#i was supposed to have a psych appointment today but they called it off

[goatboard]

ah anxiety....

[hummingbird-of-light]

In Our Favor

Part 253

McCoy

McCoy sighed and looked away from Granddad.

“Nothing,” he answered quietly.

“That’s not true, and ye know better than to tell me lies,” Alasdair said, raising an eyebrow.

Warmth spread across McCoy’s face. He looked at the ground as they walked.

“There’s just been a lot lately. I know how to carry a lot on my shoulders, but when it’s my own worries and fears…” McCoy gave his head a shake.

“What are ye carrying lad?” Granddad asked gently. “Are ye letting Montgomery help?”

Another sigh. “I’ve got a flight class, and I- I’m scared of flying. I can fly and well, but I freeze up so often and let myself get in my own head…” The prince took a deep breath. “My instructor tries to help and he sent me to see a psych. My appointment yesterday was really heavy on top of trying to keep Scotty from reliving last year’s birthday.”

Granddad reached over and set his hand on McCoy’s shoulder. McCoy glanced over at the sudden warmth.

“Scotty helps,” McCoy said quietly. “He does what he can but I just wanted him to have a good birthday.”

“And he has. Ye just remember we’re here to help ye if ye need it. My lad isn’t the only one trying to not relive last year.” Alasdair gave McCoy a firm look.

“I know,” McCoy said softly. “Thank you.”

“Now yer highness, let’s get back and have some dinner.”

McCoy smiled and refrained from rolling his eyes.

Granddad always teased him with his title.

“Was Spock a bit off or was that just me?” McCoy asked Scotty when they were back in their room that evening.

“He was worried about ye,” Scotty said, muffled under the shirt he was taking off.

“Worried about me?” McCoy’s eyebrow raised in surprise.

“Aye. Ye two aren’t as close as ye once were, he noticed ye didn’t seem like yerself.”

“Oh.” McCoy kicked his shoes towards his desk and pulled off his own shirt. “That’s kind of him I guess.”

“Of course it is. Ye always say ye grew up together. He knows ye.” Scotty pulled back the covers on the bed. “Ye Georgiarians should stick together.” Scotty grinned at McCoy.

“Spock is Vulcan.”

“Maybe he was born there, but he grew up on Georgiares same as ye.”

McCoy settled into bed next to Scotty and tried not to roll his eyes.

“C’mere,” Scotty said and pulled McCoy close. “I think he misses knowing what ye’re up to. It’s got to be different to be here but not be yer bodyguard anymore.”

“I suppose,” McCoy agreed slowly. “I’ll make some effort to spend time with him.”

“Good. Now get the light and tell me about flight class today?”

McCoy stretched his arm out for the bedside lamp and sighed as he snuggled back in. He was safe in Scotty’s embrace and his anxious thoughts from the simulator wouldn’t be as bad with Scotty to help wave them away.

Part 254

Robbie

"What's the plan for the weekend? When do you want to leave?" King David gave his daughter and her boyfriend a questioning look as they all ate dinner together.

Leonard had organized for Robbie and Leah to travel to San Francisco to celebrate Scotty's birthday. Of course, they would be accompanied by some security people, but that shouldn't make the weekend together any less enjoyable.

"We figured we'd fly out tomorrow after Robbie's last class. We'll go to the hotel as soon as we arrive and meet Francine and Alasdair there and then we'll surprise Scotty with a breakfast together on Saturday," Leah explained. There was a smile on her lips and she gently squeezed Robbie's hand, which she held.

The young Scotsman nodded in agreement.

"In the afternoon, we'll celebrate in a small group with Scotty, Leonard and the others. Everyone has pooled together and rented an arcade where we can spend the time safely and undisturbed," he added and David nodded understandingly.

"That sounds like a well-planned trip."

"I really wish we could congratulate Scotty in person, but unfortunately your father has some work to do," Eleanor said, giving first Leah and then Robbie an apologetic look.

"It's no big deal, Eleanor. Scotty was very happy to get yer call on his birthday. And I'm sure he and Leonard will come to Georgiares over Christmas and ye can make up for the personal congratulations then," Robbie reassured the queen.

"I'm sure you're right. Well... I hope you enjoy yourselves in any case."

Even though Eleanor was smiling softly, Robbie could see great concern in her eyes. She didn't want her daughter to stray so far from the safety of the palace after what had happened some time ago. They had almost lost Leah to an attack.

And even Robbie couldn't deny that he felt uneasy at the thought of Leah and him being protected by just a few security guards. It was unusual.

But Leah just grinned.

"We will, Mother! I'm really looking forward to the weekend."

"Oh, Robbie, I can't wait for the weekend!" Leah's cheeks were beaming as she and Robbie walked into their room. She quickly wrapped her arms around her boyfriend and pressed a kiss to his lips.

Robbie chuckled softly and ran a hand through the princess's hair.

"I'm happy too, mo chridhe. But... are ye sure we shouldn't take a few more security members with us?"

He hadn't wanted to bring it up at dinner because it was a matter he should discuss with Leah alone.

His girlfriend blinked in surprise.

"What, why?"

Robbie just sighed and shrugged.

"I don't know. It just... seems safer to me."

But Leah only shook her head with a smile.

"Stop worrying, sweetie. Everything will be fine. After all, we have the best team in the palace with us. No one can have anything on us as long as the A-Team is by our side."

Robbie nodded.

"Aye. Aye, ye're right about that."

Everything would be fine.

[coridallasmultipass]

Vent personal medical long post

Im so fucking sick of being in such bad back pain, nothing is going right for me

I was ready to go to the store for groceries bright and early, but I have to wait for a medication delivery which usually comes between 10-12. This means I have to be sitting downstairs the entire time, since I physically cannot reach the door fast enough if im in my upstairs room. (Even when I'm not injured, its been a problem!)

My mom, grandpa, and I all need the store. But I can't go, even if we take two trips (mom takes grandpa, comes back and takes me), because in the past when we had to do this, granpda decided to go hang out in the garage and not notice the delivery. So i HAVE to be home and ready until it arrives.

Its fucking bullshit that the online pharmacy REQUIRES signature for delivery (they didnt for my first couple shipments, ive been on this med for a while now). Its an ability issue because the delivery people dont wait around more than like 30 seconds. Its a convenience issue because then I have to block out my whole day just in case they come late. (I took a chance and made a phone appointment for 240pm).

So i wait all fucking day. 240 rolls around (my mom downstairs said shed listen for the delivery) and id been waiting in the only place i Know gets cell reception in my room and i dont get the call. 15 minutes later, I get a voicemail notif. Fucking great. I never got the call because i live in a fucking deadzone. I have to get up and lean over my counter and plants to get mildly better reception by the window (i am injured and this was extremely painful for my back). Appointment finished thankfully, but i didnt tell the psych how bad i am rn, because i did not have the energy to stand at the window longer than needed to get refills.

Still no delivery. My mom takes grandpa to the store. My back is all aggravated from sitting on the hard/no back support chairs downstairs all day (i cant go to the couch because its too hard to get up from while im hurting/its hard even when im not hurting because its got the footstool added onto it so its like as long as a bed)

So i sit downstairs more while crying because the pain is getting worse, but no one else was home so i had to. They return and my mom is like 'okay lemme take you now' uh, no!! Grandpa isnt gonna sit around for it. And also. Im hurting way too much, i physically cannot go to a grocery store at this point after sitting with no back support all day and twisting over my plants for the phone.

Mom says shell listen for the door again bc i cannot sit downstairs any more. I get maybe 5 minutes and my back starts to relax a little and my mom comes and goes 'i gotta go get gas so i cant listen for the door'

FUCK, MAN. WHY DIDNT YOU DO IT WHILE YOU GOT GROCERIES?! To top it off, she pushed in the chair i was sitting in (its extremely painful to twist! So pulling it out to sit is super hard for me!) I sit there and its unfuckingbearable i see a ups truck drive around our private street and leave, so theyre probably not coming today, and im in excruciating pain so i go back to my room crying and shaking lmao

My mom gets annoyed with me for complaining about the chair (AGAIN!) And rolls her eyes when i say she shouldve got gas before, like

Fuck off man i am in such bad pain i should be in the fucking er right now

If id known id be downstairs all day i wouldve taken a pain killer but its too fucking late in the day for me to take one now because i gotta take 2 different sleeping meds to get any sleep at all and i dont want them to interact

I fucking hate everything about this man

Oh, and i was gonna contact verizon support about being in a deadzone but it was like "lets fix dropped calls. We recommend: Call us now!" DID YOU NOT SEE THE PART ABOUT DROPPED CALLS. The only other option was to instant message and i dont have the spoons for that right now, i just wanted to send like an email ticket or something

Im supposed to be in a 5g area but its literally a deadzone in my whole house and property, no bars of reception at all, and this isnt a mountainous part of town! Ughhhh

I hate not having the ability to do all of this normally, having an injury is making everything Nightmare Mode difficulty. Having tmj treatment (teeth aligners and mouth guard) is making eating a Nightmare Mode task. Even chewing soft ramen was excruciating. I cant physically cook because of my back and im out of easy food (see: planned grocery trip for today which never happened) so its like. Okay. Guess im not having dinner. Especially not after how badly my back got aggravated today.

And guess what. Im gonna have to do it all again tomorrow now since the delivery isnt gonna happen today. Ill take a painkiller tomorrow, but the uncomfortable chairs is a fact of life i will not be able to escape, since i HAVE to be able to reach the door in like 30 seconds.

All of this couldve been prevented if theyd just let me get a no signature delivery. Its a private street no one comes all the way up to our house, like the only mail theft we had was at the mailboxes on the main street (before we got a locked one).

I COULD call the pharmacy next time to ask, but then were back to the issue of trying to make a phonecall from this house! I had issues last month where i couldnt log in to order my rx because they wanted 2fa and because i live in a dead zone i couldnt get the confirmation texts or calls! It SUCKS. (And i cant do wifi calling because our internet is shit and has like a 5 second lag)

Life has been so fucking miserable for me for like the past 2 months and the last 2 weeks have been even worse because of my back going out and its not getting better.

I cant get into physical therapy because the local place isnt accepting new patients! So like. Thats great. Dunno what i can do about that since i cant go out of town.

Im seeing the chiro but i couldnt get in today because i had the rx delivery and phone appointment lmao (also i was really hurting after the last visit)

Guess im just supposed to suffer lmao

This shit is fucking ridiculous and im so sick of it

The sad thing is that it could be worse. Its been a few months since my last endo flare up and i havent been able to stop worrying about that looming spectre either

That really would be the fucking cherry on top lmao

But the back injury situation is sadder because its something that CAN be treated, its just that treatment is unattainable for me due to living in a small rural town and not having a car. I dunno if i even could drive in this much pain tbh its hard enough being a passenger

So thats my vent. Things really fucking suck for me rn. I just want today to be over. Im in too much pain.

[cakesexuality]

Okay, so, healthcare update!!

Isn't entirely "estrogen is slapping" material but I'm using that tag anyway!!

I gave an update 2 days ago (Monday) for 8 months Lupron, 1 month add-back where I said the receptionist was gonna get back to me about who my anesthesiologist was

I called again yesterday (Tuesday) and found out I hadn't been referred to any specific anesthesiologist but rather to the pool of anesthesia doctors at the hospital and the hospital would pick a doctor for me rather than getting one my gynecologist had in mind (which, I've had this experience with psychiatrists before where I get referred to the department as a whole and the hospital assigns a doctor to me, as opposed to my GP writing a referral for one specific psychiatrist, so it made sense)

I got the call today (Wednesday) from the pre-admission clinic saying that they have a spot for me to do my anesthesia consult!! I'm going to the hospital in a couple weeks for the consult and hopefully they deem it safe for me to have a laparoscopy!!

I talked to my dietitian today about my ED and as well as about my Lupron

She's going to reach out to the first ED program I was referred to bc she's confused as to why they said the things they said (like weeding out the foods that make me sick before I'm allowed to start treatment) and she's concerned about them acting like I'm a one-off unusual case bc she says she has multiple other clients who have eating issues that come from the same place that mine do (looking for control in relation to a chronic illness), plus I signed a consent form for the hospital to contact my dietitian (who asked me to let the hospital know she wanted to be in contact with them when she found out I was referred back in February) and she never heard from them

Since I didn't start add-back until 7 months on Lupron and you're not supposed to be on Lupron longer than 6 months without add-back, we talked a bit about my bone density and I'm already taking a vitamin D supplement, so she wants me to spend a bit of time tracking how much calcium I eat in a span of about 3 days in order to decide if I need a calcium supplement too, and she said that if doing the math myself is too triggering then I can just take pictures of the nutrition facts to email to her instead

Literally one of the goals she assigned me is to order delivery!! She was happy to hear about a couple months ago when I kept getting overwhelmed with options while ordering food online one evening but pushed through and got myself a lil pizza treat and I was proud of myself for doing that, so she wants me to try that again and to challenge myself like that more often

Another goal she gave me is to have frozen meals in the freezer to help cut down on decision-making for times where I can't push through the overwhelm I might feel around having to create a meal

I also got a call this week from a 2nd ED program who had an assessment appointment for me for June, but then the receptionist realised I'm not able to get to their clinic in-person, so she's going to double-check with the intake worker to make sure there weren't mistakes about who they serve and to find out if I can do it either from home or from an OTN room in town here

ALSO today, I got a call from the hospital where I had a psych appointment go wrong a couple weeks ago where I spoke to the patient relations person as well as the head of Mental Health

The head of Mental Health tried to say that the doctor didn't want to give me a depot bc I have MDD and they're for people who have a hard time staying on oral meds but like... I have more than MDD, we don't know what exactly but clearly something else is there if I'm having psychosis outside of depressive episodes... and yes I am taking my oral meds but it's a fucking STRUGGLE to do so on too many nights (like, taking until as late as 2:30am sometimes to be able to convince myself and then my sleep schedule is all off from delaying my Seroquel for so long) and it just so happens that my AP is usually the most difficult one to get myself to take

And then I asked what the psychiatrist's receptionist meant about telling my diagnosis to a drug manufacturer and the head of Mental Health said that that's not a thing and there would be no reason to disclose that to a manufacturer and that the receptionist was making stuff up

I'm gonna be talking to my CMHA worker tomorrow and we're gonna work together on a letter describing my psychotic symptoms to give to my doctors to help them understand what I'm going through bc of the fact that my psychosis doesn't fit the way other people are telling me it is (like whether it's exclusive to my depressive episodes or how long each psychotic episode lasts) and I feel like I didn't explain it very well to my GP when I saw her last week bc I wasn't prepared to have that conversation and there were a lot of symptoms I couldn't immediately think of off the top of my head

[wri0thesley]

A Well Rounded Education (1): Suspension (Fem!Reader x Toji Fushiguro, 5k)

series synopsis: You are a teacher’s aid to teacher Gojo Satoru, training to be able to take over your own class next year by shadowing and helping him out. Gojo does not make things easy for anybody.

chapter synopsis: One of your favourite students has been suspended for fighting, and Gojo has palmed off the meeting with his guardian to go through all of the paperwork and facts and conditions on you. “Don’t worry,” Gojo says. “It’ll be Megumi’s sister, she always takes care of this kind of stuff!”. Gojo is wrong.

NSFW. AFAB reader, fem pronouns. dom/sub dynamics, light fearplay and predator/prey elements. piv sex.

(a well rounded education m.list and navigation)

1.

“I’ve got all these other parents to deal with,” Gojo whines at you, pushing the papers into your hands. “And I hate paperwork, and I don’t have time to meet with Megumi’s family today – hell, if it were up to me, the kid wouldn’t even be suspended! Those guys had it coming!”

Gojo is not a very good teacher. Both of you know that – no matter how justified – violence never solves violence. Gojo, you think, would let these kids fight it out in an arena instead of solving things like an adult. You heave a large sigh as you look down at the papers detailing Megumi Fushiguro’s three-day suspension for fighting during school hours.

You’d seen Megumi before he’d gone home. He hadn’t had so much as a scratch on him; his face set in a frown, his arms crossed, his eyes downcast. You’d sighed at him and asked him if he was alright, and he’d shrugged.

He’s not a very talkative boy at the best of times, and you suppose that the suspension and the fight and the mini uproar it had caused in the school aren’t helping be any more verbose. You’d said goodbye to him and said that you hoped he thought about what had transpired today, your heart aching a little bit that you couldn’t be any more help to him.

You’d seen the three boys Megumi had got into a fight with, too. They had not gotten off so scot-free – they were bleeding noses, scraped cheeks, bruised eyes. At the very least, you don’t think any of them will get on Megumi’s wrong side again.

Gojo has to meet with all three of their parents tonight to give them the full story of why their children are so roughed up and what’s being done about it; a position that’s been doled out to him, you’re sure, because Principal Masamichi blames him for the incident and is punishing him. You can’t deny that seeing Gojo actually get punished for something is nice, but--

“Won’t they be mad to see me instead of you?” You ask him, biting your lip. “I mean . . . you’re his teacher. I’m just your aid.”

“Oh,” Gojo’s eyebrows rise behind his glasses. “No, it’ll be Megumi’s sister who’ll come, she’s a sweetheart! She’ll nod at you and say mournfully that she’ll talk to him and you’ll give her the paperwork, and that’s all – job done! Honestly, if I could palm this off on you and talk to Tsumiki instead, I’d do it in a heartbeat--”

“This is your job,” you tell him, exasperated, and he laughs wide and open. You’re not really supposed to get like this with him – if he were any other teacher, you’re sure that the exasperation and sighing and half-snapping you do would have had you thrown out of their class – but Gojo treats your irritation with him as if it’s the funniest thing that has ever happened. “You’re supposed to be good at dealing with this kind of thing!”

He shrugs.

“You’ll be fine!” He tells you, again. “Honestly, this isn’t the first time this has happened with Megumi and it won’t be the last. That kid’s got a right hook that could knock out an elephant!”

You do not ask him how he knows this. Asking too many questions of Gojo is always flirting with danger; you never know when his mouth will flash into a grin and you’ll suddenly be barraged with a flood of words and stories that don’t quite make sense and never seem to have a concrete end. But you can’t resist one last question – just in case it comes up. After all, it seems that Gojo has spoken to Tsumiki enough times for him to at least kind of know her--

“His sister?”

Gojo looks at you, and for a moment the shroud of capricious energy lifts from him, and he seems entirely serious. You’ve noticed this particular change in him only a few times – and often, those times have been about the more difficult backstories of students.

“His father isn’t around very often,” he says, eventually. “He’s some kind of something or other, Megumi never really says, but whatever he does, there’s a lot of travelling involved. Tsumiki’s his older sister – she’s twenty one, and she’s been more of a parent to him than it seems like his dad has.”

No wonder Megumi always seems suspicious and tired of Gojo. Something about his flighty nature probably strokes the back of Megumi’s psyche, where annoyances about an absent father are kept. You sigh, turning away and shaking your head to rid yourself of the idea of psychoanalysing the students.

“Alright,” you say wearily. “I’ll talk to Tsumiki.”

2.

You’re nervous as you set up for the meeting. You know Gojo had said that this would be easy, that Tsumiki was very sweet and would probably apologise to you for Megumi being a problem – but still! This is the first time you’ve ever met any of your students’ guardian figures in any capacity. You feel kind of bad that it had to be for this kind of news, actually – ordinarily, you like Megumi a lot. He’s very intense and serious and clever, and you think that he has a bright future ahead of him when the trials of being a twelve year old boy finally are over – but this meeting isn’t for saying things like that. This meeting is for giving details of the three day suspension that Megumi has gotten for – you check the paperwork again – fighting three boys by himself on one of the sports courts, making them bleed and . . . breaking one of their arms? No wonder Gojo had seemed so miserable at the thought of meeting with the victims’ parents.

You sigh, running a hand through your hair, making sure that it still sits as neatly as you’d arranged it that morning. You check the clock to see you still have two minutes before anyone is due – you discreetly check your lipstick in a compact mirror (yesterday you’d had it on your teeth and you hadn’t realised until Mai had pointed it out with a laugh in her voice), smooth out your pencil skirt, tug at your stockings to make sure they’re pulled up and not wrinkling about your ankles . . .

And then, you wait.

The clock is straight across from you, so you’re able to see as Tsumiki is five minutes late, and then ten minutes late, and then fifteen. The tick-tock echoes in the room as your leg bounces against the floor, anxiety making you want to gnaw all of the carefully applied lipstick off of your mouth. From what Gojo had said, this doesn’t sound like Tsumiki at all – you’re just about to give up and pack all of your things away, figuring maybe she’d called into the office to say she couldn’t make it and telling you had been neglected, when the door slams open.

You rush to your feet, your sensible heels clacking on the ground.

“Miss Fushi--”

Your voice peters away.

The person stood in the doorway is, you’re certain, absolutely not Tsumiki Fushiguro.

For one thing, it’s a man. For another thing . . . well. You’re not entirely sure that a man with that expression on his face would ever be described to anyone as a ‘sweetheart’. Your frightened eyes linger on him for another moment, really taking in the broad shoulders and the muscles and the hair falling over his face, the dark, green eyes that are glaring at you like you’ve interrupted something very important. There’s a scar by his mouth that you also do your best not to stare at, just in the same way you avoid staring at how the form-fitting t-shirt he’s wearing clings to a muscled abdomen.

“It’s Mr, actually,” he says, which seems absurd in the face of him, standing there. He raises one eyebrow at you. “You were expecting my daughter, right?”

(You don’t know it, but Toji Fushiguro has gotten a read on you in less than a moment. He’s seen the wide eyes and the pretty mouth and the neatly appointed outfit, the pencil tucked behind your ear, the slightest tremble faced with his imposing presence – the fear as you’d seen the scar and the smoulder and the body. You’re adorable.)

“I . . . uuh--” Your cheeks are hot. You nod, weakly, and he walks into the room proper, the door swinging shut behind him with a deafening click. There’s danger in every one of this man’s movements, like a wolf who has finally cornered a little rabbit. You are feeling inexorably like prey, at this moment in time.

“I was expecting a man,” he says, shrugging. He sits at the chair in front of Gojo’s desk, pulled up just for him. He looks huge in the classroom; his shoulders too wide, his biceps bulging from the sleeve of the shirt. You don’t think this man was intending to be in a school classroom right now. “I guess you’re not Mr Gojo, huh? Gotta say,” he shoots you a grin that’s dangerous, everything about him is threatening. “I much prefer this development.”

“Oh,” you’re blustering, and it’s so cute. You sit back down in the chair with a quiet displacement of air, agitation in your fingers as you rake through the papers on the desk. Said desk is incredibly messy; Toji doesn’t think it’s yours. He ought to feel mad that they’ve palmed him off on some little assistant who’s probably not even fully qualified yet – instead, he’s watching your hands trembling and your teeth nibbling on your pretty mouth. “Y-yes, G-Gojo’s dealing with the parents of the other party--”

“My kid got into a fight, yeah?” He asks. “Decked ‘em pretty good, from what I heard.” You wince at his words, and that’s cute too.

“Megumi’s a good boy,” you say. “He’s just . . . got his own sense of justice, I think.” You look down at the papers, and your eyes seem to focus, back in a more comforting zone. “He’s been suspended for three days, and when he comes back, he’s on probation.”

“What’s that mean for him?” Toji asks, promptly, though something about the way he says it suggests to you he doesn’t really care. There’s a lightness, an airiness in his tone that sets you all off-kilter.

“It just means we’ll probably keep an especial eye on him. He’ll get a report that’ll need signing off on at the end of every period, someone will check up on it--” You see one of Gojo’s scrawled notes in the margin of the paperwork. You wince. “I’ll be in charge of it, actually. Making sure everyone’s happy with his behaviour for a few weeks--”

“How old are you, sweetheart?”

The question makes you jump. You’re like a doe in headlights, looking up at him. You blink slowly.

“I—I don’t think that’s an appropriate question, Mr Fushiguro,” you say, prim. That’s cute, too. He likes breaking prim and proper things like you. “I’m—I’m doing my training. I’m working as an aid here for a year, and then I’ll be qualified to be in charge of my own class.” There’s a hint of pride in your words, there.

“Toji,” he says. “That’s my name. You haven’t gotta call me ‘Mr Fushiguro’. I’m not tryna’ be pushy,” but he’s inched forward. His elbows are resting on Gojo’s desk, in front of you – he rests his chin on his folded hands, sharp eyes regarding you as if you’re something he wants to devour. “Y’just look tense.”

“This is the first time I’ve met a student’s parent,” you admit, though the minute it’s left your mouth you’re regretting it. Like you’re admitting to some kind of weakness. This close to him, you can see there’s a dark red stain on one of his wrists, like dried blood. Your stomach is tying itself in knots. It’s not helping that his forearms are so big, ridged with muscle.

“That so?” His eyes gleam. “What d’ya think of me?”

You don’t actually need to answer him. He can see it in the way your eyes keep nervously skimming over him. The way your lips are shining in the light. The bob of your throat as you swallow.

“Mr Fushiguro--”

“I told you to call me Toji,” his voice is almost mocking. You watch him lean over the table like you’re somewhere far away from the action – watch his hand reach out and cup your face, calloused thumb brushing your cheek, like you’re a ghost in the corner of the room. His palms feel like they’re burning hot. “You’re tremblin’, little lamb.”

You had thought you’d felt like a rabbit – shy, ready to run at any moment. But the moment his hand is on you, you’re docile – too scared to scamper away. You suppose you are like a lamb, staring a wolf straight on in the face, too stupid or too pliant to use your common sense and run.

“I . . . I shouldn’t,” you say, voice trembling just as much as the rest of you. Toji’s smirk hasn’t left his face. You’re saying you shouldn’t, but he just bets if he reached further down and unbuttoned your blouse, your nipples would pebble for him – he just bets there’s a wet stain on your underwear, right now. He can always tell when someone’s turned on by the idea of playing with fire.

“I wouldn’t mind spendin’ a few weeks with you in charge of me,” he muses, and then chuckles humourlessly, correcting himself. “Sorry. Lemme rephrase that. I’d rather be in charge of you, but--”

Oh, he sees that. The little flash in your eyes, an imperceptible contract of your shoulders. If you weren’t behind the desk, he bets he’d have seen your thighs press together too. Girls like you are just so fucking predictable, and he loves it every single time. There’s just something that’s so much fun about breaking them – making them submit, admit that him being so close with the scent of something-that-might-be-death clinging to him turns them on like nothing else. Your attempts at being haughty and polite and proud have just made the stirring between his thighs harder to ignore. You’re such a cute, neat, demure little thing – by the end of this meeting, he’s going to have his way with you, you bet.

“M-Mr Fushiguro,” you say, trying to wrest back control of yourself – honestly, he’s pissed you aren’t listening to him, but the title’s kind of endearing. You’re trying so hard! Pity you’re going to lose all of your manners when you’re bent over this desk with his cock inside you. You haven’t even moved your face away from his hand. “I-I have to give you these papers.”

He stands up, pulling his own touch away from your cheek. Stretches. Your eyes are drawn to the brief expanse of his stomach, just above his trousers – the dark line of hair leading down to . . . Oh, God. You shouldn’t have thought about that. The grin on his face is cocky, and you know that he knows you were looking.

“I’m just gonna throw ‘em in the trash, sweetheart,” he says to you. “Now. Let’s talk about the elephant in the room, yeah?” He steps closer to you. You totter to your feet, half-unsure, half driven by the low ache between your legs and the thrum of desire that’s been reverberating through you since the moment he’d carelessly thrown out how much happier he was to see you than Gojo. You have to tilt your head up a little when he comes closer. You’d thought you realised how massive he was when he’d walked through the door, but that’s nothing compared to how his size seems to dwarf you. Every unkind thought you’ve ever had about your body or your face seems to have gone out of the window as his heated green gaze hungrily drinks you in. You know it’s the stare of some predator who’s going to devour you, and you still feel transformed. Your breath catches in your throat as his hand idly comes to the top of your blouse buttons, a finger brushing the place in your throat where your pulse is beating its unsteady rhythm.

“Whaddya say, little lamb?” He grins down at you. “Gonna let yourself be caught by the big bad wolf?”

You’re supposed to be telling this man about his son’s misbehaviour, giving him all of the paperwork that Gojo had thrust at you, getting him to say he’ll talk to his kid and try and make sure that it won’t happen again. You shouldn’t be tipping your head back further, letting his fingertips lodge dangerously in the hollow of your throat, flirting with the place where your windpipe is. You shouldn’t be breathing out, all of your pretty prissiness and good morals and pride disappearing where you stand in the face of one of your students’ really hot dad.

“Yes,” you breathe.

And Toji wastes no time.

3.

He doesn’t even bother unbuttoning your blouse; just drags his hand down, and the buttons pop off, scattering on the floor. You gasp at the show of strength, and Toji is still grinning, clearly enjoying that you’re admiring him. His hand pulls at the fabric, until your breasts are fair falling out of it, the blouse wrestles off your skin.

“You’re wearin’ something like this at work?” He asks you, giving a tug to the gore of your bra. You hadn’t done enough washing this week, and the one you’re wearing is all filmy white lace. “Almost like you knew I was comin’ huh?” His grin is crooked. You tremble as you reach behind you, undoing the clasp – and for that, you get a murmur of ‘good girl’ that has your knees turning to jelly.

He whistles as the bra drops from you, his gaze admiring. He takes in the spill of your breasts, the little peaks of your nipples. He takes handfuls of them, squeezing them in his big hands, his fingertips digging in so painfully you can imagine that you’ll have bruises in the shape of his fingers tomorrow. The idea doesn’t disgust you.

He lowers his head to kiss you. He’s not gentle with you for a moment – his teeth immediately nip at your bottom lip, kissing you hungrily like you’re the first taste of sugar for a man who’s lived on nothing but bread for months. His tongue licks at your lips, begging entrance – dancing against your own when you helplessly open those same lips, demanding in the exact same way Toji is.

He pinches your nipple between thumb and forefinger, delighting in how quickly the bud hardens. He rolls it between them, toying with it, enjoying the soft noises you make that get caught in his mouth. If he wasn’t kissing you, he thinks, you’d be bleating like a lamb right now. Huffing and whimpering. When he finally gets his cock in you, he’ll have to remember to clap a hand over your mouth so you don’t attract too much attention.

Your other nipple is given the same treatment, hot lightning bolts of pleasure ricocheting from the touch of Toji’s calloused fingers to the spot between your legs. You’re grateful for how solid Toji is – if he were any less so, you’re sure you’d be buckling over where you stand.

He pulls back with a final, marking nip to your lower lip, almost hard enough to make you bleed. You whine, and a dark chuckle spills out of his lips in response.

“Toji,” you whimper as he pulls away. You miss the feel of his body pressed against yours like a physical ache. His hands encircle your thighs, pushing you up onto the edge of Gojo’s desk, clever fingers already pushing your tight pencil skirt up so it’s bunched around your waist.

He kind of misses ‘Mr Fushiguro’ now it’s gone, but the sight of your stockings digging into your thighs soon chases the thought from his mind. He guesses your skirt is more than long and tight enough to make sure nobody gets a glimpse, but oh . . . that you’d be walking around all day, like that, with nobody to fuck you silly--

He can’t help but let his hands knead the soft skin, the flesh, his thumbs imprinting so hard in the plush that you squirm. He’s pressing your thighs apart, now – revealing the modest underwear, the soaking wet patch where he can see the outline of your plump labia lips.

With your legs spread, he can smell how turned on you are. Oh, yeah – he knows your type, alright.

“Ain’t you cute?” He says, chuckling. “You really want me to do you over this desk?”

“You can’t leave me like this--” Your voice is reedy, breathy, almost petulant – at another time, he’d make you beg for it. He’d take his time over you. But although the idea of being caught fucking the cute little teacher’s aid is briefly appealing, he doesn’t really want to make a whole load of trouble for himself when his cock is practically begging to be sheathed inside your wet holes. “Please--”

It’s the please that does it. It’s always the ‘please’ that does it for Toji. He chuckles, smirks, crooked grin – all of it feels like it’s mixing together in your mind, your throat very dry as nothing seems to matter right now except the fact that your sex is practically pulsing with how empty it is, and you think that the hot hard stiffness pressing against your thighs would really help alleviate some of that.

“Aww,” he says, fiddling with his zip and underwear, grabbing his cock and giving it a cursory pump just so you can admire the sheer size of him. “Don’t worry, little lamb. I’ll give ya what you need.”

He gets what he wants. Your eyes, as big and dark as the eyes of a doe – the soft choke of breath as you get to see the size of it, so big his own fingertips don’t quite meet. It’s the kind of cock that could ruin you for somebody else – and you’ve had sex before, of course, but you’ve never taken anything quite like that--

“That’s cute,” Toji murmurs, pressing forward, nestling his slick cock-head between your soaking wet thighs. “Wish you could have seen what a picture your face made just then. Afraid I’m gonna tear you in two?”

He might – he might, you think. But you pout at him and Toji’s cock throbs, as he glides the slick glans through the mess of your arousal, wetting himself even further. Your breath hitches, your hips doing a cute little jerk as it brushes your swollen clit. He can’t help himself but swirl the head over it some more, making your breath catch and whine, bleating like a little lamb--

He sinks his hips forward, and your fingers flex on the edge of the desk, knuckles white, at the relentless sear of his cock driving you open. You feel so stretched out, and he’s barely a third of the way in – he can’t help but watch your expression. He always likes to see someone the first time they’re impaled on his cock – the glassy eyes, slack jaw, the pleasure-cum-pain in their faces. He wants to take a picture of you and keep it in his wallet so he can pump one out to the sight of you when he’s on business trips and too busy to go out and find himself a hole to fuck.

“How’s that feel?” He asks you, so soft and low that you barely catch it. Another slow inch. He lets you feel every ridge, every vein, every bump of his shaft. You can hear your heartbeat in your ears.

“F-full—” you gasp.

“I bet,” Toji replies – and then, he bottoms out inside you. His eyes look down to where the two of you are joined; the slick fluid leaking out of you, all heat and needy. “You fit me like a glove.”

Your cheeks heat at the compliment, at the lewd way he’s looking at your spread open cunt – the way your hole is fluttering around him, the peeking pearl of your clit. He’s studying you like he wants to learn you by heart.

“Head’s up,” he says. “I’m gonna fuck you now.”

You’re about to open your mouth, and ask him what he’s doing right at that moment if he hasn’t started fucking you yet – but then, he’s dragged almost the entire length of his cock out of you in one savage thrust and is immediately spearing it back into you, his pace brutal. Your eyes roll to the back of your head, your back hitting the solid, flat surface of Gojo’s desk so that you’re flat out with your thighs wrapped around Toji’s hips.

If he weren’t so entranced by the feel of your walls fluttering around him, trying to suck him in further and deeper, so tight that you’re basically a vice, he’d grab you by your hair and force you to stay seated whilst he fucked you. But right now, you feel so good that all he can think about is his own release. The wet sounds of his cock gliding in and out of you, the squelch of your arousal and slick making every pump easier and easier. You feel so good. You’re tighter than he even imagined you could be, so good that he kind of wants to take you home and have you take up permanent residence in his bed.

You’re moaning, your back arching with every one of his thrusts – taking it admirably. There’s pain in your moans, yes – he supposes he could have prepared you better, had you come on his fingers a couple of times, if time were not of the essence – but they’re the pained moans of someone who likes to be hurt a little bit.

With every rock of his cock inside of you, he hits some new spot that you’ve never had stoked before, makes the heat and need inside of you swim just a little bit closer to the forefront. You don’t even notice you’re moaning and whining until a big hand slaps over your mouth, rough, hot palm against your lips, smearing your lipstick.

“You’re gonna be a good girl and stay quiet,” Toji says to you, through those savage thrusts of his cock inside of you. “You don’t want your . . . your fuckin’ . . . anyone walkin’ in on you being railed by your student’s dad, do you?” You shake your head, but he feels the throb of your cunt around his cock, the way your walls contract, and he adds it to the store of things he’s learning about you. Always the quiet ones, right? Always the proper ones who look as though they’ve never even seen a cock--

The feel of him inside you is absolutely dizzying, so much and so full that you can no longer think. His cock batters against a certain place in your channel, a textured wall – and before you know it, everything is going dizzy and black and white like exploding fireworks, your chest bursting into heat, your inner walls getting so tight around Toji as you come that he thinks you’ll be the one to fucking break him.

Oh, you’re adorable, creaming on his cock – the slick gush of your arousal around him, the dreamy cast in your eye, the fact he can feel you drooling against his palm. He increases the speed of his own thrusts, chasing his release through the weak aftershocks and smaller pulses of you around him, through the over-sensitive squirming of your cute little cunt, the fact that tears are pooling in your eyes at how much everything is suddenly feeling--

He groans and the hand still clinging to your thigh is suddenly pressing so hard you think he’ll snap your bone, ragged breath;

“Fu—fuuuck, sweetheart, you’re gonna take it all, that’s right, good girl--” in between belaboured, ragged pumps, his cock twitching as he manages to pull out at the last moment and his release spills all over your thighs, luridly glistening wet in the overhead fluorescent lights.

That’s another moment he’d take a picture of, if he could.

He’s not the kind of man who waits around. He gives himself ten seconds, to catch his breath, to admire your plush thighs painted with his come, before he’s tucking himself back into his trousers and zipping zippers and doing buttons. He shoves his hands into his pockets, bouncing on the balls of his feet for a second – double checking he’s left nothing of his in the classroom.

Yep. All clear.

He turns to leave, air of cocky confidence back – you only just see the shifting muscles in his back as he turns to go, leaving you where you are. You’re lucky he’s so tall, or you’d probably barely have seen him in front of the door frame (you didn’t even lock the door, anyone could have walked in at any time! You don’t even want to know what Gojo would say if he’d walked in to his aid being fucked like a slut across his desk).

“W-wait,” you say, weakly, still sprawled over the desk with his come cooling on your thighs. You manage to prop yourself up on your elbows, but your entire body feels like it’s just taken a battering. He takes a look back at you from the door, dragging a big hand through his hair, his crooked grin still on his face. You look so pretty like that – all fucked out and messy, the shine taken off of you. “T-the paperwork--”

You’re not sure where said paperwork is. Underneath you, maybe? You hope it didn’t get soaked.

“Told ya’,” he says, dismissively. “I’m just gonna throw it in the trash. Thanks for the fun, sweetheart. See y’around, huh? I should do stuff for the kid’s academic career more often.”

The door slams shut behind him.

[restforthe-burdenedsoul]

I have my psych appointment tomorrow. Still not sure if I want to ask for anti depressants.

I haven’t felt this low in a while. Its def a mix between not having taken my anxiety meds and situational depression. The loneliness is really getting to me.

I haven’t matched with anyone on bumble in a while and the ones I was talking to all ghosted. I have little positive to say to my friends anymore so we also haven’t been talking much.

I have little positive to say here either. Or in this post.

Since M’s grandmother came to the states, i see less of him. The entire family unit relies on him. We were supposed to go shopping for apartment stuff tonight after he dropped her off midway to the aunts house. I was gonna go along on the ride because I didn’t wanna be home alone again for the umpteenth time in a row but she apparently got a flat tire and can’t meet him halfway.

So he’s now expected to drive her the full almost 2 hour (one way) drive because no one can watch her this week. And If he puts his foot down and says no, then I’ll REALLY be alone cause the responsibility of watching her will fall back on him.

I asked why couldn’t any of the cousins get her? They don’t drive and one is married. She’s married and her husband has a car, but they don’t dare disrupt them. So it’ll be M’s responsibility like always.

And not be a selfish bitch, but like, do they just forget he has a life too, that he’s almost married as well? That I get to see him maybe two hours a day? But by all means, don’t disrupt anyone else’s life.

I know he’s sick of it too. He’s worn out and gets zero time to himself. His days off are taken over by his family.

And I’m the opposite. Too much time by myself. I can’t find enough things to fill the space. So I just cry all the time now. I’m not eating much anymore. Still not losing weight despite not eating. It’s too damn hot to go outside and at least walk. He has my car when he’s helping out with his grandmom so I can’t go anywhere. Friends are busy and can’t do phone calls. My mom and I have nothing to say to each other even when I try to call. I don’t know what happened to my friend who lives in Florida and would actually make the drive here. And the other won’t make the drive and I haven’t been up to making the drive either lately.

I don’t know how to find a solution for this. Any boundary that could possibly be set literally just backfires onto him. No one wants to step up to help out. His mom watches her in the evenings (she was finally able to book a trip away because his aunt was taking her this week). The cousins helped for like 2 weeks and then stopped helping. The aunt leaves midway through her “shift” when M is off and then she’s alone for hours until either M comes over or his mom gets off work.

There’s been too many scares with his grandmom to leave her alone at this point. So I can’t even tell him to just leave her because what if she got hurt?

—-

This apartment feels a little better at least in the sense that there’s separation from my office. I don’t feel like I am always in my office anymore. The downstairs is huge, the bedroom is huge, and my office door is closed when I’m not working.

I’m just bummed because M and I were going out after we dropped his grandmom off and now I will just be here by myself instead. He should be home around 930/10. My friend said she’ll try to FaceTime me around 9.

—

Also adding that my car cannot fit three people. So even the times I’m off and would like to be with him and his grandmother, I cannot fit in my tiny “backseat”. Like I’d do the drive with them today but that’s over 3 hours. And I’m not trading my car In because they can’t get their ish together. He already traded his car in for a motorcycle to help out for other reasons and that was already a ridiculous thing to do. 🙄

[eddieheart]

FORGOTTEN

Fandom: Prodigal Son

Pairing: none

Words: 1800

Description: Ainsley and Malcolm aren’t the only Whitley children.

She watched the news every night, ever since Ainsley Whitley got her own segment. Gwen was enthralled by this woman, her sister. She was adopted as a child she knew that.

Her first family was amazing, up until the age of six she'd had a normal, lovely childhood. But then her parents died in a car accident and she was put into foster care.

She had a long list of abusive homes, her last one was the worst. She had to watch from the closet as her foster parents killed a man and hid his body in garbage bags.

She didn't like to think about that though. It had been a closed adoption, but once she turned 18 she had it unsealed and began the hunt for her birth parents.

She thought it would be difficult to find them, but all it took a a quick google search to find the family she never had. Her birth father was a convicted serial killer, her mother was a doting housewife, her brother was a detective of sorts and her sister was a journalist.

Gwen was terrified by the thought of meeting them, so she watched the news every night. She read the paper looking for her mother and Malcolm.

She was walking down the street, staring off at nothing. Eventually her legs began to tire so she sat on park bench coffee in hand. When she looked back into focus she realized she was right across from the police station.

It was now or never she supposed. Gwen stood and walked towards the intimidating building. Taking a deep breath, she walked through the door.

She looked around the room, glancing at the officers and detectives. As she looked up someone caught her eye. A man at the back of the room, her face relaxed in fear and surprise.

Gwen thought she was ready but she was clearly wrong. They made eye contact but before he could talk to her she fled out the door and back to her apartment.

——

She was wearing a blazer, not her go to outfit by any means. She wanted to make a good impression on her 'father'. Gwen's normal attire was jeans and a t-shirt, blouse if she was feeling fancy.

She was on her way to a psychiatric prison to visit her birth father. It was an odd thing to say, on her way to a psych ward to meet her dad.

She wore glasses today instead of her usual contact lenses. Maybe to seem more intelligent or professional, maybe to obscure her face ever so slightly.

"No cell phones or sharp objects and make sure to stay behind the red line." She nodded politely and pushed her glasses back up her nose.

She walked in slowly, taking care to look at every corner of the room. She glanced over at the man chained to the wall. He smirked at her.

"Hello Dr. Whitley." She smiled at him.

"Oh please call me Martin, everyone does." She smiled at him, he was quite charming.

"Hello Martin, I'm Gwen. It's a pleasure to meet you. I assume you know why I'm here today." He tilts his head to the side in question.

"I'm an author, I'm basing a character in my book off of you and your 'escapades'. If that's alright with you of course." She smiled.

"Of course, of course. Yes Genevieve the author." He sat in an office chair and motioned for her to sit in the one across from him.

Her thoughts started to race, what would her life have been like if her mother had kept her? Martin was quite the charmer, she could see why his victims were so trusting. She had to remind herself more than a few times that he was actually a serial killer.

She slid into the seat and crossed her legs, setting the briefcase beside her. She undid the lock and pulled out a worn notebook and a pen. Their 'interview' didn't last long before they were interrupted.

The door swung open and a small group of people barged in. One face stood out, Malcolm. She looked to the ground, keeping calm.

Gwen looked up to Martin and smiled timidly. She glanced between all of them and stood.

"Thank you for your time Martin, I don't want to intrude on your family time. I'll schedule any another appointment soon, if it's alright with you of course." He smiled brightly.

"Definitely, I look forward to seeing you again Gwen." She nodded in a goodbye before leaving the room.

Her smile fell as soon as she left the room, a headache was building rapidly as she made her way home.

——

Gwen had finally made up her mind, she was going to see her mother. It was midday she was wearing a profession dress, heels and for once, her hair was actually tamed into a neat bun.

She was wearing lipstick, makeup. She'd never tried this hard before, even in high school she never did anything to make people like her.

She took a deep breath shook the thoughts from her head and willed her hand up to the door. She knocked three times in quick succession. Gwen gripped the handle of her briefcase tighter.

This was her last chance to back out, but she kept her feet glued to the ground. The door opened it was a butler or a host of sorts.

"I'm here for Ms. Whitley." He nodded and ushered me in. The man led her to a dining room, sitting at the table was Jessica Whitley.

Her hand started to shake violently, she brought her briefcase up higher to cover it. She smiled at the woman.

"Hello Ms. Whitley, my name is Genevieve Hart. I'm your daughter." The woman looked at her shocked at first but her face changed into something unreadable.

"I'm sorry dear I only have one daughter, you must be mistaken." Gwen's face dropped.

"You had a baby shortly after your husband was sent to jail. You gave birth on September 6th. You gave your baby to a nice family near the Canadian border. You didn't name her. It was a closed adoption but the file was unsealed about a year and a half ago." Jessica looked at her with a mix of anger and fear.

Gwen's facade slowly slipped as her eyes watered.

"What you didn't know was that the sweet, loving family you gave me to died six years after I went to live with them." The woman stood and walked to Gwen.

"Please just- you don't have to love me or pay me or anything. I just wanted to meet my family. I'll go." She nodded to herself and moved to turn away.

"I was going to name you Maria, after my mother. But I knew that if I did I wouldn't be able to let you go. I've wanted to reach out but I couldn't." A tear fell from her mother's face.

"Can I hug you?" The older woman asked an almost whisper.

She nodded and walked into the woman's arms, Gwen was crying now. Only a few tears, she wiped them away quickly. She stepped back but her mother kept a grip on her shoulders, looking into her eyes.

——

They talked for a few hours, Gwen eventually gave Jessica her phone number. She left when the sky had darkened to black.

They talked over the phone for a few weeks, Gwen loved spending time with Jessica. She still hadn't called the woman 'mom' yet but she was the closest Gwen had ever had.

They met up a few times as well, mostly talking about her siblings and their childhood.

"Stay for dinner tonight, I want you to stay and meet your siblings." Gwen nodded.

"I'd love to." The door creaked open and a young blond woman walked in.

"Ainsley, it's lovely to see you my dear, we have a guest for dinner." The other woman stared at her sweetly and held out a hand

"Nice to meet you.. ?"

"Gwen."

"Well we'll wait for Malcolm to share the good news." They smiled at each other and sat.

The younger women seemed to hit it off quite well, talking mostly about Ainsley and her career. It wasn't too long before Malcom came home.

"Malcolm, sweetheart. I'm so glad you're finally here. I want you to meet Gwen." He smiled and looked at Gwen quizzically.

"You were at Claremont and you were at the precinct a few weeks ago." She nodded.

Jessica turned to face the youngest of the three, she looked annoyed to say the least.

"You went to see him? What were you thinking Gwen?!" Jessica screeched out. Gwen sighed and put her head in her hands.

"It was before I came to see you, I just wanted to see him. To know what I missed out on."

"What you missed out on was psychopathic, narcissistic serial killer." Gwen rolled her eyes.

"I'm sorry why did you go and see my dad?" Ainsley asked.

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about, how about we sit down." Jessica asked. She led them all to the the living room.

"Malcolm, Ainsley when your father got sent to prison I was- I was distraught, I needed time to heal, to help you heal. But I found out I was pregnant I couldn't get rid of my baby but I couldn't keep her either. So I gave her up for adoption." Jessica slid her hand over the couch and placed it overtop of Gwen's.

"How could you not tell us. Mom? I- we have a little sister we never knew about?" Ainsley let out is a gaspy breath.

Gwen looked up, Malcolm's eyes bored into her, reading her like an open book.

"That's why you came to the precinct, you were trying to psych yourself up to actually meeting us." Her eyes glistened as she nodded.

She glanced up at the clock, the time seemed to pass faster than it seemed.

"I've been waiting to meet you my whole life. I don't expect a relationship, or sympathy, or money for all that matters. I just wanted to meet you. Speaking of which it's getting late I should be getting home." She smiled and stood, Jessica stood quickly and lunged towards the girl, wrapping her in a tight hug.

"Call me later sweets." She whispered into her daughters ear.

She smiled at the two others, she was making her way to the door when Ainsley jumped up as well and lassoed her into a hug. Ainsley held her tightly. Gwen stepped back and smiled to the girl, she nodded in goodbye to Malcolm not expecting much from him.

But he too walked forward and held her in a gentle hug. She could feel the emotion weeping from his body. She pulled away for the final time and walked out the door.

PART 2

not-yet-forgotten

[icanonlybe-human]

I got called a dick, weirdo and entitled today. The first and last were about a post I made on Facebook because I thought it was a bit entitled to ask strangers to kit out your sons kitchen entirely for free. The weirdo comment was made by dad and, while it was technically made about someone else, it ended up being a description of me too, because what that person did to be weird is something that I have done plenty in the past too.

I got a friend request from a person on discord, we’ll call them PH. PH is going through a tough time too, but for different reasons. It’s just nice to have someone to talk to who has actually chosen to talk to you instead of being obliged to because you share blood or you pay them. PH lives on the other side of the world, we’ve never met before and only talk occasionally on discord. They could have chosen to ignore my messages in the NSFW venting channel, but chose to answer anyway, even though they’re not in a great way themselves. Hell, a virtual stranger is doing what a person who is supposed to be my best friend couldn’t do.

But the mental health is getting worse. I started to think of other ways to do it other than cliff diving. Even while I was in the car with Dad helping him work. I’m thinking that I might have to go back on my promise to the psych. I don’t know if I can last over 3 weeks. After my grad, I’m driving home by myself, maybe I could go to the great Australian bite instead. That’d be nice.

And I’m watching Supernatural again, specifically the episodes that deal with Sam’s mental health. They both have issues, and Dean probably matches my “shove it down deep and don’t let anyone peek” vibe, but there’s something about Sam’s pain that I can relate to quite a lot. Feeling like my brain is torturing me? Check. The voice on my shoulder telling me I’m better off gone. Check. Sleepless nights. Check. I know that Sam’s condition is quite literal, plus he has the devil in his head, but… the whole “I’m fine”, hurting himself to make the visions go away. Damn, that last one hits hard. It’s me, and it should scare the shit out of me, but having a character going through the same (ish) shit as me is somewhat comforting.

Maybe if I take my crazy pills and go to my appointments, everything will be okay. … right?

[ijustwannabeskinnnny]

I binged. After I lost 11 pounds (I was at 177 from 186), now I will be back to 180, why do I do this to myself?

I need to workout today but there is so much shit going on. I had 2,040 calories yesterday, I want to kill myself. And like none of it was healthy. My brother was giving me candy, that I haven’t had in almost a month, and a processed breakfast sandwich that had 24g of saturated fat! I’m literally going to gain like 70 pounds, what is wrong with me?

Here is everything I ate 🤢🤮:

There is no way I’m going to be able to burn off that many calories and get back to where I was. I’m just going to fast for another three days. It will take about 12 hours for all this junk to leave my system and then I will be able to feel light again.

Last fast I only made it to 68 hours, it was my dads birthday and I was forced to eat one of the barbecue ribs. I chopped it up into a lot of different pieces and ate most of it, it was actually disgusting. I hate eating meat. I looked it up and one fatty, barbecue rib can be up to 900 calories.

Luckily though I didn’t eat any cake at all, I couldn’t do it especially as my mom literally had a camera on me and she was like “oh, look who’s eating finally.” I should starve myself for the rest of my life just because she said that.

I want to get back on track with my exercising, but I’ve been busy with university homework and I’m desperately trying to not fail them. I missed my only high school class today because I slept in, and I have an assignments due in math today. I blew off one of my homework assignments and I’m a week behind in my college history class.

I should be doing those things instead of eating or playing my game but I’m just not motivated at all. Not to mention that my anxiety is going through the roof because I have a psych appointment today and I’m terrified about so many things.

One, I’m not clean, I literally cut myself two days ago and I really hope she doesn’t ask to see my arms. Two, she put me on new medicine and I haven’t been taking it at the times that she wanted me too, sometimes I’ll take one in the morning at 8 and then I’ll take one at night at like 1 in the morning. It’s supposed to be every 12 hours. And three, she is one of the only people who know that I am trans and I haven’t even told my therapist that. My therapist still called me ‘dear’ and ‘sweetheart’ it’s a terrible cringe when she says it.

Last time we went the psych wanted my mom to look into why people are transgender, the only posts she ever looks at are made by conservatives who think that being trans and gay is a choice. She told the psych that we wouldn’t be allowed to do anything like that underneath her roof, not while she still “owns us” basically.

Literally, my only chance to get out of this stupid state is to go to college, but I am literally going to fail my college classes and no college is going to accept me so I may as well just throw away the 1000s of dollars that I spent on them. I was never smart enough to pass them, but everyone says “wow your so smart”

No bitch, I’m literally dumb as fuck.

[naked-and-worrying]

Rant Time...

So, I see a state-chosen med doctor and therapist, because I don't have insurance, and am on a state-run program for mental health.

That's great, I am grateful. So thankful.

But here lately, I am not...

They had been doing telehealth, which I was super pleased with, due to you know, THE WORLDWIDE PANDEMIC. But then, the therapist says to me, we have to do an in-office visit to continue doing my therapy.

Well, I decided that I wasn't going to go and risk the germ factory (my MIL and Mother are both high high high risk...). They did not tell me when I called to cancel my therapy appointment that this meant that I HAD to go in-office for my med appointment.

Never. Even. Mentioned. It.

So, time comes and passes for my med appointment. Doc never calls. Finally, I call the office (an hour later, because I thought maybe she was just busy/had an emergency/etc.), and they tell me that I was supposed to come in-office for the appointment.

But I tell them that nobody ever even told me. The receptionist got some major attitude with me. It took everything I had to be polite and tactful.

Y'all. I am so pissed.

So, the only way that they will refill my meds, is if I go in-office tomorrow and see the med doctor. I start a new job today, and have no idea what my schedule is.

Telehealth would have been easy. Just let my boss know that I needed to take a moment at a certain time. But in-office? How the hell, do they expect, on my second day of work, that I will have the ability to be like, "Yeah, sorry, I already need to ask for a day off..."

I have decided that I am going to have my PCP prescribe my psych meds from this point on. I am just that annoyed, that I would rather have to pay the $45.00 out of pocket to deal with PROFESSIONAL medical professionals.

[itsdangeroustorunaboutinthedark]

19, 20

18 hours~

18 hours ive just slept. dont know how much i slept yesterday. the day before that slept 3 different times, 2-3 hours each. it felt like 4 days went by in that one day, not just because of the sleep patterns. that morning i woke up, or i was woken up, with an already shit feeling that was just about to get worse. i realized, if todays events were to go as planned, id probably kill myself. there was a plethora of reasons for that, going so far back it's almost laughable. a large component to ensuring i would carry it out, was that id be alone for the next few days. it felt, feels? extremely pathetic, even though the being alone in itself had no part in the reasons building up to such major suicidalness. suicidality? whatever. the conditions surrounding that being alone were some reasons; the being alone itself was just the perfect setting to allow it. but i couldnt say that. i couldnt say, in this situation specifically, that if i was left alone id probably kill myself. it'd be manipulative, would it.. though maybe what i ended up doing was no different. "i think im going to admit myself to the psych ward" was essentially what i ended up saying. i was met with so much support, it felt worse in a way. not as in worse than if id been met with anything else, just, worse than i had felt before. i felt guilty. i felt selfish. it felt like i was saying whatever just to get my way. even though all "my way" was, was to live, and to hopefully not leave the animals unattended in the process. foremost the animals, really. after having been shown awkward support, albeit shocking in a good? way, i regretted saying anything. or maybe i didnt, maybe those feelings didnt come til later. either way, the guilt was, still is, all-consuming. making calls to inpatient services piled on the guilt even more. i shouldnt be wasting these peoples time, there are surely those worse, ill be fine now, probably. the same feelings of guilt towards the person i admitted this to, and to the admissions people at the looney bin, grew even more while at the crisis center the next day. there were cases, serious cases, serious-er cases, being discussed by the staff. severe drug addict, has uncontrollable seizures, huge gaps in memory, is in and out of the hospital, only 21. someone came in with a fucked up leg, brought in by someone else. another came in with 5 bags packed, as if this was a usual visit, prepared to stay for a long while. another person, also accompanied, came in, just as quiet as i was. i knew not to compare. i knew everyone goes through things differently, presents differently, and presentation alone hasnt a sole explanation on whats actually going on with a person. and it wasnt these exterior comparisons that lead to the guilt, but that i was no longer feeling the unbearable despair and violent willingness to go through with what i had planned the day before. i didnt feel good, i didnt feel okay, i felt numb. but numb is better than That, numb is no reason to take up the time of people who are busy trying to help people with worse problems. they were kind, and seemingly all too knowing, and they sent me home with a couple phone appointments. i didnt know how to feel about it or what to think, the only prominent feeling still being guilt, somehow residing along nothingness. perhaps emptiness would be a better word. i was so confused about what to feel and think and so overwhelmed with guilt, that for a short while after any time i tried to speak about it, my mind would go blank and i sounded like a malfunctioning printer trying to get words out. now its the day after, technically two days after, and i still feel nothing. or i feel empty. or i feel numb. the words i was told when i first spoke of my plans to admit myself, and in turn some of the feelings/reasons that led to that, still ring in my ears; "it often looks you're doing better, but i think you're just distracting yourself."  im still not sure whether thats entirely true, but it is at least partly, and its distinctly how i decided to live at the ripe-old age of 12 or 13, when i was in a different, arguably worse and far more hopeless set of circumstances. i remember it now n again, and every once in awhile i come across the note i wrote to myself at the time as a reminder, it saying only "distract yourself". its been 7 or so years since. so much has changed, i have far more ability to make further changes by myself than ever before. a week before all of this happened, i was determined and taking the first steps to make what would probably be the largest change of my life so far. and all it took to take me from that to the pits of despair was several ever-smouldering struggles and a couple of current happening-problems. and now i dont know what to do. im mostly numb, maybe a slight bit anxious, and i dont know what to do next. im going to have to face everyone about what's going on, and I don't know what to tell them. and I'll once again feel guilt, because I don't know how i feel or what to say, because i didn't go through with the attempt, because ive wasted people's time over this. because i knew as soon as i wasnt going to be alone, the main excuse to kill myself was gone, and i couldn't admit that to the person who was leaving, the same person who contributed to so many of the events that brought upon the feelings that lead up to this point. that lead up to it this time, that lead up to it several times before. i told work i had been admitted earlier than i actually had been because i didnt want to let them know very last minute, and they were so kind about it; and then i was discharged within an hour. i dont want to go anymore. i dont know if i should. i can think of 100 reasons why i shouldnt, maybe only a few convincing reasons why i should. i look at my ongoing suicidal ideation, and since now that it's met with indifference to the actions and potential outcomes rather than turbulence, i shrug it off. i think, i think thats what im supposed to do. 

and all of this sounds like self pity, self loathing, utter dejection, such things that i hold such disdain for and cant handle in other people anymore. its irritating, its pathetic, all i need to do to improve is take a step, a step in literally any direction. and eventually, i will, maybe. if i make it to that point. but right now, i dont know. im not sure any of this is true. im not sure of anything, period. and thats a lie. and its not. ah

[fictionaffliction]

Better Forgotten

Chapter Two

Pairings: Loki/OC

Summary: Dr. Ingrid Hansen is a respected psychologist struggling with the aftermath of the Snap as well as her own trauma from an accident she endured many years ago. Her world is thrown into utter chaos when she meets a dangerous man posing as a client. Dr. Strange is reluctantly tasked with protecting her, but in order to do so, he must first help her recover who she truly is. While she is grateful for his help, she has to wonder, are some things better forgotten?

Rated M

Chapter Warnings: Canon typical violence, memory loss, chronic pain

June 6, 2024

The clock seemed too loud in Dr. Hansen’s office as the afternoon sun filtered through the unshaded windows. She glanced up at it, annoyed.

2:30 . Her clients were due half an hour ago. She swallowed her frustration and massaged her brow as she picked up the phone and called her receptionist, Lauren, whose desk was down the hall.

“Yes, Dr. Hansen?” Her voice was chipper, likely because of how much coffee she drank.

“It looks like the Coopers are a no-show. Can you please phone them and see if you can get them to reschedule?” Ingrid said, looking over their file. It was disappointing to see them skip an appointment. They had made good progress over the last two months.

“Sure thing. Would you like me to send in your next client?”

“He’s here already?”

“Yep.”

Ingrid was used to people being right on time or five minutes late. To be half an hour early was nearly unheard of in her practice.

“Sure, send him in,” Ingrid.

“You got it!” Lauren said and hung up the phone. Ingrid found herself smiling at her young employee’s enthusiasm. Sometimes she wished she could bottle some of that energy for herself. She took a moment to refresh her lipstick in the mirror she kept in her desk drawer and smooth the stray hairs that had escaped her barrette.

There was a hesitant knock on her office door and she put the mirror away. She stood and straightened her skirt, crossed the plush carpeted floor, and opened the door.

The man at the threshold was tall and slim, wearing a dark suit and deep green tie, which only served to emphasize his pale complexion. His coal-black hair was combed neatly back, which almost hid how long it was. She smiled up at him pleasantly, not allowing herself to linger on the strangeness of his presentation. He stared back at her with striking green eyes. Something about him seemed slightly familiar, but she couldn’t place it. For just a moment, he looked ever so slightly unnerved, but she blinked and his expression was once again composed.

“Mr. Lawson?” she asked, holding out her hand.

“Yes,” he said in a voice just slightly deeper than she had expected. He took her hand gently. “Dr. Hansen?”

She nodded and opened the door wider. “Come in.”

He stepped into the room and looked around. The office was decorated in Ingrid’s favored modern style, with tones of soft grey and blue being the dominant color scheme. She found the colors to be calming.

“You have a lovely office,” he commented, searching for something to say. She kept her face in its practiced neutral expression as she made note of his body language. He held his hands clasped in front of him. His posture was excellent but rigid, with his chin held a little higher than what she would consider to be normal.

“Thank you,” she said with a smile. “I like to keep the space organized. I find that it invites a clear mind.” She gestured to the soft blue couch with an open hand in invitation. “Have a seat,” she said as she settled into the short-backed chair on the other side of the coffee table, crossing her ankles gracefully. He sat, but only after she was sitting.

“Would you like anything before we begin?” Ingrid asked.

“No, thank you,” he said, settling in his seat. She flipped open a legal pad in a handsome leather portfolio.

“Your first name is Walter, yes?” she asked. He nodded. “Well, Walter, what do you do for a living?”

“Advertising,” he answered in an almost practiced way. She scratched a note on her pad.

“Ah, psychology’s evil twin,” she quipped. He smirked.

“I suppose so.”

“And what brings you in today?” This was the first hurdle. Sometimes a client wouldn’t be fully transparent and Ingrid would have to coax it out of them. Walter shifted in his seat and cleared his throat.

“I’m...I’m looking to reconnect with my wife,” he answered, his voice tense. She nodded in acknowledgment, taking another note. “I was told that you were the person to come to for this sort of thing.”

She smiled. “Well, marriage and family counseling is my specialty.” She pointed her pen at her degree on the wall. He remained stiff. Best to stay on topic, she decided. “Are you and your wife separated?” He nodded, thin lips pursed as though he was deciding what he would and wouldn’t tell her. “Divorced?”

“No.” His tone was final. She watched him closely, eyes betraying nothing but patience. He seemed to realize how rude he had sounded. “We never discussed it,” he amended. Her eyes darted to his ring finger, still adorned with a gold band carved with designs she couldn’t quite make out. He followed her gaze. “I never had the heart to take it off.”

“You sound a little embarrassed about that,” Ingrid observed. His knuckles turned white as he briefly clenched his fist.

“I’m not known for being particularly sentimental.”

Ingrid looked up from her notes and smiled softly. “Then you have made a very brave choice in coming here. It can be difficult to allow yourself to be vulnerable.” He chuckled and shook his head as though trying to shrug off the idea.

Ingrid let him linger a moment in the silence that followed before calling him back to the present. “How long have you been separated?” she asked.

He thought for a moment. “About thirteen years.”

She raised her eyebrows and leaned forward, lacing her fingers together. “That’s a long time.” He nodded. “Were either of you victims of the Decimation?”

Walter nodded again slowly, keeping eye contact with her as though trying to make her understand his reasons without speaking them aloud. She would get to the bottom of it eventually, but if he did not wish to discuss it now, she certainly would not push it. The elimination of half the population had caused a significant amount of trauma for most people. The sudden loss of so many loved ones left many feeling alone and instilled a sense of fear and uncertainty that left them feeling hopeless. Some feared that a second Decimation would happen, and the lives that they had managed to piece together would be shattered once more.

It was a topic for another session.

“Have you spoken to her since then?”

“No,” he said, his voice quiet. “No, I haven’t.”

“I see.” She sat back again and folded her hands in her lap. “Well, the Decimation certainly has affected relationships, whether it’s torn them apart or prompted couples to get back together. That being said, thirteen years of separation changes the dynamic of a relationship. It may be...difficult for your marriage to recover.”

He frowned. “Are you saying you can’t help me?” There was an icy edge to his voice that unnerved her. Something had peeked through his carefully crafted fa ç ade. Rage, loss, desperation? It seemed to be all of those things at once and then none of them at all.

“Not at all,” she said after a pause that was longer than she meant it to be. “I only want you to be prepared if your wife does not wish to pursue reconciliation.”

He ran his fingers over his ring, staring out the window again. “Don’t say that, Doctor. I need her back.”

“I will do everything I can,” she assured him.

“Thank you,” he said, refocusing his eyes on her. She nodded.

“The Decimation was only six years ago,” Ingrid continued. “What happened to prompt such a lengthy separation before that?”

Walter considered her carefully before replying, watching her as keenly as she watched him. “There was a...family disagreement regarding an inheritance.”

“And this was enough for you to separate?” she asked curiously.

His jaw clenched and relaxed again as he shifted in his seat. “Yes,” he answered after a pause that was a mere moment too long. She waited for him to elaborate. He didn’t.

Perhaps she could prompt him in the right direction. “Tell me about your family,” she said gently.

“I don’t see what they have to do with anything,” he hissed, a small snarl revealing itself under his sharp nose.

Though the severity of his reaction was slightly unusual, the sentiment was not. The connection between one’s upbringing and how they handled their personal relationships were inextricably linked, whether it was because the person wanted to be just like their parents, or the opposite of them, or simply because they mimicked what they observed and knew to be normal. More often than not, they were entirely unaware of the connection.

“Think of your psyche as a house.” Ingrid began. “If your childhood is your foundation, then everything built upon it is dependent on it. If the foundation is flawed, then the frame of your house might tilt. You might not even notice it at first, but sooner or later you’ll want to hang a picture and that picture will never quite hang straight.” He tilted his head and raised a brow in what appeared to be amusement. “We need to examine your foundation to see why your pictures aren’t hanging straight.”

He allowed himself a chuckle. “I don’t know if there are enough hours in a day to recount all of my family’s failings. Besides, I don’t think you’ve ever heard a story quite like mine.”

She sat forward. “Try me.”

He took in a deep breath and let it hiss loudly out between his lips. “It’s complicated.” She squinted quizzically at him. He huffed. “Why does this have to be so difficult?”

Ingrid closed her notebook and set it down. “The first session is always the hardest,” she said reassuringly. “Why don’t we take a break? I could personally use a cup of tea.” He sighed and nodded. She got up and went to the electric kettle she kept on the side table by the door and flicked the switch.

“I’ll take a black coffee,” Walter said from the couch. She set a bag of pomegranate tea in her mug to steep and poured him a cup of coffee. She held his drink out to him as she came back around to face him.

Walter’s hand reached out to take it from her. As he took the clean white ceramic mug, his fingers brushed against her skin. Surely an accident, but Ingrid found herself holding his gaze. Something familiar scratched at the back of her mind. Not quite déjà vu, but more like the hazy memory of a long-forgotten dream. But the harder she tried to dredge it to the surface, the further down it sank. A pain bloomed behind her eyes. She looked away and massaged her temple with her free hand.

She hoped it wouldn’t turn into an episode. The idea of getting a migraine during an appointment was mortifying.

“Is something the matter?” Walter inquired.

Ingrid shook her head. “It’s nothing. Just a bit of a headache. I’m sure some tea will clear it right up,” she assured him with a smile as she resumed her seat.

Walter sipped his coffee thoughtfully. His gaze did not leave her as he brought the mug to his lips. She found it slightly unnerving. The spot behind her eyes throbbed again. She set her mug down with a wince as she pressed her hand to her forehead firmly.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Walter asked, a slight tone of worry coloring his voice.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she insisted as the pain subsided again. “Sorry, that was so strange. Let’s continue, shall we? Tell me about your wife.”

He rubbed his thumb along the handle of the mug and sighed. “Gentle, kind most of the time, and beautiful of course.”

“Of course,” Ingrid agreed with a smile, though she wondered if perhaps he was seeing through lenses tinted with pretty memories. “What’s her name?”

Walter’s hands stilled. He set his cup down and steepled his fingers in consideration as he examined Ingrid from across the room. She raised an eyebrow, waiting for his response.

“Sigyn.” The name fell from his mouth with reverence, the syllables passing over his lips like an incantation. Longing draped itself over the word and Ingrid felt a pang of sympathy. His wife’s name was sacred to him even after so long being apart from her.

“Like the myth,” she remarked, pretending not to notice Walter’s initial hesitation. He sighed heavily, his eyes sliding away from her. “Have I upset you?” she asked with a practiced but sincere tone. Walter frowned but remained silent, running his fingers over his bottom lip in thought. “Walter?”

He glanced up at her again before getting to his feet and crossing the room to the window. Ingrid stood and followed him as he clasped his hands behind his back, reminding her of a ship’s captain surveying the deck below. She wasn’t alarmed by the behavior, having dealt with many couples trying to hash out issues and finding themselves pacing in an attempt to work off the nervous energy.

“Myths,” he muttered, studying the New York skyline. “That’s what we were reduced to.”

Her brow furrowed. We?

“Only they weren’t myths, were they? Thor is real. He’s out there making a spectacle of himself every chance he gets,” he said, spite cutting into his voice.

“Well, yes. I suppose that’s true,” she admitted. “A lot of things we thought were impossible have been proven possible over the past few years.”

He turned abruptly to look at her again, green eyes piercing her own in a way that made her suddenly feel like she was under a microscope. “More than possible, Doctor. Factual.”

She opened her mouth to agree but found herself mute at the sight of a golden shimmer passing over Walter’s body. She gasped and stumbled backward into her desk, knocking over a stack of paperwork. He stepped toward her as his suit was replaced by a black breastplate with gold inlay catching the light of the afternoon sun. A long green cape flared out behind him as he continued forward with a wicked smirk.

In his full regalia, the image of him finally placed itself in Ingrid’s memory.

“You-” she said breathlessly. “You’re Loki. You’re the one who attacked New York!” she exclaimed shakily, pressing herself farther against her desk.

His smile faded, replaced by a bewildered expression. “What?”

Panic ripped itself through her veins and she did the only thing she could think of. Ingrid opened her mouth to scream for help, but her cry was quickly muffled by Loki’s hand.

“Don’t,” he said in a low voice, keeping his hand clamped over her mouth.

She fumbled for something to defend herself with and blindly snatched a copy of the DSM-V, hitting him over the head with the heavy book, knocking his hand away. He grunted at the force of the strike but hardly seemed slowed by it. If anything, he looked annoyed. She made to punch him before he caught her hand, arresting her blow just as she was about to connect with his face. She tried again, only for him to repeat his defense and catch her other hand.

“Stop it!” he demanded, scowling down at her.

She stilled, trying to remember any negotiating tactics she could think of. Did the same rules apply to alien supervillains? “What do you want from me?” she asked, trying to match his scowl.

His grip slackened just a little. “I’m not--”

At that precise moment, the door came flying open and Lauren burst into the room. Ingrid wanted to shout to her to run, but then she saw the pistol trained on Loki’s chest.

“Why do you have a gun?!” was the only thing Ingrid could manage.

“Get down!” Lauren shouted back at her.

Ingrid felt herself being pushed away as Loki lept away and the first shot rang out. Ingrid screamed and took cover behind her desk, covering her ears in an attempt to block out the deafening noise of gunfire. She heard glass shatter and in a strange moment of confusion wondered how much replacing the windows was going to cost her. The gunfire stopped and Lauren swore.

Ingrid peeked out from behind her desk to see that the middle window was shattered. Her ears were ringing and her hip ached from where she had hit the floor, but she seemed to be otherwise unscathed. Loki was nowhere to be seen. Her eyes finally landed on Lauren, who was reloading her magazine.

“Lauren, what the hell-?” Ingrid said breathlessly, unable to articulate further.

“Dr. Hansen, are you hurt?” Lauren asked, her voice lower than Ingrid was used to hearing.

"No, I don't think so," she replied quickly.

"Good. I need you to come with me," Lauren said, barely letting Ingrid finish her sentence.

“But-”

“Now.” She grabbed Ingrid’s arm and pulled her out into the hallway and to the stairwell. Ingrid immediately regretted wearing heels that day and quickly pulled her shoes off, opting to carry them instead. Lauren urged her to hurry as she led a now barefoot Ingrid down the four flights of stairs to the ground floor parking garage.

“Where are we going?” Ingrid asked desperately.

“Getting you out of here,” she replied.

“But why? He’s not even here anymore,” the bewildered psychologist pointed out as Lauren pulled her to a shiny black sedan and ushered her into the passenger seat. “Hey!” Ingrid protested as the door slammed without a response from her receptionist.

“We don’t know that,” Lauren said as she hurriedly got into the driver’s seat and turned the key, peeling out of the parking garage as quickly as she could. She directed her phone assistant to call someone named Maria Hill. The robotic voice confirmed the call and the phone was answered before the first ring was finished.

“This is Hill,” said the steady, feminine voice on the other end of the line.

“Hill, this is Soren. We’ve had an incident,” Lauren said. Ingrid made a face.

“Soren?” she asked. Lauren just shook her head as a signal for her to be quiet.

“Who is that?” Hill asked, concern coloring her tone.

“One half of the incident,” was Lauren’s reply. “I have Dr. Hansen with me. She was confronted by Loki.”

There was a brief silence before a stern reply. “Get her here, now.”

“Already on it. I’ll keep you updated.”

“Good.”

The call ended and Ingrid looked at Lauren questioningly. “Am I being kidnapped?” Ingrid asked. Lauren smirked.

“No Dr. Hansen, you’re not being kidnapped,” she said in a flat tone that only vaguely revealed her amusement.

“Then do you want to explain just what the hell is going on?” Ingrid said, anxiety now dissolving into irritation as she slipped her shoes back on her feet. “Starting with your real name.”

“I can explain everything once we reach our rendezvous point, but I can tell you that my name is Soren and I am not a secretary.”

“Oh, well that explains everything,” Ingrid said sarcastically. “I want to know what’s going on, now, before I go anywhere with you.”

Soren stopped the car at a stoplight abruptly and Ingrid’s seatbelt constricted painfully across her chest. The younger woman turned to look at her with a face devoid of any amusement, her brown eyes narrowed. “Look Doctor, I know you’re scared and confused, but I have been ordered to keep you safe. We aren’t sure what Loki wants or why, but we’re going to figure it out. Right now, you just have to trust me, okay?” Ingrid swallowed and nodded. “Good.”

Soren hit the gas as the light turned green.

“Can I at least ask where we’re going?”

“Greenwich Village.”

The hour and a half it took to get to the grey nondescript building would have been a mere forty-five minutes if not for the New York traffic. Ingrid thought mundanely about how traffic in large cities was awful no matter where you went. They pulled into a parking structure that appeared to be largely abandoned.

“I know, it’s pretty austere looking,” Soren said. “We just want to make sure we aren’t somewhere where he might hear us.” Ingrid couldn’t stop the anxiety from creeping into her chest as they parked next to a black SUV. Soren got out and looked around before gesturing for Ingrid to follow. She obeyed and they climbed into the backseat of the second vehicle.

“Glad you made it,” a woman in the driver’s seat said to Soren as the two of them slid into their seats. The interior of the car was neat, with all the bells and whistles and then some. It smelled like new leather, though it must have seen frequent use given how much it must have cost.

“Me too,” said Soren. “Dr. Hansen, this is Maria Hill.”

Maria turned to look at her and offered her hand. Ingrid shook it.

“Don’t worry, Doctor. We’ll take care of you,” she said with a reassuring smile. Ingrid tried to smile back, but only managed a grimace.

“I appreciate it.”

A tall man with cool brown skin and a patch over his left eye turned to greet them from the passenger seat. Ingrid watched all three of them closely, her apprehension only growing as more people were introduced into the equation.

“Am I under arrest?” she finally asked.

“No, you’re not,” the man said, turning to look at her with his single eye. “Dr. Hansen, my name is Nicholas Fury,” he said, shaking her hand. “Just call me Fury. I heard you’ve had quite the afternoon.”

“You could say that,” she replied. He smiled, though she sensed he was only trying to put her at ease. She set her jaw. “Are you with the FBI or something?” she asked.

“They wish,” Soren said.

“We represent an extra-governmental intelligence agency that’s been keeping tabs on persons of interest,” Fury explained. The vagueness of his explanation did nothing to calm Ingrid’s nerves.

“And I’m a person of interest?” she asked. Fury nodded. “Why? I’ve never even gotten a speeding ticket. I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“I know,” Fury assured her. “It isn’t that you’ve done anything wrong, Dr. Hansen. We’ve seen your records. Graduated NYU after coming here from England after a boating accident killed your parents and nearly killed you too.”

Ingrid’s eyes went wide and she pressed herself into her seat, watching him carefully. “H-how did you-?”

“Like I said, intelligence agency.” His voice was smooth and calm, though she could not help but detect the barest hint of a warning through his words. Her mouth felt dry. She tried not to show her alarm, but she was certain they could all feel it pulsing through the air between them.

“But why me?” Ingrid pressed.

Fury and Hill exchanged a look, communicating all they needed to without a word. They must have worked together for a long time.

“Your accident corresponded with an unusual atmospheric event,” Fury began as he turned back to face her. “We wanted to make sure it was a coincidence.”

“That was thirteen years ago,” Ingrid reminded him. “You’ve watched me for that long?”

“Yes, and it turns out it was a damn good thing we did,” Fury replied with an edge of irritation. “I know this is difficult for you to understand, but after the events of the past several years, we couldn’t take any chances. The fact of the matter is that in our line of work, there are no coincidences. We don’t know what Loki wants, but we know that he came to you for a reason. It’s our job to figure out why.”

An overwhelming sense of dread filled her gut. Ingrid looked down at her lap, nervously wringing her hands together. “How can I help?” she asked quietly, looking back up at them.

“Why don’t you explain what happened today?” Fury said as he adjusted his posture to get comfortable.

Ingrid took a deep breath and told them how she had had an appointment with a man named Walter Lawson, everything he had told her, and how he was acting somewhat strangely, but nothing terribly unusual until he revealed himself to be Loki.

“He didn't hurt me, but I don't know if that means he wouldn't have,” she said. “And then Lauren...I mean, Soren, burst into the room.”

Fury squinted at Soren with his one eye. “The alias you picked was Lauren?” he asked skeptically.

Soren shrugged. “Rhymes are easy to remember.”

Fury shook his head and returned his gaze to Ingrid. “Is that all that happened? Seems strange that he would come looking for therapy, as much as I'm sure he could use it.”

“I’m sure it was a ruse,” Soren offered.

Ingrid frowned in thought. “But, he seemed sincere.”

“He’s the god of lies, a master manipulator. He knows just what to say and how to say it to get his way,” Hill reminded her.

“Yes, well I’m a doctor of psychology,” Ingrid said stubbornly. “I know what manipulation looks like.”

The three of them exchanged a look. “This isn’t a judgment of your abilities, Doc,” Fury said. “Loki could sell you oceanfront property in the Sahara desert and you’d thank him for it. He’s been at this a long time. Longer than any of us have been alive or even hope to live. I very much doubt he was telling you the truth.” He raised his brows expectantly as Ingrid considered this. Her pride deflated slightly. He had a point.

“I suppose you’re right,” she said.

All three breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you,” Fury said. “You’re sure nothing else happened during your appointment?”

“Yes,” Ingrid said. “I did get a headache in the middle of the appointment, but that isn’t out of the ordinary.”

“Do you get headaches often?” Fury asked.

She nodded. “I’ve gotten migraines a couple of times a month at least since my accident,” Soren and Hill exchanged a look at the mention of the accident.

“My mother got migraines,” he said. “I don’t envy you.”

“I’ve got some memory loss too,” she added.

“Sounds like something you should have checked out,” Hill suggested.

“I have,” Ingrid said. “CAT scans couldn’t find anything wrong. I guess it’s just one of those things.”

Hill, Fury, and Soren exchanged a quick look. “Must be,” the man said, looking back at Ingrid. “Dr. Hansen, I know you’ve had a harrowing day, but I’m afraid it’s not quite over yet.” She felt her stomach tighten. What more did they want from her? She was exhausted and her headache had continued to persist since the confrontation, and she had the distinct feeling of grime on her skin from running through a parking garage barefoot. “We’re going to have to insist that you stay in protective custody until you’re in the clear.”

“What?!” she exclaimed indignantly. She felt like he had just told her she was grounded. “But what about my patients?” she asked in desperation. “I can’t just leave them without explanation.”

“We’ll get it sorted out with you. Soren has told us that your practice is your pride and joy,” Hill said.

“Where am I supposed to stay?” The logistics were sending her reeling. She wasn’t prepared to drop a small fortune on a hotel room.

“We’ll take care of it,” Fury assured her. “The most important thing is that you’re safe.”

“I appreciate everything you’re all doing for me, but I’ll be fine if I go home,” Ingrid insisted. All three sets of eyes looked at her incredulously.

“With all due respect, Dr. Hansen, I don’t think you understand what this man is capable of,” Hill said, watching her closely. “We’ve arranged for a place for you to say where I’m sure you’ll be safe.”

“And where on earth is that?” she asked, her irritation growing more apparent.

Fury smirked. “We’re going to visit another contact of ours.”

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Some Sense of Normalcy ch.1 (baon)

Summary: It's Edge's first day back to work at the Embassy, but his job isn't the only thing on his mind. 

Tags:  Spicyhoney, Kustard, Established Relationships, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Mentions of Past Injury

~~*~~

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

Read Chapter 1 on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

Edge’s internal clock was accurate to nearly the minute. It was a rare day that his alarm actually woke him; normally he was awake minutes beforehand to shut it off before it could buzz and Stretch often teased him about it, asking why he even bothered to set it. Such was the difference between someone who never wanted to oversleep versus one who was committed to it.

Today was no exception to the alarm rule; being off work for a short time hadn’t reset his internal clock now that it was the day for him to return. But for once, Edge wasn’t reaching for his phone. Instead, he kept his sockets closed, his focus entirely on the warm, skeletal body snugged in his arms, as if perhaps he could draw out time and stay here in his bed with Stretch for a little longer.

Unexpectedly, the one to stir first was not him. Stretch let out a sleepy sigh and mumbled, “you’re gonna be late.”

“No, I won’t.”

“yeah, you will. unless you’re gonna skip a shower and coffee, and we both know what kind of mistake that would be.”

Yes, the kind that would make everyone else in the office suffer, either from surliness or stench. Edge wasn’t quite ready to concede the point and nuzzled a kiss against the top of Stretch’s skull. “The person in charge is never late.”

A soft chuckle and Stretch squirmed at the ticklish touch, shifting until he could rest his chin on Edge’s sternum to look up at him. A chance to gaze at Stretch always made for a lovely vision, even as exhausted as he obviously was.

After their discussion in the kitchen, surrounded with chickens as an impromptu audience, they’d stayed sitting together on the floor long enough for Edge’s leg to cease pulsing out operatic scales of pain and gone straight to a throbbing rendition of ‘The Marriage of Figaro.’ Once he’d struggled back to his feet, Edge had been forced to allow Stretch to handle the chickens, even Nugget in her planter, still nesting on her dubious egg.

Even through his discomfort, hearing Stretch joke that, ‘this isn’t usually what they mean when they say a bucket of chicken,’ sent a pulse of affection through him. Ridiculous jokes were always a good sign, for Stretch, if not for Edge’s sense of humor.

Dinner had been sandwiches, also made by Stretch, and they’d gone to bed early, and from the look of today, Stretch was feeling more his happier self. Except, appearances could be deceiving, especially when Stretch was trying to keep from being what he thought was a nuisance and what Edge considered giving loving support to his partner.

If Stretch was doing better, Edge wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth, but neither was he about to let it come into the house and tromp all over their living room. Today was supposed to be his first day back to work at the Embassy and he’d stay home if Stretch needed him.

“How are you feeling?” Edge asked, seriously. He ran a gloved finger along the delicate rim of Stretch’s socket, lingering at the darkened half-moon beneath. Stretch leaned into the touch, his sockets falling half-closed.

“not terrible but not great,” Stretch said, frankly, with enough honesty to soothe some of Edge’s misgivings. “i have a video appointment with doc lee in a couple hours. i’m not feeling very public right now and she said if i was comfortable with it, it’d save me the bus trip downtown.”

“I think that’s a good idea,” Edge said softly.

“oh, yeah?” Stretch raised a brow bone. “glad to hear it, since she also told me to tell you she can schedule your appointment whenever you like.”

Ah. “Of course,” Edge agreed crisply. He would call her later in the day, schedule his appointment, of course he would. He gave Stretch a last, light kiss than got out of the bed, taking a moment to retrieve his cane. “If you have a few hours, then why don’t you go back to sleep for a while, love?”

Stretch only piled up the pillows, propping himself up against them with a contented sigh. “and miss the show? c’mon, handsome, let’s see what you’re wearing your first day back.”

Edge stopped halfway to the closet and gave Stretch a look that stated clearly that he was a brat. Then he remembered, “I forgot to mention, Bruno stopped by yesterday.”

That wiped away a little of Stretch’s smirk, replacing it with wariness. “oh, did he.”

“Mmhmm.” On his side of the closet, a garment bag hung unassumingly and innocent. Edge stripped away the bag and brought out its contents unobscured, holding it out so that Stretch could take in the full effect of the kilt with its jacket.

Stretch’s sockets went wide, his pale eye lights flicking from the outfit to Edge contemplatively, surely already playing out a mental movie in that clever mind of his how Edge would look in it.

“Interesting choice,” Edge said lightly. He smoothed a hand down the fine cloth, picking away an imaginary speck of lint. “A little formal for work, isn’t it?”

It was and it would likely draw unwanted attention. But Stretch chose it, Edge would be more than pleased to wear it for him and take a few stares as his due.

“yea, think it is, actually,” Stretch said slowly. His tongue flicked nervously across his teeth, “not exactly the same standard you set with those power suits of yours. might be better to save it for a special occasion.”

Or rather, an occasion where Stretch could bear witness instead of one with him buried into his office all day. He hid the smirk threatening to reveal itself and zipped the kilt suit back into the garment back with only a twinge of regret. “Perhaps you’re right.”

And perhaps a private viewing could be arranged in the near future.

A more sedate suit choice later and Edge hesitated at the side of the bed. He had enough time yet for coffee, but Stretch was right, he needed to hurry, or he’d be late for his first day back. And yet— “Can I call you on my lunch?”

“ain’t it ‘may’ you call?” Stretch drawled. His smile was softer. “babe, you don’t need to ask to call me. i’ll pick up, okay?”

“Okay.” Then he gave into temptation, pushed Stretch back into the rumpled blankets and took a kiss, trying without words to express the depth of his love, his concern, all the emotions wound up tight inside him.

He couldn’t say if he was entirely successful, but the gentle reflection of love in Stretch’s briefly heart-shaped eye lights was a good start.

“oh, hey, before you take off,” Stretch got out of bed, unselfconsciously naked, and went downstairs, leaving Edge to trail behind him as he tried not to stare at the tempting sway of Stretch’s bare shapely pelvis as he walked.

Of all things, Edge did not expect Stretch to retrieve a rumpled paper bag, about the size of a lunch sack. He held it out expectantly. “can you take this to janice? we did a craft thing the other day and oscar’s wasn’t dry yet so he couldn’t take it home. figured it might be safer for his mom to carry it than for him to run with ceramics, anyway.”

“Of course.” Edge took the bag, carefully tucking it around the contents, and added it to his briefcase.

One travel mug of coffee and his laptop bag later, and Edge headed out the front door, cane in hand. He hardly made it down the steps before he stopped with a scowl.

Red was standing by his car, hands tucked into his pocket and a grin on his face. It made his hackles rise, particularly considering the way Red handled the situation with Nugget. He wasn’t unappreciative of his brother’s efforts, but he couldn’t truly say he was exactly thankful, either.

Edge stopped several feet away and well out of arm’s reach, a long ago lesson learned when it came to those who could teleport. “What do you want?”

“good to see you, too, bro,” Red snorted. He was chewing on a toothpick and that alone was suspicious, that he wasn’t smoking one of his horrible cigars. Confirmed when he added, “here to drive you to work.”

“No,” Edge said immediately. “I’m perfectly capable of driving myself.”

“yep,” Red agreed.

“The doctor cleared me to drive as long as the distance wasn’t excessive.”

“sure did.”

“And I’ve driven several times since I’ve had the cast removed.”

“i know. gonna argue with me in front of the honey bun?”

Sure enough, when Edge glanced behind him, Stretch was peeking out the curtains curiously and he knew damn well that the chances of him hastily snagging a raincoat out of the front closet and coming out to see what was the problem was dangerously high. The very idea of arguing with his brother while his husband stood by naked beneath a coat while their overly interested neighbors looked on made him stifle a shudder of pure horror.

Edge gritted his teeth and went to the car, putting his case in the back. He went to the passenger side and stood by the door, looking at his brother directly, meeting that irritatingly amused crimson gaze with his own. “Why do you want to drive me?”

To have Red look away first was inconceivable, illogical. His crimson eye lights slid to the side, a fleeting expression of discomfort grossing his face. Edge took a cautious step towards him, “Brother?”

“need someone to have your back. get in the fucking car,” Red muttered.

Wordlessly, Edge did as he was told.

Red drove with a combination of careless skill and blue magic, disconcerting and impressive at the same time. He wove through traffic and more than once, Edge bit back directives that would only open him his brother’s mocking. Backseat driving was a great deal more enjoyable with Jeff and far more likely to actually have results.

It was right after Red sped through the very tail end of a yellow light that he said. “you sure you’re ready to wade back into the shit?”

Edge gave his brother a narrow look. “Of course I am.”

“yeah? got that psych eval scheduled already, didja.” That was unexpected. For all that Red was more likely to sacrifice an arm to satisfy Papyrus’s obnoxious dog than to schedule a therapist appointment of his own, he’d never mocked or derided Sans and Stretch for doing so. In fact, he never really discussed it at all, less an elephant in the room and more a blue whale crammed inside, tail tucked behind its head.

“Not that it’s any of your business,” Edge told him coolly, “but not yet. I’d planned on doing it today.”

“yeah, you do that.” It sounded suspiciously like an order. Honestly, this was giving him an entirely new perspective on Stretch’s irritation with his brother’s obsession with his mental health.

Red said nothing else as he drove, the irritating twang of the country station he’d chosen filling the silence. His brother dropped him off directly at the entrance, parking in such a way that allowed the car to act as a barricade against the protesters that lined the sidewalk across the streets. A quick glance confirmed that while some of the signs had changed in the aftermath of the California attack, the message certainly hadn’t. There were enough mentions of dust to make any person crave a glass of cool water and to give a Monster nightmares.

He turned away and went inside, leaning on his cane a little heavier than he would have preferred. His mobility scooter was supposed to be delivered today and as much as that was supposed to ease his travels, Edge couldn’t say he was looking forward to learning how to use it in the Embassy hallways.

“Morning, Edge.” The security Monster didn’t look up from the screens, most displaying camera angles from outside and in, and one showing what appeared to be reruns of ‘I Love Lucy’. A believable façade of disinterest, one that Edge knew was tested from time to time by his own brother. If hostiles believed security was lax, they didn’t put in as much effort to thwart it, it was a technique they’d used back in Snowdin on their own house and out in the woods against XP hunters, tricking them into bypassing the obvious traps only to step into the better concealed ones.

Details might change, but their techniques worked, no matter what Universe they were in.

Edge nodded in greeting and swiped his badge, heading to the elevators. By the time he was nearly to his office, a trek constantly interrupted by greetings and well-wishers, Edge was very much looking forward to using his scooter even if he made him appear like a castoff Tony Hawk impersonator. His leg was aching furiously and consistently, there was probably still some residual swelling from yesterday.

Once he was in his office, he could put it up, he told himself, even as he struggled not to be curt while another Monster offered delight at seeing him back.

The sight of his office door had never been such a relief and Edge only nodded distractedly at Janice’s greeting, limping into his own office.

He nearly fell to the sofa with a sigh of relief, propping his leg up on the arm. The angry throb of pain began to ease almost immediately, dulling down to bearable. This was starting to become a concern, he might need to—

“Edge?” He startled, clenching his fists against the sudden surge of his magic even as he cursed himself; he hadn’t even noticed Janice following him in. She stood just inside the door, asking cautiously, “Are you all right? Can I get you anything?”

Motherly concern surrounded her almost like an aura, her long ears high and alert. Edge almost refused, then changed his mind. “There should be an ice pack in the freezer, if you don’t mind?”

She retrieved it hastily and helped him settle it between the straps of the splint. The cold was immediately soothing, and Edge sighed in relief, letting his head drop back on the sofa arm. He opened a socket to find Janice watching him with the expected concern. She didn’t try to hug him, she was far too professional for that, but the urge was vividly obvious.

Edge reached out and lightly patted her arm, “I’m fine, the walk took more out of me than I expected.”

That seemed enough and relief filled her soft brown eyes, “Of course, it is a bit of a jaunt up here. Can I get you some coffee?”

“Please,” Edge said gratefully. Not only for the coffee itself but for a chance to gather himself without an audience.

She returned all too soon with a cup and set it on the table, saying, “I would have been by to see you at home, but I didn’t think you’d like an audience.”

That was one thing to be grateful for, considering the outfits he’d been forced to wear while convalescing. “I appreciate that.”

“I knew you would. Besides, it isn’t as if we didn’t speak enough between emails and messaging.” She straightened and professionalism settled over her like a shield. “Speaking of which, let me get your schedule for the day. It’s a light load to start, per Asgore, of course.”

“Of course,” Edge repeated wryly, “Ah, before I forget, here, I brought this for you.”

He pulled the crumpled paper bag out of his briefcase, handing it over. Janice opened it curiously. She took out what was perhaps supposed to be a coffee cup, if it were made by someone who’d had it described to them by Salvador Dali and then exposed the results to absurd amount of radiation. It was lumpy and lopsided, the handle managed to be both entirely too large and also positioned where it couldn’t be comfortable held. The colors could be best described as ‘muddy’ and worst as a visual nightmare rained down upon a ceramic that had already seen its fair share of suffering in its short life.

Janice held it up appraisingly and gave Edge an oddly gentle smile, “Thank you. You did a wonderful job.”

Realization hit and embarrassed heat rose in his face with the force of an explosion, spreading all the way to the top of his skull. “No, no,” he sputtered out, “your son made it with Stretch and the other children, I was only delivering it!”

“Oh, thank heavens,” Janice almost sagged in relief, pressing a furry hand to her chest, “I was worried you’d hit your head, too. It’s lovely, of course, but from you I’d expect something a little more…” she hesitated, and Edge raised a brow bone as she settled on “…precise.”

Fair enough.

“Yes, well, as fascinating as this has been, let’s get to work,” Edge said crisply.

“Of course, let me bring in your schedule.” She bustled out and while she was gone, Edge made his way to the desk, carrying along the ice pack. He settled it back into place as he sat in his office chair and the simple act of signing into his computer was nearly as soothing as the ice.

By the end of the day, his leg would surely be singing another tune, but for now, he was focused on getting back to work.

Back to normal, one painful step at a time.

~~*~~

tbc

[mhdiaries]

Diary of Nefera de Nile

Of course you want to read my diary...peasant.

30 July

So father arranged an appointment for me to meet with another agency today but regretfully I was unable to attend. I must have eaten something that did not agree with me last night for I felt faint this morning and I thought I detected the beginning of the shadow of a blemish. I immediately had the servants prepare an emergency spa treatment and I feared to move lest my complexion be upset by the change in humidity that would occur if I left the penthouse. The whole incident was very traumatic and was made more so by learning that some monster with far less beauty and talent was chosen by the agency for its new campaign. Father called and was royally cross with me even after I explained the dreadful details of my situation. He has threatened to come here himself and personally escort me to the next appointment if I do not, in his words, “Stop draining the royal coffers with nothing to show for it in return.” I may never recover from such a blow to my delicate psyche. The only remedy for this situation, of course, is to throw a party.

12 August

All is in readiness for tomorrow night’s festivities. Every agent and top model has received their invitation and RSVP’d. The city’s beast interior designer is putting the finishing touches on the decorations, the caterer an DJ are coming in the morning to set up and I have bought out the next floor down to prevent any potential problems with the neighbors. I, myself shall be the most opulent and regal host since...since ever. I am incomparable to any who have come before and so I will remain. I totally rock and rule. 

13 August

It should have been the night. I made a return on my father’s investment. Everything was supposed to be about me. ME! It all started out like it should have. The decorations, the food and music wove their spell over every thing and I was at the center of it all. I was shining like the sun and every monster there wanted to be in my orbit. Except, except for a motley group of monster models who were sitting on my couch huddled around some kind of book. I do not know why I invited them to the party and I hadn’t remembered them coming in but there they were now. I had met them when I first moved to the city. I suppose I noticed them at that time because they acted just like the group of losers my sister creeps around with at Monster High. They has all come to Milan on a wing and a scare and despite my offer for them to come live with me in the penthouse they insisted on sharing a place together that they could all afford. So next I decided to offer them the benefit of my wisdom and leadership. Only they didn’t want it. No, they wanted me to just come and “hang out” with them. Asp if. Now they were sitting on my couch looking through...MY FEARBOOK...and they were laughing...at me. It must have been at me. Who else could it have been? Then the whole room began to spin and it felt like everyone was pointing and laughing at me...I guess I must have feinted because when I woke up it was totally quiet and I could hear the sound of...of cleaning. I stumbled out of my bedroom and there were those same models helping the servants clean up after the party. Every other monster was gone. It was all ruined - all of it - because of them. I wanted to scream but that would have been so...common. Instead I quietly asked them to leave and told them that the servants would finish the job. They didn’t argue, they just left but before the door closed the last one out, a werewolf with too blond hair and split ends stopped and said, “I was captain of my Fear Squad too - we all thought it was funny that we had that in common.” Common? I have never been common.  

25 August

I’m still in Milan but everything is packed and I am ready to leave. I should have left yesterday but the servants that father sent to pack my penthouse were lazier than the ones he sent to unpack me when I moved into the place. It’s only 10 rooms for Ra’s sake and I was only here for a year. They actually tried to use the excuse that the elevator was out and carrying everything down 15 flights of stairs was slowing the process. One of them even had the audacity to lift his eyes from the floor while speaking to me. Such insolence! I would have punished him but father has forbidden me from disciplining the servants. One day though I shall be queen and I do not forget.

26 August

Before I left tonight I had my driver bring me around the horrid little mausoleum where that motley pack of models crammed themselves together like zombies until they could be “discovered”. I had something special I wanted to leave for them as a parting gift and though normally I would have considered this servant’s work I wanted to make sure, in this case, it was properly done. As I walked up the stairs I could hear them gossiping, in a most petty way, about some failed model they all knew. I thought their comments were quite revealing, especially since the likelihood that any of them would ever haunt the runway was laughable. I rapped on the door and waited...I heard some ghoul inside laugh and say, “Yes, but what she lacked in generosity she made up for in meanness.” “And don’t forget insecurity,” added another in zombie. They were still laughing when some Spanish gargoyle whose name I had forgotten but whose wretched complexion was completely familiar finally opened the door. The mausoleum went as silent as a tomb as they all sat gaping with open mouth stares. It never gets old seeing the effect I have on less than common monsters. Finally the gargoyle regained her senses long enough to acknowledge me. “Hello Nefera, we thought you left yesterday.” “Royalty is not bound by the restraints of schedule,” I replied. “I am leaving tonight but before I go I wanted to hand deliver these invitations. They are to the restaurant you all have said would be the first place you would like to dine after you got your first big break. It is most exclusive you know, and there is a table with your names on it reserved for you this very night. I have left a car at your service downstairs and the first course shall be placed on the table in two hours. This should give you all ample time to make yourselves presentable.” They attempted to thank me but their gratitude is as below my acknowledgement as my beauty is above their plainess. “All is arranged,” I said as I walked to my waiting car. Later on as father’s plane lifted off and the lights of Milan disappeared beneath the clouds, I thought about the dessert and laughter they must be enjoying and I wondered how in the world that pathetic bunch of losers would ever be able to afford the bill that was headed to their table.

31 August

After several stops and some shopping along the way we were finally flying home. There was no moon and the sky was clear. Father’s pilot announced that there was going to be a meteor shower tonight. Azula climbed out of her hiding place to perch on my hand and look out the window just in time to see the stars begin to fall. I was rather bored by the whole spectacle until I noticed a small group that seemed to be falling together at the same speed. That is until a much larger and faster meteor came out of nowhere and smashed through the small group sending them spiraling off into the darkness. Ah yes, I am on my way home little sister and you and your happy little life cannot even see me coming. 

[tisfan]

Grumble

Mental health care is such a pain in the ass.

First off, you have to have a therapist AND a psychiatrist in order to get counselling AND meds. Both of these require co-pays ($40 per visit). The therapist is seen once every other week, and the psych is supposed to be every 3 months.

But last time we were in, the psych office was closing, so they wouldn’t make me an appointment before we got out from seeing the doctor. So, by the time I called in an got an appointment, they didn’t have anything in the next 90 days (aka, more than the length of the prescription)  

So, they tell me Not to Worry, just call in about 2 weeks before the script is due, and we’ll give the pharmacy a refill.

But when I called in, they said “Oh, no, we have a new policy now, you have to come in and see the nurse.”

Which is another $40 copay, but DOES NOT do anything aside from give a 30-day refill, so we still have to go in in LESS THAN A MONTH (another $40 copay) for the three months worth of scripts.

(as a note, if you’re adding this up at home, that was a $40 visit in Sept, a $40 visit today, a $40 visit Jan 16th for the psych drugs. Not including the cost of the medication itself, PLUS $80 a month for therapy appointments.)

edit: This is, in fact, the ONLY psych place that takes our insurance in the area (and they’re a “christian” practice, which I have my own issues with) that had a single opening when I started seeking care. And they made us wait almost 90 days for that first appointment. 

[alph4betti-spaghetti]

This ‘phased return to work’ isn’t very phased...

I’ve been expected to be in every day this week... is it any wonder I’ve been mega late twice already! I got so overwhelmed with everything yesterday that I called the psych and asked to speak to Big-C from the crisis team but he wasn’t available, spoke to Dom, and then finally MANager (who I probs should have gone to first). The stress is back.

I was supposed to get my haircut today, but I’ve had to move the appointment to next Tuesday, I’m gutted!! I’ve already had to reschedule twice, my hairdresser is gonna hate me! I was under the impression I’d have today off, as I was swapping it with Tuesday just gone -missing my depot to go to London- so I’m getting my depot this morning, but I’m due in work this afternoon 😠 hmph.