#it took me half a year to realize it was a coping mechanism

[fandomsupporter]

i have an urge to rewatch the newsies proshot and for the people who know previous me lore this should be terrifying news (the last time i felt this way i watched it every single day for a month)

[onlymingyus]

Faded Whispers

pairing; vernon x reader (ft seungcheol) 

genre; angst

warnings; ghost!vernon, angst, depression, descriptions of an accident, descriptions of grief

w/c; 1.4k and some change 

13 days of mars’oween master list - day 8

a/n; i have once again made myself cry 

One year, four months, two weeks, three days, and fourteen hours. You could count the minutes too, probably even the seconds if you really wanted but instead you laid in bed with your legs pulled up to your chest. Fresh tears had begun to run over the dried ones as you squeezed your eyes shut tightly. A new wave of pain rushing through you as you picture Vernon’s hand gliding over your cheek attempting to push away your tears. 

His brows furrowed watching you shake with grief and pain. He missed being able to actually touch you. This half touch was never enough and you always shivered at his closeness. Vernon hated to watch you grieve over him but it didn’t compare to the moment he had watched them explain how he had died. How the car had sideswiped his car and how he had, they hoped and assumed, died on impact. 

You had collapsed that day and it took you months to really get back on your feet. There was nothing he could do but watch, until he realized he could whisper to you. At first you seemed scared and in more pain at the thought of hearing him. You thought you were going insane but then you convinced yourself that it was a coping mechanism and began to answer the whispers. 

Everyday was different for you. Somedays were like this one, where Vernon would lay with you on the bed whispering how much he loved you, how strong you were, how proud he was that you were able to do this. Other days he would smile watching you get ready for work or to go out with friends. You would rattle on about your day telling him all about the world outside of the house. He liked those days the most. 

When your phone goes off Vernon moves his hand back watching you sniff back your tears so you can turn over to grab it. His eyes travel over your face while you seem to perk up just a bit. Someone had made you smile. He was appreciative to whoever this person was, that they could do what he couldn’t right now. “There’s that smile I love so much.” 

“You’d like him, Vernon. He’s a good guy…I think if you were still here, you might be friends.” Vernon furrows his brows watching you sit up, he sighs gently when you use your sleeve to wipe away your tears before texting the man back. “I’m sure I would like him. If he can make you smile like that. Is he…?” 

Vernon let the question hang in the air hoping you’d understand what he was asking. It hurt him too much to ask if he was your boyfriend. No matter if Vernon wanted to see you move on, he knew that would be painful. “He’s just a friend, a really good friend. I don’t know if I’m ready to move on from you. I may never be. Everyone tells me to. They say it’s been too long, but I feel you with me all the time. Like you are holding me.” 

A tear runs down your cheek and Vernon tries to reach out to push it from your cheek but he’s unable to so instead it drips onto your phone so you have to wipe it away. “Don’t cry baby. I don’t mean to make you sad. Fuck, I didn’t mean to leave you. I wanted forever…I wish I could hold you for real.” 

You can feel it. His arms around you still, the way he used to hold you. His chin on your shoulder, his cheek against yours as he smiled so brightly. Shaking your head you move from the bed and pick up your hoodie pulling it over your head before starting down the stairs causing Vernon to follow you out of concern. 

He watches you begin to clean up various pieces of clothing, cups of water half empty, plates you had forgotten from the day before. Someone was coming over. He felt the air shifting at his own confusion but when the doorbell rang and you straightened out your hoodie, Vernon watched curiously while you welcomed the man into your house, into his house. 

That was the first time he “met” Seungcheol.

Over the next few months he watched you change. You still had your bad days, ones when you could hardly get out of bed but those were the days when Seungcheol would show up earlier and earlier. He would bring you lunch or just a coffee. Anything he could do to get you out of bed. 

Sometimes he would even find you talking to yourself when Vernon was whispering to you but you would simply laugh and shake your head. “Just lost in my thoughts.” He’d hug you and tell you it was okay. That everyone grieves in their own way. That he wanted to be there for you, be a good friend for you. 

Vernon had a hard time as you seemed to hear him less. You seemed to need him less maybe. He told himself that this was a good thing and that this wasn’t where he belonged anyway but he didn’t know how to move on. He was just stuck here watching you, but stuck was a horrible way to put it. He was blessed to stay here watching you. 

That was until you and Seungcheol got closer. Vernon wasn’t angry, there was no anger in him. The only emotions that Vernon had left was his own grief and contentment. It had been 3 weeks since you had heard his whispers and 3 days since he had even tried when Seungcheol sat with you on the sofa that Vernon remembered picking out with you. 

He remembered how he had flopped down on it testing out how soft it was and your laugh as he bounced slightly when he gave a thumbs up. “It’s got my seal of approval. Any couch that can pass a solid bounce test is a winner babe.” The words echoed in Vernon’s subconscious as he leaned against the wooden door frame watching Seungcheol’s fingers brush along your cheek before they touched your lips. 

He was doing everything that Vernon wished he could do. Vernon watched your breath get caught in your throat and he knew that sound, you wanted to be kissed. He should look away but instead Vernon watches as Seungcheol’s lips press against yours for the first time and he listens as the room goes silent except for the sounds of your breath. 

A feeling unlike what he had ever felt before overwhelms Vernon as he finally looks away. Yes, he was sad, but you had smiled against Seungcheol’s lips. You were happy, and that made Vernon happy. If he could cry he might have. He felt warm? He felt like he could go. You didn’t need him anymore. 

He had never felt like that before, because it hadn’t been an option. A door to his right was open that he had never seen before, making Vernon take in a deep unneeded breath before he looked back to you and Seungcheol as you laughed. “Please take care of them, they are my everything.” 

Seungcheol shivers and glances behind the couch towards the door frame swearing he hears a whisper. His brow furrowing at the sound of a door shutting before your hand presses to his cheek drawing his attention back to you. “What’s wrong, Seungcheol?” 

He grins and shakes his head. “Nothing, I just…thought I heard someone say something.” You smile as he moves to hold your hand, looking at you like only one other person ever had before he sighs. “I promise I’ll take care of you Y/N. I don’t want you to be sad anymore. I know Vernon wouldn’t want that. I know I never got to meet him, but I feel like we would have been friends.” 

You feel your heart tighten before you nod, tears brimming on the rims of your eyes because you know it’s true. Seungcheol is quick to catch your tears before kissing you and bringing you into his arms. “Shh I have you. Why don’t you tell me something funny about him?” 

Laughing into your tears as you laugh against Seungcheol’s chest, you run your other hand over the couch and recount the story of how you picked it out. Seungcheol’s laugh fills your ears and you feel your heart slowly beginning to heal with the help from laughter and all those whispers.

——————————————————

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[chloe12801]

I've really been loving these headcanons you've been posting since you clearly know the characters so well! I had a weird one, I hope you don't mind lol Could I ask for headcanons on Michael's older daughter (older than Tracey and Jimmy) were to date Steve Haines? Maybe she works for the FIB or something? I just love the idea of added tension for the group lol

Michael’s Daughter x Steve Haines

Sorry this took multiple months for me to write! Life is so busy unfortunately. I hope you enjoy <3

Note: I’m going to call Michael’s oldest daughter ‘Mod’ for brevity’s sake 👍

- Mod was always more morally just than the rest of her family. It was like when parents of a smart kid say “she didn’t get it from me” except with morals

- She was able to get a government job as a secretary without trouble due to her own hard work, distancing from the Townley name, and maybe a good word from Dave Norton

- She was working there before Haines was transferred and once he was, she immediately liked him

- She felt he was entertaining and kind (to her) and after a while they started dating

- She knew it was risky considering he was Dave’s new boss and Dave had so much dirt on her family, but she tried to pretend everything would be fine

- They dated maybe a few months to half a year before Michael came out of retirement

- Haines definitely wanted to meet the parents but she wasn’t having it

- Explanations like “They just aren’t personable”, “They have rough pasts and it shows”, “My parents and I just don’t get along” were given to him about why it’s a bad idea but never much detail

- She knew affairs between the FIB and the De Santa’s were not business to invite home. She already had a hard time getting them to accept her as an employee, albeit a low level one

- Everyone in the family gets upset with Michaels criminality, but she’d be enraged about it considering her and her boyfriend were in government. She’d prefer a clean record type of life, anything else was beneath her

- When M and Haines meet, Michael’s family is unaware about the situation. She only realizes the situation occurred after Steve vents to her one night about a man named townley. M’s so different from Mod, the thought didn’t cross Steve’s mind that they might be related

- She’d likely tell him the truth in that moment, heart dropping and fully being ready for him to leave her but he wouldn’t

- He’d be shocked, not seeing any relatedness and may pull out Mikes picture to confirm that he was her father

- “Well, fuck me. I get your apprehension about us meeting sweetheart. He’s a piece of work” she’d nod

- Her and Michael’s relationship was fine. It wasn’t good but it wasn’t terrible. She was mature enough to see him as a broken man who’s past turned him into a disaster. She accepted him as he was and set boundaries in place to avoid getting hurt. She didn’t like him as a person and never would deal with him if they weren’t related, but he was her dad

- I imagine Mod as a pretty uptight and judgmental person, a strict rule-follower, likely as a coping mechanism to avoid more people like her dad from coming into her life

- Michael would find out about the relationship after Haines mentions it in exasperation about a favor. Something like “I can’t believe Mod came from you”. M would respond angrily asking what the fuck he knew about her and Steve might say something like “a lot considering I’ve been dating your daughter for a while now”

- M would need a shot, or 10, after that realization

- The whole “why didn’t you tell us” conversation would occur between Mod and her parents and Steve would get an earful about his confession from her as well

- Steve would try to involve her in the manipulation as his favors from Michael increased, “Can you persuade your dad to do this, please princess”

- She would at first and then she’d get frustrated feeling like a tool for Haines to use more than a partner who he cared for

- They might even break up over this if Haines didn’t stop immediately

- If they stayed together, mentions of Michael would be an off limits discussion topic for Haines to bring up

- As for Michael, he would need to vent about Haines to someone else if he wanted the relationship between him and Mod to stay being okay

- Lots of boundaries would be required for any longevity in this situation

- Amanda, upon knowing of their relationship, would likely find Haines to be a solid choice when compared to Tracey and her’s choice of shitty men. At least Steve wasn’t putting her at risk 24/7, had a home, and a job. She wouldn’t feel able to judge much

- Mod’s relationship to Trevor would be worse than her and Michael’s but she’d still be understanding of him. They just clash way too much on morality to really get along

Trevor would be so fuming that M raised a “government pig” who hung around other “government pigs”, the whole Haines and Mod thing would make him sick and Michael would get to hear about it very often during T’s tirades

This was a fun character to come up with, I think there’s potential here for sure :))

[scribefindegil]

authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love❤

Yayy! Thanks Mary! <3 After agonizing it for a while, my top 5:

The Real World (Mob Psycho 100, post-Mogami arc) is absolutely my favorite fic I've ever written. It's some of my best prose, I'm really pleased with how concise and focused I was able to keep it despite touching on so many characters, and it let me distill down a lot of my thoughts on the themes of the show and why it's so important to me. And I wrote it during the absolute worst stretch of the curse, painstaking sentence by painstaking sentence over the course of half a year. I am so so so proud of it.

Fisherman's Knot (Gravity Falls, post-canon fic focusing on the Stans, their deeply-entrenched mental health issues, and their eventual recovery. Also there are selkies.) At 104k words, the longest piece of writing I've ever finished. Writing it was a journey; I took a long break but I'm so happy and proud that I managed to come back and finish it and that there were still people who were as excited as I was to get to the end. The response to this fic blew me away; it started out largely as a coping mechanism to deal with my own poorly-treated mental illness and I feel really honored that my writing resonated with so many people dealing with similar things. I grew so much as a writer over the course of it. Both the big moments of catharsis--Stan's glitter and Ford's realization by the harbor--were things that were so powerful and electric in my head that I worried I wouldn't be able to put them down in words that did the feelings justice, but I did!

Bloom (Discworld, a Glorious 25th of May fic set a few years after Night Watch) Everyone who sets out to write a Discworld fic is undertaking an extreme act of hubris, because not only are you trying to emulate a specific writing style, you're trying to write like Terry Pratchett, which as we all know is basically impossible. Still, I think I hit some good resonant Discworldy notes in this little piece and really nailed the Themes I was going for. Periodically the Tumblr post version gets a little burst of notes and it always makes me really happy that people are enjoying it.

First And Final Orders (Mob Psycho 100, Dimple character study) Hi. Have you heard of ring composition? I love ring composition. It is my single favorite literary device (and I love a LOT of literary devices), so I had to include one of my fics that makes heavy use of it. I also love pointing at a piece of media and going "Hey. Hey have you thought about how there's kind of some Discworld themes here? What if we thought about the Discworld themes together?" And ALSO i love DIMPLE!!! I hope this fic helps explain why.

Casualties (Gravity Falls, missing scene from the finale) So the reason this fic makes this list isn't so much its quality (though I do still really like it!) but the fact that it was my first-ever completed fanfiction. I'd idly poked at the idea of writing fic a couple times before but never made much progress. I hadn't actually done any creative writing for years at that point. I came to fandom late due to a combination of being scared of the internet and, when I did check out my real-life friends' fandom blogs, feeling like everything was so focused on shipping that there would be no place for me and the kinds of stories I cared about. Gravity Falls changed that. I'd made friends and felt like part of a community for the first time. I'd read fanfic that I loved and that focused on the sorts of relationships I really cared about. And so finally I decided that even though it still felt really scary, maybe I would try my hand at actually writing and posting a fic of my own.

360,000 words and 54 works later, I still think it was a pretty good idea.

[arrow-guy]

Within the Ashes (1/??)

Summary: You’ve spent your life working for someone else. You watch their back, you protect them, but you’re left feeling empty and unfulfilled at the end of the day. What happens when a freak accident transports you to a different dimension, very nearly identical to your own?

A/N: Please understand this has been in my head for almost a year at this point and started out with the reader being an LMD without knowing it. That’s definitely not the situation with the story now, but please know it’s been through a lot of Idea Workshopping lmao. Also, the version of the FF that’s in this story is definitely a very Fanfiction-ified version, but it’s my coping mechanism, so I decide who’s good and who’s gay. Thank u for coming to my preface, please enjoy the first chapter.

Page dividers by @carryonmyswansong​​

Pairing: StevexReader, background Spideytorch

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: Fire, explosions, extreme injury (burns, cuts, contusions), gross descriptions of burns, rapid healing, canon typical violence

“Reed, I honestly don’t think we should test it today.”

“And why’s that?”

“Promise you’ll take my concerns seriously? Because you’ve been a dick about it every other time.”

Without looking away from his screens, Reed suggests, “How about you tell me, and I’ll do my level best to keep an open mind.”

“Fine.” It’s not much, but she knows it’s the best she’ll get. “I just have a bad feeling about it.”

“Another gut feeling?” He finally turns his head to look at her, eyebrows raised dramatically. “Is that really enough to put off this test?”

“We live in a world where magic is real and you’re questioning a gut feeling?” She folds her arms. “There’s evidence that proves the existence of a nervous system in the stomach, Reed. You know this. Gut feelings are a thing, and very seldom are mine wrong. And you’d know this if you ever cared to actually listen to me.”

Reed stretches his neck so that his face is just slightly too close to (Y/N)’s. “Name one instance.”

“Two weeks ago when you were tinkering with that vacuum chamber. I told you something was wrong with it, you brushed it off because it was a gut feeling. Then it blew up.”

“Oh please-”

“I had a six inch shard of glass stuck in my shoulder!”

He rolls eyes and his head snaps back to his shoulders. Reed waves her off. “You healed.”

“I wouldn’t have had to heal in the first place if you’d listened to me.”

“We’re still testing the transport today.”

“Seriously?”

“I… respect your gut feelings, but we can’t allow that to get in the way of the progression of science.”

(Y/N) scowls. “This is exactly why no one wants to work with you.”

“You want to work with me.”

“I took the job as a favor to Johnny.”

“And yet it’s been eight years.”

“Yeah,” she mutters. “Eight years of me getting blown up and lugging shit all across the countryside.”

“I heard that.”

“Good.”

(Y/N) grabs her empty mug from her work table and stalks down to the kitchen. Sue is sitting at the bar when she walks in. She waves in lieu of a greeting and keeps her eyes trained on the tablet in her hand.

(Y/N) pours herself a cup of coffee and stares down at the full mug. The realization of what the rest of the day might hold hits her and she’s just about ready to give up. She tips her head back, covers her face, and groans.

“I think your husband’s trying to kill me.”

“Well that’s nothing new,” Sue says. “What’d he do this time?”

“He wants to test that interdimensional transport he’s been working on. I have a bad feeling about it, but I don’t have the knowledge to back it up, so he’s just brushing my concerns to the side.”

“Well that doesn’t sound good.”

“He always ignores me. And every single time, I’m the one caught in the blast. Literally.”

“I know, (Y/N), I’m sorry.”

(Y/N) dumps sugar and cream into her coffee and sighs. “If I don’t come back from the lab today, Reed did it.”

“Duck and cover if something starts sparking.”

“We’ll see if I even get the chance.”

(Y/N) takes her coffee, drains half the mug in one go, and goes back to the lab.

Reed doesn’t seem to have noticed her absence, so she simply takes herself and her coffee to her table and waits for instructions.

“It’s not supposed to make that noise, right?”

“It is not,” Reed confirms.

The thunking noise coming from the transport grows louder and (Y/N) resists the urge to rub her temples. Reed doesn’t appear to be particularly concerned as he stretches across the length of the lab, searching for the source of the sound.

“Something must be loose,” (Y/N) says. “Is it on the body?”

“Not that I can see.” A sheet of metal shears off of one of the machine’s rotating arms and (Y/N) yanks him back just far enough that it misses slicing off his nose. “Thank you.”

“So something’s wrong with the arms,” (Y/N) posits. “The most dangerous part of the machine.”

“It would seem so.”

“I vote we turn it off and try again next week.”

“We don’t know if that’s enough to hinder its performance.”

“It’s enough to hinder our performance as living, breathing people.”

“Where’s your sense of adventure?” Reed creeps closer to his machine and (Y/N) cringes at the way she immediately follows behind.

“It’s securely locked away with the part of me that wanted to be a superhero.” She pulls him out of the way of another flying scrap of machine. “Because, contrary to popular opinion, just because I heal quickly doesn’t mean that it doesn’t hurt when I’m injured.”

“Hm, maybe we should look at that when we’re finished here.”

“Maybe you should find a new assistant when we’re finished here.”

Reed says something about her not being any fun, but she doesn’t register any of it. Her eyes are drawn to sparking near the base of the machine. Another chunk goes flying at them just as some of the sparks are sucked into the vent below the arms. (Y/N) is struck by the flying machine chunk as she shields Reed from it. She winces and hears an unidentifiable function of the transport stutter as another plume of sparks is sucked into the vent. She grabs as much of Reed’s body as she can and throws him towards the door, limbs flapping behind him, right as the entire machine explodes.

The force of the explosion propels Reed out into the hallway, but (Y/N) is caught in the blast. There’s a bright white flash and a blood-curdling scream and then all that’s left is the fire.

Sue is sprinting up the hallway with Ben and Johnny on her heels just as Reed manages to get his feet under himself again. All he can do is stare.

“What happened?” Sue demands. “Where is (Y/N)?”

“She saw what was happening before I did. She threw me out of the lab, but…”

“Reed,” Sue’s voice is deadly low. “What did you do?”

“I didn’t listen,” he says. “The transport malfunctioned and (Y/N) was caught in the blast.”

“Johnny,” Sue is very careful to keep her voice steady. “Put out the fire.”

Johnny simply does as he’s told. He disappears into the fire to absorb what he can and stomp out the rest. Ben surveys the progress from just outside the doorway. He says something about calling Peter and Johnny agrees from somewhere deeper in the lab.

“I screwed up, Sue.”

“No, Reed, you killed our friend. Your employee, might I add. And not even two hours ago she said you were trying to kill her.”

“I wasn’t trying to do anything of the sort.”

“I know that, but you get so blinded by your work that you can’t see when you’re putting people in danger.”

Johnny appears in the darkened doorway of the lab, tears rising in steam from his cheeks. “She was my friend, Reed.”

“I know-”

“She took this job because I begged her to!” Johnny shoves Reed, hard, into the wall. Flames lick at his fingers and Ben gently separates him from Reed. “But now she’s gone and I can’t even find her body in that warzone you call a lab.”

Reed frowns. "You didn't find her body?"

"Wh-that’s what you’re focusing on?

“Answer the question, Johnny.”

He scowls. “No, I didn’t find her. She was probably incinerated."

"Are you sure you didn't overlook anything?"

Johnny's shoulders shake with his anger. "I know what charred human remains look like, Reed. She's. Not. There."

Reed raises one shaking hand to his forehead and turns to Sue. “It might’ve worked.”

“What?”

“The transport. If there’s no body-” he rushes past Johnny and Ben without another word. Sue follows silently after him.

“That’s it, I think he finally lost his marbles,” Ben mutters.

“It doesn’t change the fact that he killed (Y/N).” Johnny wipes his eyes and turns to follow Reed to the lap. “God, Peter’s gonna flip when he finds out.”

“Don’t think about that right now,” Ben says.

“Hard not to,” he mumbles.

“I know but, if Reed’s machine did work, she could still be out there.”

“What if this is the time she doesn’t heal? You see how burnt it is in there. How could anyone survive that?”

“Dunno, but (Y/N)’s strong. If anyone could do it, it’d be her.”

Sue reappears in the doorway. Her hands and feet are covered in ash.

“There’s no sign of her,” she says. “We sifted through everything we could. There’s only a spot with slightly less ash than the rest of the room.”

“So you think Reed’s transport worked?” Johnny asks.

“I don’t know what to think. For everyone’s peace of mind, I hope it did. Then we might have a chance to track her down and bring her home.”

Johnny nods and drags his hands through his hair. “I have to make a call.”

Sue rubs his arm and nods. Johnny stalks off down the hall.

“Boss, there’s a disturbance in the electrical field in your lab.”

“Any extra information on that?”

“Based on the readings, it seems that someone may be teleporting directly into the tower.”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s the best word I could find.”

Tony frowns. “I’m headed up now. Find Steve and have him meet me there.”

“Of course, boss.”

Steve is already in the lab when Tony arrives, pacing along the far side of the room. There’s a bright ball of light forming in the middle of the lab and Steve’s eyes don’t stray from that spot as he moves, even when Tony strides through the door. Tony just stops and stares at the light.

“How long has that been here?” Tony asks.

“It was here when I walked in.” Steve squints at the light. “What is it?”

“Not sure. F.R.I.D.A.Y.  says someone’s trying to teleport into the tower.”

“Teleport?” Tony nods. “Does that kind of tech actually exist?”

“Not that I know of, but we’ve seen some pretty weird shit in the last ten years. It’d be stupid to just write it off.”

Steve stops pacing and jerks his chin towards the light. “Looks like it’s getting bigger.”

The ball of light slowly, steadily expands. When it’s about as wide as Steve is tall the lab fills with a terrible, painful scream and the light grows too bright for either man to keep their eyes open. The scream grows louder and Steve tries to shield his eyes in an attempt to find where the noise is coming from, but to no avail. Then, suddenly, the screaming stops and the light disappears followed by a distinctly sticky thud.

Tony rubs his eyes and Steve blinks light spots from his vision, willing his eyes to adjust to the room again. When they do, he visibly recoils from the vaguely human shaped mass of burned flesh on the tile in front of him.

"Oh God," he says. "Is that a person?"

----------

Part 2

How’s that for a first chapter? I’ll be very honest, I’m excited to finally be posting this one. It’s been a bit of a brainchild of mine for the better part of a year and a half at this point, maybe more. Pandemic time doesn’t work right.

As always, I’d love to know what you thought of this chapter! What do you think of the reader? Her relationship with Reed and the rest of the FF? What do you think will happen in the next chapter? Be sure to reblog, comment, and/or shoot me an ask and tell me all about it!

Tag List:

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[redroses07]

Nightmares//Mike Wheeler

Mike Wheeler x Fem!reader fluff

Summary: Reader has nightmares when she tries to sleep so she visits Mike in the middle of the night to talk. This takes place sometime between season 3 and 4

Content warning: A little bit of angst, mentions of nightmares. Mentions of PTSD.

Word Count: 1.1k

A/N: This is my first time posting any of my writing anywhere, and of course it had to be Mike because I love him. I know a lot of people don't like him but you know what, they can fight me. Anyways, hope you enjoy! 🥰

You laid on your bed, in the dark, eyes wide, staring at the ceiling. This wasn't the first night your body had refused to doze off. You were plagued with so much exhaustion during the day that you had to fight to stay awake in class. It was a coping mechanism really, not sleeping, considering the horrific nightmares that came when you did. You would rather die of sleep deprivation than relive the terrors of the upside down like some sort of twisted movie. You sighed and rolled out of bed, an idea forming in your mind. You strode over to your messy desk where your walkie-talkie resided. It really was wrong to wake him at this hour, even if it was a Friday. Although you knew that being in his arms was the only thing that would help you fall asleep at this point. You turned on the device, the static loud as you adjusted it's frequency.

"Mike," you whisper into the walkie-talkie. "Mike are you there?"

You waited several moments, half-hoping he wouldn't answer so you could avoid the guilt and embarrassment that came with waking him.

Mike's sleepy voice said your name through the static, your heart skipping a beat when you heard it. "Is everything alright?"

"Yeah...It's just, I can't sleep. Would it be okay if I came over?" You said nervously. This was beyond stupid, you were probably on his last nerve right now.

"Of course! Just come through the basement door, and be quiet so my parents don't hear you." He explained.

"Okay, thank you so, so much." He didn't sound angry or annoyed which made you feel much better.

"See you in a minute." Mike said before turning off the walkie-talkie. You smiled, set the device back on your desk and slipped on your worn out black converse high-tops.

You exit your room and walk downstairs, stepping as softly as possible, not wanting to wake my parents. I quietly exited the house and entered the late-night streets of Hawkins. The air had a slight chill to it which was unusual for the time of year. It smelled of pine trees and early fall.

You speed walk down the sidewalk, your heart rate increasing as you did. you arrived at Mike's house in less than five minutes due to the fact that you lived so close.

You headed around back and could see a faint light coming from the basement window. as you got close enough to look inside you saw Mike laying on the couch, seemingly waiting for you. You lightly tapped on the door, careful not to make a ruckus.

Mike opened the door, his smile making a warm feeling grow inside you. God, you loved his smile.

"Hey" Mike whispered, taking your hand and pulling you inside the basement. His dark curly hair was messy, but in your opinion it just made him look cuter.

"Hey..." you said softly as you looked up at him. Was he always this tall?

"So, what's wrong? you sounded really freaked out." Mike wondered, squeezing your hand tighter as you both sat on the couch, you hadn't realized he was still holding it.

"It's just..." you began, your voice catching as the tears you've been holding back for months threatened to spill. You had never talked about this, not out loud. But you figured Mike should be the first person you tell considering he was your best friend and you may or may not be in love with him.

"Hey, it's okay. I'm here, I'm listening." Mike took his free arm and wrapped it around you, pulling you into him. He smelled strongly of cocoa and cedar, it was a unique smell, but it was your favorite.

"I can't sleep because every time I try I have horrible nightmares. I know that we're safe now but i'm just so scared all the time. And it's gotten so hard lately..." you trailed off as you began to let out shaky sobs.

You buried your face in Mike's chest, and he wrapped his arms around you. Tears leaked from your eyes, like an uncontrollable waterfall.

"Sorry I'm getting your clothes all wet." you muttered, embarrassed.

"Don't worry about that." Mike whispered in your ear, as he slowly ran his fingers through your hair.

"You know, I get them too." His voice was shaky, as if he was on the verge of tears.

"Yeah, all the time...I'm constantly worried that something's going to happen to my family or Will...or El...or you. And the worst part is being alone." He confessed

I looked up and found a pair of sad brown eyes staring back at me. Despite my current emotional state, the butterflies in my stomach came to life.

"I know how you feel, you can't talk to your parents about it. When you wake up you can't scream, so you just sit there and cry and stare at the ceiling." You say softly.

Mike brought his hand up and ran his thumb over your cheek. Goosebumps formed where his skin touched yours. He moved his hand down, softly brushing his fingers against your lips. You smiled under his touch.

"Can I kiss you." He mumbled, and your heart skips a beat.

You nod and his lips crash against yours. The kiss was messy, but you couldn't have asked for anything more. Mike's hands wrap around your waist as you all but fall into him. You smile against his lips. He was perfect, this was perfect.

"Can I...stay here tonight?" you say before planting a short kiss on his cheek.

"Yeah, yeah. We'll just have to hide you from my parents in the morning."

"I've snuck out of my own house I can sneak out of yours." you reply, and he kisses you again, proving that the butterflies in your stomach were still alive and well.

"Here lets go to my room." Mike says as he intertwines his fingers in yours and leads you up the stairs.

The two of you enter his room, you take your shoes and socks off and climb into his bed.

You lay on his chest with his arms draped around you.

Mike kisses you on the forehead and then nuzzles his nose in the crook of your neck.

"Night" He whispers against your skin.

"Night." You answer.

You melt into him, feeling safe for the first time in months. In that moment all of your fears disappeared, and you thought of nothing but you and Mike. This was by far the most comfortable you had ever felt. The sound of his heartbeat eventually lulled you to sleep.

You both slept soundly through the night.

[dawnleafs]

Shark Infested Waters

I consider myself a fairly quiet person who has an aversion to conflict. But at a point in my life, being on edge and getting into conflict was all I'd ever known. I once had a friend. A dearly beloved friend. A friend whom I was willing to give the world for. A friend I was glad to have by my side, because I believed I had no one else. Because I thought I had no other choice. It was either him, or no one. And I didn't want to be friends with no one. I didn't want to be alone. No matter how much I deluded myself into thinking I could be fine alone. And yet. It was with this so-called friend I had never truly been more alone my entire life.

While the years have long passed by and I am busy juggling much more important, adulthood manners, I keep finding my mental state fixated on this point of time in my life. This time in my life in which I was a young high schooler who just wanted friends, but struggled to find solace among my peers. So naturally, like the huge ass loser I was, I turned to the internet. And it was in my countless days of lurking about the internet and slipping into spaces I probably had no real reason ever being on, with people coming and going in my life, I met him. FutureDiarist, SharkDiaries, SharkYGO, whatever the ever-loving FUCK this dude goes by nowadays. Skylar is his name. And having a friend like him? Who needs enemies?

I had written about him once before on a past blog. Through some… Shenanigans, shall we say, that post had been lost to time. Not even trying to access the post through the waybackmachine yields feasible results. But like the scars in my memory, I hadn't forgotten to keep a backup. Do I have horrible coping mechanisms for my anxiety and trauma? Probably. But I don't want to be quiet about this. Not anymore. For how much Skylar and his current boyfriend may want to "leave things behind", it's not so easy for me nor any of the others who have been hurt. For as long as this keeps haunting me, I'll haunt back.

Every now and again I find myself relapsing, after going so long just living like a half-normal functioning adult, my mental health takes a nose dive. Everything's going nice and dandy, but then suddenly, it hits me. And whenever thinking about Skylar is at the forefront of my stress, I can't help but wonder how lucky and how stupid I must be. When I am reminded of him, I just spiral into a smoldering rage. It just keeps coming back, no matter how many times I block his accounts, mute things even related to his interests that trigger those memories, the anger just keeps coming back. The pain of having someone I thought was my one and only friend in a hostile cruel world when he was perhaps the worst person I could have possibly had as a friend.

I was just a lonely high-schooler willing to spend time with anyone who would be with me. He took advantage of my naivety and loneliness. I was so blind to his methods of manipulation, as an impressionable, desperate kid who longed for somebody to connect with. And connect we did. Roleplaying, video games, just chatting. It was probably early 2011, maybe earlier. While a bit standoffish and childish at times, Skylar was still someone I considered my closest friend. We roleplayed on chatango, roleplayed on tumblr, chatted over Skype. However, things were a bit… Off. He was clingy, sure. A little too overbearing at times. But what took things too far was how passive aggressive he was. How he, whether he realized it or not, demanded all my attention.

With regards to roleplay, he would occasionally pivot to questions of a sexually charged nature. Being the dumb young teen I was, there were times I fed right into it. I had no idea what I was getting myself into, just the thrill of sharing another common interest with my supposed friend. But there were times where he was very guilt-trippy about it. Like I owed him something. Like it wasn't something we just did every now and then for the fun of it, but something he deserved, something I had to provide at his beck and call. And when I didn't give him his way? Or if there were times I was too busy to even respond within a timely manner? He would turn on a dime and berate me in ways most vile. Acting like I was ghosting him intentionally and threatening to harm himself just to get my attention… Or egging me on to enable my suic-dal ideation. He knew I struggled with thoughts of self h-rm and suic-de and ENCOURAGED me to go through with it. I had come so close to pulling through with it, too. He really messed me up. He shattered my trust with just about anyone following that time. I still shudder thinking that I applied to the same college he was attending at the time, and wonder if I would even still be alive if I had gone through with it.

As if it wasn't bad enough, this man, Skylar liked creating sock puppet accounts. By the dozen. Hundreds, maybe. Who knows? He'd put on a persona and pretend it was someone else, but hindsight is 20/20. It's so painfully obvious that he pretends to be other people, it's so obvious that he pretends to stage anonymous hate mail being sent his way, it's so painfully clear that he tries every which way to paint himself out to be the victim, because he can't fathom the idea of having genuine friendships built off of trust rather than lies and deceit. I recall one time, when my tumblr RP phase was hitting hard, he accidentally sent me a message logged into the wrong account.

Skylar flipped out, when this account I wasn't even sure was him, turned out to be him on an alt. He repeatedly insisted I delete the post and speak of it to nobody. Because yeah. I'm sure he'd want to sweep that one under the rug, when that same account he'd use to harass other users in that community circle of roleplay could be tied back to him. He'd also probably like for me to forget about the time he needled and prodded me for some fanfiction between his self insert character and some League of Legends character. Or how often he roleplays. With himself. On different accounts. And I'm sure he'd like for me to forget when he even claimed one of his sock puppet accounts died of cancer. Or how his sock puppet accounts on skype were conveniently not logged in at the same time until I showed him a video tutorial to have multiple Skype clients open at once.

I'd love to log back into my skype account and skim through the chat logs for some real bangers of shitty behavior he's pulled through, or even the chatango logs, but I can only imagine they're lost to time and at some point it's not even worth the agony anymore. I don't even have my laptop from back then on hand anymore.

And now as I look into myself and the person I've grown up to be since those days in my high school years I just can't help but shake the feeling that I am no better than he is, that I'm more like him than I realize, that I'm not a good person either. And I strive every day to be the best me I can be and shake off my horrific attitude. I know I'm no saint, I know I've had my moments of being a downright prick, but I keep having these nagging thoughts that I'm just like him that I deserved him with every selfish bone of my body, that being the puppet under his control was the universe's way of punishing me for being just as vile deep down to my core. And when I think I've taken back control of my life and he has no hold over my feelings anymore it just keeps burning and burning until I turn green in the face from nausea. The pain just isn't going away.

He wants to move on so bad yet he hasn't truly held himself accountable nor shown any real sign of changing.

So Skylar, keep complaining about your past catching up to you. Keep complaining about your bans or account deletions on wherever you crawled into. I'm so sorry you couldn't afford an ounce of human decency to your dear friend. And I'm so sorry I got into drawing art AFTER we were friends. I'm sure you would have loved taking advantage of that just as much as you enjoyed taking advantage of other artists. How you'd love to beg for free art but then in the same breath decry those who get close to artists for free art. I'm quite sorry indeed. He can speak in fruitful platitudes about how he wants to leave the past behind but he can't ever truly change because his behavior shows me he feels no remorse for what he has done, simply that he has no more direct control of those he's victimized. But in a way, he still has a less direct control with how I can't let go of the pain that haunts me. How because of him, I'm less trustful of everyone I call a friend. Because of him, I feel like I have to put on a fake smile and pretend everything is okay. Because of him, I feel guilty of wanting to spend time with those I care with. Because of him, I am constantly reminded that I am not as smart as I believed I was.

Trying to add me on discord after I made my first "callout post" and then trying to befriend me when I told him to his face I despised him, that sure was amusing at the time. I'm pretty sure he deleted that account by now. But he sure is a piece of work for thinking I would ever forget what he's done. If I were to ever forgive him, it wouldn't be for his sake, but my own. I'm still hurting from all this, after all. I still struggle at night with believing that I'm not good enough, that I deserve everything wrong going on. But no. He's truly, beyond toxic. An abuser through and through.

All the people I've seen, saying that they too went through some shit because of him, only makes me regret not saying anything in the first place. Especially while everything was fresh in my mind, and not just tear-stained memories of a friendship that could have been. I'm in a much better place now than ever, even if I do struggle sometimes. Skylar once said that he was so tired of my self-pity that he would beat the shit out of me until I smiled. Well, now I can smile without that childish threat looming over my head.

I do not condone encouraging anyone to inflict self h-rm upon themselves. It's beyond despicable. Harassing Skylar is no better than the bullshit he's inflicted upon myself and many others. It would take some kind of miracle for this grown manchild to truly realize how rotten he had been and make a change for the better. Because he never has, and likely never will.

It's up to you to determine if you think I'm a trustworthy narrator. If you're reading this far, you either scrolled all the way to the end to get some tl;dr on this bullshit, or you might be humoring the idea that I have something worthwhile to say. I'm really just venting and rambling in circles about my thoughts in the passing years since burning bridges.

[jamaicangalartist12]

Puzzle House Review

I was able to get my hands on a copy of the new Dragon Prince graphic novel so I wanted to come on here and give you my point form review of the book.

Warning! ⚠️ Spoilers underneath!

-Claudia really needs to fucking chill with the magic. Like girlfriend why are you doing it randomly around the house.

-Whoever was supervising Claudia, your mom's a hoe.

-Pregnant Sarai is so cute.

-It took me way too long to realize that it wasn't King Harrow on the throne, I'm talking it took 3 reads.

-Also, where is Harrow?

-That throne look hella uncomfortable. Like no cushion?

-Not Viren knowing exactly where his mentor is but still looking for him. I am curious to know what went wrong between him and his mentor and what led to his mentor being caught in a coin.

-It kind of feel bad for Viren cause I know that almost losing a child and divorce is not easy, especially within six months of each other.

-Also I wanna see a picture of Virens wife.

-Callum as a kid was so cute. He totally always had a crush on Claudia.

-Soren and Claudia's relationship has always been cute.

-On a different note these guards need to be fucking fired cause why can't you do your job? It is not that hard buddy.

-Most of the book is them just commiting laws to be honest.

-Not Soren almost falling to his death OVER A STATUE. In all fairness the same would probably happen to me.

-The giant didn't look that scary out of all honesty.

-My favourite part of the book was Callum talking about his father's death. I had to put the book down two times just to prevent myself from crying. Knowing that he loses his mother less than a year later makes me realise why he is so distant towards his step father. The fact he also understands that knowledge so young, it just hurts me.

-The giant and Claudia reaction is so good and also one of my other favourite moments.

-After my empathy for Claudia died after season 5 this novel made me regain if after seeing what Claudia went through l. Blaming herself for her parents divorce and then trying to fix it? Like I won't lie, that's heartbreaking, and so real because this happens to so many kids.

-Also now it is CANON that Viren:s wife left him because of his sake magic use, but in defense the dude saved his kid but also I understand where his wife is coming from. One time is enough to equal a one hundred times if it is dangerous enough.

-Soren also did the most big brother thing by saying he wasn't going back and basically telling Claudia to go on her own.

-I did not like the interaction between Claudia and Viren at all. The way he treated her in the begging to come and give his child a half assed apology and a coping mechanism is crazy. No wonder why Claudia is so messed up. Her dad literally encouraged her to use dark magic for so long. And it is proven that dark magic catches on easily to people.

-Also, in my personal opinion, K'parrs gift to Claudia was low key lame but hey, maybe that's not the real gift...

Overall not to bad but could have been better in a sense. Would have loved to see more of Soren.

I'd give it a solid 6.5 out of 10

[hidelias]

No tears left to cry | Klaus's young years #4

This is the 4th one-shot about Klaus and Rin's young years >>> AO3 - Wattpad

In this one-shot, I address Klaus's coping mechanisms, particularly in rehab. TW: References to drug use - Post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) - Sexuality (non-explicit) - Illness of a loved one.

Summary: Rin is a 20-year-old punk girl born with a strange power that she uses for illegal work: she can teleport, make herself invisible or intangible. Over several nights in police custody, just over a year ago, she met a strange cellmate named Klaus… also endowed with an extremely invasive power: that of communicating with the dead. That day, she walks through the doors of the Lakeshore Hills rehab facility to pick him up after his 30 days.

Excerpt:

"How did you handle the situation this time?"

I was well aware that his seemingly radiant attitude of the moment was possibly in no way representative of the way he had lived his 'stay'. At the half-way appointment and diagnosis, he'd literally been a rumpled old rag. He wouldn't talk about himself. But I knew that - if I asked - he'd share it with me. He shook his head, looking down at his Twinkies, his smile just fading.

"I was allowed to keep my music…"

His headphones were around his neck, and for - all his subsequent rehabs - this remained an absolute constant. Music helped him isolate himself from his power. The one on his walkman, the one at concerts, even the one I sometimes hummed. It wasn't a miracle cure, of course not. But it at least kept him in touch with reality and gave him a kind of endorphin rush capable of briefly damming up the spirits. And similarly, he added:

"…and I always had the option of banging one of those junkies".

It took me a long time to realize that Klaus's power was not only linked to death, but also to life. That this part of him would always be prominent, and that what may seem to the outsiders to be perverse frivolity was in fact as much a part of who he was as being a ghost magnet. One seemed to be able to counterbalance the other, for a while anyway, as if life's impulses could transiently take over: when he was having sex with anyone and for a while afterwards, the effect wasn't that different from a shot of ketamine.

You know how he is. He sought this effect, having undoubtedly rooted one of the many facets of his pansexuality. I always used to say that the 'P' in 'pan' stood - as far as he was concerned - for 'Pleasure', the A for 'Attraction' and the N for 'Necessity'. Unfortunately, we could have continued the list and added that the next S was all too often for 'Sustenance", when he was negotiating a place to sleep or funding for his dope. The final letter L for 'Love' - unfortunately for him - didn't enter the equation until years later, in its romantic meaning anyway. And that story didn't end well.

[chopper-base]

TW: motorcycle crash, trauma

A coping mechanism I found years ago was when I went through something traumatic, I would write it down. Every detail I could remember. I don't know why, but getting it out kept it out of my head for the most part. Helped me move on.

If you've been here a bit, you know I was in a motorcycle accident back in April. As much as I joke about it in real life, that shit scared me. Scared me enough to keep me off a bike? No way in hell, but it's another thing to add to my list of reasons to be scared of semi trucks. And, well, to get it out, I wrote it down. And I don't want this one to just live in my docs.

(No, my name isn't Jason. Almost was. It was one of the two names I was thinking of when I came out as trans.)

--------------------------

Jason's wrist twisted hard, opening the throttle fully. The only sound he could hear was his own engine revving to its red line. The semi continued towards him, taking over his lane, pushing him towards the fast lane. He didn't even see the pickup on his other side as it slammed into the left side of his bike. It all quickly became a blur as he hit the semi and back into the pickup before all he knew was the rough asphalt. Armor, cloth, and skin, shredding as he slid. Seventy miles an hour quickly dwindled down to zero.

He didn't move, his hands tingling as he forced himself to breathe. His eyes glued to his own head lights staring at him from fifty feet down the highway, a brightlight at what seemed like a black tunnel. His visor had flipped up, half open. His own breathing echoed in his head, his heart beat pounding in his ears, drowning out the sound of traffic coming to a halt behind him. His back was to oncoming traffic, blind to what might be barreling towards his limp body.

He didn't know how long he laid there, headlights staring at him almost taunting. Pain slowly began to blossom in his left foot, solidifying that he was still alive.

A pair of legs walked into his limited field of vision followed closely by a man's face. He could hear his voice but it took a moment for the words to register in his head. There was a second voice, a female. He began to realize it was coming from the phone in the man's hand.

"There's been a motorcycle collision."

Yes. That was what happened. That was the reason he was laying down.

"-ider conscious?"

The man's face came closer, his words now making more sense. "Hey, can you hear me?"

Jason took a breath, stretching his finger, the tingling feeling slowly spreading up his arm. "Ye…yeah. I'm awake." He forced out. His voice seemed almost foreign to him as he pulled in another breath.

"Yes. He's conscious." The man continued to speak to what he assumed was a 911 operator, his words urgent yet calm.

Jason's eyes drifted back to his bike, laying still down the highway. The headlights now dark and the engine silenced, leaving him in a new darkness. He could still see, the street lights casting shadows over the road.

"Are you hurt anywhere?"

The man's voice snapped his attention to the face above him.

Was he? He focused, remembering the throbbing in his foot, now noticing the stabbing in his knee. "My- my left foot and my knee." He said as calmly as he could muster, the shaking in his voice making it waver. The man relayed his words to the operator.

Jason's breath began to shake, rattling in his chest as his mind raced. The weight of what had occurred finally hit him. He didn't notice the tears that had begun to leak from his eyes as his eyes, once again, drifted back to his bike. There were people standing around it now, their mouths moving but no sound reaching his ears.

"-ey, you still with me?"

His eyes snapped back to the man above him. The man was now sitting beside him, his phone nowhere to be seen. "The ambulance is on its way."

Jason gave the man a weak thumbs up, not able to will the rest of his body to move. His backpack kept him pinned on his side, unable to roll either direction. Even with the pain in his leg, his body felt strongly numb.

"My name's Nick. Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere till the ambulance gets here. What's your name?"

Jason took a breath, stretching his hands again, grounding himself. "Jason."

Nick offered him a reassuring smile, leaning on his arm to put his head in Jason' field of view.

Jason reached up towards his back pack strap that held tightly to his right shoulder. Nick's hand came gently on his wrist before he could move again. "Hey, kid. Don't move. Don't worry bout your backpack. The EMTs will help get it off when they get here. Just lay still."

Jason reached back to the strap. "...my arm is fine, I want it off. Please."

Reluctantly, Nick helped him carefully get his right arm out, releasing some of the pressure off his shoulder. He mumbled a small thank you, laying his arm back down.

Nick pulled his phone back out, holding it out where I could see it. "Do you want me to call someone?"

Jason took another shaky breath. "Yes. Can you call my dad?"

Nick nodded, "What's his number?"

Jason slowly recited his father's number from memory, quickly hearing the familiar ringing as he hit the call button. It didn't take long for it to go to voice-mail.

"He didn't answer." Nick set his phone on the ground in front of him. "Where is your phone? Is it somewhere easy to get to?"

Jason reached up, patting the pocket just above his right hip. Nick carefully undid the velcro over the pocket, sliding his phone out. It was unlocked due to maps being up so Nick hit the home button, keeping the phone at an angle so Jason could see.

"My dad should be the first one in my 'favorites'." Jason explained.

Nick clicked into contacts, pointing out the one labeled dad before hitting call and putting it on speaker. It had barely gotten to the second ring before Jason heard his father's voice come over the phone.

"Hello, sir. My name's Nick. Your son has been in an accident. He is conscious and we are waiting for the ambulance right now."

Jason could stop a new set of tears that rolled down his cheeks as he heard the fear and worry in his father's voice. "Where are you? What happened?" The questions rolled quickly, his mother's voice faintly in the background.

Nick answered each question calmly, leaving the phone where Jason could hear each response.

"We live four hours south of there . We are heading out now. What hospital are they taking him to?"

Jason listened to the conversation, holding tightly to each word. Nick looked up over Jason as sirens began to approach.

Jason clung desperately to the voices of his parents, new tears following the tracks of those that came before. He forced yet another shaky breath, his haze falling past to where strangers surrounded his bike. They had moved it over, freeing the right lane for traffic to begin to move again.

It wasn't long before more figures surrounded him, moving Nick away from him. He couldn't find the words to ask him to stay. He was scared. The tingling feeling finally beginning to fade as a new face entered his line of sight. He recognized the uniform she wore as most EMTs all wore the same uniform.

She wore a comforting soft smile on her face. Though he could see the concern in her eyes. He had worked with enough first responders to know how to look past the calm mask they all wore. It wasn't one of fear but of urgency.

Seeing as he was surprisingly in one piece, he was already better off than most. Especially since his dumb luck had him almost becoming a speed bump for an 18-wheeler and, subsequently, the rest of highway traffic.

The EMT, who he couldn't quite remember the name she told him, rattled off questions that Jason answered as calmly as he could with his voice wavering as much as it was. He unconsciously begged them not to cut off the backpack. He wasn't quite sure why that was so important, but it escaped his lips. They reassured him and quickly cut the strap, pulling it from his back. He felt the plastic of a backboard lightly hit his back, rolling him onto it in one smooth movement. He knew he was safe, but he couldn't stop the shivers that shook his body. He didn't feel cold at all, but the shivers didn't fade.

[slowtides]

heyo discussion of panic attack and suicidal ideation

So last night, I had this really long and suspended panic attack that has honestly been bubbling for a while now. It's partly related to considering coming out to my dad and partly related to something else that I can't talk about. But it basically involved this fear that I have that trying to have a future is pointless and fruitless because of mistakes I've made in the past that won't go away.

And it's just been a while since I've had a panic attack I guess. Just the acid in my throat, the cramps in my stomach, the pain in my head, the breaths that wouldn't come. Like everything was swimming around me and I couldn't see past the feelings assaulting my body. It lasted off and on for hours. My hands would tremble and I would coach myself through a breathing exercise and calm down for a minute, and then I would think about it again and it was like a weight that had been lifted was pressing down on me again suddenly. I had been having some nuisance hallucinations and they were getting more and more present, like shadows always on the edge of my eyes. It was so scary and hard and just. paralyzing I guess.

So I started making plans like I always do when I have a panic attack. I won't repeat them, but it was really fucking scary and hard. I don't know. It's hard to write about it without going back into that space, so I won't do it.

And then I remembered that post about suicide that blogger mattfraction made a long time ago. He talked about a suicidal episode he had where he was actually like about to go through with it but remembered that there was a comic series he was reading that hadn't finished publishing, and he really wanted to find out all that happened in that story. And that was what took him out of that moment. He ended up shaving half his pubic hair vertically so every time he looked at his bits he would laugh, and I guess he's still around. I don't know anything about him other than this post that my best friend sent me ten years ago when I was just starting college.

And it's so silly, but it's not silly to me. There's this super long fanfiction that I'm reading. It's over 1.5 million words right now, and there are still at least 500k words of story left that the author hasn't published (they publish every week). And I realized that I really want to find out what happens in this fanfiction, probably more than I have wanted anything else in a really long time. It feels silly to have it written out, but this is a story that I've been reading for years, that brings me so much comfort, that makes me feel like there are things I can be curious about. It is more effective than any career goal or personal mile stone because those are tied up in all the ways I'm afraid to fail or struggle. Because it's just this selfless person giving the gift of their creativity and writing to the world where I can share it. And that's so fucking awesome that I just have to stick with it.

I reread mattfraction's post, and he talks about a friend of his who tried to commit suicide but realized as it happened that he didn't want to go, all because a Van Morrison song came on the radio. And I thought of all the music that I really want to listen to. He also made this long list of things that are small reasons, dust motes, to shake out of suicidal ideation, and none of it is family or friends. But one of them is "who the fuck will love your dog like you do when you're gone?" and I thought of my cat. Who the fuck will love my cat like I do when I'm gone?

Also one of my greatest fears is that I will die at home and be eaten by my cat, and that was the final straw. I started to compartmentalize my feelings and think about short and long term coping mechanisms and solutions, and I made it through the night without relapsing or anything. I slept until 5 pm but that's okay.

I guess what I'm saying is that life can become difficult without warning. And I have possibly become better at managing these feelings than I was when I was younger. And Maybe I should call a doctor or at least a friend.

[voyageofthenautilus]

Some thoughts on Captain Nemo & Prof. Aronnax

Some recent discussion got me thinking about this, and with the start of "The Indian Ocean" and the second half of the book, I thought I’d toss out this very general thought and let other, more intelligent people than myself pile onto it, if they’re so inclined. 

So the universal experience of reading 20k Leagues is that we all fall in love with Captain Nemo, right? I sure did when I read it as a kid (as did my fellow mod). I don’t think I’d encountered a character like him before. Part of the novelty was how mysterious he was. Before I read the book where his backstory is explained in full, I had no idea what had driven him to reject human society so thoroughly, and the ambiguity was delicious. Another aspect that was new to me was how enjoyable a character he was, while not being heroic or even morally good. I remember feeling conflicted when I was young about what it meant that I liked characters like that- characters I found compelling, but who objectively were not good people. There were more characters like this that came into my life through the years, but Nemo was definitely the first. 

The first time I read 20k Leagues as an adult, I saw in Nemo traits that I recognized from a person I’d once known in real life- a horrible manipulator. The violence he causes also stood out in stark contrast with my fond memories of the character. In remembering only the more alluring aspects of Nemo’s character, I had completely wiped out the parts of him that actually made him interesting to me in the first place. Even now, as we go through this story in real time, my memory of loving the character clouds his actual actions. I’ll read one of Nemo’s impassioned speeches and start nodding along, then realize… what am I agreeing with, here? The misanthropic ravings of a bitter man who won’t let himself heal from his trauma and has found perhaps the absolute worst coping mechanism? And why am I trying to reconcile the unsavory aspects of Nemo’s character, as if I need to justify my interest in him? (There’s a whole argument here about what it means to like morally complex characters and how Nemo fans would be cancelled on TikTok if this book had been released in modern times, but putting aside those half-joking thoughts…)

All of this is to say… I feel like anyone who falls in love with Nemo as a character is experiencing something similar to what Aronnax is going through. Because as I said, Nemo reminds me of a manipulator I once knew, someone who had a certain charisma about him and was able to draw people in with his larger-than-life personality and entertaining stories, who also took advantage of the effect he had on people to unfortunately hurt them. I don’t think Nemo is necessarily trying to draw Aronnax in, at least not from the start, but the way he singles him out and shows him all of the Nautilus’ technological marvels during their very first official meeting, then exerts his dominance over him by refusing to see him again for an extensive period of time (making Aronnax wait for him), and also the thing with the panels opening at just the right time to dazzle Aronnax, Conseil, and Ned with all these visions of undersea life feels so calculated and intentional, even though I know there was no way that Nemo could have heard their conversation… All of this reminds me so strong of the behavior of that person I once knew, and it makes me feel deeply for Aronnax and see him as a victim. Aronnax is so dazzled by the abundant resources available to him and by Nemo himself, the mysterious Man of the Waters, that he’s willing to stay aboard the Nautilus and overlook the implications of atrocities that Nemo is almost definitely committing. This mirrors my own reaction as a youngster (I was 12 when I first read this book) to Nemo and Twenty Thousand Leagues as a whole, where I ended up overlooking the dark aspects of Nemo’s character, and the deeper underlying themes of the novel, in favor of OOH THE SEA IS SO COOL and oooooh edgy genius with a submarine (lol). I think this is also similar to the phenomenon of people falling in love with villainous characters and making excuses for them because they’re cute or have a tragic backstory. 

And this can be tied in to real life and how a comfortable life can lure people into a state of apathy and selfishness. I recall a time I knew someone in a creative field who repeatedly expressed racist and sexist views, and the people who worked with him claimed not to agree with him but still chose to work with him because the opportunity and benefits were too great. This is what I find the situation that Aronnax is in as the second half of the book begins reminding me of the most. Aronnax knows that something unpleasant is going on, and he knows at least one of his companions doesn’t want to stay onboard the Nautilus, and he knows they’re all truly prisoners. He’s aware that should there be an opportunity for him to escape, his companion will take it, and he doesn’t want to leave him behind. And he also at least has a strong enough sense of self-preservation that he knows escaping would be good for him, too. But he also admits that he doesn’t want to end this underwater tour of the world, and I can imagine that he doesn’t want to reckon with the idea that this person who has taken him in and opened up an entirely new world to him of wonders and beauty could be committing any unjustified acts of violence. And in my eyes, it’s not just about the voyage- Nemo himself is so compelling to Aronnax that even though he KNOWS he shouldn’t trust him, he allows himself to overlook that because his knowledge, his intellect, and maybe even the enigma itself attract him.  

Just wanted to push those thoughts out there like a kitten batting a ball. I can’t describe what a valuable and enriching experience it’s been so far to not only re-read this book as an adult, not only read (for the first time) a marvelous translation that restores the full text of the book, but also to share this experience with others whose insights push me to examine the text with a more critical eye and, in turn, examine my own thoughts/feelings/reaction to it. 

[golbrocklovely]

everyone deals with traumatic events differently, maybe Colby chose to keep working for the purpose of keeping busy and to take his mind off this terrible thing that he was going through. It's a very human coping mechanism.

I say this because this is my escape mechanism for some medical things that I have gone through similar to Colbys, the doctors even encouraged me to keep busy and to try and continue doing things like work and tbh if I hadn't I think I would have given up or lost myself to the darkness.

So taking a break is all well and good but it might not have been what he needed at the time for his mental sanity (we already know in one moment of quiet where he was not keeping busy he messed around with the bald filter on his phone which is a hint that quiet doing nothing time allowed the thoughts to seep in, because they do seep in anytime your not finding some way to keep busy when going through that), so please don't be mad at him for not taking one when he was going through it all.

By the sounds of it from the podcast now the stressful thing has passed and he has the all clear they are planning some kind of holiday in November, hopefully it will be a long one because I do agree Colby especially needs a break. I also agree that he needs to talk to a professional now as well and maybe he does but we don't know about it, I mean it took ages for Sam to confess to seeing someone as it's a very private thing and not everyone feels comfortable saying they see a therapist especially if they are under the publics eye.

i'm not mad that he didn't take a break. if it's coming across like that, that's not my intention. if anything it's heartbreak for him, maybe frustration at the most. i agree with you that he probably had to work thru the diagnosis and chemo bc otherwise it would have gotten bad for him mentally. that's for sure. and i get why he did it, bc at the end of the day he's a work horse. both him and sam don't know how to take an actual break, with absolutely no working whatsoever. i mean even posting for us or anything. they don't know how to do that.

my issue is that it seemed like, to me, that he needed a break way before even finding out he had cancer. last year wasn't exactly a great time for him. he seemed really upset for a while, even talked about not really liking himself/his appearance. it seemed like, to me, his summer was kinda spent feeling this way. along with everything else that went on last year, i just think the last half of the year he seemed off.

then on xplrclub, they did a final podcast at the tail end of december and he talked about his vacation by himself for three days in hawaii - one of them being christmas itself - and that was the most enthused i've seen him in a while. he seemed so happy to take a break. he even joked about looking at real estate in hawaii. and sam…. talked about wanting to jump back into working, but knew nothing would happen until after new years since ppl don't start working until then. and colby, to me, did not seem happy to get back into things. he didn't seem upset, but you could just tell he probably wanted more time to chill out. they talked about how much work they had last year and how they weren't sure how to top that (as if any of us really needed them to do that, but that's besides the point). and colby has mentioned on more than one occasion about getting overwhelmed and stressed out over the workload they set for themselves.

all of this is to say, that while i get why he worked during the entire cancer process, chemo included, it clearly didn't help him in the long run. bc he never got to work thru what having cancer even truly meant. he literally lost a body part and went thru something traumatic and did not process any of it. i get preoccupying yourself, but that doesn't mean you force yourself to not realize what you're going thru. that's no better. i mean, he said it himself that he doesn't even think he's come to terms with the fact he had cancer and that he lost a part of himself. and that he's gonna have to deal with that for the rest of his life. he himself said that almost verbatim on xplrclub. again, i get not wanting to lose yourself to the darkness, but you can't ignore it either. it's still gonna be there whether you turn your back to it or not.

that's why i feel like after he knew he was cancer free, instead of headfirst diving into work again like nothing happened (after a week of binge drinking in japan), he should have took time to really heal or actually take a break. bc it seems like once he had an ounce of time to think about all he's been thru, it was too much for him. and forcing yourself to work instead of facing your problems is not the best strategy, i'm sorry. not only that, he pointed out (based on what he said in an extended version of the 'i have cancer' video he put on xplrclub) that one of the reasons he went back into work during chemo was bc he felt like so many ppl relied on him to get better and jump back into things like nothing changed. obviously he worked bc he wanted to, but i think he also thought he couldn't take a break or shouldn't, at the very least. and that's just not healthy. it was funny back in the day for snc to joke about not having a work/life balance, but that's not the case anymore. the fact they don't have personal lives as much as they should have is concerning, not cute.

and again none of this is meant to be me saying colby's dumb or stupid for his decisions. i'm not saying that at all and i don't feel that way either. i get why he chose what he did. i just wish he understood that taking a break is also a valid, and really necessary, choice that he should make. sam included. they both went thru hell and i don't think they've realized it bc they force a smile and keep pushing on. you can only say 'it is what it is' so many times.

and as for the therapy, i truly hope he is seeking something out. whether it's with a professional or even in a group setting. just something. and i get him not wanting to tell us if that is the case. totally understandable, i don't fault him if he is seeking treatment but isn't saying anything to us. i don't personally think he is just bc he hasn't even alluded to it and he has always talked so positively about mental health and seeking treatment when you need it, that i find it a bit strange for him to not mention it if he was. but again, it's his choice and if he wants to tell us, cool. and if not, also cool.

[ollieofthebeholder]

to find promise of peace (and the solace of rest): a TMA fanfic

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13] [14] [15] [16] [17] [18] [19] || Also on AO3.

Chapter 20: July 2016

Jon couldn’t sleep. Despite the events of the day, not to mention the extreme emotional roller-coaster that had been the conversation that followed—despite, in fact, being weary to the bone and feeling drained of all energy—he found himself lying awake in the darkness.

There were probably a lot of reasons for this. One was the general unfamiliarity of the mattress—it wasn’t uncomfortable, it was just different enough to make his brain itch a little. On the other hand, the feel of the sheets was definitely unpleasant, too stiff and scratchy where they touched his bare skin, too light and insubstantial where they didn’t, and they smelled of bleach. He was starting to ache a bit, not crippling agony, but definitely the kind of pain that distracted him from being able to sleep, but the painkillers were too far away. He wasn’t alone, either, and while he didn’t necessarily prefer being alone, he was used to it at this point and suddenly and unexpectedly sharing a room, not to mention a bed, no matter how large, was making it hard to fall asleep when he hadn’t mentally prepared himself and they hadn’t discussed boundaries.

Also, Tim snored like a horse being sawn in half.

Jon lay on his back for a while, trying to call on literally any of the coping mechanisms he’d come up with over the years to fall asleep, hopefully without dreaming. Then the thought of the dreams he’d been having lately, coupled with the idea dropping into his mind that he might dream about tonight, about the tunnels and the worms and the screaming and everything else, struck him like the proverbial ton of bricks and effectively killed off any idea of sleep for the moment.

Carefully, so as not to either exacerbate his injuries or wake Tim, he peeled back the top sheet and eased out of the bed. While he was on the one hand reluctant to go wandering around Melanie King’s house without her permission, he was…curious. As long as he didn’t touch anything, it should be fine, right? If all else failed, he could always claim he’d been looking for the bathroom.

The door opened silently, and he closed it gently behind himself before making his way down the hall. It was carpeted, thank God, which meant the likelihood of creaky floorboards was greatly diminished. It was also dark, though, and he had to move extremely slowly and carefully to keep from getting hurt…or making too much noise. As late as it was—as late as it had to be—he didn’t want to wake anyone.

There was a light on towards one end of the hall. The tiny part of Jon’s brain that had been in full panic mode since the first worm had reared its ugly head clamored that Melanie had left the candle burning and the living room was on fire and oh, God, Martin was in there, but he made himself think rationally. The candles didn’t seem to actually do much damage, really, not unless the wards were tested severely. And they seemed to have been placed sensibly, or rather, things around them had been placed sensibly. Besides, the light wasn’t right for it to be a fire. It was too dim, too…steady. It must be something else. Probably someone had just left a lamp on.

As he got closer to the source of the light—the door to the living room, which was ajar—he could hear voices. Sudden panic made his heart kick against his ribcage for a second, until he got close enough to make out words and recognized the speaker. Martin.

“—bad as all that,” he was saying. Something in Jon’s chest he hadn’t even realized was tight loosened at the sound of his assistant’s voice. “Not now, anyway.”

“He left you trapped in your flat for two weeks.” It took Jon a second to recognize the voice as Gerard Keay’s. “And then let you get eaten by worms. Sounds pretty bad to me.”

“This wasn’t his fault. And it wasn’t his fault I was trapped for two weeks, either. Jane Prentiss had my phone, she’d texted him and told him I was sick.”

“And he didn’t come check on you once.” That was Melanie.

“He’s my boss, Neens. Not my friend. Not…I mean, we weren’t then. I’d barely managed to get upgraded from nuisance to colleague. If it happened now, yeah, I think maybe he would have. But back then, I wouldn’t have expected him to come see how I was. That’s not the relationship he had with any of us, really, least of all me.”

They were talking about him. Jon’s stomach squirmed slightly with guilt, because there wasn’t anything Martin had just said that was untrue. Over the last four months—particularly the last few weeks, since the night Martin had sung for him when he’d asked—they’d become friendly. For God’s sake, Martin had carried him back there, had wrapped him in his own jumper when he couldn’t stop shivering, had comforted and protected him. And he’d…been useless. As both a boss and a friend.

“He really thought you were a nuisance?” Gerard’s voice brought Jon back to the present, although not particularly pleasantly.

Martin snorted, sounding amused. “Oh, yeah, he was never subtle about that. You should hear the summing-ups he did on most of the early statement recordings. ‘Well, this is obviously patently false, but if it does turn out to be true, I hope it kills Martin.’”

His imitation of Jon’s voice was almost spot-on, and it was pretty funny, even if it was also a bit too close to a direct quote for comfort. It sounded like Gerard and Melanie both found it funny, too,    because they laughed, if reluctantly. “And now?”

“He pushed me a bit too far one day and I snapped at him. Things got a bit better after that, weirdly.”

“Told you. Sometimes you have to take up space,” Melanie said.

“I’m six foot six and over three hundred thirty pounds. How much more space can I take up?” Martin huffed. “Anyway, that’s when he started…I don’t know, respecting my work? Not nitpicking it so much, anyway. We didn’t get to start being friendly until after Prentiss, though.”

Someone sighed. Jon presumed it to be Gerard, since he spoke next, but while the door was ajar, he’d positioned himself on the hinge side so that if it opened, he would be hidden, which rather limited his line of sight. “What did he push you over? I’m genuinely curious as to what the final straw was for you over someone who had the power to make the rest of your life absolute hell.”

There was a surprisingly long pause before Martin answered. “That guy you bought Ex Altiora off of made a statement.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah. That was the latest one he’d unearthed. We were researching it, and…honestly, Gerry, it’d been a lousy day to begin with. You know those days where nothing goes right? Started off with my alarm not going off and went downhill from there. I was tired, I was stressed…I was starving, because I hadn’t had time to eat before I left and I forgot my lunch, and it was the end of the pay period all the bills came out of, so I didn’t have money for the canteen. Just altogether not in a good mood. And it was Mum’s birthday, which didn’t help.”

Melanie sighed this time, a lot more exasperated of a sound. “You got Sheila when you called, too, I bet.”

Martin sighed, too. “Give the lady a cigar. Anyway, yeah, it just…it was a perfect storm of suck, so when Jon basically accused me of slacking off, I blew up at him.”

It hadn’t really been an explosion, Jon thought to himself, so much as the pop of a Christmas cracker, but he put that aside at the question Gerard posed. “And you weren’t worried he’d actually kill you?”

“I said he was starting to put the pieces together, not that he knew what was going on. At best I thought he’d try to fire me. I almost wish he had. Might’ve made things easier. Or Elias would’ve come down and killed us all, I don’t know.” Martin was really way too nonchalant about these things. “Anyway, Jon’s not anything like Gertrude Robinson, thank fucking God. The more I’ve got to know him, the more I realize that if he’d actually known these things were dangerous before he went to record them, he wouldn’t have actually sent any of us to investigate. Even me. He’d have probably tried to go himself. He’d never sacrifice anyone else for his own curiosity, and I think he would actually die before he let any of us be hurt.”

“Oh, I’m so glad the two of you have found each other, that’s exactly what the world needs,” Melanie drawled.

“Shut up, Neenie.”

“Okay, let me ask a less obvious question,” Gerard said. “You weren’t worried he’d start sending Tim and Sasha on the dangerous fieldwork if he didn’t want you at least out of the way, if not dead?”

Jon slammed his hand into his mouth, despite the pain it caused around the worm holes, to keep from gasping aloud. That had never occurred to him, but—hang on, he hadn’t only sent Martin to look into things, had he? He’d—Tim and Sasha, they did their share of fieldwork, too. He tried desperately to remember if any of them had been cases that wouldn’t record on his laptop. Oh, God, had he put Martin in danger and let Tim and Sasha stay safe because he wanted—he didn’t really want Martin dead, he’d been annoyed by him, exasperated, would have been happier at the beginning if he had quit, but dead?

“We don’t have to do actual fieldwork that often, really. It’s mostly phone calls,” Martin answered. “And…I’m not stupid. There are some things Tim’s better at than I am, or Sasha. And I know better than to get too close to the Buried, not after what happened at the Mermaid Inn.” He sighed. “But…well, sometimes people will talk to me who won’t talk to the others, because they can tell that I know. And I sure as hell wasn’t going to let anyone else go to Bexley.”

“Bex—shit, not that woman bound up in the Flesh, the one with the…”

“Angela Grackle, yeah.”

Jon frowned, momentarily distracted by the fact that they’d never known Angela’s last name and that Martin had claimed not to be able to find her—it had been one of the last times he’d insulted Martin on recording, more out of habit than anything—but then Melanie started speaking and he focused back on the conversation. “You know they’re not going to let you get away with that now that they know about the Fourteen, right?”

“Yeah, I know.” Martin sounded resigned. “I can already foresee some nasty go-rounds with Tim about it.”

“Buddy system, Martin. You should’ve been using it from the beginning. Always goes worse for us when we try to go solo. I mean, look at me.” Gerard yawned. “I’m…shit, I’m actually tired. God, you have no idea how good that feels. But I need at least a night’s sleep before I try to give a proper statement to your Archivist.”

“Don’t call him that, please.”

“What, Archivist or yours?”

“Good night, Gerry,” Martin said emphatically.

There was some soft snickering and a bit of murmuring Jon couldn’t quite make out. He pressed himself harder into the corner, hoping he wouldn’t be given away when the others came out into the hallway—he’d never make it back to the room unobserved—but nothing happened for an agonizingly long time. After a couple of minutes, though, he heard Martin call quietly, “Jon?”

Guiltily, Jon pulled himself out of the corner, stiff and sore from having stood still too long, and came into the living room. “How did you know it was me?” he asked, pulling the door shut behind him.

Martin was alone in the room—Jon could see now that there was another door he’d been too shell-shocked to notice earlier—and still sitting on the loveseat, although he had his feet propped up on the low coffee table in the middle. He also had his eyes closed and his glasses off as he rubbed at his forehead. “Saw the flash of socks under the door and knew someone was out there. Sasha would’ve been on the other side of the door so she could see as well as hear, so it was fifty-fifty whether it was you or Tim. Took a chance it was you.” He slid his glasses back onto his face and raised his head to look at Jon. Surprise flitted through his eyes as his eyebrows jumped up to his hairline.

“It’s not mine,” Jon said weakly, feeling his face catch fire. Melanie had offered to find all of them something to sleep in—she hadn’t been able to find anything that fit Tim, who had simply stripped down to his pants, and she’d given Sasha an oversize sleep shirt that would do—but he wasn’t sure which of them had been more dismayed to discover that Jon and Melanie were essentially the same size. Still, she’d handed Jon a soft cotton t-shirt and a pair of flannel sleep pants worn smooth from numerous washings, and even a pair of socks he’d at first looked slightly askance at but that had turned out to be the most comfortable things he’d ever put on his feet. And he was grateful.

He just knew it did something probably unhelpful for his reputation, such as it was, to be wearing a shirt advertising an American punk rock band’s European tour.

“I know it’s not yours. I’m just…surprised is all. When Neens said she’d given you lot stuff to sleep in…never mind.” Martin gave him a tired half-smile. “Hurting?”

“A little.”

Martin gestured to the various seats in the living room—the sofa he, Tim, and Sasha had crammed onto, the loveseat Martin had somehow managed to share with Melanie and Gerard, an overstuffed leather armchair with a knitted throw tossed casually over the back. Jon contemplated the chair for a moment—something about that throw drew in his attention—and then, rather to his surprise, made his way across the living room and settled next to Martin on the loveseat.

“Do you mind?” he asked, somewhat belatedly.

To his relief, Martin shook his head. “Not if you don’t.”

They sat in silence for a bit, but it was a comfortable one, not charged or tense like the silences in the Archives usually were, especially these days. Finally, Martin took a deep breath. “So…how much of that did you hear?”

“You, ah…everything from Gerard saying I’d let you be trapped for two weeks without checking on you,” Jon admitted. “I am sorry about that, Martin. I—I should have—”

“Honestly, Jon, I think the fact that you wouldn’t have is the only reason she went away,” Martin said. Jon blinked up at him in surprise. “I wasn’t afraid of her. Not then. Not once I realized…I wasn’t sure if Tim would come to see how I was doing, but after a couple days, I realized nobody was coming, and that meant nobody would walk in on her unprepared. So I wasn’t afraid anymore. Her leaving was probably less because she was bored and more because she was starving.”

“Starving,” Jon repeated.

“She fed off fear. Most things that have become that entwined with the Fourteen do, in the end.”

Jon could hear the faint note of sadness in Martin’s voice. He studied his assistant’s face, then asked the question he probably didn’t want to know the answer to. “Even you?”

Martin swallowed and nodded. “Even me. Eventually. It hasn’t happened yet, but…every time I Look, every time I See, it gets worse and worse. Someday I’ll go too far and I’ll have to, and the worst of it is it’s not going to be a big thing. It’s like putting a single drop of poison in the well every single day until one day you can’t drink the water anymore.”

“It’s not the hundredth blow that splits the stone, but the ninety-nine that came before,” Jon said softly.

“Yeah, something like that. It’s…never mind.” Martin took a deep breath. “But no, right now I don’t have to live off the fear of the people around me. Prentiss, though…me not being afraid of what would happen was probably what got her to let me go, in the end.”

Jon mulled that over for a minute. “So that’s the trick? Not being afraid?”

Martin shrugged. “Maybe, but it’s really difficult to just…not be afraid. There’s a rumor…some university student who had an encounter with an agent of Terminus and lost the ability to feel fear…but that’s not something that comes easily to most people. I wasn’t afraid for myself because I was, well, prepared. At least at home. I had the ward, and I knew it worked. I had a few things that would have helped if she’d forced her way in. And if all else failed, I could have taken a few precautions to make sure she couldn’t have used me to get to you all.”

“I’m going to have to get you to teach me some of those things,” Jon murmured, settling back against the loveseat. “Not tonight, though.”

“No. No, not tonight,” Martin agreed.

Another silence fell. This time Jon was the one to break it by blurting out, “I didn’t really want you dead, you know.”

Martin gave a surprised and slightly bemused-sounding laugh. “What brought that up?”

“It’s…you were, y-you were talking with Gerard and Melanie about the way I treated you in the beginning, and—I was awful to you, I shouldn’t—”

“I probably deserved it. At least some of it,” Martin interrupted. “And no, I never thought you actually wanted me dead. I’d have called you out on it if I did. I just thought you hated me.”

Jon wanted to deny that he’d hated Martin, but he wasn’t sure he plausibly could. Instead, he asked the question that had been bothering him…well, for a while, but especially since he’d asked Martin why he stayed. “So why didn’t you quit?”

Martin was quiet for a lot longer than Jon had expected. Finally, he said softly, “We can’t, Jon. None of us can. We’re bound to the Archives now.”

That probably should have been horrifying. Or terrifying. Or both. Jon was vaguely aware there was a distinction between the two, but he couldn’t remember what it was exactly. It had something to do with the mood, didn’t it?

He must have said something out loud, because Martin gave him a funny look. “Terror comes before an event, horror comes after. One of my teachers said once that fear is worrying there’s a werewolf after you, terror is seeing it spring out of the bushes and charge at you, and horror is realizing your feet are stuck to the ground. Something like that. Why, are you trying to figure out which one’s more applicable here?”

“I mean—kind of?” Jon tried to laugh. “It doesn’t really matter, I suppose. It should be…I suppose it should be horrifying, right?”

“But it isn’t?”

Jon shrugged. “I can think of worse things than to spend the rest of my life working in the Archives with you.”

The surprised laugh that burbled out of Martin was one of the nicest sounds Jon thought he’d heard in a while. “I think it might be more productive to talk about this in the morning. Once you’ve had a good night’s sleep. But…for what it’s worth, thank you.”

“Thank you,” Jon said, suddenly aware he hadn’t said it earlier. “For…everything today. For saving my life. For looking after me.” For caring about me, he wanted to add, but he bit that back. It felt…a bit excessive, really.

“Of course.” Martin sighed. “I wish I’d told you sooner. I wish you’d all been more prepared. I—I wish I could have done more. But I was glad to do what I did.” He paused. “Speaking of, I’ve, um, Melanie left the bottle of aspirin. Do you…?”

Jon was, in fact, still in a fair amount of pain. “Please.”

Martin opened the bottle and shook out a couple of the little white pills, then handed the rest of the bottle to Jon before tossing back the ones in his cupped hand and chasing them with a sip of tea. Jon took three—more than he probably should have, but the pain was severe and he hoped it would help him sleep—and was about to dry-swallow them when Martin nudged him, very gently, and gave him the mug as well. “Here. There’s not much in it, but it should be enough.”

“Thank you.” Jon’s fingers were not shaking as he took the mug, and if they were, it was definitely from the pain. There was no more than a swallow left in the bottom, and it tasted faintly sticky, but as Martin had said, it was enough to keep from feeling the powdery drag down his throat.

He set the mug down on the coffee table and leaned back against the loveseat, waiting for the pain to subside enough that he could force himself to his feet and stumble back to the room he was sharing with Tim. Or maybe he’d stay here until Martin left—presumably he had a bed of his own somewhere in here—and sleep on the loveseat. It would be safer. Funny how he never worried about what might happen if he slept in the same room as Martin. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Tim, just that he worried one or both of them might do something…unseemly. There was, strangely, no fear of that with Martin.

Jon was still turning that over in his head when he drifted off to sleep, right there in the living room.

[crvstybowlofcereal]

ok i'm just gonna cut to the chase

this is that personal post i was talking about last night. this could be triggering for some people, even as i'm writing this i'm not sure how much detail i'm going to go into, but i will be talking about eating disorders. please read with caution, and stop if you're not in the headspace.

i'm trying not to make this longer than it needs to be, or super triggering, so i'll be sparing details. besides, i'll probably talk more about this stuff on my sideblog.

i first developed an eating disorder in 7th grade, around 12 years old. When I graduated 8th grade i felt really out of control in my life, and it really took hold. 14-15 i was at my worst, it totally consumed my life, i was so obsessed with food, control, and my body.

it had always been kinda on and off until i got to highschool, so like, 14 and a half? and it was a full time thing from there really. partially because of the people in my life. or at least one person. i have very conflicting feelings about my relationship with that person.

anyways, when i turned 16 i decided i wanted to get better, and i started putting in the work. since i decided to stop letting myself spend all my time body checking and fixating on food, I started looking for other forms of entertainment in my freetime, which led me to learning about witchcraft and paganism and it helped me realize a lot about my religious beliefs. (i had struggled a lot with my religion growing up, and finally admitted to myself at 14 that i really had never believed in God as far as Christianity was concerned)

some of the biggest parts of my spiritual belief that really helped me in recovery was that i feel that nature is sacred and inherently beautiful, and, well, i'm nature. even if i don't like the way that i look there's an inherent beauty of my body existing in whatever state it does when i honor my needs. and with this, combined with active self love, i learned to love my body again. how to feel good in my own skin. how to dress myself to feel confident while acknowledging that just because some clothes don't look good on me, my body still isn't the problem.

but recovery isn't linear, and sometimes its way harder than others, and i've definitely slipped in to relapse so many times since I was 16 that i lost count. and sometimes it was really bad. but i always picked myself up after a couple weeks at most and got back to active recovery.

it really really sucks, when one moment recovery is easy, you don't even think about it anymore, you love your body, you love life, you don't worry about food, and then the next moment you're fighting yourself. it especially sucks because you KNOW it makes more sense to keep recovering, you can have 1000 reasons to keep going, but that one point in the back of your mind says "but i want to be thin" and they reach a stalemate. or worse, that little voice wins. and i find myself thinking, why is this so hard? it feels like a beast the size of a tree losing to a little bug. it's humiliating in a way.

that shame on its own of relapse would be enough to keep me from asking for help sometimes. i feel like i need to be able to pick myself up by the bootstraps and take care of shit on my own. but also when i'm in the relapse, sometimes i think "this is it now. i'm actually going to stay like this." it's comfortable, its a coping mechanism, i want "results." and i want to keep it a secret, so no one can stop me.

so um. thats some background context for you.

so basically i discovered Metal Family right at the end of february, and i hyper-fixated on that harder than anything i've ever fixated on things. sure, i've deep dived further on other things, or have been obsessed with them longer, but i was never so IMMERSED like i was with this. for 2 weeks i was in bed pretty much all the time just rewatching the show over and over and consuming fan content. i would do that for 13 hours straight on average. i couldn't pry myself away. i couldn't make myself watch other things. i neglected eating and sleeping for the most part. and when i finally snapped out of it and chilled the fuck out and calmed down to a normal fandom-level obsession, i realized that i had lost weight. during a time i would typically be gaining weight. and i sort of figured "wow great start! if i just go back to my old habits, i can lose so much more! i can be as thin as i used to be." (so toxic, why do you want me to suffer, brain?)

long story short I've been relapsed since then, and last night i was doing my favorite food fixation thing, watching people on youtube eat. and i was watching a wiead video by some girl who was in recovery and the way she talked about it was so much more personal to me and my beliefs than other recovery based channels. hearing her talk about missing out on fun moments in life, and looking back on celebrations and having it be shrouded in Bad Feelings about food and body image really struck a nerve with me. i already have so many photos of myself during "happy times" where looking back all i see is how fake my smile was. how miserable i was and how i hid it. how obsessed i was with restricting food and losing weight. i have things in my life coming up, and i really don't want that to be how i look back at them. I'm the maid of honor in my sisters wedding this september. for the last month or so i was so obsessed with losing weight to look good at the wedding (even though i already look good as fuck in that dress ngl) and now i'm so worried that i'll be too caught up in avoiding food to enjoy it, and that this wonderful day will be overshadowed by memories of how unhappy i was in life.

the biggest thing for me is imagining myself hosting events, particularly, i want to someday host a Dumb Supper for Samhain, (among many other traditions for many other pagan holidays) and it just won't happen if i'm worrying about food. partially because a lot of it, dumb supper in particular, focuses on food, but mainly because with my religious beliefs i feel super guilty when i relapse, and i feel like i don't deserve to engage in the religion. like by actively neglecting my body, i'm insulting the Goddess, and i shy away from my little religious routines and witchcraft (that i could be using to help myself feel better mentally) altogether.

i'm not really sure how to wrap this post up. i just needed to make it so i have people to do it for. because i can't do this if i hide away. i know myself well enough to know that if i think "no one knows anything about it" then i will think "might as well keep it a secret, don't bother them with it, and don't give them a chance to make you stop."

i'm going to document my recovery journey on my side blog @crustyisgettingbetter i'll include my religion and craft and how i use it to rebuild my relationship with my body, introspection in my relationship with food, exercise, and my body, challenging fear foods, etc. i want to be real and show the ups and downs of recovery, so i'll update with good days and bad days and everything in between. also my fitness journey. but that will be a much lesser part of the blog lol.

well that was long as fuck and super personal about probably the one thing i don't like sharing. TL;DR i'm recovering from an eating disorder and shit's hard.

y'all are more than welcome to follow the blog above and ask me questions and stuff about it there. now that this is out in the open, no more hiding. take care guys, ily.

time to actually be vulnerable for two seconds when i hit post..

[aidanchaser]

anyway i’ve been thinking a lot about this in the past week or so (+ the past year or so) and i had a bottle of wine tonight so here we go

When I was 15 I loved a girl. I told a friend that I trusted. She told everyone else.

I talked to a counselor at church. She asked if it was a phase. She asked if I wanted to be this girl’s friend or if I wanted to actually be with her.

(I wanted to press my lips against her neck)

When I went to college, (small. christian. conservative.) my roommate said, “I couldn’t imagine sharing a dorm with a lesbian????” I kept my mouth shut.

It was a phase, anyway, it seemed. There was a boy I liked at school, a boy I even loved. So what did it matter who I used to be?

But I wasn’t attracted to him. I ran into stories and experiences of asexual people and thought, “Yes, this sounds like how I love boys. I must be ace.”

I’m no stranger to disconnect. I had a hard conversation with a friend about her abusive relationship, then had the thought, “I am going to go do the dishes so that I can use water so hot that it burns” but it still took me another six months to realize that I was actively choosing pain as a coping mechanism. 

So I dated boys. I dated boys for another fifteen years. I kissed boys. I made out with boys. I tried to masturbate thinking about boys. I fucked myself with a beer bottle because it felt masculine. I felt nothing.

When I was thirty I made out with a boy I knew I could love and I hated every second of it. I remembered the girl I loved when I was fifteen. I remembered that I had spent half my life telling myself I wasn’t attracted to anyone, but I remembered that I had wanted to kiss that girl. I remembered my dream about fucking Jennifer Lawrence. (embarrassing when I woke up, and anyway, everyone had sex dreams; that didn’t actually mean anything, right?)

But now that I remembered? Now that I recalled how I did want to kiss a girl, that attraction was a thing I had experienced? Masturbating was no longer boring. No longer a chore. I thought about girls and it was... nice.

I came out to a trusted friend. I told her a version of this story, of the boy I kissed but felt nothing. Of the girl I dreamed of kissing. She asked, “But how do you know you’re gay?”

I came out to a different trusted friend. “I’m a lesbian,” I said. “But aren’t you ace?” she asked. “Maybe not.” And the look she gave me made me wish I hadn’t spoken.

I get teased for not opening up about my feelings. But I don’t know where my feelings are supposed to go when they’re not inside; it feels like every time I take them out, I get asked why I bothered, or if I’m sure that’s mine. So why do I unscrew the lid?