the night, it means something bad could be happening. They just wanted to make sure you were okay."

"But Awsie, I feel fine," Matty insists. "I don't feel sick 'nymore."

"That's great, dude!" He exclaims. He drops his voice down for the next few words, "how about we go on a little adventure to celebrate, hm?"

"An adventure?" Matty's eyes seem to light up. He pushes up on his hands and stretches to connect his back with the bottom of the table. "Cool!"

"For sure, kiddo," Awsten replies. "Come on out, let's go do something cool!"

Getting Matty to sit in a wheelchair is a bit more of a struggle. He insists he's fine, pushes at Awsten's hands and whines when he rolls the chair up behind him, I don't wanna sit in thaaaat, why can't I just walk like a normal person? It takes a good five minutes to convince him, it's a special kind of adventure, okay? It'll be so much cooler in the chair, I promise.

But soon enough, they're off. He grips the handlebars tightly, gives the chair a hard push, and starts to sprint after it. Matty's giggles can be heard all the way down the hall. He catches up to the chair and grabs the handlebars again, keeps his stride and runs straight ahead, into the elevator that's just opened.

"Press a button," he instructs Matty, once the doors have closed.

"Which one?"

"Any one you want."

The elevator surges upward. The doors open with a ding.

He's not even sure what floor this is.

He grips the handlebars and shoves the wheelchair forward.

And then he's running all over again.

...

September 14th, 2017 – 5:48 PM

Something shoves at his shoulder.

It's gone before he has a chance to see what it is. He stops, clutches his clipboard against his chest and turns around.

Awsten's footsteps are loud, smacking against the tile floor. He has his head down and his arms drawn into his body. He speedwalks past Geoff and disappears down the hall, turns a corner out of view and vanishes completely.

"Dammit..." He looks up, makes eye contact with Awsten's head doctor, and grits his teeth.

"What the hell happened?" He mutters. He drops his clipboard off at the nurses' station, Parker, room 302, he's all set for the night, and walks right up to where the other man is standing. "What did you say to him?"

"Geoff," the man sighs. "We just scheduled his chemo treatments. He's starting tomorrow."

"He's...what?"

Everything goes cold. He feels the ice, feels it travel up his veins and seep into his bones like he was just dunked in a vat of frigid liquid.

"Yeah," Awsten's doctor replies. "First thing tomorrow, we've got a chair all ready for him. We're doing it in cycles this time, so he's gonna have the first infusion tomorrow, and then a couple weeks of rest. That'll give his body some time to make new, healthy cells."

"Fuck," he whispers. "He, I- fuck..."

"Go," the man murmurs. "I'll take care of your other patients. He needs someone with him right now."

He nods. His hands are shaking. He feels it in his legs too, like they're the consistency of jello and won't carry him any further if he tries to walk. He forces down a swallow and turns around.

And he runs.

...

His chest hurts.

It's a thorn in his side, a stabbing pain that keeps shooting and getting worse the faster he goes. It's the kind of pain he knows will get worse if he stops. He can't stop running. He needs to find Awsten. Can't stop running need to find Awsten can't stop where is he where is he where is it-

Not in his room. Not in the pediatric ward. Not in the playroom. None of the kids seem like they've seen him. Geoff doesn't want to say anything, doesn't want to ask Georgia or Toby whether he's passed by, they don't need to know. You don't need to scare the. They don't need to know.

"Fucking hell, where is he?" He grunts. "Aws? Awsten!"

He finds himself in Awsten's room once again, surveying the nightstand – his journal is still sitting there, like always – and the bed – his phone isn't there, so he must have it with him. He rakes a hand through his hair with a shaky gasp. "Fuck, Aws, where are you?"

That's when he hears it.

It's tiny. The sound is smaller than he's heard from Awsten in a long time. If he didn't know any better, he'd think it was one of the kids. It almost sounds like Matty or Nia on a bad day. They're the most vocal about it. Lily never says anything and Jacob is starting to follow in Toby's footsteps, not expressing unless he's asked.

"Oh, sunshine..." he sighs. He steps around in front of the bathroom – the door is open, why the fuck didn't he bother looking the first time he was here – and bites his lip. He moves further into the bathroom, a few feet behind Awsten, and looks over him, into the mirror.

There are tears rolling down his cheeks. His eyes are red. He's perched on the bathroom counter, fiddling with an electric razor, trying to plug it into the outlet next to the sink. It keeps slipping out of his hands because they're shaking so much.

"Aws..."

"Please don't shave your head too." The words are punctuated by a sob. He slides off the counter and takes a couple steps to meet Geoff in the middle of the bathroom. He reaches up and tangles a hand in Geoff's hair, swallows heavily. "You're just starting to look like yourself again. And it- it reminds me of what I lost."

He shaved his head. He remembers the day, remembers feeling the realization, the start against his chest as Awsten sat up in a flurry and burst into tears. He remembers the grip, how tightly he held him, lips pressed against his head and fingers running rapidly through his hair, it's just hair, sunshine. It doesn't define you. You'll still be beautiful. He remembers the lasting kiss, leaving his lips against Awsten's head for a while, and hey, it'll grow back, y'know? It's a reminder of what you're going through. How strong you are. It'll grow back when all of this is over and you can dye it whatever color you want and you'll always remember what it took to get you there. It's just hair, love. Okay? Just hair.

He remembers waiting until Awsten had finally drifted into sleep, going straight to the bathroom and turning on the razor without a second thought.

The lump in his throat is throbbing. His vision is starting to blur, slightly misty and foggy at the edges. He reaches out and pulls Awsten into his arms. Awsten snakes his own arms around his back and they stay there. He tightens his grip and Awsten grabs fistfuls of his shirt and no one moves. Nothing moves. They stay.

When he pulls back, it's just a tad, only enough to keep Awsten at arm's length, "what if neither of us shave our heads?"

"Geoff, I can't," Awsten says quietly. He drops his head down. "I can't watch it gradually-" His breath hitches. "Just...fall out."

"Hey, whoa, breathe." Geoff tightens his arm around Awsten's back and presses another kiss to his head.

What's a color you've always wanted your hair to be?"

...

September 15th, 2017 – 9:56 AM

"Alright kiddo, just attaching this last bag, and...you're all set, okay? It's gonna be a while, though, so make yourself comfy."

"Can...can he stay?"

Geoff swallows. The words feel like a bullet sent spiraling into the bottom of his heart. Awsten owns it, climbed into his chest and claimed it so long ago, sits on top with the most beautiful smile on his face and both hands under his chin, faced turned up to the sky. Awsten has the largest part of his heart, the same part that's been stitched over and glued together and hangs, from the thinnest thread. Awsten has it and he keeps breaking it.

"I took today off," he says, before the nurse has a chance to speak. "Tomorrow too. And I can take Wednesday if you need me to. I'm here, sunshine. You've got me."

They knew. Awsten's doctor was ready to fight if he had to, make sure, if anyone says anything to you, you send them to me, okay? The kid has no one and I'll be damned if they don't let you stay with him. The hospital didn't give him any trouble, and up until this point, he's been allowed to be in the room for everything. They needed to do a blood test and even let him be the one to do it, let him practice medicine on his day off because Awsten was getting panicky and this could not be the first blood draw in years that ended in tragedy.

"Of course he can stay," the nurse says. "I'll be back in a little while to check on you, okay? You know to press the button if you need anything, so just...good luck, sweetheart. Let's hope you don't react too badly."

Geoff drops to his knees in front of Awsten once she's out of the room, grabs both his hands and squeezes. "You doing okay, love? Still feel sick?"

Awsten shrugs and turns his head away. "I dunno."

"Your hair looks pretty." He leans up to brush his fingers through the newly dyed blue strands. They put a ton of conditioner in after the bleach and the result is so soft. He can't stop playing with it.

"Shut up."

"Hey," he murmurs. He squeezes Awsten's hands again, swings them back and forth. "It's gonna be okay, sunshine. We'll get through this."

"I just-" Awsten's face seems to crumple. He bites his lip and lets out a dry sob. "I thought it was over. I thought I was finally getting my life back. I thought- I thought I was done with this..."

Geoff stops there. He has to.

The ache is giant. It feels too big. It's right behind his eyes, a malleable balloon that's seconds away from popping. It lodges itself in, presses against the rut in his skull, and keeps going. The pocket of tears feels too full. It all feels too full. Everything is too full.

He doesn't know what to say.

He doesn't know what words to string together, what message to send, how to breathe reassurances into a body that's already beyond fallen apart. He doesn't know how to keep saying it'll be okay, you'll beat it, you've got this, I promise it'll all be okay, because he doesn't.

He doesn't know if it'll be okay.

Awsten's cheeks are red. His eyes are glassy. His lip is quivering. His hands are clammy in Geoff's, damp and slick with sweat. He looks so small in the chair, with his skinny shoulders and tiny frame, a child in a near adult's body living a life he never wanted.

He swallows and stands up on his knees, surges forward and takes Awsten into his arms – as best he can without disturbing the IV – and kisses the side of his head. He holds him for a while, keeps his lips against his skin and his eyes closed. Sunshine.

"What can I do?" The words feel hollow. It's like someone punched a hole through his chest and the pieces are dangling, bone fragments hanging from tiny threads, teetering over falling to their deaths and embedding themselves deep into the bottom of his chest cavity.

"The kids," Awsten whispers. His voice is thick. "Don't say anything to them, okay? They don't need to know."

...

"Easy, love, there you go, you're okay. Deep breaths, you're doing so well."

The aftereffects of the chemo don't waste any time. He rubs Awsten's back as he gags again, winces and tries to keep hold of the basin while still supporting Awsten's body. Awsten lets out a sob in between heaves. Tears are pouring down his cheeks. His hair is plastered to his forehead, sticky with sweat.

"Geoff..." Awsten whimpers. The spell seems to be over (for now, at the very least), but he doesn't lift his head. "It hurts."

"I know, sunshine. I'm sorry." He winds his arm tighter around Awsten's back and moves the basin off to the side. "You think you're done for now?"

"I dunno."

"Sunshine..."

"They probably think I left them." Awsten's voice is hoarse, raspy from all the vomit. "They're gonna be so mad at me, I- fuck." He scrambles against Geoff's arm and grabs for the basin, moves his head over it just in time to gag once more.

Geoff sighs and rubs his back, reaches over to hold the container on Awsten's lap. "Careful, sweetheart. You're gonna really hurt yourself if you keep doin' this."

"Already did," come the words, soft with a hint of rasp. "You- you should go ta them. They need you-" He pauses and shifts with a grimace. "M-more than I do. M'used to this."

"Stop." He tightens his grip around Awsten's waist. Awsten turns to look at him, and he exhales, shakes his head and runs a finger across Awsten's sweaty cheek. "I took the week off. You know that. You're my priority right now. The kids are fine, love. The other nurses have them." He sighs and leans in to kiss Awsten's hair. "You take care of everyone, sunshine. Now it's my turn to take care of you."

He's never reacted well to chemo. Geoff remembers the first time, remembers when he learned what it meant to 'feel your heart sink into your stomach'. He remembers standing at the edge of Awsten's bed with tears in his eyes, feeling bugs stinging his skin and the blood rushing in his ears, like Awsten was on fire and he'd turned into gasoline.

The vomiting doesn't start until afterward, until the chemicals have had a chance to seep into his bloodstreams and settle in amongst the cells. It takes them a while to adjust, but once they do, the damage begins.

He throws up everything in his system and cries, burns up with a fever that fries, all whilst the chemo wreaks havoc on his body. Geoff watches and winces and feels more pieces of his heart chip off, feels them drop and press into the bottom of his chest and sting, bleed, you're fucking useless why can't you do anything fucking do something you useless piece of shit. He doesn't deserve to suffer like this.

He doesn't deserve to suffer like this.

"G-Gee?" He blinks and refocuses on Awsten, pulls his teeth in with his lip and presses down. "I'm c-cold..." He's shivering. His teeth are chattering loudly. "M-make it stop..."

Geoff swallows and moves his hand up to Awsten's forehead. He has to pull it away almost instantly, lean back and shake his hand out before he wraps it around Awsten's waist again. "You're burning up, sweetheart. Lemme just go get a cloth..." He squirms, tries to push Awsten's arms away and detach himself. "Love, you gotta let go."

"No." Awsten's voice is so small. "Warm."

"Yeah, you are, sunshine. Your fever is high." Geoff sighs. His heart feels like it's bleeding, like every word is a separate slash and every piece is sailing away on a raft of its own. "This'll help, I promise."

"I got it."

He inhales sharply as he lifts his head; watches Otto take a couple steps up to the edge of the bed and place a folded washcloth in the middle of Awsten's forehead. His own hair is shoved into a beanie and his eyes are downcast. He straightens the fabric on Awsten's head and leans in to brush his lips against his hair.

"I didn't- they didn't say you were-"

"You haven't picked up your phone in days," Otto murmurs. "Jawn and I were worried. He wanted ta come with, but he got called into work. I didn't..." He trails off and shakes his head. "Why didn't you tell me, Geoff? He's your boyfriend, but he's...he's important to me too. You know that."

"I..." He looks down at Awsten, whose eyes are closed. His breathing is starting to deepen. "I didn't know what to say. How to say it, I guess? I don't know anything anymore. M'just..." He swallows. "I can't feel. Not right now. Not while he's feeling everything."

"You can." Otto glances behind himself and reaches for one of the chairs that are been backed against the wall. He slides it over and turns it around, sits backward and grips onto the bars at the back. "With me."

...

"I can't do this. Not when he's like this, I just-"

Geoff cuts himself off, tightens his grip around Awsten and keeps his eyes trained there. He waits for him to continue, to pick up where he left off and finish the thought, but the words don't seem to come.

"He's asleep," he says. "And he has a fever so it's a pretty fuckin' deep sleep. You're okay, Geoff. Let it all out."

"I can't," Geoff grounds out. His voice sounds choked. It's like there's gravel in his throat, a new piece tangling with every word. "He needs me not to. I can't have my feelings right now. They're not important."

He sighs and stands, walks back over to the side of the bed and reaches for one of Geoff's hands. "They're always important."

Geoff does this. He always has. He represses and pulls in, absorbs every last ounce of what he's feeling to put it in this tiny bottle and lodge that in the hollows of his chest. He squeezes out whatever he can, has a breakdown in the staff room or bursts into tears while he's getting ready, turns on the waterworks for a minute and then forces them off, forces it down, forces everything away.

"His cancer's back," Geoff says the words to Awsten's head. He won't look up. "It's back and it might be worse than before we don't know and he's back on chemo and everything's happening all at once and I don't have time for this." He finally lifts his head. His eyes are glassy and red-rimmed. "I have him and the kids and all the fucking work I have to do here I just can't-" A dry sob. "I just can't."

"You don't have to," Otto replies. He leans forward to wrap his arms around Geoff's shoulders, careful to avoid disturbing Awsten. He can feel the sleeve of his shirt starting to dampen. He winces. "Not right now. Right now is yours, okay? You don't have to be anything for anyone. It's okay. Just breathe, alright? I gotcha."

It's silent for a few minutes. Geoff cries quietly against him, silent tears that are soaking into the fabric of his shirt. "I'm so scared. All the time. I'm so fucking scared this might be it. That I might-" A breath that ends in a sob. "I'm so fucking scared I might lose him."

The ache behind his eyes is big. He wants to cry too. Everything hurts.

He swallows and tightens his grip, starts to rub Geoff's upper back. "You won't. He's gonna be okay. I know he is. He's survived the worst and he'll survive this too. You know him. You know how much he's been through. He's so strong. He's not going down without a fight."

"I don't know how much fight he has left."

...

September 21st, 2017 – 2:38 PM

"Awsie!"

"Whoa!"

"It's blue!"

"Your hair's so pretty!"

He swallows against the lump in his throat and forces the smile to say on his face. Nothing is wrong. They don't need to know. Nothing is wrong. You can't tell them. They don't need to know. They don't need to worry. Nothing is wrong.

The last six days have been the worst he's had in a very long time. He doesn't remember the last time it was this bad, can't recall a time previously when pulling himself out of bed didn't feel like his body weighed a thousand tons and merely opening his eyes formed a very large lump in his throat that fortified itself with steel.

He's been staying away. The chemo is hard. It hurts. His body feels like a battlefield but the war's barely started. Every side effect is a new battle, a new tiff that breaks out and wreaks havoc. It feels like he's bleeding, all the time. Every day he's being sliced open a different way, and the pieces that are left don't fit together anymore.

"You like it?"

"Yeah!" The vigorous nod comes from Nia. "It's awesome!"

"Thanks, love," he says. He steps over to her bed and shifts Rosie against his hip to ruffle her hair. "How've you been today?"

"Missed you." Nia ignores the question and holds her arms out. "Where'd you go?"

He exhales and swallows again, feels the saliva travel downward and settle in his stomach heavily. Nothing is wrong. They don't need to know. Nothing is wrong. Nothing is wrong. "I just got really busy with my family and stuff." He pauses, tries to keep his voice steady. "But I really missed you guys."

A silence falls over the room. He bites his lip. Toby and Georgia are looking at him. He can see the confusion on their faces. Their gazes are burning into his back. They don't believe you they don't believe you they don't-

He feels an arm snake around his back and exhales a shaky breath, leans into Geoff's grip and closes his eyes for a briefly. Geoff rubs his back for a few seconds and then takes a step over to Nia's bed. "And they really missed you too, so how would y'all feel about a movie night to catch up?"

"Yeah!"

"Yes!"

"Please, Awsie?"

He smiles, presses a kiss against the top of Rosie's head with a swallow. "Geoff was just telling me that he got some new movies for you guys. I think he got Moana and that other new Disney one..."

Lily is leaning so far off her bed that she looks like she's going to fall out. Her eyes are wide. She's reaching for him, making grabby hands and opening and closing her fingers. He takes a step closer, shifts Rosie on his hip and reaches for one of her hands with his free one. He tightens his hold on Rosie so he can lean down and press a kiss to her hair.

"Movie night it is." He hears Geoff say from behind. "Let's go into the playroom guys, alright?"

"Yeah!"

None of the kids have IVs in at the moment. He knows Jacob is scheduled for a vitals check in a couple hours – Lily just got back from hers, Geoff is doing Nia's right now, Matty's was done, and Rosie just finished – and Georgia and Toby know when they have to get up and come back into the ward for their checks. This is – ironically – the perfect time.

Matty jumps onto Geoff's back. He watches Jacob tap Toby's shoulder until he gives a very heavy mock sigh and crouches down too. Nia grabs Georgia's hand and starts to giggle, race you to the playroom! Boys vs. girls! Their footsteps are loud as they run out of the room and stomp down the hall.

"Ow, sweetheart." He unclasps Rosie's chubby fingers from his hair and kisses her cheek. "Careful, okay?" She babbles something he doesn't quite catch and flops against his shoulder.

"Awsie?" He feels a tug at the hem of his shirt and smiles down at Lily.

"Yeah, love?"

"Your hair's really pretty," she says softly. She moves her gaze down to stare at her lap as soon as she finishes talking.

"Thank you, Lil," he murmurs. He lifts her chin and brushes his fingers through her hair. "Come on, let's go watch the movie, hm?" He turns around and bends his knees slightly. "Climb on."

"You've got Rosie." Lily's voice is barely audible at this point. "It's okay."

"I can carry you both," he replies. His heart feels like it's being pulled, like her piece is trying to tear itself from the whole. He shifts Rosie with one arm, and uses the other to squeeze Lily's hand. "C'mere, love. We'll go watch Moana and I'll braid your hair, how's that sound?"

Lily smiles.

...

A crab is singing.

An evil crab is singing a song about something being shiny. He isn't sure what or what happened or how they got to this point, but a crab is clawing at whatever character The Rock is playing and singing about seafood and shiny things.

The younger kids are enthralled. Lily, Nia, and Matty haven't looked up since the movie began. Toby, Jacob, and Georgia seem a little less captured and Rosie probably couldn't care less, but the little kids are enjoying it.

He hasn't really been following the story. The songs are catchy and the dialogue is funny at some parts, but he hasn't been able to pull his mind out of the hole it's been sucked into.

It's all so much. It's so much and it feels so heavy and he can't move out from underneath. He can't move or breathe or escape any of it. These white walls are his reality, a physical representation of the life that feels like catastrophe.

It was starting to get better. Things were starting to go back to normal. He was starting to unstick himself from the passive as he passed into a more active role in his life. The world was starting to come back into orbit, like he'd finally come back to Earth and reentered his body again, given life to a body that had been disguised as a corpse for so long.

He was alive but never living.

The world was different too. He remembers that, when a tiny stream of light cracked through the weight on his shoulders, split it in half and started to break off pieces. He remembers feeling lighter, feeling like he was floating in the best way, overlooking cotton candy skies through newfound rollercoaster highs.

He remembers how sparkly everything started to look. The world was clearer and brighter and prettier, with glitter and shine everywhere. It felt like a dream. Like his nightmare was morphing into an existence he could get used to living in. A conclusion that was no longer confusing. The world wasn't blurry anymore. Nothing was blurry anymore.

It was a new canvas and he'd been given paints for the first time.

And then it hit. A wrecking ball that was on fire, sparking with every reminder of the existence that-

He swallows. The lump in his throat is throbbing. Everything feels far away, like he's managed to float out of his body and onto a separate layer of pain in the last twenty minutes. He blinks, refocuses his vision, and forces in a deep breath. Not now. You'll have time for this later. Not now. Not now. Not now.

He rakes a hand through his hair.

He stops.

Someone hit pause on the world. The breath has been sucked dry from his body, leeched from his bones and tugged away from his throat. It feels like sandpaper. The last thread holding his heart together has snapped and it's falling down, further and further, sinking into his stomach and rolling back on the switch that sends nausea surging up into his veins.

No. No. No.

He forces himself to look downward, moves his entire head to stare at his hands, stare at the lock of hair that has just fallen out and into his palm.

He tries to stifle it, keep it back, lodge it in his chest for later when he's back in his room and Geoff is with him- wait for Geoff wait for Geoff not now please not right now I can't do this- so it's not nearly as loud as if he'd chosen not to, but a tiny sound, a whimper leaves his throat.

He hears the gasp.

He whips his head up, locks eyes with Georgia, whose gaze is flittering from the lock of hair to him so fast he can't follow it. Her lip is already starting to quiver. Her eyes are getting glassy.

"Fuck," he curses in a whisper. He closes his fingers around the lock of hair and slips his hand into his pocket, slides out from under Lily, "I'll be right back, alright love? Just gonna go to the bathroom real quick."

He meets Georgia's eyes once again and then looks pointedly at the hallway, bites his lip, what the hell am I supposed to say to her how do I do this she wasn't supposed to find out she wasn't fuckfuckfuck-

Georgia makes her way out of the playroom and steps no further, plants her feet and crosses her arms over her chest. Her lip is wobbling dangerously and there are already tears on her cheeks.

"Georgia, love..." he sighs, shakes his head and presses harder into his lip. "I didn't, you weren't supposed to-"

"You're sick again," Georgia chokes out. Her voice is thick with tears. "Aren't you? It's back. You're getting chemo again. That's why your hair is falling out."

"Sweetheart..." His heart is constricting. It feels like she just took a sledgehammer to it, slammed into it at full force and smashed it to smithereens. Nausea is swimming up his throat. The ache behind his eyes is pulsating.

"Answer me!"

"Yeah," he says. His voice cracks. He knows he's crying too. "They found some abnormalities in my white blood cells, and-

Georgia sobs. She covers her face with her hands and cries loudly, a kind of sound that bottles itself up and comes flying toward him, bypasses every layer of skin to crash into what's left of his heart.

He surges forward and pulls her into his arms, presses nose to head, wraps arms around waist. She throws her arms around his abdomen and buries her head in his chest, lets out another sob that muffles slightly into his shirt but still sounds as guttural as the first one.

"It's gonna be okay, love," he whispers. His voice is shaking. His hands are, too. He tries to keep them steady as he rubs her back, kisses the top of her head and hugs her even closer. "I'm gonna be okay. You don't have to worry about me. I'll beat this, you'll see."

"You don't know that!" Georgia wails. "You don't know anything! What happens if you don't? What are we gonna do? Awsie," She hiccups, chokes on tears and starts to cough. He winces and presses firmer into her back, rubs in small, tight circles. "What am I gonna do without you?"

"Nothing." He closes his eyes and presses his cheek against the top of her head, lets the tears stream freely down his face. "Because I'm not going anywhere, okay? I'm staying right here. I'm gonna beat this and be around to play Monopoly with you and help you with lyrics and tease you about Toby and teach you- teach you how to play guitar. I'm gonna be around. I'm gonna beat this. I'm not going anywhere, I promise."

...

September 22nd, 2017 – 11:21 AM

"N-no."

Lily starts shaking her head, slow at first, and then faster and faster, eventually so fast that she's probably making herself dizzy. He sighs and takes a step forward, reaches for her shoulders. She tenses underneath him, but doesn't start to move away. Just as he's about to speak, he hears the tiniest, "No, Awsie."

Lily is peering up at him with wide, glassy eyes. Her lip is quivering. His grip on her shoulders has allowed her to wrap her hands around his forearms. She squeezes. Her little nails are digging into his skin, sharp enough to prick, but not nearly enough to hurt. "Please. No."

"Lil." He bends his knees and crouches so he's at her eye level. "I promise it'll be okay, love. It's not going to hurt. You'll be fine."

"Scary," she mumbles. Her voice is so small. She moves her gaze to her lap and pulls her knees up and into her chest. "Don't wanna."

"How about I come with you?" He offers. He scoots his hands down and around her back, slides onto the bed and pulls her to his chest in one motion. She curls in and buries her face in his shirt, lets out the tiniest whimper that slowly transitions into a sigh.

He swallows. He looks down at her and watches his hand come up to rub her back, keeps his eyes there and pulls his lip in with his teeth.

It's like his heart's been split, like each of the kids has crawled inside and claimed their own piece, perched on top of them and turned each one into their own arts and crafts project. They're both different and vital, like slashing through one or feeling it pull away from the hole turns everything upside down. If one of them falls, they all fall. They all fall and nothing's okay. These kids inadvertently have so much power, positions that weren't necessarily given to them but happened on their own; he got attached and they made their homes in his heart and he's not getting any of it back.

The universe seems to be on his side. Lily contemplates things for a few seconds longer before peeking up at him long enough to nod. She clenches her fingers around the fabric of his shirt and scoots even closer, close enough that he eventually pulls her onto his lap and moves to properly sit on the bed, shoots an apologetic look at the orderlies that have to transport a much heavier bed than they were originally planning to.

"It's an ultrasound," one of them says. "So you're good, kiddo. We're just bringing this in." They roll in the ultrasound machine, right up to the edge of the bed, and set to work connecting everything.

"Do you know what it's for?" Geoff wouldn't tell him. He's asked multiple nurses – maybe they didn't tell him 'cause he's a student – but they've been silent too. No one will tell him what's going on. They're hiding and he's trying, trying to find their needle in the haystack of 'I don't knows', trying to keep his breaths at ease when it feels like everything is starting to freeze.

"They didn't tell us anything, kid, sorry. We just gotta get all this hooked up before the doctor comes in, alright?"

He swallows and forces out a nod. His heart is racing. He doesn't know what's going on. His breath is coming shorter, shallower and shallower as he grips Lily's body tighter and buries his nose in her hair. He doesn't know what's wrong doesn't know what's wrong what'swrongwhat'swrongwhat'swrong-

It's just a routine ultrasound.

She's going to be fine.

It's just a routine ultrasound.

She's going to be fine.

She's going to be fine.

She's going to be fine.

The saliva feels heavy in his stomach.

She's going to be fine.

She has to be fine.

...

September 22nd, 4:45 PM

"Yeah, and just put your middle finger there...yep, there you go, that's G major."

Toby shifts his finger into place and strums the chord, smiles widely at the sound. Awsten looks down at the neck of his own instrument and follows up with another G chord, one Toby's sounds almost exactly like. He's getting it.

"Good!" He exclaims. "You're a fast learner."

"I have a good teacher." Toby looks back up at him and bites his lip. "But he's really stupid sometimes, too."

"W-what?" He swallows. His heart picks up almost immediately, like someone flipped a switch to turn from peace to panic. Toby is the oldest. He's not like Nia or Lily or Jacob; he can't be placated with a white lie wrapped in lullabies. He knows what's up and he sees through everything.

Toby moves his gaze to the ground. "Georgia told me," he says quietly. "Y'know, what you guys talked about a couple days ago. Don't be mad at her!" He holds his hands up in surrender. "I kinda forced it out. She was crying and kept crawling in my bed with me and I needed to know what was goin' on."

"So you..." he trails off. The words die in his throat, like the lump lodged in the back has grown to a full-on barrier keeping them back. The bugs are starting to awaken under his skin, press their stingers down further and gnaw and absorb. "You know..."

"...yeah."

"Fuck." He squeezes his eyes shut and clenches his fingers around the neck of the guitar, and feels the strings dig into his skin. It hurts. It stings. But it's a good pain, a good sting. He presses further.

"You're not on your own, y'know."

"Toby, I-" Everything stings. The world is on fire and it's starting to burn deep, char everything that's left of his chest and turn it all to ruble. He knows. He knows. The one thing he wasn't supposed to find out and he knows and Georgia knows and the kids Nia Lily, Jacob Matty fuckfuckfuck-

"You're always there for us," Toby continues. "You hold Jacob when he has nightmares and go with Lily to her scans and make sure Nia doesn't rip her cannulas out. You're the one that knows what Matty needs when he's having a bad day and makes sure Rosie's getting the love she needs. You make sure all of us, are getting the love we need." His voice catches in his throat. He pauses and shakes his head. "But it goes both ways, y'know? You don't have to be the hero all the time. It's okay to need us sometimes too."

He swallows. The ache behind his eyes is starting to burst. It's leaking everywhere, paint layers of pain coating the room in anguish. Everything feels too big. It's too much. This is too much. It's all too much.

"I just..." is all he can force out. Everything hurts. It's too much. It hurts. "I'm so scared. All the time. And I didn't- I didn't want you guys to be scared. I'm always the one tellin' you it'll be okay but this I just- I don't know. I don't know if it'll be okay and I didn't wanna scare you guys and I just- I didn't want anyone to worry about me." A sob tears from his throat, dry and scratchy. It feels like there's an open wound left in its wake, raw and blistering. It feels like razors cutting through everything.

Toby's eyes are glassy and his voice is thick when he speaks next, "you're our big brother, Aws. We love you. We don't know if it'll end up okay but we can be there for you while it happens. Like you are for us all the time. We wanna be there for you. Let us be there for you. You've done enough for us." His breath hitches.

"And hey, even heroes need saving sometimes, right?"

...

September 23rd, 2017 – 1:30 PM

"NO! PLEASE! AWSIE!"

He hears the cries from across the hospital. They're distinct, punctuated by guttural sobs and loud, raspy coughs. He pulls the other earbud out of his ear and flips his journal shut, slides off the bed and wobbles onto his feet in one motion.

His heart is racing.

He can feel it in his ears as he takes off, runs out of his room and into the hallway, past the nurses' desk, Awsten, don't run! You're gonna hurt yourself or someone- and straight to the pediatric ward. He bursts through the double doors at full speed, squeezes his eyes shut and swallows against the nausea already rising.

His stomach is in his throat. It's the kind of feeling you get running the mile in PE, that overwhelming stickiness and heaviness in your chest, like it's nausea rather than blood being pumped into your veins, knowing that you have to keep going, because if you stop you're going to puke. It's a blanket that drapes over him stickily, coats everything in a mush and blurs it all together.

Lily.

Lily's crying.

He stumbles over to her bed – wobbles dangerously and almost trips and collapses on himself multiple times – and straightens against the rails. A weight hits his chest. A pair of arms winds around his neck.

"Lil," he chokes out. His breath is coming in pants. The room is tilting and shifting. He reaches his arms up to wrap around her, pulls her into his chest and turns to the man standing at the foot of her bed. There's a nurse on the other side, holding a needle attached to a tube, with two more tubes lined up in the tray in front of her. "What the hell is going on?"

"Awsten-"

"Was this planned?" He continues. He knows Lily's doctor. The man is the main guy in charge of all the kids; he's a fifth year resident who oversees all of their care after the specialists give instructions. He's been doing this for a while now, spent most of his residency in this ward – Awsten'd like to think they know each other pretty well.

He would've said something, if Lily had a planned blood test. The entire ward knows how terrified she is of needles. It's a process; they tell him the day before and he goes to her that night, slips into bed next to her and strokes her hair as he tells her what's going to happen. He stays with her – the nurses are all used to this by now; they know that if it doesn't happen, then, well, this, will happen – and coaxes her into things slowly, and it works. It works every time.

"Awsie they're tryna stick me I don't want it please don't let them it'll hurt I don't want it please-" The words come out as more of a gasp. She heaves at the end, coughs so harshly that she's dry gagging against his shoulder.

"Whoa, hey, it's okay," he murmurs. He rests his chin on top of her head and starts to rub her back, presses a kiss against her hair. "Awsie's here, love, I'm here. I'm not gonna let them do anything to you that you're not ready for, alright?"

"Awsten, can I talk to you in the hall?"

"I'll be right back, okay?" He starts the flood of sweet nothings against Lily's body as soon as her doctor finishes speaking. She's shaking her head and saying no over and over, squeezing her eyes shut and crying loudly. "I promise, they're not going to do anything-" He pauses to look pointedly up at the nurse, who nods and sets the syringe down. "Until I get back. No one's going to touch you love, I promise. I'm gonna go talk to the doctor. I'll be right back."

"What the hell are you doing?" The words come out as a growl. His chest aches. He can still hear Lily crying in the other room. Every sound feels like another slice at the fragments of his chest cavity, another hole poked into Lily's piece of his heart. The world was just set on the fire, but he doesn't know where the source is. He doesn't know where it's coming from and he doesn't know how to stop it. "I haven't seen her that upset in years. She's fuckin' terrified."

"Awsten."

He stops.

The anger, the white-hot walls building themselves up in his chest, stop. Everything feels like it's falling, like he's plummeting back to Earth with that single word. "H-her- the ultrasound," he whispers. "What did it say?"

"There's something wrong with her kidneys. We need to do some more tests to confirm – that's what we're taking her blood for – but it's very possible she might be in kidney failure, kiddo."

"I'll do it." He doesn't register the words until he's saying them. His heart is racing. The world is spinning away, a tiny dot, a blip on his radar. He's somewhere else, in a different existence, and everything is screeching to a halt. "I'm a match."

"We haven't confirmed she needs a kidney yet," the man says. "And kid, I hate to break it to you, but...if she does, you can't donate. You're getting chemo, remember? Your immune system's already compromised beyond belief. No one in their right mind would let you do a transplant right now."

He stops.

...

September 25th, 2017 – 8:28 PM

"How're you holdin' up?"

He swallows at the voice, doesn't move to lift his head or turn toward the door. "What're you doin' here?"

"I heard." There's rustling. He hears a jacket unzip, and then hears it fall to the ground. "About everything. I talked to Geoff. Aws, I'm so-"

"Save it." He bites the words, but it feels like the pocket of tears is pressing harder against his skull. His throat is closed. Speaking feels like razor blades cutting up his vocal chords, like there's a wheel of knives shredding them to pieces. The ache lodged between skin and skull stays, pounds and presses in until keeping his eyes open starts to hurt. "I don't wanna do this right now."

"You can't keep it locked up. You suck at that. We both know it."

"I can't do this." He grounds the last two words out and lifts his head to glare at Jawn. "Don't you get it? I can't talk about it. I can't think about it. I can't do it."

"Not talking about it isn't gonna make it hurt any less," Jawn says. "But at least lemme give you a hug first. You scared me, you fuckin' asshole."

"It wasn't a damn picnic for me either, thanks," he mutters. Jawn moves toward him and he lets it happen, feels the arms around him and leans up and into the hold. He buries his face in Jawn's chest and exhales, feels the lump in his throat start to throb and tries to bite back the sob.

"It's gonna be okay." Jawn rubs his back and he leans into it. The ache feels too big. Too much. It's forcing itself against his skull in a pocket of pain that feels too heavy. It all feels too heavy.

He wants to sleep. He doesn't want to do this anymore.

He wants to sleep.

He doesn't want to be here anymore.

...

"You're not gonna talk to Geoff about this. So it's either me, or I'm going to your doctor and telling him you need a damn therapist."

"You wouldn't."

"I fucking would," he shoots back. The words feel hot, leaving his chest. His hands are shaking. Everything is tooredtoohottoored- "I can't just sit here and watch you destroy yourself."

Awsten laughs. It's a different kinda of laugh. It sounds choked. His voice is slightly raspy. It sounds like poison, like the sound has injected it into the air and it's starting to diffuse across the whole room. "Destroy myself? You think I'm doing this?"

"Awsten..." The marks beneath his eyes have deepened. They're a darker shade of purple, deep enough to reach the tops of his cheeks. He looks paler. Jawn knows he's already had a chemo infusion – they fuck with him really bad, remember? He doesn't look very good. But it's helping. It's supposed to help – but he didn't think it would happen this fast.

He's pale. He looks sick. It's like the cancer patients you see in the movies, sunken in eyes and sallow skin, pale and weak and sickly.

"How the fuck am I supposed ta get better when my life won't?"

A silence falls over the room. It's sticky. It feels like a blanket that has stingers attached to it, pressing into his skin and burning. He doesn't know what to say. There's nothing left to say.

He's never known what to say. He remembers being ten years old, watching Geoff hold a cloth to Awsten's forehead while trying to figure out what words yelled into his mom's answering machine would make her pick up. He remembers getting into bed with Awsten and curling around him, please, J, I'm so cold please hold me it hurts so bad, trying to keep the liquid out of his eyes so Awsten could spill freely. But most of all, he remembers the late nights, staying up till 3am even though exhaustion tugged at his bones because Awsten couldn't sleep and wouldn't sleep and I'm so tired, Jawn. I'm so fucking tired of pretending it'll be okay because bad things keep happening and I don't want to do this anymore.

He remembers going home, laying awake for hours into the night and staring at his ceiling, please, anyone, if you're up there, please just...turn his luck around. Give him some good. He doesn't need anymore bad things to happen. Make his life good, please, give me all the bad stuff if you want, but he's been through enough.

I don't know if he'll survive another bad thing.

(I think he'll actually do it.)

Awsten has depression.

He was diagnosed when he was 14; right after they got the news that his cancer had gotten worse. Right after weeks of lying in bed that progressed to months of wishing he was dead. It was like life had sucked the color out of him. He was a wrung-out rag of empty promises and false hope.

He tried to kill himself when he was fifteen, stole one of the scalpels from a tray in the ER and went to town – nothing is getting better and it's too hard. I'm sorry. He ended up in therapy for six months, on a slew of medication to combat the cocktail of emotion wreaking havoc on his brain.

Awsten has depression and it's gotten a lot better in the past few years, calmed the tides as the trials in his life started to diminish. Things have been getting better. His promises were holding true – I told you it'd happen, didn't I? I don't break promises; he was finally starting to look like less of a dick as the universe clicked into place for the first time.

"Did they tell you anything else?"

"She needs a kidney." Awsten's voice is flat. "I can't donate. I'm a match. But I can't donate."

"How do you-"

"I know her damn blood type." It's a snap now. He bites the words. There's a hint of rasp; a hint of a sob that's poking its way through the surface, about to escape. "Geoff can't keep a fucking secret to save his life."

"She'll be okay," he says. His heart is racing. Not another bad thing he doesn't need this he can't do this right now why the fuck are you doing this why are you doing this to him what the hell did he do to deserve it- "They'll put her on a list, or something, right?"

"So she can die waiting?" Awsten is quiet for a few moments. He squeezes his eyes shut, shakes his head and bites his lip. "I just- I thought this was over. I thought I was done with it. I thought it was- I thought I was finally getting better..."

"Awsten..." He sighs out the word, feels the tug and burn in his chest. It's like that single utterance set everything on fire and now it's smoldering.

"Some days I still wish I was dead," Awsten mutters. "And it's not fair that obligation is the only thing holding me back from that."

"You're not doing that again." He stands, takes the couple steps over to Awsten's bedside and reaches for one of his hands. "Okay? I need you to promise me. You are not trying again."

"I don't want Geoff to have to explain it to them," Awsten mumbles. "They...I can't do that to them."

"You can't do that to yourself, either," he says. "You deserve to want that. You deserve to be happy. You deserve to live." His chest feels like it's being torn open. Slashed apart. The words are taking a knife through the structure he's been trying to rebuild for months. Everything is on fire and everything is broken and it's all so bad why is it so bad why does his life have to suck this much why do bad things keep happening to him-

"Sometimes it doesn't feel worth it anymore." Awsten's voice sounds different. He doesn't sound sad or angry or frustrated. The words are out there but they're different.

It's the voice of someone who's been sad too many times.

"I'll let you get some sleep, okay?" The words tumble out in a rush. His hands are shaking. His lip is quivering. The world looks blurry. Everything is starting to fog over. He reaches out and rubs his fingers down the side of Awsten's face, cups his cheek and leans down to kiss his forehead. "And I promise I'll come back tomorrow, 'cause we're not done talking about this. But it's late. You need your rest. You'll feel better in the morning, I promise."

"I'll still be dying."

...

September 25th, 2017 – 10:06 PM

"Sunshine? Hey love, you awake?"

Check on him. He's not in a good place. I don't think he should be alone right now. I...you gotta get him talking, Geoff. He's locking too much up and we- Jawn's voice caught there. The sob tore its way out without warning. I'm scared he might try again.

His shift just ended. It's not uncommon for him to stay, change out of his scrubs and make his way back to Awsten's room to check on him one last time. He spends a lot of time in this hospital outside what he's meant to; you're not okay and I'm not leaving you like this. If they let me stay, I'm here.

Awsten's parents don't. They fund his private room and make sure he has the best of the best, write a check every time someone calls their house in place of actually coming to the hospital to spend time with their son. Geoff knows the nights, curling around Awsten and trying to get his mom on the phone, why don't they care about me? What did I do wrong? He knows his heart breaking, feeling the bomb detonate and the pieces fly everywhere, a reminder of the life he couldn't fix. He couldn't fix it he couldn't do it he couldn't-

"Hey." He forces his voice to stay steady and drops to his knees to get on Awsten's eye level, reaches forward to brush his hands through Awsten's hair. "How're you feeling?"

"Didn't Jawn tell you?" He bites his lip at Awsten's voice. It's not loud or soft or happy or sad or scared or confident or anything. It's one level, one tone, one emotion. It's nothing.

"He's just worried, angel," he sighs. "I am too. We all are. You've had better days."

"Don't."

"Aws-"

"You don't have to be here," Awsten mutters. "You can go. I don't need another person to disappoint."

It feels like a bullet. It probably would've hut less, had Awsten pulled out a gun and shot him straight in the heart. It's a pain that encompasses, stretches out over everything and throws a blanket over it all. It's entrenching. Capturing. It feels white-hot at first, and then dies to a low buzz that's prominent enough to hurt, all the time.

"Listen to me." He stops himself, has to rein everything back in to keep from word vomiting everywhere. Breathe. It's gonna be okay. Breathe. "I'm your boyfriend, not your dad. I don't have some bullshit expectations you're letting down. I love you. I just want you to be happy, okay? I want you to feel better and be happy because you deserve it. I hate seeing you like this, sunshine."

"Why do you keep calling me that?"

"What, sunshine?" He swallows. He isn't sure how they got here. He doesn't know how they ended on this. Sunshine is- Awsten is sunshine. When he looks up at the blinding light, feels it rouse him every morning and blinks up at the rays through his window, when he feels the warmth against his back and the soft breeze against his chest...Awsten is sunshine.

"M'the furthest fuckin' thing from sunshine." Awsten bites his lip. He's staring at a spot on the wall, not really even looking at it. It's almost like he's staring right through it, like the x-rays have moved to his eyes.

"My love," he murmurs. He grabs one of Awsten's hands and brings it up to his lips. "You light up every room you walk into. You smile and laugh and tell stories, you expose your heart to the world even after it's been broken. You read to Jacob when he has nightmares and go with Nia to her scans and hold Lil all night if it makes her feel better about blood tests. You take Matty on adventures so he doesn't get bored – and so the other nurses and I don't rip our hair out – and you're so good with Rosie. She loves you. She attaches herself to you for a reason, y'know? You're teaching Toby guitar. And Georgia...what you've done with her and songwriting and helping her to become more confident in talking about her feelings...the other nurses and I talk about it all the time." He pauses. The lump in his throat is throbbing. "She may not be here if you hadn't done that. And after I've had a hard day-" He leans down and kisses Awsten's forehead. "You are where I want to go. You make them easier. You hold me and let me vent and make me feel like my problems are real, even when you're dealing with so much worse." He stares at Awsten through glassy eyes, takes his other hand and smiles. "You are the embodiment of sunshine."

He tilts his head forward and pecks Awsten's lips. Awsten wraps an arm around his neck as he kisses back. They stay there. His knees are bent in a very uncomfortable position and everything is burning, but they stay there. It's silent for a long time.

"I'm so scared she's gonna die."

The words hang in the air for a moment. He opens his mouth, knows he has to say something even though he doesn't know what to say; he needs to hear something, you idiot. Say something. Awsten beats him to it, "and if she goes, I go."

"Whoa, no," He breathes. He braces one hand against the mattress and pushes up, hooks his leg around Awsten and slides in behind him to straddle his body. He winds his arms around Awsten's waist and pulls him in, presses his lips against the top of his head and leaves them there. "We are so far from that, okay? I talked to Briars today. She is so far from that. And you are never doing that again. No matter what."

"I can't do it," Awsten says faintly. "I don't know how to live in a world she isn't."

"For her," he replies. He looks down at the mattress and reaches for Awsten's hand, laces their fingers together and squeezes. "You live, for her. Live the life she wouldn't be able to. You smile and you laugh and you love and you live. You beat this stupid fuck up of cells and get outta here and we go find a nice apartment in the city where you can look out over the buildings and we can go to art galleries on the weekends and walk around downtown and have people over for brunch." He moves his lips to the shell of Awsten's ear and starts to stroke his hair as he continues, "and you can find an amazing producer to sign you so you can sing your songs everywhere. Live for that, my love. If, god forbid, anything happened to her, she would want this. For you to live and love and laugh and let things get better. She'll be watching and she'll be so proud."

...

September 27th, 2017 – 3:31 PM

"Nurse W?"

He feels a tug at the hem of his scrub shirt and pauses to look down. "Yeah, love? What's up?"

"Why'd Awsie leave again?" The seven year old's voice is slightly higher than usual, lacking the hint of whine she usually has in favor of what sounds like genuine curiosity.

He sighs. Awsten hasn't gotten out of bed since that night. The kids haven't seen him in a couple days. Jawn came back, sat with him for a few hours and tried to coax some words out, he didn't say like, anything, dude. One word or a fuckin' head nod. I'm really worried about him.

He's okay most days. He deals with things as they come, processes the pain as it permeates, lets it seep in steadily rather than absorbing everything all at once. It's a tidal wave of false hope and empty promises that encompass him on the worst days. Geoff knows those.

He knows check-ups turned to suicide watches, curling around Awsten while still in his scrubs – don't you have work to do? scans to run? Patients that don't wanna off themselves to check on?

You're all I care about right now, love. I can't function if I don't know you're okay.

You've been functioning fine until now.

"Is Awsie okay?" He blinks rapidly to refocus his vision, and swallows against the newly formed lump in his throat as he takes a breath. The ache is back. Everything feels thicker in a way that makes the room start to blur. It's going fuzzy at its edges. He swallows.

"Yeah, sweetheart." He holds out a hand for her to put hers in. "Do you remember what we talked about a while ago?"

"Sometimes he has sad days," Nia says quietly. She's staring down his lap. "Where he doesn't want to get of bed."

"Right," he replies. The word feels thick. It's like the room has been filled with molasses, like they're swimming and wading and trying to break through the sticky mess that just keeps on coming. It feels too thick. Too heavy. Too much. "He'll feel better soon love, I promise."

"I wanna go."

"Hm?"

"I wanna go see Awsie," Nia repeats. "I wanna make him happy."

"Nia, love..." He bites his lip. It's a good idea. It bottles itself up and shoves into his heart, presses into one of the holes Awsten's created and starts to close it. It's warm. It might work.

Or, Awsten might say something so morbidly dark and give her permanent anxiety of whether each new day might be the day he actually does it.

"I wanna go," Nia insists, louder this time. "He needs me."

"Are you-"

"Please, Nurse W." Nia pokes out her bottom lip and widens her eyes.

"I wanna go."

...

He doesn't have the best track record with Septembers.

Maybe it's because that's when everyone from school goes back or the world starts to turn chilly and windy, maybe it's the reminder that you're never gonna be normal. This? This is your life. You're never gonna have something different. You'll never be like them. You'll never be like them.

You'll never be like them.

Maybe it's the reality that these four white walls are all he'll ever be.

He can't cry anymore. It feels like he's used up everything in his tear ducts, like they're scraping against the insides of themselves and scrambling for more water to let out. It hurts. All of it hurts. It's a pain that stays, sets the tendrils making up his chest ablaze; burns through the short phrase of this will pass. It's not forever. You'll get better, and sparks all over again.

September isn't good to him. It never has been.

This year hasn't been good to him. There was a spike and now it's falling all over again and Lily could die and he could die and everything's falling apart it's all gone to shit so quickly he was so happy what the fuck happened how the fuck did this become his life he was so happy he was going back to school he was supposed to be a normal one with everyone else how did this happen how did this happen how-

How the fuck did this happen-

He doesn't think because he can't breathe. He doesn't let himself. He ruminates and cultivates more anxiety, more dampness down his back and slickness on his hands and churning in his stomach, more hotcoldhotcan'tmovecan'tspeakcan'tbreathe, more tooheavytoohardtoomuch, until everything comes out all at once and he's left an empty shell of the promises he once was.

September isn't good to him.

"Awsie?"

He freezes.

Everything seems to stop. It's like someone hit pause on the world and play right after. It jars. Whatever he has in his stomach – bile and stomach acid grossgrossgross – is about to eject upward. He can feel it. It's too much. It's all too much.

This can't be happening.

Please no not her please why is this happening please I can't do this I can't deal with this pleasepleaseplease-

He feels the arm thrown across his side and the weight against his back. The arm span is tiny, but a tiny limb still snakes between his body and the mattress, wraps around him and squeezes tight. "I'm sorry you're sad."

"Nia," he chokes out. He didn't realize he was crying until the sob slipped, until that one word broke the barrier and sent the floodgates rushing. "Wha- I- you-"

"I wanna make you happy," Nia says softly. "But Nurse W said sometimes that doesn't happen. So I wanna be here. I hate being sad alone. I think everyone does. I don't want you to be sad alone."

He forces himself to swallow, twists around and flops onto his other side so he can meet her eyes. She's smiling at him, hair pinned back, eyes shiny. He knows his are red. Everything's red. Redwhitehotredwhitehotredwhite-

"Your hair is really pretty," Nia continues. "It looks like the smurfs! When you're better we'll watch the movies, okay? I have my own smurf, I'm so lucky..." She reaches up and starts to tangle her fingers through his- no.

Please no not now please nononononono-

"I thought- I thought something was wrong." He can hear the tears in her voice. She's holding a blue strand in her hands. They're shaking. Everything is shaking. Nothing feels real. He wants to go away why is this happening fuckfuckfuck- "B-but," she whispers. "It's gonna be okay, y'know? You're gonna fight. Beat this again. I know you will. 'Cause heroes always win, right? You're gonna win."

"Yeah," he chokes out. Reaching forward, he pulls her into his chest and squeezes, buries his nose in her hair and closes his eyes. "I'm gonna win. I'm gonna beat this, I promise. I'm gonna be here with you and we'll watch all the Smurf movies and eat all the blue ice cream and it'll be so good, okay? It'll be so good."

He sobs into her hair and clutches her even tighter against him. This is about the time she'd be whining, giggling, Awsie, you're holding me too tight!

She doesn't.

She stays.

He stays.

It'll be so good.

...

October 15th, 2017 – 10:56 AM

"Shhh, Lil. It's gonna be okay, love. Just keep breathing for me, that's it, you're doing so good."

"H-hurts, Awsie." The words come out in a gasp. She hiccups against his chest and chokes out another sob, one that seems to bubble up her throat and spurt out messily. "Hurts s-so bad..."

He sighs, squeezes her tighter and presses his hand firmer into her back. "I know, sweetheart. I know. It'll get better soon, I promise."

Kidney failure isn't the prettiest. She's at the top of the donor list, but her condition is deteriorating in front of their very eyes. She's been put on dialysis and a bunch of new medications to combat the symptoms and make her more comfortable, but the only thing that will actually help her pain is a new kidney. She needs one. She needs a transplant in the next couple weeks or she won't survive.

The past (almost) three weeks have been the worst of his life. He knows that for a fact, knows that nights spent staring at the ceiling, red eyes and aches in his chest, feeling like everything had been torn through and smashed with a wrecking ball, like the precious tendrils making up his ribcage had been broken down too many times and the strength to rebuild was too much.

This feels worse than that, like someone's gone in and torn through his chest like it was made of paper, torn the pieces into fragments that are scattering everywhere and falling, crashing, down to the bottom of his chest cavity. Every piece is a new sting, a new dig that sparks and burns and turns the whole world white-hot while he tries to catch his breath.

He's drowning, all of the time. It's too hard and too heavy and too much he's choking on mouthfuls of water every time he tries to swim he has no strength left to pull from within it's all such a mess of chemo and dialysis and tears is Lily okay she has to be okay what's going on with her no fuck I have to be there you don't understand she's scared she needs me-

You're having chemotherapy she needs me these are chemicals attacking your cells she needs me you need to take care of yourself she needs me-

He's had one more chemo infusion in the time, one that wasn't any better than the first. He puked and cried and pulled Geoff off the nurses' schedule for another three days, hid face in chest and forced himself not to come out until he could be an actual human being and not a saggy lump of flesh that couldn't stop complaining.

His feelings were like a painting and the canvas was already full.

And now everything is grey and the world is dull.

He doesn't know what to do anymore. He doesn't know where to go from here. It's just make it to tomorrow get through today live to see tomorrow it's not a life. It's nothing. It's an existence without a purpose. He's a presence with a ghost of a personality. Reality is heartbreaking when fantasy rips off the cloak.

"Awsie..."

He doesn't know what to do anymore.

He doesn't know how to help. He can't fix this. He'd rather die than sit here and watch her cry for another second. It's too heavy. It's a weight that slams down on his shoulders, like her prognosis has placed another thousand tons on his back and he's flailing under the unexpected attack. He doesn't know what to do he can't do anything he doesn't know what to do he can't do anything he doesn't know what to do he can't do anything-

He can't do anything-

"Whoa, Lil, don't touch that." He blinks back into focus just in time to catch Lily reaching for her cannula. He takes both her hands in his and brings his other hand around to cover them. "That's gotta stay in, alright love? I know it's annoying, but you need it."

"Hurts," she fusses. She's teary and frustrated; it's been a long day and it's about to be an even longer night. It's hard to sleep when you're in pain all the time and he knows it won't be letting up any soon. None of it will be letting up any soon. He has cancer and one of her kidneys is failing and there's nothing either of them can do about it.

These are their lives.

This is his life.

He'll live and die here, thrive and cry in the place that was never supposed to be home but now is. His cancer's back and one of her kidneys is failing and nothing ever goes right for him why the fuck does everyone get to tell me to have hope when everything is bad all the time why don't they realize that having hope makes it worse when things go bad why doesn't anyone get it why are they all so stupid-

It's too much. It's too much for him to handle, too much for any human being to handle. There's too much pain and too much heartbreak and too much loss it was getting better it was supposed to get better what the fuck happened how did he end up back here how did this become his life again-

He can't stay and he can't leave. They need him but he doesn't need the world anymore. It's hurt him too many times. He's given second, third, fourth, fifth chances and been disappointed by every single one of the answers.

He's not living but he can't die and the limbo is frying. He's rotting here. He's rotting inside. It's too much. It's all too much.

"Aws?"

He blinks a few times and looks up, then closes his eyes and shakes his head, tightens his arms around Lily and lets his head tilt back a bit.

It's not just Geoff.

Lily's doctor is standing behind him.

He can't do this again.

No more bad news.

Not one more thing.

He can't.

"Don't," he forces out. "Please, whatever it is, I don't wanna hear it. I can't take 'nymore of this, please."

"Aws-"

"Everything hurts," he says. "All the time. Everything is so bad and it's all so much and I can't do anything I can never do anything and I'm so fucking sick of feeling useless so please-" He pauses, clenches his teeth to keep the sob back in. "Nothing else. I can't do it."

"Awsten-"

"I can't," he insists. "Please."

"Sunshine, will you just shut up and listen?"

"Why don't you get it?" He snaps. "I don't wanna hear about how she needs more dialysis or that you moved my chemo up or someone else has something wrong with them. I don't wanna hear more about this damn hospital because I know I'm gonna be stuck here until the end of time. I don't wanna-"

Geoff takes a step forward. He's smiling. Briars is smiling. They're both smiling why are they smiling what the fuck- "Our sister hospital called ten minutes ago. They had an MVC. Brain dead on arrival. And-"

"You..."

"We have a donor."

...

Reality will break your heart.

Survival will not be the hardest part.

[vennilavee]

hurts to look

Pairing: lance tucker x poc reader

Summary: you wonder if all the different shades of you are too much for lance.

Warnings: cursing, mentions of sex

Word Count: 1923

A/N: From the prompt: “Look, I started my day bleeding down my thighs- how would you like to end yours the same way?” by @corvidprompts

Please let me know what you think. Feedback is always appreciated.

Lance knew better than to engage with you or try to stop you when you were like this. When your gaze was territorial, bordering on predatory, when your words were laced with a repressed venom that only he could hear. Your smile is sugary sweet, almost a little cruel, as the waitress at the restaurant you’re at continues to make eyes at him and attempts to flirt with him. 

Normally, you would genuinely not care. In fact, you might even smile along. You knew Lance was a catch, he knew he was a catch and you never usually got possessive when people would ogle and flirt with him. Jealousy was never something you truly struggled with- insecurity maybe, but never enough for you to act the way you were acting. You barely recognize yourself or the thoughts running through your head as you watch their interaction.

The two of you had chosen this Italian restaurant to come to for your date night. It was a nice place, with a vintage feel. You spent most of dinner discussing your days with each other, sipping on wine, and taking spoonfuls of each other’s food. He looks so yummy, in his dark dress shirt pulled up to the elbow, his khakis, and his bitten red lips. His watch glints along with the chandeliers that hang above you.

She has her arm on his forearm and Lance glances over to you warily. He can see you stewing in your irritation, ready to drip acid from your tongue. The burning in your stomach and the cramps in your stomach seem to link arms with each other and you can’t tell where your jealousy ends and where your cramps begin.

You know you’re acting and feeling like this because of your period. This month’s period was especially rough for you, because your body was still trying to balance itself out, since you having consistent sex after years of not having sex before.

Of course it was Lance’s fault. Men were trash, after all.

“Honey,”  You say to the waitress with a smile faker than plastic, “Do you mind grabbing the check for us? And do you mind not flirting with my man in front of my face?”

The waitress has the decency to sputter at you and offer broken apologies but you wave her off. Suddenly, you feel bad for putting her on the spot like that. But the guilt is instantly washed away when Lance raises an amused eyebrow at you.

“What?” You ask, crossing your arms over your chest.

“You jealous?” Lance grins knowingly, his stupid pearly white teeth flashing at you as much as that watch is.

“Nope,” You pop the ‘p’, “I don’t like sharing what’s mine.”

“You didn’t mind sharing your food with me,” Lance says, his fingers tapping his chin.

“Shut up,” You mutter, rolling your eyes. The waitress comes back with your check nervously, barely meeting your eyes. You bite back a sigh and decide to tip her a little more than you usually would as you place your credit card inside the bill folder- she didn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of your attitude.

After all, that role was specifically designated to Lance.

You guys take turns in who pays for what. Early on in your relationship, Lance would pay for almost everything and anything you did together. But now that it’s been a little over a year, you’ve picked up half of the slack for the past few months.

He didn’t even protest the first time you paid for dinner all those months ago. That’s when you knew you loved him. It wasn’t a big deal, but to you it was. That your boyfriend didn’t have those outdated notions that the man in the relationship should be taking care of the woman. Little things like that mattered to you and he paid attention enough to know exactly what those things were.

Lance presses his hand to the small of your back, takes your purse in his other hand and walks you to his car. His scent caresses you soothingly and you think that you can probably fall asleep in it. You barely even hear him speaking to you, because you’re so engrossed in thoughts of him. Thoughts of his blue eyes shining for you, thoughts of his pouty lips everywhere on your skin, thoughts of his arms caging you in beneath him.

“Baby girl,” Lance interrupts your naughty thoughts.

“Hmmm?” You mumble as he presses you against his car door. The chilly winter air combs its fingers through your hair and you shiver, wishing you brought your gloves with you. Lance catches your shudder and envelopes your hands with his.

“Did you bring gloves? Your hands will get cold,” You say absent-mindedly, tugging his coat to pull him closer to you. He looks pretty like this, you think. The chilly air has reddened his face, making his blue eyes pop. 

“It’s not that cold,” Lance murmurs, moving his hand to cup your face. He knows when you’re on your period, everything feels much colder to you than it really is. You pout adorably at him and he grins, finally pushing his lips to yours. He doesn’t think he could ever get tired of how you always melt into him like caramel, or how your soft sighs in his ear sound like a prayer to him. Your hands are loose around his neck, raking through his hair. You pull away first, looking at him fondly. Your bitten lips just make him want to kiss you more, but you’re still cold and he wants to take you home.

“Let’s go home, baby,” You suggest, pressing a kiss to his cheek. He nods and opens the door for you.

Lance takes your hand inside his once he’s driving and you two sit in a comfortable silence with the soft tunes of SZA playing out of his speakers.

Your favorite place, out of all the places you’ve traveled, is right here in your boyfriend’s arms. His heartbeat is soft and constant in your ears, his arms tight around your middle, and his legs encasing yours. Your fingers are mindlessly trailing up and down his arms. Just being in his arms soothes your cramps.

“How were your cramps today, baby?” Lance says softly. You’re half asleep when you hear his voice.

“Little worse than yesterday,” You admit, “I wish my cycle would just regulate. This is your fault, you know.” You poke his chest with a grin.

“And how is that?” He pokes you back.

“I went so long without having sex and now that I’m with you, it’s like a complete one-eighty,” You reply, “My hormones are all out of wack, all because of your dick.”

“You love my dick, alright, don’t even pretend,” He teases and you roll your eyes, “Why don’t you try birth control then? Won’t that help regulate stuff for you? And we wouldn’t have to use a condom.”

You furrow your brows at him. Birth control has crossed your mind, especially recently but you don’t know. You’ve heard about people who have reacted negatively to it- becoming depressed and anxious after it. It wasn’t a benign pill, after all.

“I don’t know, Lance...”

“It’s a win-win,” He says, his eyes growing brighter and brighter with the thought, “You wouldn’t get like this because you wouldn’t be on your period-”

Your eyebrows shoot up to your hairline.

“Get like what, exactly?” You ask calmly. Lance sees your defensiveness poking its head out at him and he could have smacked himself.

“Come on, that’s not what I meant-”

“What did you mean, Lance?” You’re starting to get upset and he can tell from the way your brown eyes are pulling away from him. Lance is quiet for a moment.

“I just meant- you wouldn’t be all moody and shit when you were on your period. Getting jealous and all that- I know that’s not you-”

That’s the wrong thing to say apparently, because you physically pull away from him. He’s the one that’s left feeling a little cold without you in his embrace.

“So you want to pick and choose what parts of me you want, that’s what it is, right? I’m too moody for you- too mouthy for you, is that it? You want me to take a pill so that it’ll magically make me more-more-more docile? Is that what you want?

“Or maybe you want me to take a fuckin’ pill so that we can fuck raw, is that it? Why don’t you get your fuckin’ scrotum tied, then come talk to me about going on birth control!

“I started my day bleeding down my thighs, you wanna end yours the same way?”

And with that, you stomp into the bathroom to get ready for bed and try your best not to slam the door shut in your irritation. You don’t care if he thinks you’re being unreasonable, you don’t care if you’re too much for him, you don’t care if you’re being childish. 

You care that he would say that to you- that he would imply that there are parts of you that he wanted to silence. Tears begin to form as that thought bounces around in your head and you can’t help the sob that rips from your throat. You ignore Lance’s soft knocks, opting instead to cry by yourself in the comfort of your bathroom.

“Baby girl, please,” Lance pleads with you softly, “Please open the door. Let me fix this.”

You let out another sob at that, because what are you doing? You knew better than to lock yourself in the bathroom in the middle of a fight, and yet here you were. Wiping your face, you sigh and unlock the bathroom door, allowing your boyfriend to see your tear-stained face and your red-rimmed eyes. You pick at the hem of his shirt that you’re wearing, not meeting his gaze.

He touches your arm and tugs you towards him and you let him wrap himself around you without protest. 

“You hurt my feelings,” You mumble into his shoulder, feeling a little silly.

“I know, baby girl. I’m sorry,” He murmurs, his hands trailing up and down your back, “I didn’t-I didn’t mean to make you feel like there are parts of you that I don’t like. Because I love you- I love all of you. I love you the same on the days that we fight and the days that we don’t.

I love you the same on the days that you’re angry at the world, angry at me,  and the days that you’re not. I love you when you have an attitude, I love you when you’re stubborn, I love you at all hours of the day.”

And suddenly you’re crying again, harder than before. Because you know that you’re stubborn, you have an attitude sometimes, that your period makes you feel ways you don’t usually feel. You look up at him and he wipes away your tears, your brown skin glistening with wetness. 

You steal his breath away when you press your lips to his ever so softly, soft enough to perhaps make time stop, just for a moment.

“We’re still not having sex without a condom, so don’t get your hopes up,” You say with a watery smile. He laughs and agrees with you before tugging you back into bed and apologizing over and over again.

You spend the better part of the night showing him that you’ve forgiven him.

[pacman-tattoo]

tw: parental abuse, depression, other mental bullshit, manipulation, mention of rape (which ended up being a lie told to me, but it’s still there), suicide attempt mention

i guess i owe you guys a story or some shit. it’ll be under a read more since... i don’t want to hurt anyone else.

it’s pretty long, so if you don’t read it, i don’t blame you. but fuck it, i might as well tell my story.

so. i’m not sure how else to start other than at the beginning of what i can remember.

i’ve always been a lonely kid. i had a couple friends, ended up somehow growing apart from them one way or another. one of these friends as a girl named haley. she was tall and blonde and not many kids liked her but she stood up for me so i liked her. my dad actually knew her grandparents. they were nice to me.

we got along well, at first. i had my first sleepover at her house and it was just us two and we played pretend like the kids we were. eventually it went from being innocent to sexual, as she played pornographic games on the computer across from her bedroom and i still get uncomfortable at the memory because she ignored me when i complained until i ended up distracting myself.

we played pretend. we texted, i remember being frustrated at a stupid flip phone because of texting. i remember being young.

i remember her lying to me about a boy that lived across the street. she told me he raped her. i remember being pissed at him and wanting to do something but she refused. i remember her trying to “lure” him into her room so that we could get a picture of him.

it was all a fucking lie. a game. like it’s not a serious issue, like it was nothing. i’m still pissed over it. eventually she told me she might be pregnant and that she’d keep the baby and that was also a lie.

eventually she flunked out of the school we were in, and i remember distancing myself slowly and eventually stopped talking to her. when i made a facebook account in... i dunno, end of 8th grade, beginning of freshman year maybe? she found me and tried to reconnect because she recognized the name but i didn’t have an icon. i deleted the request, blocked her, and never spoke to her again.

not too long ago, she was arrested along with some other dude for what i think was kidnapping and assaulting a kid she got into an argument with.

after haley was sara. sara was tall and arrogant and hot-headed and didn’t want friends, she wanted people to agree with everything she said and do her bidding. with sara, i had logan (who’s still my friend today, bless him) and jacob (who i stopped talking to after 8th grade). i fucked up, i bitched at her, and she made my life hell. she talked shit about me behind my back, she made logan and jacob avoid me, she abandoned me completely. this was seventh grade. i was 12.

i learned that i might be depressed when i was 12. sara mocked me because i wasn’t like her - i didn’t have the scars to show for my struggles, i appeared to have a cushy life. eventually it was just bullying, and i ended up nearly killing myself. i can’t wear lanyards anymore without thinking about that day. so i resolved to stay away from sara, ultimately. logan and i were still friends, sorta. jacob was my best friend. the only good thing from 7th grade was that i started participating in theatre that year.

so came along 8th grade. sara and logan were in high school (and my school is technically a program within two schools, going from 6th to 12th) and jacob and i were in middle school so we were separated then. jacob and i played pokemon and were in drama together. he was friends with sara. he tried to convince me that she changed.

she did not. i kept her out and i refused to let my guard down again. i’d been hurt before, i wasn’t letting it happen again. jacob confessed he liked me at the end of the school year. sara left the school that year, i’m pretty sure. i stopped talking to both of them.

i meant to mention this before, but 7th grade was when things started to grow more unbearable. teresa judged my friendships and tried to police who i hung out with. she tried to control odyssey of the mind and theatre, trying to “coach” me until she realized i wasn’t going to listen to her advice (because i was always a little shit, i guess). 

high school hit. i was alone again. i had sharon (a sweetheart) who ate lunch with me before she ended up just going to her mom’s classroom. i started getting worse - more anxious, more depressed. it wasn’t too bad. i could handle it. i barely remember sophomore year, except for the part where i confessed my feelings for a senior and then realized i wasn’t straight due to Another Senior (love you, IJ, thanks for helping me discover myself) and getting badly fucked due to my team in OM - which ended up marking my final year in the program. fuck you, bo. you hurt me and you still are.

teresa gets worse. she had surgery back in freshman year, and every so often she has to go in to have things checked out because maybe her tumor isn’t gone completely. and yeah, that’s a lot to drop - but it’s changed her. she used to be loving. and now she’s... not my mom, i guess.

junior year was okay. i was depressed, i was anxious - but i made a friend and we’re still friends today and she means a lot to me. the end of the school year is when i found Dear Evan Hansen and found myself in characters - namely, evan and connor. 

the summer over senior year seemed to hurt. teresa felt controlling, wanting me to go to the college she wanted me to go do (which i’d rather die then go to), study what she wanted me to study, do what she wanted me to do. i was nothing more than a slave to her, and my brother gets the worst of it a lot of the time.

i would put this in like... a better time, but i don’t remember when it happened - or if it even did happen. i remember my brother and my dad leaving for the day, i remember teresa forcing me to hang out with her and eventually it turned into her taunting me and making me sob and her screaming at me to keep crying, you baby and i remember feeling so helpless. i remember clinging to my dad when he got home and he was pissed at me because his fucking wife played innocent like i was just acting out. like i was a toddler.

i still don’t know if it happened. but it feels so damn real, but i can’t even trust my own memory anymore.

so here i am now. i’ve wanted to kill myself more times in the past few months than i have in years. i’ve fucked up a lot more, i’ve slipped up, my mental health falling into hell. i found love, we broke up - and we still talk. i fuck up over and over. i have people leave me. i have people stop talking to me, abandoning me again and again without reason. and i should know that’s just how life is sometimes - but, fuck, i can barely let my guard down for anyone anymore. i can’t trust people as easily as i want to.

and now i’ve stopped taking my meds because i hear beeping sometimes and it causes me to have panic attacks because it sounds like a heart monitor and i’ve never had problems with hospitals before. 

i’m broken. and i know i’m broken - and i’m beyond repair.

but i’m trying. god knows, i’m trying.

and that’s all i can do.

i’m trying.

i’m percy.

i’m 17.

and i’m ready to wake up.

[aceprosecuties]

Okay, so I am still hesitant about writing/posting this, but I find that it is important based on my breakdown the other day and my desire for something like that to not happen so suddenly again. Basically I am going to go through some of my viewpoints on fandom and this website and all that.

If you would like to unfollow or block me after reading this, then that is your choice (if you read it at all…it’s quite long). I ask that you do not debate me or argue with me on anything I’m about to say, simply because I am exhausted and am not in the mood to do it.  (Also I tend to not trust most ‘debates’ on this website because they quickly devolve into nastiness.)

My philosophy on fandom is very “Old Fandom,” if I had to describe it using a short phrase.  In other words, I am very much against policing or censoring fictional content, because in the end, it is fictional.  While “fiction affects reality” is a popular gotcha phrase here, it usually does not affect reality in the way that people claim it does.  It is not really a “monkey see, monkey do” situation. If that was the case, people who play violent video games, for example, would almost always be violent people. That argument was brought up when I was a child and a lot of people considered it ludicrous.  

That’s not my saying that fiction can’t affect reality or doesn’t; usually it involves affecting our emotions more than anything.  While things like Hollywood movies and series can have a larger impact, fandom is…small.  It seems large, but it really isn’t in the grand scheme of things.  The impact one person’s fanfiction can have on the world at large, whether for good or for bad, is limited at best.  

Essentially what I am saying is that things are grey. Middle grounds exist that many on this website refuse to acknowledge; living in such a black-and-white world is, in my opinion, very dangerous.  It makes it so that people – who are convinced they are morally pure and therefore superior – are able to justify doing things like suicide baiting and harassment.  If you’re convinced that your crusade is completely morally just, then anyone standing in its way is a dirty sinner and must be punished.  

The need to be morally pure might stem from self-hatred.  It is a form of perfectionism, honestly.  Perhaps people are convinced that they’ll be more of a “perfect” person if they only consume things that have been deemed righteous by a mob of random internet users on this or other websites.  I don’t know. I’m not a psychologist, so perhaps I am guessing.

People are shades of grey.  (Most people, anyway.  I would never argue that there is no such thing as evil in this world, but most people we will interact with on a daily basis are grey.)  We try overall to be better, but we as human beings are not perfect and never will be perfect.  We might say the wrong thing or get angry with someone for something that was inconsequential or might even have a belief that is grounded in incorrect facts or upsets others.  The point of humanity is to grow, however.  Maybe you will learn from your mistakes; maybe that opinion you held that was upsetting to others transforms into something else because of things you learned over time.

We all have people we like and dislike.  We all have personalities and opinions we are drawn to and stay away from.  But the declaration of someone as evil based on what essentially amounts to very little is…troublesome.  (Note: ‘Very little’ does not include political views like nazism or the like. Those are not ‘very little,’ as they affect the real political world and therefore affect policy.  That is not what I am referring to right now.)

What a person likes in fiction is oftentimes unattached to their real moral code, and declaring someone as evil or scum based on the themes they like is a highly dangerous way of thinking.  It doesn’t allow people to explore the darkness in their own minds through writing or drawing.  It doesn’t give them outlets that might be needed to help them escape their own world, which can be dark and depressing, really.

Personally, I am a fan of very dark themes in fiction (when people ask me what my favorite anime is, for example, I immediately say Hellsing Ultimate).  Psychological torture, gore, dub-con/non-con, emotional manipulation and mental abuse, self-harm through physical acts or thoughts, etc.  These things, while terrible in reality (and some of which I have suffered in reality) are just things I like to explore in fiction because I find them interesting or fascinating.  Whenever I think about writing self-insert/reader fics (I have never done it, but I have thought about it), they are never…nice.  They are rough and fucked up because that’s what I enjoy.  I know that these types of themes are triggering to many people, which is why putting warnings on your work is important, and I believe wholeheartedly in doing that as a responsibility to your fellow fandom members.  

The whole black-and-white mentality can also cause weird slippery slopes which end up with people claiming things as “problematic” and therefore “evil” that actually are not a huge problem.  (I hate using this argument because most of the time I find that it isn’t entirely true, but in this case I’ve seen it happening more and more.)  

I’ve seen people called pedophiles for shipping an 18 year old with a 16 year old (Otabek and Yuri P.), which is essentially the equivalent of a senior and a sophomore in high school dating.  Not only does this cheapen the term pedophilia – making it oftentimes hard to recognize when someone is an actual child molester versus when someone just ships something “problematic” – but it also is just so far removed from what happens in real life, where teenagers date. 

I’ve seen people called Nazis because they ship two villains and enjoy their dynamic and their individual characters (Kylo Ren and General Hux).  Ignoring the fact that Nazism is not even a thing in the SW fictional universe, it also is saying that if you like these types of characters for whatever reason, then you are a bad person.

It is difficult for me to process that, since I always liked villains and anti-heroes the best.  Saying that enjoying villains and their dynamics is basically condoning their actions in real life is infantilizing, in a way.  It is basically assuming that I cannot differentiate between what is real and what is not.

Was I so evil and trash when I was around 10 or so? When I gravitated towards characters like Vegeta and Sephiroth?  Yami Bakura and Darth Vader?  If I’m terrible for liking them now, was I terrible for liking them back then, too? Would people call me an abuse apologist at 12 because I shipped Yami Bakura with Ryou?  

I already have problems with perfectionism and self-hatred.  The idea of standing across from a young me and telling her that she is a disgusting human being and a piece of trash because of the characters she identified with and liked or the characters she wanted to see kiss…it upsets me.  Because I internalize it and wonder if it is true. Because if that is the case then I was born a broken person.  

I’ve always had issues with depression.  It just took until adulthood to recognize it. When I was young people asked me why I was angry a lot.  I never really could answer them…I just was.  My perfectionism (which started in elementary school brought on by extreme competitiveness) got so bad that in high school I cried and told myself I was a stupid piece of shit because I got an 88 on an AP Calculus test.  If I did not get all As all the time I was not a worthy person.  Hell, I was in the top 1% of my graduating class, and I was still somewhat upset because I was not valedictorian or salutatorian.  (This was all internalized; other people were allowed to fail or mess up, but I was not allowed to.)  I can’t even say that my parents or my family life brought this on.  It didn’t.  My parents were always very supportive.  They would sit me down and ask if I did my best, and if I say yes, that is all that mattered.  As long as I tried, it was okay to fall down.

My brain never really accepted that lesson.

It is frustrating.  I have no reason really to be depressed and anxious (I guess aside from graduate school right now) and think of myself as terrible, but that is just my brain and it has been like that for a long time.  

So now to have people screaming at me that I actually am that terrible person because of the fiction I choose to consume?  It is…demoralizing.

 …This has ended up way longer than I originally intended it to.

(Thanks to those who actually read the whole thing. Sorry if I rambled or anything like that.)

I sort of said this, but I do have a writscrib beta access key, so I will be setting up shop over there as well.  I am wondering about leaving this place altogether if that takes off (and I’m hoping it will), but I’ll keep you guys updated on that front.

My semi-hiatus might turn into more of an actual hiatus, but we’ll see.  I say that a lot, and then it doesn’t seem to happen.    

[nicolekidmanwigfactory]

ok, so listen to the shit my psychiatrist told me yesterday because IT. IS. JUICY. (TW: eating disorders)

i need to vent but here’s a read more in case you wanna skip this because this is LOOOOOONG

i was describing to her how i’m currently pricing out personal trainers to help me start exercising again in a healthy, non-disordered way because the last three times (in the past 18-24 months or so) that I tried to start working out again, I found myself spiraling and getting overly anxious or unrealistic about my goals, so i’d either overexercise, restrict, and/or purge.

as i described the height of my exercise compulsion-- highest intensity elliptical for 60 minutes or 2000 calories burned (whichever came second) every single day, no exception (Sundays were my off day and I relished them)-- from seven years ago, which was worse than the actual bulimia at times, she just cut me off and said an hour a day wasn’t too bad, ignoring 1. the 2000 calories thing, 2. that i weighed about 130lbs less I do now, and 3. i was either severely restricting or compensating for binge behaviors from voracious appetite swings 4. caused by hormonal fluctuations 5. due to then-undiagnosed thyroid cancer.

BUT WAIT. THERE’S MORE. then she laid into my dietitian and said eating disorder dietitians in general are overly focused on “making sure their patients are comfortable eating” instead of losing weight (if they're ones who need to, of course). ummm...getting me less regimented in my eating is the fucking point. i’d eat something i wasn’t “supposed” to and then purge it somehow (exercise, vomit, restriction, etc.). <-- that’s the fucking basics of the fucking disorder, and that’s not even explicitly mentioning the mental illness aspect.

again, she told ME, A LONG-DIAGNOSED, DEPRESSED GRADUATE STUDENT WITH A HISTORY OF TREATMENT FOR BULIMIA AND OTHER EATING DISORDERS that i need to lose weight. Yes, i know that. does she really think i don’t know that? i wear my clothes and look in the mirror and have been in eating disorder treatment for the past five fucking years. what makes her think this is news to me? does she not think i don’t remember how I bust my ass off to healthily lose 100 pounds in college, and then gained it all back (and then some) in FOUR FUCKING MONTHS when my bulimia turned into binge eating disorder and my EATING-DISORDER AND QUASI-SUICIDAL MIND tricked myself into thinking this was the healthier option?! BECAUSE I SURE AS HELL REMEMBER. she does have the point that my weight is not healthy in the long-term (of course i know that), but neither is a fucking depression and any kind of eating disorder.

i WANT to lose weight but my dietitian agreed to work with me on the condition that my focus COULD NOT be on losing weight (she was gonna work with me no matter what, but she’s a genius with how she approaches her clients) until my eating patterns were stable and the frequency of my disordered behaviors dropped dramatically (which they have- i’ve only purged ONCE in the past year. My binges are not just far and in between but also much smaller and cheaper than they used to be). so if she’s gonna come after my dietitian, this psychiatrist is also coming after me because i would not be where i am without her (+ my therapist).

okay, i did expect some of this coming into the appointment though, so i did subject myself to this a little. she said some of this stuff in october at the first appointment i had with her but i was able to talk back against it in my head and discuss it with my therapist and i didn’t think about it again for a couple weeks. but the shit she was saying yesterday was just so much more inappropriate and insensitive that I only tolerate it for the refills on my meds.

i’m not saying she’s an awful psychiatrist. i just feel she needs to work on her bedside manner, or at least with her overweight eating disordered patients (because we already feel pretty shitty about that, and you don’t even need to have an eating disorder to feel that) or she needs more training in eating disorder treatment protocol. at one point in both appointments, she implied with the subtlety of a sledgehammer that it won’t be possible for me to have good self-esteem at my current size and weight, which completely defeats the point of body positivity and loving yourself at any size (FYI: Loving yourself at any size ≠ pro-obesity. Anyone who says otherwise is looking for a socially acceptable way to hate on fat people. The key word is “any.”).

All this said, she is a capable clinician. the medication regimen she has me on is working beautifully. my depression is so much more stable and the highs and lows of my mood are more like speed bumps and potholes than the mountains and ocean trenches of before. my anxiety is under much better control too (though a lot of that is because of the strategies I’ve been working on with my wonderful therapist) and the anxiety is also more situational. after all, i did go a gay bar by myself last weekend for the first time ever (it was at 2:00 on a Sunday afternoon, but i still did it despite the anxiety!). 

I am also so appreciative of her ADHD diagnosis. I was apprehensive at first because the diagnosis was so quick and not even the focus of the appointment, but the medication she put me on is working. i thought that high school killed any enjoyment i once had for serious, intellectual reading, but since the medication i’ve started paging through the plethora of books i’ve bought over the years but never read and gotten absorbed by random pages even though i don’t know what’s going on. I don’t remember the last time was able to concentrate for extended periods of times without a deadline or outside pressure. i can read lengthy journal articles in record time and still absorb the information. the only downside is they kill my appetite, which she admitted she is part of the reason why prescribed them for me. (this part i’m not that upset about since i have been on binge suppressants for years and I see this as an additional tool- I’ve had no urge to abuse them other than the ED voice that instinctually tells me to, but I’ve just ignored it from the beginning).

so even though she is highly insensitive to my needs, she is also a highly capable and otherwise qualified psychiatrist. however, during therapy today, i discussed her comments with my therapist and that I would continue to see her while i searched/waited for an appointment with a different psychiatrist, since I had to wait 7 months to see this current doctor. instead, my therapist jumped on the phone, called a couple numbers and was able to get me an appointment with a psychiatrist she trusted for right after the new year. so i only have to see this current one once more and that’s only so I can get refills and continue my current medication regiment, which been working wonderfully for me.

i didn’t mean to make this so long but it feels good to get this out. my clinician is gonna inform my dietitian (which is making me impatient for my next appointment because she was ready beat a bitch last time because of this doctor and i want to see what she has to say this time) and then, if i didn’t mind, she wanted to bring this up with some managers at her location. i don’t care if she informs some higher ups, i just don’t want my name to get back to the psychiatrist until after the next/last appointment. i’m also going to file a complaint, not for vengeance or anything, just so her superiors can hopefully let her know how other patients might interpret her comments.  

at least for me, this psychiatrist’s comments aren’t about me not being able to handle what i don’t want to hear. they were unprofessional, inappropriate, and frankly, uninformed and dangerous. if i hadn’t been further along in my recovery, i might have been liable to abuse my adderall as an appetite suppressant for weight loss purposes, start exercising and dieting again when i’m not mentally ready, or just accept her fat-shaming for what it wasn’t since since it was coming out of the mouth of an MD.

But I’m lucky to be in a place where I can recognize those comments for what they are. And I give credit to my therapist and dietitian, who’ve gotten me that place in the past year and a half (and I guess the current psychiatrist deserves some credit too for her medication regimen that was effective right off the bat, but that’s where I’ll leave it). And to the therapists, dietitians, and doctors I’ve have in the past five years, but mostly to my current ones, because they got me back on track when I moved back to WI and then further along than I have ever gotten before. Their voices are nagging in my ear to myself credit to, so I guess I played my part too.

@lorinwasadiver let me know when you’ve read this bc i want to know your angry thoughts

[breatheinthesea]

Truth, set me free

If you’re reading this right now, I assume you’re coming from my video or you just happen to be among the few thousand who still follow this account- 

either way, and regardless of if you know me personally or not, I just have to start off by saying thank you. A genuine thank you- one that could make me cry just thinking about. I know anyone who couldn’t give a rats ass about me or my life wouldn’t be here, so by default, I’m guessing (secretly hoping) the rest of you do. Anyway, thank you for reading this. I know it’s long as hell and will take up some of your minutes here on earth, and that’s important to me, that you chose to be here rather than anywhere else. I want it to be like we’re sitting on the bed talking like best friends do when they really need to open up about something that’s been hurting them, even if I’m a complete stranger or just another “youtuber” to you. And speaking of best friends, I haven’t really fully opened up to mine about what’s been going on, so if you’re reading, I’m sorry for being so distant this past year and a half, and I hope this blog post helps everyone and anyone in whatever way it can. It will surely be helping me.

So, where to begin? is the question I am haunted by every time I think about actually writing this blog post. I begin obsessing over the starting point and then never end up starting, which can be so utterly frustrating. I have a thousand thoughts racing through my head, it’s hard enough to grab onto one, let alone place it in the perfect sequence. While writing used to ease my mind, now I am just overwhelmed by the never-ending options of words to use, opportunities to make run-on sentences, and ways to say everything I wish I would’ve said differently. I over-analyze every sentence, read it over and over and have to convince myself not to delete it. So as you can imagine, I’ve avoided any kind of writing lately- journaling, blogging, texting friends and emailing companies back, etc… You get the idea. Basically, something I used to love has turned into a struggle, something I avoid like the plague. And my mentioning this is to make a comparison of what my life’s turned into- something I used to love and now completely struggle to manage on a daily basis.

If you happened to sit through my agonizingly long video titled “Where Have I Been?”, then you’re probably already familiar with the fact that I’ve struggled with mental illness for a while now. If you didn’t watch it, and don’t want to, I basically explained that in the beginning of 2015, I began losing myself. I started questioning my religion that I had put my entire identity into, thus launching me into an identity and existential crisis, which I couldn’t really recognize at the time and surely didn’t know how to process. I felt extreme guilt, shame, and self-hatred for not being the person I thought I was for so many years, and who others expected me to be. I only confided in very few people, and they all told me to just keep praying and trying to mend my relationship with God, and when that didn’t work, I felt obligated to wear a mask of certainty to compensate for how terrified I was of actually admitting I didn’t know what I believed. It was exhausting and painful to keep up that facade, especially being so formerly open and confident about it online.

Now that I’ve spent the time analyzing exactly what happened and asking myself “where did it all go wrong?”, I’ve discovered the questioning and doubting actually began in 2013. I just couldn’t handle it anymore after two years of feeling like a fake, a sinner, a liar, and a person who was surely going to hell if I had died. And as it goes, those internalized emotions that I had been bottling up for years eventually manifested into harming myself in a desperate attempt to get the people around me to realize I was not okay. And it worked. I got the attention I desired, and it quickly turned into an obsession that I had not prepared myself for at all. I always believed I was in control of it, but just like with any addiction, it soon took control over me. I was powerless to the urges and addicted to the rush. I started cutting on February 7th, 2015 and didn’t stop until October 5th- 3 trips to the ER, 25 stitches, and 4 days in a psych ward later. It was the worst time of my life, and I was sure I had hit rock bottom.

Nope haha.

After months of therapy, I thought things were starting to look up. I moved out of my apartment that encased those terrible memories, and planned to start completely fresh. I was determined to get happy again. I began embracing the unknown and started aligning my actions with my morals. I discovered veganism and realized what I had been missing my entire life. I started smoking marijuana again after 5 years of demonizing it, which in turn helped keep me away from the heavy drinking which was a major trigger for my self-harm (I finally quit after cutting through a nerve that made me lose feeling in half my forearm.) I moved into an even bigger apartment, started dating someone who thought like I did, and spent all my time and energy trying to control and perfect every aspect of my life to make up for the years I felt I had wasted. I made my beauty room white and sparkly like everyone else’s, bought a better camera, new lighting, a monitor, a green screen, a new microphone, etc… and once everything was perfect in my eyes, I vowed to my subscribers that I was back, that “2016 would be my bitch”.

Nope again haha.

I still felt empty. I still wasn’t satisfied. I was still filling a void. While I attempted to make everything around me perfect, I just felt more and more imperfect. Thoughts of being incompetent, a failure, not good enough, and a waste of talent were all I could focus on. Filming gave me anxiety like I had never experienced before, and I was never satisfied with any video I tried to produce. My heart was simply no longer in it because the perfectionism I acquired inhibited any form of enjoyment that I formerly got from creating youtube videos. And this shattered me, because I had no plan B. I had no college degree to fall back on, no other passions, this was it for me. So I pushed on, and tried my best, but fell short over and over. The shame of not feeling capable of doing a job I used to be in love with, and that others would kill for and find incredibly easy, weighed on me every day like a ton of bricks. I watched other youtuber’s execute videos so flawlessly and passionately and instead of getting inspired, I became crippled with envy and decided I could never be as talented, as professional, as funny, as naturally beautiful as them, and this was so disheartening coming from a person who used to make videos called “how to be confident”. I realized that while I had recognized that I lost myself somewhere along the way, I never truly found myself, and still haven’t. I got swept up in my own depression, leaning solely on my boyfriend to make me happy, and we all know that doesn’t and cannot work for the benefit of both people in a relationship. I became attached, overly dependent, extremely jealous and it only caused more pain. I had so much negative energy, it was like carrying a cloud around me where anyone who came close would just suffocate with me.

Of course, I didn’t want to feel this way, and I noticed the only time I felt okay with myself was when I was high. So I stayed high. My addictive personality leached onto this plant like it was my new savior. I couldn’t stand being sober, because it revealed how miserable I was inside. I wasn’t willing or simply didn’t know how to deal with my emotions, and it got worse and worse as I continued to self-medicate and ignore the root cause of my depression and anxiety for months. I tried medication after medication and the up’s and downs from those side effects were truly unbearable at times. There were weeks where I didn’t enjoy anything or even recognize myself. My favorite foods didn’t appeal to me and all I wanted to do was sleep where I finally felt safe in a dream. I remember listening to music and there wasn’t a single song that made me feel anything. Nothing. It’s like I was a robot, just a body with no soul inside. I remember walking into my mom’s house one day and not recognizing her face. I remember getting my skirt altered for my best friend’s wedding and I was just staring out the window thinking “I’m not real. None of this is real.” I often felt like I was tripping and had to have someone convince me I was a real person, in a real world. My perception of reality would become so distorted. It sent me into panic, I would have severe episodes of rage and confusion and no one would know what to do about it or how to help me. This happened multiple times a week for a period of time. This is the type of shit that convinces people to kill themselves because they lose any attachment to themselves or outer world. It was the scariest shit I’ve ever experienced, and partially why I’ve sworn against anti-depressants and mood stabilizers for a while.

My life felt like it was falling apart, and well, it pretty much was. My income was decreasing at an alarming rate due to the fact that I was barely filming videos and terminated all contracts with any companies that tested on animals (all of them). I spent my money so carelessly because I never imagined that with this job I could ever fall back into debt. I was financially stable for so many years and expected that to be the case for a long time, but I was very wrong. The last month of living in my apartment I had to ask another Youtuber to loan me money to pay my rent, which was incredibly embarrassing and shameful for me, but thank god for kind and generous friends. I moved back into my moms house in October and my depression, anxiety and manic episodes continued full force.

I’m getting anxious at this point, biting my cuticles like a mad man trying to make sure my story comes across accurately. I’ve been putting this off for so long that now I just want it done and over with so I can move forward. But I don’t want to forget anything, or not include the important details of what’s been happening. But then again, I’m in control of this, and I think I just need to hurry it up. So, long story short, things got even worse once I moved home, which I didn’t think was possible. I was still smoking every day, my relationship with my mom was turning very ugly with almost every conversation ending in “fuck you” instead of “I love you.” I barely left my room and was sleeping more than any normal person should. My rage was at an all time high. We found a different psychiatrist to do some intensive testing on me, and after 4 hours of questioning, it was revealed to me that I had Borderline Personality Disorder. This was relieving and shocking all at the same time. I didn’t know what that “disorder” was when I first found out, but once I researched more, I realized I definitely acquired it somewhere along the way, and this was somewhat good news because now we at least had some direction to go in as far as treating it.

I started therapy again but it just wasn’t enough. I was still an emotional roller coaster every day, with no ambition to help myself and still completely reliant on marijuana to mellow me out. Everything overwhelmed me, everything scared me, and nothing was good enough. I would just stare at my walls and genuinely want to be dead. I was consumed by negative thoughts, and felt there was no way out. That’s when I decided to go to treatment.

I’ve been in treatment since January 25th. I go to a psychiatric facility every single day for 7 hours, and will for another month. We focus on DBT therapy and so far I’ve seen some improvement. I no longer have the manic episodes, and I’m learning how to control my anger in healthier ways. I’ve been sober for 67 days and will remain so for the duration of my treatment. I’ve met some pretty amazing people there, and just the structure and routine of it has been something I’ve needed for a long time. I don’t consider it a “cure” and my mental illnesses are something I will have to battle for a long, long time. Maybe even the rest of my life. But I can see the light now when for months all I saw was darkness. I’ve started reading books again and have fallen in love with learning and expanding the horizons of my mind. I’ve realized that nothing is the same as it was and nothing should ever be the same as it was. I am constantly growing and constantly becoming. I know now that I had a very abrupt spiritual awakening when I couldn’t yet comprehend that I was wakening, and it has proven to be the most important challenge in my life thus far, and for that, I am grateful.

As far as Youtube goes, all I can say is I didn’t come this far to only come this far. I have shit to say and minds to reach. I am working day in and day out to overcome my perfectionism and anxiety so I can return to Youtube as the absolute best version of myself. It will take time. It will take patience on both ends. I have to re-learn how to love myself and I’m sure some of you can relate to that. But I’m just so fucking thankful the universe gave me this job and this platform that I get to come back to when I feel ready. I know not everyone has agreed or understood why I can’t just film myself putting on makeup, but I hope this blog post has helped you realize why. When you get an illness, you take time off of work. When you get a mental illness, you should 100% do the same. It was me against myself the entire time. I don’t know exactly when, but I stopped loving myself and it crushed my spirit, crushed everything I had ever loved, including Youtube. And don’t get me started on the overwhelming amounts of guilt for not using my platform to spread the vegan message. That’s a whole other story.

Meditation, DBT skills, books, and TED talks are about the only things keeping me sane right now. I’ve had to accept the fact that I’m a work in progress and I hope everyone else can too. We’re all struggling with something. Life is fucking hard. But I’ve survived my darkest days and know that the only direction I can go from here is up and that is exciting. But I am still scuffling for stability, especially financially. I know it’s been obvious with the sporadic sponsored videos but for right now, that is just the reality of it. I need money to stay afloat just like you do, and I’m trying my best to stay true to myself in the process, but it has been very compromising. I’m still trying to figure this all out. And I appreciate those of you who are understanding and defend my integrity in those situations where it is questioned. I get it, though, and I’m going to make it up to you. It is my goal to return to my channel as a new evolved being, with a passion for makeup artistry and MANY other things. I am completely open for suggestions when it comes to future content, but I won’t be reading comments for a while until I know I can handle it. My friends and family will be reporting back to me with requests and constructive criticism so we can still stay connected.

I can’t believe I’m about to end this post when I never thought I’d see it come to completion. What a weight it was to carry. I feel so relieved and so happy to have gotten this off my chest and into the abyss of the universe. I cannot predict what this will mean or what it will do for someone, but my hope is that it is a catalyst for support, love, and positive endeavors moving forward. I will not return to social media if I cannot do it wholeheartedly. I must be unapologetically myself as I am still learning who that is, so it will be interesting haha. For the first time in a while, I am excited for the future. I hope y’all are too. Thank you immensely for your unconditional support and friendship. Despite everything, I know I am very blessed.

Thank you for reading. 

“Transformation isn't sweet or bright. It’s a dark and murky, painful pushing. An unraveling of the untruths you’ve carried in your body. A complete uprooting before becoming.” 

[gelibean95]

What is a month

My shortest relationship was with a boy named Dalton, and it lasted all of 9 hours. I had gone to bed sure I wanted to be with him, and when I woke up I had changed my mind completely. Funny enough, I had this exact thing happen to me a few years later and I saw how devasting it could be to feel... My longest relationship (excluding my current) was 3 months. And they were the most volatile, angry and depressed months I had spent with a person. The only reason I stayed was because it had been almost 3 years of back and forth, of we want to make this work but we can't figure out how. We all have out first puppy love, and Brendan was mine. We met in 6th grade and until my sophomore year were on and off continually. 8th grade was a turning point in my life... I was raped and started to withdraw from everything. I became depressed, developed anxiety that I still struggle with now, and lost a lot of that wide eyed hope kids have. I was also cheated on by this boy, with my at the time best friend. I shoved it away, and told myself I was lucky he was still trying to be with me. I pushed him away and shut him out so much we never stayed together longer than two weeks at a time. But we always came back to each other. The very last time we tried to make something of us, was because I was too stubborn to walk away and accept he wasn't good for me. And I can't say why he stayed. I can't make any guesses or assumptions or try to piece together his reasoning. All I have is my own side. We were three months in, and I figured hey maybe this will work this time, maybe we're figuring it out? Keep in mind I was still in deep denial of my having been raped, I was in my first year of high school, and I started experiencing the first of many intense migraines that I now know run in my family. I was struggling with just existing on my own, and thought that having someone beside me would solve it. Our relationship dissolved when he stopped answering me. I would call and it would be ignored, I would text and get no answers. I wasn't able to go see him, my mother didn't know about him until that year and seeing as he lived three towns over now, I couldn't go myself. I slowly fell apart again, and that begin two years of me trying to reach him and always being ignored. He changed his number, and for a long time I thought I wouldn't ever hear from him again and get that closure. I didn't date anyone seriously after him. I was labeled by my friends, family, and even my friends parents as a serial dater. I didn't really find issue with it; that's what I was doing wasn't it? I would stick together with someone for a few weeks at most and then jump ship, always having a reason. And in my defense, most were valid reasons. There's maybe one boy I left who could have turned into something real in my past. But I went through too many to count. Physically I wouldn't let anyone touch me, I would let any of them kiss me or hold my hand. Some of them I cut lose because they wanted to, and I simply said it wouldn't work if they couldn't respect I didn't want them touching me. I broke a lot of hearts, as I was told, and still I was numb to it all. There were so many boys that caught my interest, that kept me interested and I had feelings for, but never enough for me to stick around. Senior year I had the idea to look him up on Facebook. I debated messaging him for days and finally worked up the courage on Independence Day of all days ironically enough. He was cold, quoting movies and books and avoiding conversation. I see now he was probably mocking me, long over his own emotions whatever they had been. I was actually reaching out and trying to get my closure and he was an ass the whole time. I did get an actual response out of him once, and it made my heart hurt: why did you leave me first? ANYWAYS. That boy did a number on me, emotionally. I never really recovered, till recently. And then physically I was just a hot mess. I gave up my virginity to a boy I didn't like and barely knew, the same boy I gave my first kiss to at 18, in the middle of a street at 2 in the morning. I tried relationships and always failed miserably. I sort of just started whoring around at a certain point, giving whoever I found interesting my attention and sometimes my body as well. I learned at the beginning of last year it was no way to go through life, and I decided to make a change in myself. And in walk the love of my life... When I met Eric I never would have imagined we would be here now. I saw a strange boy with an odd sense of interacting with people, forcing himself to make small talk and not sure of anything. He was damaged deeply, that I saw immediately, maybe because I was too I could recognize it. But I wanted to know him, to learn about him and hear his story. He seemed worth knowing. It started with some text messages here and there, some "think you would want to hang out?". I knew he made me nervous, and I pinned that too me having a crush on him. We became friends, and there wasn't a day we didn't talk to each other for a few month. It became blaring obvious to me my feelings for him when he went out of town camping for three days and I wasn't able to talk to him. Those three days SUCKED ASS. I missed my friend, who was easily so close to being considered my best friend. The three days he was gone I complained the whole time to Nick, who is pretty much my partner in crime when it comes to life. All he kept telling me was "tell him how you feel! Maybe he feels the same! You're gonna regret if you don't, you gotta say something even if you're scared!" I was beyond petrified because I had promised myself that the next person I fell for would be someone I would take seriously and try to build something real and honest with. And lucky me, Eric was someone you couldn't play games with. He was always so honest and demanding of that same respect and level of honesty. I knew if I told him how I felt he would either be honest and say he didn't feel the same, or he would say he did and oh shit, now I have to commit to this. He wasn't someone who would take it lightly; even only knowing him a few months I already knew he hardly joked about things like this, if ever. In a little over a week we'll be hitting our 6 month anniversary. Half of a year, twice the time of my longest relationship. And I've never been so sure in my life. I can't imagine my life without this boy, this growing young man, this blessing that I'm so grateful to call MINE. He's endlessly patient with all my torn pages, and kind when they show. He knows me, better than people I've known my whole life. He loves me, even after seeing my anxiety get the best of me, my depression make me into someone else, and my fear shut me down against him. He's supported me through a mossacariage I was already dealing with before I met him. He's held my hand and talked me through the nightmares that happen from having been raped and forcing myself to heal from it. He's shared his dreams with me and asked about my own, and analyzed them. He's been a support system I've never had before; not just strictly my boyfriend but as my best friend who keeps me in line and watches out for me. We laugh at stupid vines together and curl up on the floor in the fetal position while talking. I watch him play video games for hours while I read and we catch each other staring sometimes at the other, because it's enough sometimes just to be silent and in each other's company. Physically, I've healed a lot. I'm able to have people touch me without fear now and I've found I'm actually a physical person; I seek comfort through touch most times. So when he told me his reservations on being touched, how sometimes he's just not comfortable with it- I was able to understand completely and help him with that. Not by making him get over it or change, but by respecting when he's in that way and making him know he's safe and respected actually loved, even if he doesn't want physical touch. We've both grown a lot when it comes to touch, and I know we'll continue to grow together. Sexually... I still have some hurdles to get over. Somedays I'm anxious and afraid of a sexual touch because it reminds me too much of my past. I have to struggle to remind myself I am safe, and Eric is there to love and protect me, mind and body. It's easier to do when I'm with him, because I can look into those mossy ocean eyes and see the love and respect he has for me. I'm not afraid of him or his touch; if anything it helps calm me and reassure me. But on the hard days... Yeah. I still have some things to let heal. But he helps me where he is able to, and asks what can help and what to avoid. We'll be okay. My shortest relationship was 9 hours. My longest relationship was 3 months. My current relationship will be my last, because it's going to be 6 months soon and my love for him keeps growing. This boy will someday be my husband, and can I just say... FUCK YEAH.

[samanthasroberts]

I Was Strangled By My Ex Boyfriend, And It Was A Huge Wakeup Call

Whenever I used to hear the words domestic violence, I automatically thought of what the media portrays to us on TV and in movies. I picturedscary men beating the living shit out of their sweet and timid wives or girlfriends. It’s something that unfortunately happens every day, not only to women, but to men too. Anyone can be a victim of domestic abuse. And I really mean anyone, even me.

So here is my open letter to the boy who strangled me in his drunken rage, and how it changed my life forever.

Dear the boy who strangled me,

I want to firstly start by thanking you. This might sound strange but hear me out. I have a sigh of relief in me as I type these words to you, because now that months have passed and I have had time to heal from our time together, I feel so empowered.

I used to think I was a strong, independent and sassy girl, who could drink any man under the table, have a witty come back for any situation and be able to stand up for herself no matter what. Then I met you. Slowly but surely over the course of our relationship I saw the parts of myself that I valued so much start to slowly disappear. Gradually, I turned into someone I didn’t know or recognize.

I turned shy and paranoid. I was nervous and anxious without any explanation. I found myself worrying about everyone else and not about myself. I was too scared to talk, in case I hurt or upset your feelings, and I believed everything you said to me. Even the horrible things. I had lost myself and didn’t realize until it was too late.

Up until the night it happened, you’d shown warning signs and I’d chosen to ignore them. Clenched fists. Punching walls. Slamming doors and smashing glasses. I remember the night you drunkenly threw a beer bottle at me in bed and I didn’t as much as flinch as it shattered on my skin and the blood stained my sheets. I was used to this behavior by now, and I didn’t question it like I should have.

Fast forward a few months and your temper has escalated, your paranoia has increased and my personality is non existent. I was a shell of the girl I once was. Stumbling home after yet another alcohol-infused argument outside of the bar, you stole my phone and ran up the street. You were eager to see who’d been texting me all night, determined to find some kind of evidence of infidelity, while I cried my eyes out begging you to come back and stop being so ridiculous.

You finally returned,convinced I must have deleted all the evidence. You smashed my phone to the pavement, and you grabbed me while I bent down to get it. Your one hand, gripped firmly around my neck was quickly joined by the other one, pushing me against the wall and squeezing with all your strength you held onto my throat.

This wasn’t an accident; this was on purpose. I don’t know what you were screaming at me, I can’t even remember what I was thinking. All I remember was the complete and utter shock and terror I felt in my stomach, as I looked into the eyes of someone I loved and felt for a moment that there was quite possibly a chance that he could easily kill me if he wanted to.

And it felt like he wanted to.

I was numb after that night. No amount of crying, apologies orbegging for forgiveness could shake that feeling out of my gut. I never wanted to feel you beside me again. I never wanted you to touch me and I could no longer look you in the eyes. The night you strangled me was my waking moment. You shocked the life back into me.

You made me sit down and have an honest and heartbreaking look at my life and what it had become. You shook up the passion inside of me again, my passion for life. I realized how much more I deserved than the love you were giving me. I realized I was a smart, charming and funny girl whoany man would be lucky to have. I knew that becoming that crying girl on the street, as someone physically and mentally hurt me, was not the future I had imagined for myself.

So as I watched the bruises fade and waited for you to stop contacting me, I felt myself slowly come back to life. I was smiling again, I was funny and witty and I was making people laugh. And sitting in a coffee shop one lunch time with a friend she looked at me with so much love and said, I’m glad you’re back.” And it was the best feeling in the world.

So thank you to the boy who strangled me because if you hadn’t of done what you didthat night, I would probably still be in that abusive relationship, existing under your controlling thumb and sinking deeper and deeper into the depression I was already in.

Thank you for making me realize how much better than you I am, and how I will never, ever let another human — male or female — have that much power and control over my life ever again.

Thank you for making me realize how strong I am.

Love from, The girl you never deserved.

Source: http://allofbeer.com/i-was-strangled-by-my-ex-boyfriend-and-it-was-a-huge-wakeup-call/

from All of Beer https://allofbeer.wordpress.com/2018/07/25/i-was-strangled-by-my-ex-boyfriend-and-it-was-a-huge-wakeup-call/

[adambstingus]

I Was Strangled By My Ex Boyfriend, And It Was A Huge Wakeup Call

Whenever I used to hear the words domestic violence, I automatically thought of what the media portrays to us on TV and in movies. I picturedscary men beating the living shit out of their sweet and timid wives or girlfriends. It’s something that unfortunately happens every day, not only to women, but to men too. Anyone can be a victim of domestic abuse. And I really mean anyone, even me.

So here is my open letter to the boy who strangled me in his drunken rage, and how it changed my life forever.

Dear the boy who strangled me,

I want to firstly start by thanking you. This might sound strange but hear me out. I have a sigh of relief in me as I type these words to you, because now that months have passed and I have had time to heal from our time together, I feel so empowered.

I used to think I was a strong, independent and sassy girl, who could drink any man under the table, have a witty come back for any situation and be able to stand up for herself no matter what. Then I met you. Slowly but surely over the course of our relationship I saw the parts of myself that I valued so much start to slowly disappear. Gradually, I turned into someone I didn’t know or recognize.

I turned shy and paranoid. I was nervous and anxious without any explanation. I found myself worrying about everyone else and not about myself. I was too scared to talk, in case I hurt or upset your feelings, and I believed everything you said to me. Even the horrible things. I had lost myself and didn’t realize until it was too late.

Up until the night it happened, you’d shown warning signs and I’d chosen to ignore them. Clenched fists. Punching walls. Slamming doors and smashing glasses. I remember the night you drunkenly threw a beer bottle at me in bed and I didn’t as much as flinch as it shattered on my skin and the blood stained my sheets. I was used to this behavior by now, and I didn’t question it like I should have.

Fast forward a few months and your temper has escalated, your paranoia has increased and my personality is non existent. I was a shell of the girl I once was. Stumbling home after yet another alcohol-infused argument outside of the bar, you stole my phone and ran up the street. You were eager to see who’d been texting me all night, determined to find some kind of evidence of infidelity, while I cried my eyes out begging you to come back and stop being so ridiculous.

You finally returned,convinced I must have deleted all the evidence. You smashed my phone to the pavement, and you grabbed me while I bent down to get it. Your one hand, gripped firmly around my neck was quickly joined by the other one, pushing me against the wall and squeezing with all your strength you held onto my throat.

This wasn’t an accident; this was on purpose. I don’t know what you were screaming at me, I can’t even remember what I was thinking. All I remember was the complete and utter shock and terror I felt in my stomach, as I looked into the eyes of someone I loved and felt for a moment that there was quite possibly a chance that he could easily kill me if he wanted to.

And it felt like he wanted to.

I was numb after that night. No amount of crying, apologies orbegging for forgiveness could shake that feeling out of my gut. I never wanted to feel you beside me again. I never wanted you to touch me and I could no longer look you in the eyes. The night you strangled me was my waking moment. You shocked the life back into me.

You made me sit down and have an honest and heartbreaking look at my life and what it had become. You shook up the passion inside of me again, my passion for life. I realized how much more I deserved than the love you were giving me. I realized I was a smart, charming and funny girl whoany man would be lucky to have. I knew that becoming that crying girl on the street, as someone physically and mentally hurt me, was not the future I had imagined for myself.

So as I watched the bruises fade and waited for you to stop contacting me, I felt myself slowly come back to life. I was smiling again, I was funny and witty and I was making people laugh. And sitting in a coffee shop one lunch time with a friend she looked at me with so much love and said, I’m glad you’re back.” And it was the best feeling in the world.

So thank you to the boy who strangled me because if you hadn’t of done what you didthat night, I would probably still be in that abusive relationship, existing under your controlling thumb and sinking deeper and deeper into the depression I was already in.

Thank you for making me realize how much better than you I am, and how I will never, ever let another human — male or female — have that much power and control over my life ever again.

Thank you for making me realize how strong I am.

Love from, The girl you never deserved.

from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/i-was-strangled-by-my-ex-boyfriend-and-it-was-a-huge-wakeup-call/ from All of Beer https://allofbeercom.tumblr.com/post/176256356427

[hopefulmuffins]

Just blacklist #hopefulmuffinsJournal to ignore this

It’s nights like these that leave me thinking about old friends and how everything just sort of ended. Like I can count on one hand how many people I still talk to. Which then leads me to the fact that I don’t really talk to them that much either... and it leaves me wondering what I did. Because, thinking back, there are so many things that could have been the final straw. 

 Like, I know now that I am not a good person, I’m not even sure I ever really was. Honestly, and I’ve said this myself, “if a whole group of people hate you I don’t think it’s the people.” Logically it could just be that they actually are out there making something of themselves and making better connections with people who have more similar interests. While I sit here in my shit town with my shit dreams and constantly just blaming shit on my mental health. And I recognize that they don’t need to be subjected to that and I agree that they deserve better, but I also fear that this is seen as me throwing a pity party. I promise I’m not actually trying to do that, I’m just struggling with letting these old connections go. Especially since there were no verbal confirmations to make it as real and daunting as possible.

 Even though my mental health is definitely a giant factor as to why I act and think the way I do it leads me to the conclusion that I’ve been developing myself around my illness and it makes every step I take to try to correct it feel like an attack on myself because I’ve based so much of my thinking around this negative world view. That leads to rather selfish thinking and ill thought out comments and difficulty maintaining interpersonal relationships. And I have tried therapy and medications, but I find it difficult to keep regular appointments and now that I’m living on my own it’s even harder. My work place can’t handle me requesting off so much. So far the medications have only made things worse although I’m sure I just need to keep trying. But again scheduling issues. 

So much of who I’ve become is someone that I hate and I just feel like I might never change. I’m only 22 and the world feels so closed off to me. I know it’s not true, logically it can’t be true. . . its daunting to think about who I could be when all I can think about is if I get better what if I am still a shit person? I don’t think I could handle it if I went from being a depressed, anxious, self centered prick, to just being a narcissistic mess.  

In all honesty I’m just sitting here waiting for that one really bad day to happen and then whatever happens after that. This site has kind of encouraged me to make jokes about what to put on my grave stone (which neither me nor my family would be able to afford) and I make jokes about my will and testament all the time, but it really doesn’t feel like a joke anymore. What with the political unrest in my country, and the truly terrifying changes that are trying to happen, it just doesn’t really feel worth it.

Taking a break seems like a good idea but it leaves me to my thoughts on days when music doesn’t help, going for walks is terrifying, my paranoia has skyrocketed to the point of fearing for my life when I am left alone outside with no real outside threats, not to mention how tired I am all the time. I went to my mother’s house for christmas for like 3 hours and we barely did anything besides sit and I was completely and utterly drained when I got home. Finally all the things I try to lose myself in provide little to no relief anymore and it leaves me with virtually nothing. So my question is how do you take a break when your only stress relievers are also the reason your stressed. I spend too much time on the internet, too much time in my house, too little time dedicated to actually doing the research I need to understand the world around me. 

 I really need to go back to therapy and get my hormones checked. And go to sleep I have work early in the morning.

 Sorry for the rant and just sorry if I’ve hurt anyone who I once called friend. I just want you to find your way, and to work your way through what you need to. Go learn, be prosperous, meet new people, date smart people, and lead a smart life. Consider this me letting you know that I won’t bother you and I don’t want you to worry about me anymore. I want you to shove me as far back into your minds as you possibly can and forget about me if you want. I won’t be bothered.

[wordsmiff-blog]

I take drugs every single day of my life.

I take drugs every single day of my life.

… and these days… it is very much EVERY single day without fail - if I can help it.

Truth is that my drug-taking has become so engrained in my routine and so normalized over time - that sometimes I forget to even take them.

I imagine that those statements above may sound a little shocking to some. To those lucky souls who don’t need drugs to improve their experience of life… but read on… I’ll clarify.

My drug of choice? Well these days - it’s 20mg of Paroxetine - once a day.

Yep.

After spending …. hmmmm… a fair amount of my time here on planet Earth self-medicating - I have finally stumbled upon something that sufficiently scratches my itch - so to speak… without any significant dire consequences.

The harsh truth is that the default setting of my brain appears to be pointed towards ‘Impending doom/fear/anxiety’ and things have always been that way since I can remember.

I cannot speak for other people, I certainly can’t speak for those that I imagine must wake up with a positive feeling of gratitude in the mornings (do those people actually exist?) because my experience of Life is certainly nothing like that.

No…

Since I was a child, it would seem that my brain has been programmed to constantly tell me … from the moment I open my eyes in the morning … that something terrible is about to happen, to try to convince me that an unspecified disaster is just around the corner - and that… because of that threat… perhaps I should just shy away from 'Life’ and not get involved.

After all, if you don’t sign up for The Army… you probably won’t have to hide in a trench and dodge bullets 24hrs a day … right?

Wrong.

The problem with Life - is that you cannot avoid it.

Try as you might, invariably, at certain points… it forces you to get involved.

As fearful and as timid as you may feel, Life gives no fucks about your emotional fragility and just mercilessly shoves you in the back … and pushes you out into the big wide World…

So … how does someone with anxiety, a sensitive nature and zero understanding of brain chemistry deal with that conundrum?

To summarize … the issue that presented itself to a young man full of fear, insecurity, and a severe lack of serotonin in his brain - was that - despite being shit scared… Life just refused to piss off and subsequently keep forcing me to get involved.

The main reason that this problem seemed impossible to solve at the time was that I did not realize or even understand that the balance of chemicals in my brain was totally fucked up.

Dopamine and serotonin are fundamental chemical building blocks for enjoying this experience of 'Life’.

These chemicals, amongst others, are responsible for making you feel 'happy’, 'excited’ and all that shit.

It since transpires that my brain produces the square root of fuck all in these particular departments.

I always suspected as a kid that my brain worked slightly differently to the people I knew… though back then I didn’t know how to communicate or express that concern… I just thought that I was 'weird’ or 'different’ - an outsider, doomed to a life of isolation and constant worry.

What I realize now is that even as a child, I was effectively… what would be diagnosed in an adult as … anxious and depressed.

Unfortunately at the age of 11, something happened - which at the time seemed like a complete miracle … but turned into something of a curse … I found a total cure for my symptoms - and it happened in an instant.

I smoked my first joint.

The only way I can describe it is … imagine when you were a kid and you were trying to trace a picture … if before the spliff … the tracing paper had been off center with the image below, I couldn’t hold the tracing paper still and the lines I wanted to follow were not in line with the image underneath… well - once I had taken two puffs of this joint… suddenly the tracing paper and the image underneath it were now perfectly matched and effortlessly in synch.

So whereas beforehand Life had always been a struggle and a huge effort to go along with, out of nowhere - after smoking this joint, (and what I now know to be the very first introduction of THC into my brain box), Life suddenly made sense. In fact, suddenly 'everything’ made sense.

Music sounded better, I was instantly more at ease inside my own skin and inside my own mind, colours were more vibrant, I understood more, my perception of time slowed down, my concentration levels were intensified and I had a more Spiritual understanding of the matrix of how life works … and on top of all of that… the absolute master key… I no longer felt sad, worried, fearful or anxious. At all.

Everything was completely as it should be, how it was always meant to be and I was filled with a surge of relief and a peace of mind that was so powerful and seductive - I recognized it as the feeling that had been missing from my existence for as long as I could recall.

Looking back now, I am able to recognize that the chemical imbalance in my brain has always been evident and had always been a huge barrier to my ability to enjoy Life… at 11 - I did not have the awareness to realize that there was a serious underlying mental health problem that I needed to address - I had only the very limited knowledge that if I smoke a joint, I felt normal.

… and so I did that.

A lot.

Fast forward to when I’m 18, even at the time, I am completely mindful as this experience unfolds - that I am boring a poor barmaid to death - as my skinny insecure, wiry human shell struggles without the required level of mental fortitude and self-confidence to pull myself up and out of that inevitable nose-dive into teen angst and awkwardness… it’s painful even now to think of that conversation.

I remember it vividly though, because moments later, I tried my first line of cocaine - and if smoking puff made me feel comfortable… then sniffing gear made me feel invincible…

You know the old telephone box scene where Clark Kent enters and exits seconds later as Superman… that’s what happened in that toilet cubicle on that particular evening in an empty bar in a foreign land. I might as well have fucking kicked the door off and stood there with chest expanded and my fists resting on my hips. Imaginary cape billowing in the wind.

I had seemingly stumbled upon the perfect prescription to successfully self-medicate … well enough to go forth and confidently battle with my mental dis-ease at just being alive, I self-medicated so well that I was even functioning to a rather high level for the most part…

This caused a host of problems… in fact more than I could ever even wish to list - but here are 3 important ones.

1/ I now know that I am different to most people in that I suffer with a three fold illness known as 'addiction’. No ability to take it or leave it for Bob once he likes something.

2/ As I was doing so well at masking the genuine mental health issues that were the underlying cause of my reliance on drugs and other things I could use to change the way I felt, I could just ignore those really deep issues … for the most part. Ahhh… so you are scared of your own shadow… so what? Have a puff of this spliff…. feel better? Of course you do…

3/ Drugs stop working. Eventually. First though, you start to become a little more immune to them bit by bit - and so before they turn on you completely, you find yourself upping your dosage.

This knowledge and a million and one other things I have learnt so far in recovery has given me a different perception on things, it has taught me more than I could ever even express let alone hope to encapsulate in a single blog entry.

What I know about myself now, with the continued support and love of people around me, means that rather than getting half a gram or two on a Friday night or smoking two joints before work every day (which I maintain improved my performance, it was the crippling paranoid delusions and near on psychosis towards the end that really ruined weed for me) - I am now letting a trained medical professional diagnose my symptoms and decide on which medicine I should take.

The point of this post is this….

Drug addicts are everywhere… YOU are a drug addict … your Mum is a drug addict… as is your Nan… whether you change the chemical composition of your brain with a cheeky bar of cadburys fruit and nut… enjoy those couple of glasses of rosè when you get in from work… or treat yourself to a take-away on a Friday night… you are using chemicals/drugs to change the way you feel. That is no different to the man who smokes a joint or the kid slipping down the slippery slope into addiction.

The difference? Stigma.

We laugh about having a little sugary pick me up throughout the day… and we raise our eyes knowingly in collusion with someone else’s story telling tale at work about the half a bottle of wine the night before … that’s how they cope.

That’s okay though, because that’s socially acceptable.

Yet it’s not okay to say that you woke up feeling so scared you didn’t want to get out of bed.

It’s not humorous enough a subject to just nonchalantly mention that you never asked to be born - and truth be told - unless you have a line of gear, you’d rather put a bullet through your incessant mind, stop the fucking rollercoaster and clock out of this incomprehensible, overwhelming, seemingly futile existence - where the aim seems to be to try to see how much you can love other people - whilst all the time being simultaneously and completely aware that the unforgiving certainty of death for either you - or the people you would struggle to be without - is just around the corner.

No… you can’t say that.

Wine is okay. Drugs are bad.

The problem being - someone who is self-medicating with 'illegal’ drugs is clearly … if we are measuring by societies standards… mentally unwell. Yet, if they cannot talk about their reliance on their drug of choice in relation to how it helps them to cope with the magnitude of being alive, how can they receive the help they need to transfer themselves onto more manageable medication whilst they do the necessary work on themselves to hopefully… learn the cognitive behavioral tools that recovery teaches… to be able to one day live and even …God forbid … enjoy life … without any chemical assistance?

Mental health problems account for so many lives lost, so many lives shattered.

No one should be so unhappy that they decide to punch out early and take their own life.

No one should be walking around filled with so much fear and hate and rage that they use violence against another person - ruining families and costing themselves their own freedom.

No one should be so intimated by life and be so full of fear and insecurity and anxiety that they spend their entire lives trapped in a miserable solitary prison cell of addiction and lies, existing… but never really living.

Yet we do.

All of these things are a consequences of untreated mental health problems.

Drug addicts are not well… people in prison are not well… people who are suicidal are not well… and that will always be the case, until we stop fucking judging people and start finding it in our hearts to learn to love each other unconditionally, and allowing an environment amongst humanity to develop where it is okay not to be okay.. an environment where is it okay to tell people about the complete and utter madness that goes on inside your head.

Before I walked into a recovery meeting… I was certain that I was insane… and it turns out that yes.. I am… but so a lot of other people … and that means I am not alone. I have people who help me, and I have people who I try to help.

So yes… I am a drug addict. Happy to admit that: but I am a 'recovered’ drug addict… in the sense that I no longer take drugs that cause my life to become unmanageable and cause my soul to wither away and want to die.

Yes, I am a drug addict and I take drugs every single day of my life.

Fortunately, because of having people around me that I could openly talk to about this stuff and because I have maintained an honesty in my life since those dark times … these days… my drug of choice is 20mg of Paroxetine - once a day. Every single day without fail. If I can.

[goingtosee-theworld]

im toolazy to make a header

Pet’s Questionnaire

Name: Pet

Characters: Jane Porter, Howl Pendragon, Eva Grimhelde, Roger Radcliffe, Calliope Harper, Daisy Duck, Jake Long, Lymantria Khan, Al McWiggin, mystery character 10 wow when the fuck did i get so many

Pick a thread from the past six months that you’re proud of and talk about why.

What HAVENT I been proud of in the last six months haha---ok jk jk.

Not really a thread but the whole arc of Howl turns into demon bird was really a thrill to write. I was a bit slow with it because school (ahhh schoooolll), but I was really proud of how it all ended up. From the intial unbecoming—which was short, but action-paced—to the kidnapping of the egg, to Kiki searching for Howl, then the reunion with Mel, and confronting Suliman—ugh it was so action-packed and fun and the egg has yet to unveil herself dun dun dun. (I do realize the first few paras of this fell before the six month line, but we will ignore that).

One of the things I find difficult in writing is, well, action sequences when a lot of things happened at once and this whole arc was full of them, so it really forced me to think about character placement and what a good next move would be. And I want to thank MK and Lauryl for being good partners with this (and being patient when I was slow) and just giving me a lot to work with and ugh yeah.

An honorable mention is the Titsy closet thread (lmao) not just for the smut but because I think that moment was like really character defining for both of them. There was a lot going on. It was also hot and steamy.

Another honorable mention is MILANO BREAKS INTO A MUSEUM AND WAKES A MUMMY AND OH GOD THE REPURCUSSIONS ARE JUST BEING FELT AHHH. Yeah that still has to play out but wow it is fun.

Identify a challenge you’ve faced in this rp. Reflect on why this is a challenge for you. Are there any strategies you can develop to overcome this challenge?

I’m too shy. And I know that is my one big weakness. And I know it might not seem that way in the group chat because I’m a jokester and I say weird shit and am generally jovial and talkative, but like one on one I am…so…anxious and shy and asdkjadlks. I swear to god no matter who you are if we’re talking one on one I get really anxious and im like oh god they noticed I was typing but then I realized I didn’t say anything oh god I feel awful maybe I should clarify wait no I shouldn’t wait no I should wait no it’s too late //screaMs and then I think you hate me. Rinse, repeat.  

This is a challenge, of course, because it makes it really hard for me to plot—because it’s not just me going to approach people, but like people approaching me and I don’t know WHY because 9/10 I love their ideas/they love my ideas. And like I am trying my best to slowly get over it. Im trying to branch out and hit more people up and I am starting by outlining my goals for my characters and then trying to contact people who would be relevant and hopefully I don’t like combust with anxiety whilst doing so wish me luck;;

Pick one of your characters and talk about their growth (we recommend choosing an older character, but it’s up to you! ) What about their story has surprised you? What are you proud of? How have they changed from their original inception to now?

I did Howl last time so now it’s time for Miss Jane Porter.

Ah, Jane, Jane, Jane. SO like a little TMI background into the creation of Jane. I’ve roleplayed Jane Porter for like 6 years now. My original Jane was much different from this Jane. This Jane grew from quite a dark time in my life and her early days were very reflective of that dark time (only getting darker for those first months I had her). Thus, without me even intending it, she got quite depressed. I hadn’t expected it, but that’s the sort of thing that happens when you trap someone who never wanted to make a real commitment in a small town.

Jane was supposed to be fun, energetic, just happening to be weighed down by a dark secret—what she is now is more reflective of what I wanted for her. Instead, the idea of being trapped in one place, the idea of death lurking at the corner of her vision consumed her. She was lonely. She shut herself to the world. She regressed in a way that I did not anticipate. The only way out was for her to crash and burn.

So, I made Jane crash. I gave her everything she feared—the chance of falling in love, the potential of a child, a glimpse of a life that she could live in another world, basically what could be’s that she had been trying to stay away from. And she crashed and those few months were her darkest (like right after rejecting Milo, the time jump, then the pregnancy thing).

Now she’s coming back around. What’s fun with Jane (and by extension Milo) is that they have this—and I’m using a Lauryl ™ term for this—complicated happiness. Where they are happy, but ya know, there are issues. At their best, they are an unstoppable team—they hunt demons, they sneak into museums, they make each other brave (they are both brave, I think, in different ways, but the way that they are not brave is exactly what the other is brave in, so it like complements each other). But at their worst, they become scared: Milo frets, Jane avoids, Milo overanalyzes, Jane tries not to acknowledge. And so far there hasn’t been a real issue with that, but they should have a Talk sooner or later.

I’m proud that Jane was able to pull herself up. But what I want her to do is recognize her problems. She’s very avoidant that way, turning to alcohol/sex when she’s really down or simply ignoring the little things when she’s on a high. She fits her enneagram type to a tee. She ignores bad things and just tries to focus on something new, something exciting, something good. But she needs to recognize problems and work to fix them before they become Big Problems.

Pick another character and talk a little about where you WANT them to go. What are your plans for them for the rest of the year?

I’m going to go with Daisy on this one.

So Daisy, Daisy, Daisy. My little flower. Daisy is always weird for me because literally everything I ever planned for her went in the complete opposite direction. Date Stan? Nope. Interact with Tito just for fun? Lol. Fake-date Lou in the Hogwarts-verse? Hahaha. Even the long term things ended up getting derailed by events (titsy wasn’t supposed to like get together for a bit, but then valentine’s happened, for example). So with Daisy a plan is more like a rough guideline. (which is so FUCKING META IF YOU THINK ABOUT IT BECAUSE SHE LITERALLY PLANS EVERYTHING AHHH)/

There are two paths I envision for Daisy: the first requires a lot more work, but may be more fulfilling in terms of character development and lead to a happy ending. The second is more comfortable and honestly, more unexpected and might be more interesting.

The first is that Daisy rejects the notions of class and wealth she was bred into, which as I mentioned before, would require a lot of work in changing her thinking, but it can be done. Not to be super Sorting Hat Chats in here (okay but when are we not), her primary is Ravenclaw and right now her system is in a bit of a flux and she’s trying to rebuild it. She would need the right type of influence—not just from Tito, mind you, because she feels that she is biased should she solely listen to him (Daisy’s quite analytical and logical and will try to put her own feelings aside when it comes to that decision). It would need to be a mix of outside forces, and this I can see ending in her graduating and doing what she wants to do, instead of what approved jobs her mom would have picked out for her (so maybe trying to strike it out on her own and starting her own lifestyle blog, or working at a smaller company, or maybe one focused on social justice instead of just haute couture idk) and most importantly, choosing her heart over preapproved options.

Now this is the option that would represent the most character growth, but my hesitation? It’s cliché. It’s a bit overdone. It’s Rose from Titanic. It’s been done, and for the way it would pan out with Daisy, it would not be super unique. Would it be the happier ending? Well, yes. I’ve not closed it off completely and tbh I am a sucker for happy endings, so this might be the way to go, I’m just leaving room to think of option two.

Option Two is that Daisy decides that her whole system of class and wealth and status is the one for her. This would just need little nudges from her family, from her friends of high status, reminders of people who have fallen, glimpses into a future that is glamorous and glittering—where she has access to her wealth and name and can use that to better the lives of others. Without having to focus on meeting her own needs, she can turn to the world. (That would be the argument there). Now this has a clear end for Daisy—she graduates, she moves to London or Paris or New York. Will she be satisfied? We won’t know. Her story in Swynlake will end. It ends with a whimper, not a bang. It’s classy, it’s literary, it’s Sister Carrie achieving her dreams, yet feeling empty in her rocking chair..

Now these two options are by no means the only paths for Daisy to follow (and heaven knows she’s done an amazing job at skirting around literally every other plan I’ve set up for her)—so we will see! Maybe it will be some weird combo of those two. Maybe something will happen to expedite one or the other. Maybe she’ll turn into a zombie.

OPTIONAL (REQUIRED FOR THOSE WHO DIDN’T DO THE LAST QUESTIONNAIRE): In terms of your own writing, identify 1-3 strengths and talk about why you think it’s one of your strengths.

Uhhhhhhhhh. Srry ive felt bad about my writing lately but here goes:

Structure: now this is like. A weird one?? Idk it stood out to me when I wrote Ly’s one-shot about her brother, but I like playing with structure and having set forms and beginning sentences certain ways and having repetition and idk this is weird but I really enjoy doing this so I do think I do it well.

Description: I think I do this well. When I do it I mean. I try. I think I do it the best with magic, Howl’s and Ly’s specifically. Also Daisy’s outfits lmao.

Humor: This one I will say I do well. I make myself chuckle.

OPTIONAL (REQUIRED FOR THOSE WHO DIDN’T DO THE LAST QUESTIONNAIRE): In terms of your own writing, identify 1-3 areas of improvement.

Dialogue: last questionnaire I said I did dialogue well but I take it back. I feel like all my characters sound the same. Idk. Except for like Howl maybe, and Roger. I guess it’s like the cluster of Ly/Daisy/Eva with their weird accents that don’t actually exist in youtube videos so I cant quite pin them down.

Setting: im really trying to improve on this! And just add like little details in general! It’s still a work in progress but it’s getting there!!

Like action/forwarding things this is vague: I remember very specifically in one of my creative writing classes, I had written something I was very proud of and someone told me something along the lines of “I enjoyed reading this and it was well-written…but it was just people sitting around and talking for the most part. Nothing happened.” And that really resonated with me because ya know, I do that well. I do sitting around and talking and thinking and longing and sighing quite well. It’s the like actually furthering things along part I am bad at. This rp has definitely forced me to do that and I am definitely improving, but it is still something I need to work on.

OPTIONAL (REQUIRED FOR THOSE WHO DIDN’T DO THE LAST QUESTIONNAIRE): Reflect on other writers you love– in the rp or out! How have they influenced you? What do you love about their writing that you want to bring to your own?

Every1 is great, again. 

IF YOU DID THE LAST QUESTIONNAIRE: Alright, now pick an item from the Wishlist you completed in January that you’ve started to pursue. How far are you from completing this goal? Talk about the steps you took to make it happen.

Jane and the cheating thing. Not that Jane is going to cheat, not by a long shot. (Actually in the most recent of my replies to the Jane/Paul thread, I think Jane like drunkenly had the epiphany that she was just lusting over Paul because he represented her could-have-beens—will she remember that come morning? Find out.)

This is a thing that I don’t think will be resolved-resolved till Jane brings it up to Milo whenever they have that Talk that they need to have that’s kinda been building up haha.

I actually can’t remember if Lauryl offered Paul as the sacrificial lamb first or we had LADS interact with all our characters and Jane and Paul kinda hit it off (they’re both naturally flirty)—but whichever one it was, we took it off and just kept playing with it. It did take a brief hold up as my school picked up (darn you school), but I think it’s back on track and combined with this mummy plot. Well. Should be a fun time.

IF YOU DID THE LAST QUESTIONNAIRE: Pick another item on your wishlist that hasn’t happened yet. We’re gonna do a MOCK-PLOT!!! Pick a character who could help with this goal, and plan at least three threads or “steps” that would kick-start this plot. Need help? Remember to look at the plotting tips and tricks! See the end of this questionnaire for an example. You do not have to follow through with the plot as you planned it here– but it can kickstart brainstorming and get you thinking in terms of cause/effect.

Ok im cheating a bit for this and picking a character with a plot that I did not have on the wishlist (and then adding someone that I did bc why not)

LYMANTRIA GOES OFF THE DEEP END

Have someone further influence Lymantria into believing that she’s nothing without her magic (Mel or Mellie)

Lymantria seeks someone who will take Fey’s with her. They do the drug together. (Alice)

A trusted friend notices what’s going on and tries to intervene. (Maui or Meg)

Lymantria does not listen. Stronger forces must get involved (depending probably on who it was in the previous thread but most likely Esme or Copper/law enforcement in general (lmao or both)).

DAISY ADMITS SHE NEEDS THERAPY

There’s a thing that’s supposed to happen which will result in a big fight. (Tito)

Daisy most likely will go to Lou for advice. (Lou)

Most likely, she will not feel any the better from that and will probably save face since she hates seeming weak (especially in front of Lou lol) and then will be like let’s do what normal college aged girls do and go clubbing! And then get a full blown panic attack while clubbing. (Annette probably does daisy have any female friends idk---oh maybe Hermes tbh)

Either ends up at home or in the hospital, and like the boys will come so this is between Tito/Lou idk who is more likely to suggest that to her. Heck maybe Stan. Or ya know maybe a medical professional—Minnie? Sweet? Idk this end part is really up in the air and I think depends on what happens in the previous part.

AL LEARNS ABOUT FEMINISM

While online gaming, Al is confronted by a female gamer who calls him out for being a chauvinist. He relates this experience to a friend who further calls him out. (Gogo)

Al wants to find out what the heck he is doing wrong. Don’t women have it good already? He seeks out a woman he knows who has a better education than him and a better job, because he was definitely qualified to get into a good school he just couldn’t ya know and he wants to find out /why/ women think they are at a disadvantage. (Nala)

Al can’t believe it! He tries to find a man whom he respects who agrees with Nala. (a man Al respects—Wade, idk. Who is a nerd here?)

Finally: write a NEW wish list for the upcoming half of the year. It’s fine if you use a lot from your previous wish list if you still haven’t completed them and you still want to!

1.       Family connections—leftover from my last list, but in the works as we speak mwhaha

2.       I know I have already had a few love triangles, but I want one where the two outer points are like actually close and would hate to hurt each other by picking the love interest (like Angelica-Eliza-Hamilton, tbh) ‘cuz the ones I have right now the two outer points don’t really care about each other remotely.

3.       POLYAMOROUS RELATIONSHIP—who knows, could be the solution to the above conflict haha.

4.       Threesome—I’ve been pitching this endlessly. Someone write a threesome with me.

5.       Explore Jake’s magic: I think his is the most undeveloped. I need an opportunity to bring it to light. I want him to either heroically help someone OR get in trouble and have to face the Dragon order repercussions, etc ,etc.