#my parents refused to take me to the hospital after my most recent collapse

[the-mandalorian-clone-lover]

Ranting

[terrestrialnoob]

To say that Bruce Wayne didn’t like Vlad Masters would be an understatement. Masters refused to treat anyone not obviously rich with any decency, was allergic to admitting he was wrong, used underhanded business tactics to get unconscionably one-sided deals, and kept everything just barely on the side of legal. All on top of having the reputation as one of America’s Most Charitable Billionaires with how much money he gave into rare disease research, that just so happened to also be America’s second biggest tax write-off for one individual. It wasn’t a private feud either. Bruce had gotten, first, in a donation war for who could fund the most charities, which Bruce had thought was in good fun, until it soon became clear that Masters was taking it far too seriously and tried to sabotage a charity event. Bruce wasn’t sure how he did it, but “it was lucky that Batman was there” to get everyone out of the burning building. Bruce then learned just how competitive the man was, and if he didn’t let him win, there’d be more innocent people put into danger.

So, you could imagine his surprise when he got a phone call from a dejected sounding Vlad Masters. “Bruce, it may be hard to believe, but I need your help.”

“With what?” Bruce didn’t want to deal with this man-child’s ego tripping, but he could never refused a cry for help, whether legitimate or a trap.

Vlad sighed loudly into the phone and Bruce thought for a moment he had been hung up on and missed the beep. But after the long pause Vlad said, “Recently, some old college friends of mine died.”

Bruce absorbed that in the shorter pause that followed. First that someone like Vlad had friends, and second, that their deaths meant something to him.

Vlad continued, “Jack had been a rival of mine and I had never forgiven him for marrying the woman I’d loved or – he also caused an accident that had left me hospitalized for months. I still say we were friends because, well, he never stopped trying to be mine despite how horrible I was to him. We had met when he and I were in a horrible punk band, and then I met his friend Maddie and the three of us made – Sorry, I don’t mean to ramble...”

“It’s understandable,” Bruce responded, “But, you said you needed my help? I have a really good grief counselor if that’s something you’d like?”

“Ah no, you see, Jack and Maddie had a son,” Vlad paused, “They had a daughter too, but she was home when their basement laboratory blew up and their entire house collapsed into it. The three of them, as well as three other teenagers, died. Danny was the only one to survive, and he is now in my care.”

“Jesus,” Bruce sighed, “Does he-”

“Before you offer, a bad experience with a school counselor has him sworn off seeing any kind of professional.” Vlad cut in, “And my bad behavior with his parents beforehand has convinced him I’m some kind of evil supervillain who wants world domination or some such nonsense. He wouldn’t trust anyone who’s associated with me in any way.”

Bruce nodded, seeing where this was going, “But you and I are openly rivals.”

Vlad hummed in agreement, “And you unfortunately have firsthand experience with both losing your parents and helping a grieving teen through the same.”

Bruce sighed, he was getting another kid, wasn’t he?

[mymedlife]

Guys, the pandemic has broken me. Every time we seem to be making any progress I feel like we get set back again.

Sorry for the long rant ahead, but I feel like I need to get it out of my head.

Back in the beginning, last March or so, when the state I'm living in shut down, I felt like I could do it. Daycare shut down for almost 3 months to prevent spread.

My husband's job changed his hours to 10a to 8p since everyone was working remotely so they could all be working on the same time zone.

My cofellows were generous enough to switch shifts so I could work all nights and weekends and watch my kiddo during the day. Which kind of sucked, because she doesn't play independently for very long, o was tired, hubby wanted it quiet, and everything was closed so there wasn't anywhere to go to break up the monotony.

Work was filled with frequent changes around what protective equipment we have and what is required to be worn where. I got fitted for 3 different N95s because we kept running out, despite having to check them out and have them sterilized between uses.

I had frequent discussions about how COVID is real with families who refused testing. Parents lied about their symptoms to be allowed into the hospital with their kids, including one who collapsed mid visit due to respiratory failure. Several people ended up having to quarantine because they weren't wearing their N95s during the resuscitation as it was unexpected (at the time we were only wearing N95s during aerosolizing procedures including bagging). This lead to a new rule on not stopping in to help until you have the proper equipment on (which makes sense, but but is so hard).

Early on I spent some time volunteering for the COVID hotline for my state. Most of the questions I got were people upset that things were closing. There were very few health calls.

My aunt died. My sister, a psychologist, argued with her boss she should get a raise for being a frontline worker. My other sister, who is immunocompromised, was mad that all her friends continued to party guilt free and we kept telling her to stay home. My husband began to enjoy his new schedule to the point that he would stay up until 3am playing games after work (the kid was asleep and I was working) and sleep until he had to work at 10 am. My friends talked about their new lock down hobbies, including my co fellow who spent her time creating a new lecture series for the residents. I felt like I was trending water, I started getting behind on fellowship things and I was so tired. My kiddo was happy that I was spending more time with her, and it all was temporary, right?

Eventually things started opening up again. Daycare returned. Two days later my husband was fired. Thankfully he found a job within a few months, but during that time was quick to anger and his staying up all night playing games and sleeping most of the day got worse. He dismissed anything I had to say about it and frequently promised to sleep earlier, later saying he had to stay up because the kid had a nightmare that I slept through.

During this time, many of my pediatrician friends were called to see adults due to high patient volumes and doctor shortages. Luckily I only had to see kids, but there was still a lot of mystery surrounding symptoms and the discovery of the multi system inflammatory syndrome.

My kiddo got sent home a few times from daycare for vague symptoms that necessitated a COVID test, and at one point she was at home with me for 2 weeks due to a COVID positive exposure in class. My husband's job was new so he couldn't take off time to help. At some point things shifted so I was now doing all the daycare pickup and drop-off as well as all the bedtimes (unless I was physically at work).

Following Breonna Taylor and George Floyd there were large scale protests around the downtown area, where my hospital is located. I wholeheartedly support the movement, but someone told my kid it was dangerous to go downtown, and she became fearful of me going to work. This combined with the break in at our home lead to sleep refusal. Something I had to help he with, leading to bedtime taking hours, because my husband would yell at her. Most nights I was too tired after getting her to bed to do much, which lead to more work piling up.

Job hunting was not as fun as I had hoped it would had been. I had one in person interview, everything else was virtual. Thinking about working at a place I've never seen was terrifying.

Many places simply ghosted me. Lots weren't hiring. A few went on a hiring freeze after my interview.

Every interview asked what hobby I developed during lockdown. I admittedly could have answered this question better, and explained that I survived the lockdown with a toddler and that was an accomplishment.

My home institution decided to go with my co fellow over me. When I asked my mentor why she said they felt she had more to contribute to medical education than I do. I'm convinced that in part this has to do with all the lectures she wrote during lockdown.

I was able to get a job, but it's at a smaller community ED where we have a few beds in an adult ED. I mentioned to my associated program director I was a little disappointed, and suddenly everyone is telling me to be thankful for what I have.

I can be thankful and disappointed at the same time.

I think the biggest thing is a fear that if I hate this job I wont ever be able to find another one.

I also kind of resent my kid and husband, if I had more support or time to focus on fellowship things may have been different.

But life goes on. The vaccine was created, things opened up, and now those who aren't vaccinated can stop masking.

The my body my choice people who previously refused to mask are pleased, and now there are barely any masks when I go out (despite a not great vaccination rate in my area).

My kid is 3 and cant get the vaccine, so we still wear them. She loves to whine about how the others don't wear their masks. "It's not fair."

No, it really isn't.

Masks are still required in the hospital, which parents complain about daily. Recently every time I recommend a COVID test it has been refused. The pandemic is over. Kids can't get COVID. And other nonsense.

Kids as young as 12 can get vaccinated. However there is real concern about post vaccine myocarditis. Now everyone who comes in with chest pain wants to complain, even if they are unvaccinated.

Things have been stressful, and my kid is picking up on that. She still has trouble sleeping and has started having tantrums. We recently had a meeting with daycare and they want us to have seen by psych to get her evaluated.

I've found that I've lost interest in most of my hobbies, not that I have a lot of time for them. Fellowship finished and I have the next two weeks off before starting my new job. I was planning on spending it sleeping, cleaning the house, getting out the baby stuff as we are expecting a new little one in a couple of months, and rediscovering my hobbies.

Today I had an awful migraine. I cant take the meds I usually take because of the pregnancy, and my OB wont prescribe anything because he is worried about masking signs of preeclampsia. My husband refused to get up to watch the kid because he was tired, so I pushed through until he was ready to get up.

I lay down to try to get a nap and I get a call that there has been a case of COVID at daycare, and they will be closing for 2 weeks. They will open up the day I start my new job.

And this my friends is what has broken me.

I was so looking forward to finally have time for self care, and now I get to play stay at home mom again with my kid who is in isolation.

After that call I got up and left the house. I'm sitting in my car at the park writing this, and while I know I will go back home eventually, I'm tempted to drive off and let my husband deal with this for a change.

[rainbowvamp]

"Your Grace."

A royalty/knight AU. Merlin as a prince. Lancelot is a knight of Camelot. They fall in love because of course they do. :)

--

The carriage he’s riding in bumps and drags through the streets of Camelot. Because he’s here as a prince, a visiting dignitary, he was asked to behave as a dignitary and ride inside the carriage, not on his own damn horse. Which made the ride entirely out of his control and fairly uncomfortable, and worst of all boring.

He could hear his father’s knights laughing and joking right up until they reached the gates of Camelot. He wasn’t jealous, per se, but he wished he could at least pretend he might be able to participate in the joking.

He couldn’t even entertain himself with magic because the carriage curtains were partly lace embellished and it might show through. That Ealdor allowed Magic openly was no secret in Camelot, but that the crown prince had it… that definitely was. And for the sake of certain trade negotiations, it was going to have to stay that way.

Merlin sighs with relief when the carriage finally stops and he hears himself being announced. Someone opens the door to his carriage and he puts on an air of princeliness that his mother would have been proud of as someone offers him a hand to help him step down.

The hand offered him is not the hand of one of his father’s men.

It’s the hand of a truly beautiful man, with dark brown eyes that look so earnest Merlin could’ve tripped over them. He did start to trip over his own feet, but the knight (and he must be a knight in that gorgeous Camelot red) quickly took Merlin’s waist in one hand to steady him.

Merlin might have looked gangly, but he was far from a waif of a damsel, so the feat required no small amount of strength. Merlin tried not to think about it too much, lest he become distracted.

“Your Grace,” the knight helped Merlin the rest of the way down (no more tripping) and bowed when he released Merlin’s hand. “I’m Sir Lancelot, knight of Camelot. It will be my honor to escort you during your visit. The king and the prince are unfortunately occupied with a trade deal that is taking much longer than anticipated. He had hoped to be done before your caravan arrived, but I’m sorry to say this was not the case.”

If Merlin were at home, he might have said something like, “Oh, great. Uther’s a nightmare.” Or better, “Arthur’s always been a prat anyway. I don’t send any regrets.”

But Merlin was here representing his father, his mother, and his kingdom. He’d do as was meant to be done, and he’d be amiable. “I understand. These things happen. I’m quite tired after the journey. Could you show me somewhere I might lay down for a minute?”

Truthfully, Merlin was a ball of energy, but he knew himself well enough to know that he was barely holding himself together, and a quick reprieve from society, with all doors shut and windows covered, would be the best thing he could do for himself right now.

“Of course. I can show you to your chambers. Prince Arthur offered the ones nearest his to you.”

Merlin tilted his head. “I was under the impression those were usually knight’s chambers.”

“They are, but certain improvements are being made to the guest areas of the castle. I promise you will not find them lacking.”

“I believe you.” Merlin didn’t, but he wasn’t going to make a scene. He hated that he was going to have to be close at all to Prince Prat. Why had his father sent him? What had been the point of this whole diplomatic visit? Merlin didn’t have any authority yet. It was just a cutesy show of alliance.

Or his Mother was trying to marry him off again while he was gone. It had only happened the once, and she’d promised it was an accident, but Merlin was skeptical.

“If you’ll follow me, Your Grace, I’ll show you to your rooms.”

“Yes, that would be great.” Lancelot offered Merlin his arm, and while usually Merlin would’ve refused…

Well, how could he refuse such a chivalrous knight. He put his hand in the crook of Lancelot’s elbow and was careful not to outwardly relish the contact. Even through the chainmail, Merlin could feel the sheer strength in Lancelot. It wasn’t at all unpleasant.

If her were home, he might’ve made a move to get Lancelot into his bed. But he was supposed to be amiable, so he settled for just smiling as Lancelot explained what new was being done to improve the castle’s fortitude and kept his mouth firmly shut about how it all sounded unnecessary.

“Here you are,” Lancelot opened the door to a chamber near Arthur’s. Merlin only knew it was Arthur’s because he’d been forced to take supper with the prince in them once while their parents discussed “private matters.” Whatever that had meant. It had been a stilted and awkward dinner, only barely saved by the grace of the Lady Morgana. “I hope you will find everything to your liking. If not, the servants have orders to bring you anything you might need to make your stay more comfortable.”

“Thank you,” Merlin walked into the chambers alone and… was actually impressed.

It was obvious the place had been very thoroughly cleaned, recently, and the drapery on the bed, the curtains, and the linens all looked incredibly beautiful. Well preserved or possibly even new. An obvious Camelot Red that looked much less fetching on bedding than it did on Sir Lancelot.

“Your grace,” Lancelot bowed and left Merlin to his rest.

He collapsed onto the bed as soon as the door was closed.

By the Gods, how was he going to make it through the week with this gorgeous knight around? Merlin was very glad this was only meant to be a short visit. Or maybe not so glad.

His servant came in a few minutes later with his things, and Merlin asked him to draw the curtains. Once the room was dark and he was alone, he pulled at the thread of magic that ran through his soul and muttered a simple spell to make the room glow.

The glow purposefully mimicked candlelight, ebbing in a way that would fool most people, but instead of fire light, the room was filled with magic that came from him and could be shaped into anything he desired. He made it a little bird and watched it flutter around the room for a while, letting the energy of maintaining the manifestation still him a bit. The bird’s flying became hopping around on the bed spread and then slowly it nestled down in the blankets to sleep, and Merlin, lulled by it, did the same.

—

Lancelot knocked thrice on the door to Prince Merlin’s chambers before entering. He had been asked to fetch him for dinner. Though that was usually a servant’s job, Lancelot didn’t hesitate to go up to the room that was usually his to retrieve the Prince.

He waited for an answer, but heard nothing. He checked the hall to see if any of Prince Merlin’s servants might be milling about, but had no such luck. He knocked again, louder this time. “Your Grace. Dinner is to be served soon, if you would like me to escort you?”

He still heard nothing. The Prince had mentioned that he was tired, and so perhaps it was possible the man was asleep. Lancelot tried the knob and found it unlocked. With no guard to be seen. Lancelot sucked his teeth and made a vow to either make the man lock his door to station a guard. The palace might be safe, and Merlin may have no enemies in Camelot to speak of, but it did seem like there was always at least one traitor within her walls. He’d hate for Merlin to be their victim.

“Your Grace,” Lancelot called again, entering the antechamber and closing the door to give them some privacy. “Are you here?”

It felt strange to walk into his own room like it wasn’t his. For the next week it wasn’t his, but he hadn’t been able to handle the idea of Merlin being put in a drafty room barely suitable for a card game, let alone sleeping for a week.

Arthur had been fine with it, but Arthur was not particularly hospitable. When Lancelot had offered up his own room instead, Arthur had only raised an eyebrow and waved his hand, which was as close to permission as he was going to get.

It wasn’t ideal to be making his way to the bedchambers of a prince unannounced, but if Merlin wasn’t there he’d have to start a search, and so really it was just practical. It had nothing to do with Lancelot’s own personal curiosity.

“Your Grace.” Lancelot poked his head around the bedchamber door and for a moment, he lost his breath.

Merlin was gorgeous, sleeping peacefully on top of the blankets, shoes not even removed, strangely, but that wasn’t what caught Lancelot’s breath. Sitting on the bed, nestled against Merlin’s chest, was a glowing orange bird, no bigger than a sparrow.

Oh shit.

Oh shit.

Lancelot started to back out of the chamber to knock again, louder, but Merlin was already stirring, and as soon as their eyes locked the bird vanished.

They stood there, in quiet, tense silence for several moments, both of them trying to think of what to say. Magic was outlawed in Camelot, and they both knew what Lancelot had seen. To his credit, Merlin didn’t look like he was about to attack him with said magic, so that was good. But the threat of what might be about to happen hung heavy in the air between them, stifling any possible conversation.

Merlin was the first to clear his throat. “Did you need something?”

Lancelot’s mouth opens and closes without him saying anything, but soon enough he finds his voice, clears his throat, and says, “Um, dinner is to be served soon. If you’d like to dress.”

Merlin looked down at his travel clothes, now slept in, and sighed. “I suppose I must.”

Lancelot nodded and closed the door to the bedchamber.

Oh shit.

—

“Fuck.” Merlin whispered to himself as he rifled through the chest of his clothes. Sir Lancelot might very well be running to tell the king about him right now. He searched his trunk for the clothes that he would usually wear to battle but then decided against them. He took a deep breath, elbow deep in fabric and necessities, and forced himself to shaky feet, grabbing the ensemble he’d planned to wear to the first dinner of his visit. He’d never needed mail or anything else to go into battle. He’d trained to fight in his royal clothes for exactly this reason. He’d at least take the chance that Lancelot was too stupid to know what he’d seen before he went out magic wielded. It was for the best.

He dressed quickly, even for being on his own, washing his face and hands, combing his hair and carefully adjusting the delicate his mother had given him specially for this visit. Why she’d felt such a need, Merlin would never know. Hunith was a strange woman, and only getting stranger, while Balinor seemed to be getting more callused. Still, he loved them, and all their eccentricities.

He felt luxurious in the deep blue and green dinner clothes, and that steadied him a little. If he was going to have to fight, at least he’d look good doing it.

And he had a dagger stashed on his person just in case.

He opened the door and found Lancelot standing a few feet away, turned away from him. Merlin kept his back straight and his gaze level as the man turned to face him.

“It’s been a while since I saw Camelot’s dining hall. I might need help getting there.” He could definitely have gotten there on his own, but he wanted to keep Lancelot close, just in case. It was always easier to hide using magic on someone when they were closer.

“Of course, Your Grace.” Lancelot extended his arm again, and Merlin decided to take it again. It kept his arm inconspicuously close to the opening of his coat, where he could reach in and grab his dagger if need be.

They made their way to the antechamber, but they stopped at the door. Merlin tensed at the way Lancelot didn’t reach for the handle.

“Your secret is safe with me.” Lancelot said, and Merlin started to pull away, but Lancelot held his hand at his elbow. “I swear it.”

Again, just like when they’d met, Lancelot has such earnest eyes, Merlin can’t help but believe him.

“I’m not a danger to anyone.” He swore in return, and Lancelot nodded, with a soft smile.

“I know. You did trip getting out of your carriage.” Lancelot’s little chuckle would’ve been cute if it hadn’t embarrassed Merlin so badly.

“I’d been riding for hours. My legs were unsteady.”

“I’m sure.” Lancelot reached for the door knob now and Merlin breathed a sigh of relief.

“Your secret is safe with me.”

And somehow, Merlin believed him.

[sadselfhelp]

Who I Am, And Why I Created This Blog.

TRIGGER WARNINGS - Mental Illness, Self-Harm, Child Abuse, Domestic Abuse, Violence, Drug Overdose, Suicide, Psychotic Breaks. 

Take a walk with me, let me show you around the mind of The Sad Hatter.

There's a lot going on in my head right now, and I feel like I'm on the precipice of something. I'm standing on a cliff's edge and I'm either going to plummet or I'm going to fly. It's been building inside me for a long time, and I can't contain it anymore. So here it is, here's me laid bare, because I need to say this, I need to put it into words. I need to purge it all. To try and make sense of all of this shit in my brain, I think it's time I organize it. I don't know where to begin, but I guess I start at the beginning and make use of the ability to edit.

Before you read this, please be aware of the trigger warnings. And please understand that this is the most honest and open I have been, I really am stripped bare in this piece of writing. It’s not at all pretty, and am I not guiltless in parts. This may well alter whatever opinion you have of me. 

I guess the beginning is birth, right? But I don't want to rehash all that trauma, so let me speed through it. Twenty-Eight years ago I was born, violently. I'm serious, I ripped my way out of the womb, and tore that thing apart. I guess I can sort of understand why my mother couldn't love me after that was my first act, collapsing her womb. So let me speedrun this part of the story. Mum didn't want me, gave me to my dad who raised me as a single parent with the help of his parents, until he met my stepmother. Shockingly, she didn't want me either, but because she couldn't get rid of me she decided to physical and psychological torture was the next best thing. 

When I was eleven years old I snapped and didn't want to put up with it anymore, so I wrote a goodbye note and then snuck into the medicine cabinet and took a bunch of pills. Spoiler alert, I didn't die. I did however end up in a children's home, cue more abuse, little bit of bullying and sexual assault etc.... I snapped again, but instead of turning my anger inwards, I became an absolute bastard. Ok, I still turned it inwards a bit, I had a lot of anger, and now I have a few hundred scars to prove it. But, it turns out that violence can beget violence, and I acted out in every possible way. Racked up a horrifying rap sheet, assault, vandalism, arson, and finally... GBH. I was supposed to get put in a secure unit (child prison – Scottish Edition) but I was always able to talk myself out of trouble. 

See, I was this tiny little white girl with big sad eyes and a hell of a sob story, even at the bottom of the food chain I still had privilege. So instead of getting locked up, I just got sent to a different home. And here's the really messed up part, this home was better. The staff were nicer, and nobody hurt me. My behavior literally changed overnight. I went from being charged by the police on a weekly basis, to never getting so much as a pocket money sanction. I will never excuse my actions, nor condone them, but after years of guilt I finally realized that the bad things I did were in retaliation to a bad situation, and though I wasn’t acting like a good person, I’m not a bad person, just a messed up one. 

I still refused to go to school though, because though I didn't yet know it at the time, I had severe social anxiety. I was smart, a little too smart to be honest, and I found myself thriving with a private tutor. When the time came to sit my exams, someone fucked up, and despite having record breaking test scores on the pre-exams, I never actually got to sit my standard grades (think SAT's – Scottish Edition). I'm still bitter about that. So by this point in the story, I'm 16, and legally an adult, too old for a children's home. I got turfed to a hostel, and the next few parts of the story are pretty fuzzy to me. 

This is where my mental health really started to deteriorate. I bounced between homeless hostels and B&B's for a year or so, until I got a my first flat/apartment. By that point, I was utterly fucked in the head. I was blacking out frequently, for anywhere between a couple of minutes to three days. I would come back to myself in sometimes compromising positions, and once there was blood. A lot of blood, splashed all over the walls. Then there was the time I suddenly found myself standing in the kitchen, about to plunge a knife into my own chest.

Nobody ever did tell me what the hell that was about. Or maybe they did and I just... forgot? But because I was extremely suicidal, a doctor finally decided to do something, and the police and the paramedics came to my door to take me to the psychiatric hospital. I spent ten months there while I cycled through various anti-psychotics and anti-depressants, and was 'rehabilitated into society'. The second I was out, I made the worst decision I have ever made in my life. If I can give you one piece of advice, one lesson to take from my shitshow of a life, it's this: Don't move hundreds of miles away to be with the guy you met online while you were having a psychotic break.

I've never really thought of myself as a victim, but I guess I'm the only one who saw it that way. Ben, that was his name, Ben was a monster, and I didn't know it until it was too late. He never hit me, never lifted a hand to me, he never had to. He could put a knife in my hand and make me hurt myself for his entertainment. I had told him everything, so he knew exactly how to break me down, how to make me want to bleed. He locked me in a house and used me up. And when I had enough, and tried to break free of him, he would just tell the police I was mentally ill and they would smile sympathetically and give me back to him.

But then my dad had a breakdown. My dad, who when he found out what my stepmother was doing to me, buried his head in the sand and packed my little suitcase for me. I hadn't spoken to him in a while until he reached out from the same psychiatric ward I had not long vacated. He had cracked under the realization that I had never lied about her, and the guilt broke him apart. I could have hated him, if it had happened a few years earlier then I would have. But I had experienced enough of the world to learn a few things, like how easily it is to fuck up, and that no matter how strong you are, you aren't immune to monsters. The truth was he was as much a victim of her evil as I was. She had manipulated him, played with his head, used his insecurities against him. So I helped him through his issues, the way I wished someone had helped me. That doesn't really make me a good person, it just makes me human.

But my dad got better, and found his footing. And when he did, he realized something wasn't right with me, and I told him the truth about Ben. My dad had left me to suffer at the hands of an abuser once before, and he wasn't going to allow it to happen again. He came and got me, and he took me home. He moved me in with him, gave me his bed and slept on the couch. After a couple of months, he helped me get my own place.

And that's the happy ending, right? All the trauma was over, I was safe, that's where the story should end. Right? I bet you're not naive enough to believe that, but I sure as hell was. I thought I would recover and that everything would be ok. I thought that with safety, there would come the chance to heal. I thought my wounds would scab over, and I would have my scars but at least I would be able to move without bleeding out. But that's not how trauma works. I had two decades worth of trauma, abuse, and hell.

I just... faded. I didn't crack, I didn't crumble, I didn't break, I just stopped. For five years I sat in one room of my home, drowning inside myself. Last year I got handed a lifeline, and now I live somewhere better. I'm not really allowed to live independently so I actually live in kind of retirement village of all places. I have my own house, but it's got intercoms and emergency cords everywhere, I get checked on daily by on on-site worker. And I'm trying to get better, I really am. It's just not that easy.

There's more to the whole story that I maybe should have put in, like the fact that my mother was a drug addict when she was pregnant with me, and that may have been the reason some of my organs didn't properly form and/or formed wrong. My lung split in half when I was a baby, and parts of my stomach are missing. Or that my mother is full on batshit insane. I could have had a perfect childhood and I still would have been mentally ill. Hell, I was seeing psychologists at five years old. Take my sketchy genetics, add twenty years of severe traumas, and well... I'm a little fucked up. Because a lot of medical conditions use acronyms, my full list of diagnosis looks like I'm collecting the fucking alphabet.

I have Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), Generalized Anxiety Disorder (GAD), Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD), and Agoraphobia. I also have a Pulmonary Sequestration, Congenital Diaphragmatic Hernia, the stomach and lung issues. Immune Hemolytic Anemia, I'm basically allergic to my own blood. Plus, ya know, my liver recently decided to just fucking nope out, the pissy lil bitch is failing. I also may or may not have cancer, I don't know because I pussied out of the tests. At this point I am a walking, decaying corpse that is held together by glitter glue and bitterness.

So... why exactly am I writing this? And why am I even considering posting this? I mean, my problems aren't as bad as some other people's. We've all got shit to deal with, especially in 2020. The whole world is falling apart, so what right do I have to sit here pouting and pouring my problems out? Well, for a start, I guess this is my blog, I can post whatever, and it's up to everyone else if they read it.

So here it is, you have the backstory, so here's what it's all been leading up to.

I'm struggling. Like, really struggling. I'm stuck on this cliff, and I want off, any way I can. Whether I fall or fly, I just want free. I can't live like this anymore, because I can't breathe.

The fucking agonizing duality of being socially anxious and too easily overstimulated, and yet feeling fucking empty inside if you're not surrounded by action and noise. The world is too noisy for my brain, but my brain is too noisy for the world. I get antsy if I'm not doing at least a thousand different tasks, but I get overwhelmed if I try to do anything at all. It leads to short bursts of mania, followed by weeks of depression. But underneath all of that, under all the dramatic showboating, and the dark humor, under all the bravado... I'm really just sad.

Years ago, when I first came up with the moniker "The Sad Hatter", I said it was because I may be mad, but my madness was born of sadness. I'm just sad. I carry it with me where my heart should be. So I named myself Sad, and I put on the hat, and I wore my sadness like armor, turned it into an act, and made a spectacle of it. "I'm The Sad Hatter, and I'm mentally ill but that's alright, I'm going to be just fine!" I told you all I had my issues, and I'll come close to opening up about how bad those issues are, I'll give little chunks of information at intermittent intervals, and then two hours later I'll act like it never happened. I'll admit I was close to killing myself, and then two days later I'll post dog photo's and act like I'm all better.

I'm writing this because I'm sad. And tomorrow, I'll act like I'm not. But when I waver again, I'll come back here and I'll open up again. And along the way, maybe you're reading this and realizing you aren't alone in feeling overwhelmed. Maybe you're realizing you're not the only one who isn't healing neatly and in a timely manner. Maybe you're reading this and gaining some insight into the struggles someone you care about is facing. Maybe my opening up is can help somebody else, I really hope so, but I know it's helping one person. It's helping me.

This blog, it's about living with myself. It's about living with The Sad Hatter.

[crescentmoonrider]

Grief

When Daniel opens his mouth, exhaling smoke as he looks at something farther away from the wall in front of him, Steven doesn’t expect him to talk. It’s not how they work. Not how Daniel works either, he’s found. Daniel is a man of action, and whatever things he feels he keeps to himself, not out of some displaced sense of masculinity, but because he expects people to already know, or because he just doesn’t know how to say things.

Or, well, he does say what he feels sometimes, and that usually comes out as incredibly rude.

So when, sitting in bed and taking a drag, he starts with « When I was a kid – », Steven listens. This is important. This is new, too – they don’t talk that much about themselves, about their past, about anything that’s too personal and can’t be brushed off as whatever benign thing is going on between them.

Steven only learned of Marcus’ existence through Leonardo, wouldn’t have known Daniel had a twin until they met in person otherwise. That’s how non-personal things are.

He tries not to think about Marcus’ current state, about the hundred ways things could go wrong, about what it would do to Daniel. About what it’s already doing to Daniel.

« When I was a kid » Daniel continues after a short hesitation « we’d build model boats with our granddad, Marcus and me. He – he used to be a naval officer, still loved boats way too much. Honestly these models were probably too detailed for kids, but he just refused to pick simpler ones. He’d grumble if we didn’t make everything look exactly the way he wanted. Probably would’ve torn the damn thing right out of our hands if it didn’t risk damaging the boat. He was… he was kind of terrible at that whole playing with your grandkids thing, really. But looking at the finished product was pretty cool, and he always had these stories to tell about what that boat did, so… It was, y’know. It was fun. »

Daniel has a strained smile at that, the kind that comes with good memories that can’t be separated from bad ones. Steven only nods, wondering what the point of this story will be – there has to be a point, Daniel wouldn’t tell it otherwise, not something like that – and doesn’t dare say anything that could break whatever spell Daniel has fallen under.

Talking isn’t something they do, or something Daniel does, but that doesn’t mean it’s not a good thing sometimes. Given the recent events, it’s – it’s probably the best thing to do, really.

« We were in the middle of building another one when he died. Not – not right in the middle of it, he was alone with grandma when he had his stroke, don’t remember where we were at the time. But, uh, after the news came, and then the funeral and all of that, we… we went to their house. It was the first time since he died, and it felt. It felt kind of empty ? Sure grandma was here, and so were our parents, but it wasn’t the same, knowing he just wouldn’t come back. I think Marc’ broke down crying – no, he definitely did. Just, fucking crumbled into our mom’s arms and wouldn’t move a step. I… didn’t. »

Here is the point, Steven thinks, here in the apparent lack of grief, in the way Daniel didn’t cry at his grandfather’s death and didn’t stop working when Marcus got heavily wounded.

He is trying to justify himself.

It feels wrong.

It feels horribly wrong. The corner of Daniel’s mouth is shaking a little, just a little, barely noticeable, but a clear sign of emotion. His hands were shaking a lot more the whole time he was arresting Marcus’ old gang, and at the hospital, to the point Steven thought he was going to lose it and hit someone. It’s obvious he cares. Even if it wasn’t, Daniel is the type to rush into things without looking back, without making excuses, without –

« I didn’t cry. » He goes on, and Steven thinks maybe he should stop that, maybe talking isn’t actually the best thing to do actually, not when Daniel seems to think he did something wrong, seems to think he should, what, apologize for not reacting in a conventional way to loss ? But talking isn’t something they do, isn’t something Daniel does, and that means this is important. Steven can listen to the end.

He will just have to shake some sense into Daniel’s head once he’s done talking.

« Marcus stayed with our parents and with grandma, and I just went to the study. It’s where we worked on the boat and, well, it wasn’t finished yet. I said that already, right ? Anyway I just, picked it up where we left, tried to make it as good as granddad would’ve wanted – I was what, eight ? Something like that. Honestly, the result was terrible, but I just. I had to do it, y’know ? I had to do something. I – »

He swallows, takes another drag, hand shaking a little.

« My dad, he died during the Collapse. You know how it was, I don’t think there’s a single person in HL who hasn’t lost someone then. I didn’t get news from Marc’ before one or two days after either, it was just. Chaos. There was so much going on, so many of us died, nothing made any fucking sense anymore – » A breath, then « I don’t even know what I said when I learned. If I said something. Think I just kept working. Marc’ and our mom were crying in each others’ arms and I was just. There. Around. Could’ve been a total stranger for all the difference it would’ve made. I don’t – »

For the first time, he turns his head to face Steven, his smile twisted into the most painful thing Steven has ever seen on his face, if you can even call that a smile.

« I don’t think she’s ever going to forgive me, honestly. »

The « I wouldn’t forgive me in her stead » goes unsaid, but Steven hears it well nonetheless. Daniel’s hand is shaking, dropping ashes on the sheets, and since Steven hasn’t figured out how to answer all of that yet, he grabs Daniel’s cigarette instead and crushes it in the ashtray on the bedside table, pointedly ignoring all and any complaint.

The way Daniel reacted to Dr. Estevez’s remarks makes sense now, Steven thinks. How relieved he has been when he realized she was calling him out on his hypocrisy regarding the way he had treated her in the past, how relieved he had been at it being personal.

If someone looked at Daniel, said he doesn’t care about Marcus because he refused to stay at the hospital until he finished his work… well, that person would probably be dead. And some part of Daniel would probably internalize it, and he would beat himself up for something that is completely untrue.

It takes Steven a second to realize he knows Daniel much better than he thought, another to think maybe whatever they have isn’t as benign as he told himself, a third to decide he can deal with this some other time, to put a hand on the back of Daniel’s head and pull him in an embrace.

Daniel complains that he’s cold, as always, but leans in anyway, and holds Steven’s back with both hands.

« If you cried, or if you didn’t prioritize finishing Marcus’ work over everything else, I’d probably wonder who killed you and took your place, » Steven says. « Doesn’t mean you’re not sad. You wouldn’t have told me any of this if you didn’t care. »

Words are a lot harder to find when they’re honest, it seems, and even then Steven just lacks Klaus’ talent for inspiring speeches. So he simply keeps holding Daniel close, and lays back into bed this way. Together.

« You need to sleep, Daniel, otherwise you’re just going to be useless tomorrow. If you can’t sleep, you can at least close your eyes and rest – it’s what I do when someone doesn’t kick me out of bed. »

Daniel tsks in response, but doesn’t let go. And Steven thinks, maybe he can pretend for a moment that everything is going to be alright, that Marcus will survive, that Daniel will learn to let go of these words someone planted in his heart, that whatever the two of them have won’t turn into something Steven can’t control.

Only one of these is a realistic thing to hope for, though, he knows.

[context]

[micdropragnarok]

𝙛𝙞𝙣𝙙 𝙢𝙮 𝙬𝙖𝙮 𝙗𝙖𝙘𝙠 𝙩𝙤 𝙮𝙤𝙪 - 𝙟𝙚𝙤𝙣 𝙟𝙪𝙣𝙜𝙠𝙤𝙤𝙠 𝙭 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

1/8: When you lost the love of your life when you were a teenager, you thought you would never love again. But then the President, currently the most powerful man in the world, wants to make you his wife, you realise you can’t exactly refuse: not when he has the reputation of being ruthless and tyrannical, making threats against your family. It isn’t long before you are forced to decide between what you love and what you should protect.

[jungkook x reader, futuristic au, dystopian au, aliens and other fun stuff!]

5 Years Ago

“If Park Hyungsik becomes president, we might be saved from this crisis.” Your mother said openly at the dinner table, holding her head up, pride gracing her features as she expressed her view. It was an opinion which was common amongst the people in your country, especially in the capital city where you lived. Everyone thought Park Hyungsik was destined to save the day, but you weren’t so sure.

The war raging between the human race and the alien species known as the Oegyein had been going on for over 20 years, with no end in sight. Every day, men were called to the front, and they were even allowing women to volunteer now, given how many men they had already lost around the world. You yourself had opted for a government role, hoping to help the government from collapse, but you weren’t sure how long you would have a job, with the Oegyein getting closer and closer to winning the war, having already recently gained control in strong countries that you did not expect to fall so soon. You and everyone else in your country had chosen to live as if it was not impending doom, but the threat never left.

Your neighbour and your closest friend had also joined you for dinner that evening. Jeon Jungkook was certainly the sweetest and kindest man you knew, and you had been in love with him for many years, but there was nothing you could really do about it - You knew it would only end in heartbreak when he left to join the army, a future which was certain with him. Heartbreak was the one sad emotion you had managed to keep at bay over the years of turmoil.

Jungkook looked up at you as your mother continued to express her joy at Hyungsik’s bid for the presidency. He grinned, knowing that you hated the man and didn’t trust him whatsoever. You just rolled your eyes and continued eating, knowing that your mother wouldn’t listen if you told her some of the rumours you had heard about him at work. Sure, he was stunning to look at, but his heart was made of glass - something you often complained to Jungkook about.

You finished dinner quickly and beckoned Jungkook to follow you into your room, which wasn’t unusual. You often chilled and watched old movies, it was something you both loved to do. You collapsed onto your bed, Jungkook joining you, dangerously close, as you usually did. “Why do you let your mother prattle on about him like that?” Jungkook asked, cocking a brow at you. You just shook your head, sighing. “It’s honestly not worth picking a fight over. She can think whatever she wants, it won’t change things anyway. He might be able to do some good. Maybe end this war.” Jungkook winced at your mention of the war. It was a particularly tense subject for him, who had lost both of his parents in the brutal conflict. You hardly spoke about it, not wanting to hurt Jungkook any further than the Oegyein already had. Jungkook gazed at you, his eyes wide and honest. “Do you think it will ever end?” He asked softly. You hesitated, not knowing how to answer without sounding optimistic, or too pessimistic. “I don’t know. Honestly Jungkook… I am scared.” You said, grasping his hand and squeezing it. He looked at your hands intertwined and smiled. “It’s okay. I’m here.” Jungkook said soothingly. Not surprisingly, this did comfort you.

You slide down the bed and tucked your head into his shoulder, burying your head into his soft and warm chest. You were both only 17, so young, but burdened by the brutality of your world. “I’m so glad your here with me, Jungkook.” You said, your heart breaking as you let the words slip out of your mouth. You wanted to give in so badly to your feelings, put everything on the line, but something was holding you back. You heard Jungkook’s slow laboured breaths as he took in your words, tensing slightly. Tentatively, Jungkook leaned down to the top of your head,  planting soft kisses there. You froze, not sure how to react since he had never done something like that before. “Jungkook?” You asked, looking up at him, seeing his eyes darken slightly, his lips parting. He sighed in frustration. “I just… I don’t want to run out of time.” He whispered sadly. You felt tears fill your eyes, and you realised something.

You would regret it for the rest of your life if you didn’t kiss Jungkook, right here, right now.

You leaned up and gently pressed your lips against his, his lips ghosting across your mouth. “Y/n,” he moaned desperately.

“I love you, Jungkook.” You said, pulling away slightly, your hands cupping his soft cheeks. A tear slipped down his cheek. “I love you so much. So, so much,” Jungkook replied, wrapping his arms around your waist, holding you so tightly you hoped he would never let go.

The next few months with Jungkook were the best months of your life.

You loved him fully and wholly, and he responded in kind. You made use of your time together, spending almost every minute of every day with each other. He treated you like no one had before, buying you white roses, knowing they were your favourite, one every day, so they collected in a vase by your window. You knew flowers were extremely sought after in the economic climate, so you realised how hard it must be, making you treasure them even more.  He even bought you a beautiful rose gold necklace with a ruby diamond snuggled into the chest. “What is this for?” You teased, letting him put it around your neck. Jungkook kissed your neck where the chain met. “It’s for how much I love you.” You treasured it, so much so that your parents pleaded with you to take it off when you went out, so it didn’t get stolen.

He made you laugh so hard, whether from tickling you ridiculously like you had as kids on his bed until you were crying or from his stupid sense of humour, you honestly felt empty when you weren’t around him. Your parents weren’t unhappy with your choice of boyfriend, either. If anything, they were keen for you to marry, to seal the deal before he went off to join the war. But you didn’t want to rush too soon.

Even with Jungkook’s 18th birthday so quickly approaching, you wanted him to be sure before he asked you.

His birthday had come and you had given him everything that night, fearful of what the next day would bring.

Jungkook had already submitted to numerous tests in order to determine where he should be placed in the conflict. You hoped it would be the safest place. Your father, a doctor, had been placed in one of the hospitals far away from active fighting, which had probably been the safest spot for him, surviving his 10 years of service. You could only hope for something similar for the man you loved.

The news came a week after his birthday. He held the letter, presenting it to you with shaking hands. You took it with trepidation, your heart racing in your chest. You scanned over the words, only three standing out to you: FRONT LINE DUTY. You dropped the letter and flung yourself into Jungkook’s arms, sobbing into his shoulder. He held you tightly, his whole body shaking. You looked up into his eyes, seeing only one emotion: fear. “Oh, god. Oh god.” You said, your words sticking in your throat. “Hey, hey, hey. I love you. You know that, right?” He said, his fingers cupping your chin to look up at you. You nodded quietly, unable to speak. “That means that I will come back. No matter what. Nothing can keep us apart, Y/n. Do you understand? Nothing.” Jungkook said vehemently, determination set in his steely tone, his eyes piercing into yours. You nodded, but you weren’t convinced. “Promise me.” You said. He looked at you, his gaze softening as he took you in. “I promise you.” He said, taking your pinkie and locking it. “Then I won’t talk about marriage. If you are so certain that you will come back, then you better, because you will need to marry me as soon as you get back. Do you understand?” You said, pointing a finger to his chest, trying to smile for him.

“Are you sure?” Jungkook asked you, a wide smile gracing his face. You nodded.

“If you are sure, then I am.” You said, your confidence gaining.

“I am. I love you. And there is nothing stronger than the power of love. I will find my way back to you.”

Read the rest of this chapter here!

[sammythankyou]

Beautiful Love - Part One

Far away, I can feel your beating heart All alone, beneath the crystal stars Staring into space, what a lonely face I'll try to find my place with you

“Beautiful Love” by The Afters

Summary:  The reader moves to Palos Verdes and ends up with a handsome tutor at her new high school.

Pairing:  Jim Mason x Female Reader

Warnings:  None really, unless you’re allergic to fluff

A/N:  I thought this was going to be a one shot, but there will be a second part.

“At Palos Verdes High School we believe in peer tutoring, So, if you need extra help you can sign up to work with one of our student tutors. And judging by your physics grade at your previous school, you should do that right away,” Mr. Whitman said, indicating his laptop which displayed the transcripts from your old high school. “You’re going to need a passing science grade if you want to graduate in June, young lady.” 

“Yes, sir,” you replied, discreetly rolling your eyes. Like you would actually not want to graduate?

“The sign up sheets are posted right outside of your classroom,” he said dismissively, apparently finished with his lecture. 

Slinging your heavy backpack over your shoulder, you left the counseling office and made your way to the girl’s restroom. Locking yourself in a stall, you blinked back the tears that threatened to fall.

You had been in Palos Verdes for exactly 72 hours. Your mother insisted this was a fresh start for both of you, a new beginning. So far, you were unconvinced.  

Six months earlier, you couldn’t have imagined that your life would be so changed. Returning home from a barbecue with your parents last summer, the car was struck by a drunk driver. Your dad had been killed instantly. The months following were empty, surreal and excruciatingly painful. On Christmas Eve, your mom announced she had accepted a job in Palos Verdes, CA, and the two of you would be moving there in one month. Furious and betrayed that she had not told you she had even been considering moving, you refused to speak to her for the rest of the holiday. 

And now here you were. First day in a new school, more than halfway through your senior year, hiding in the bathroom and trying not to cry.

The main door to the restroom banged open and a shrill voice pierced the silence. A girl was going on and on about someone named Jim and how amazing he was at eating her out. 

“Heather!” The other girl shrieked, scandalized. “You let him do that to you?”

“Of course I did!” retorted Heather. “God, he has the most talented tongue!” 

This day was turning into one giant eye roll. 

As unobtrusively as possible, you exited the stall to wash your hands. Two beautiful girls stood by the sinks, one blonde and one brunette, applying even more makeup to their already perfect faces. Twin glares pinned you before they flounced back out the door into the hallway. 

Staring at yourself in the mirror, you wondered how you were going to survive the next few months. 

Heather, the gorgeous, bitchy brunette was in your French and sociology classes, so you weren’t even surprised to find her seated in the back row when you entered your last class of the day; physics. Naturally, the teacher indicated an empty desk in the front row where you should sit. Sliding into the seat, you slouched down, willing yourself to become invisible. 

Just as the bell was ringing, a tall, beautiful boy with dark curly hair sailed through the door and into the desk next to yours. He turned his luminous blue eyes on you. 

“First day?” He asked, his smile showing his perfect white teeth.

You nodded, unable to find your voice. The boy started to say something else, but the teacher began talking and writing on the board. He shot another grin in your direction before turning his attention to the lesson. 

As class ended, the teacher called the lovely boy up to her desk to ask him a question. He winked at you as he stood up, blue eyes sparkling. 

You rarely got butterflies, but damn this boy was breathtaking. 

Sighing, you dragged yourself out of the classroom to find the tutoring sign up sheets. The first one read Jim Mason at the top of the paper. Most of the times were already filled, but there was one spot open for the following afternoon. After writing your name and cell number, you turned to leave. 

“Oh hey! You filled my last session. Cool!” Said a soft, friendly voice from your left. “I’m Jim by the way,” said the gorgeous boy, as he walked up to you. 

“Hi. I’m Y/N,” you said in greeting. His smile was infectious.

“My family moved here last year, so I know how it feels to be new kid. Things really sucked at first. This place isn’t so bad though,” Jim shrugged.  

“Jim!” An impatient voice came from the door of the classroom. 

Heather stood a few feet away, hands planted firmly on her curvy hips.  

“Hey, Heather,” Jim said with a deep sigh. 

Horrified, you stared between the two of them. This was Jim of the talented tongue? Oh god. Shuddering, you spun around to leave as fast as humanly possible. 

“Y/N!” Jim called after you. “I’ll see you tomorrow, ok?”

Punching in the code on the keypad, you passed through the garage and into the empty house. Your mom was working nights at the hospital for the next few weeks. She had chirped with false cheer that the new doctor on staff always gets stuck with the graveyard shift at first. 

Wading through the sea of boxes still scattered around, you made you way to your bedroom. Collapsing onto the bed, your mind wandered back to Jim. He seemed so sweet and friendly, why he would be with someone like Heather? Or maybe he was just your typical player? Whatever. You didn’t try to shut his pale blue eyes or full pink lips out of your thoughts though. Sighing tiredly, you drifted off to sleep. 

The following day at school, Heather and her friends made sure to send you dirty looks while whispering every chance they got. Doing your best to ignore them, you went about your business. Walking to the physics classroom, you tried to shove down the anticipation at seeing Jim again. 

Jim was already in his seat, Converse covered feet kicked out in front of him. All momentary excitement evaporated as you spied Heather sitting on top your desk, facing him, bare legs dangling off the edge. A smile passed over Jim’s face when he saw you before he glanced back up at her.

“Can you move your ass off Y/N’s desk?” Jim asked pointedly. 

“I can move my ass wherever you’d like it hot stuff,” Heather said flirtatiously, batting her long eyelashes at him. 

Jim continued to smirk up at her, but said nothing. You rolled your eyes so hard you were pretty sure you saw your own brain. 

Heather slid slowly off your desk and headed toward the back of the room. “You’re just no fun sometimes Jimmy,” she threw out over her shoulder. 

Biting your tongue, you took a seat, and busied yourself with pulling items out of your backpack. You could feel Jim’s eyes watching as you stared down at your desk. 

“I don’t know why she acts like that,” Jim said in apology. 

Peeking over at him, you shrugged before looking away from his handsome face again.

“So,” Jim said brightly, changing the subject. “Do you want to head down to the beach for our tutoring session? It’s just a couple of blocks from here.” 

“The beach?” You questioned.

“Yeah,” he replied, smiling. “It’s a proven fact that sunlight helps you retain science knowledge.” 

Smiling back at him, you found it impossible to resist his charm. “Ok,” you agreed. 

“So where did you move from?” Jim asked as he reclined against a large rock that sheltered the two of you from the chilly wind coming off the Pacific. 

“Colorado,” you answered looking back into his beautiful blue eyes.

Jim nodded. “We moved from Minnesota last year. It’s a lot different here,” he said shaking his head. 

“I’m realizing that,” you said, staring out at the late afternoon waves. “There aren’t views like this around Denver.”

“The view is beautiful from where I’m sitting,” Jim said.

Glancing back, you found him staring directly at you. A blush colored your cheeks. Jim couldn’t possibly be referring to you. Could he? He gazed at you for another moment, before reaching for his backpack.  

“You want to go over some equations?” he asked with a smile. 

Physics became the best part of your day. Jim was an amazing teacher, but you also spent as much time just talking about your lives. His dad was a doctor like your mom. Jim talked about his parents’ divorce and his recent estrangement from his mother. Rubbing your back with his large hand, Jim listened as you explained your dad’s sudden passing. 

Working with Jim over the next two weeks, you managed a solid B on your first exam. After you excitedly showed him your grade, Jim grabbed you up in a bear hug and spun you around in the hallway. Catching Heather’s death stare from a few feet away, you reminded yourself for the millionth time that Jim was already taken. Taking one more look at his adorable, beaming face, you thanked him and said goodbye, already dreading a long, lonely weekend by yourself. 

“Y/N, wait!” Jim called after you. “Hey, I know it’s kinda lame, but do you want to go to the Valentine’s dance with me on Saturday?” 

It was hard to tell who was more shocked, you or Heather. 

Your gaze darted back and forth between both of their faces  “I, um... I have to go,” you stammered before fleeing down the hallway, away from Jim’s confused expression. 

Late morning sunlight filtered between the slats of the blinds covering your bedroom window. Rolling away from the offending light, you willed yourself to go back to sleep, not ready to face the lonely Saturday. Tossing and turning, you finally accepted defeat and dragged yourself out of bed. Wrapping yourself in a fluffy robe, you went to make some coffee. Several cups later you were more awake but just as melancholy. Your thoughts drifted back to the previous afternoon. Heather’s dismayed look popped into your mind. She had been nothing but nasty from day one, and yet you had to admit that Jim asking you out right in front of her was incredibly harsh. He just didn’t seem like the kind of guy who would do something like that. But honestly, how well did you even know him? 

Doorbell chimes broke through the quiet of the house as you stood at the sink washing out the coffee mug. Unable to imagine who it could be, you made you way into the foyer and peered through the peep hole in the front door.

Jim Mason stood on your doorstep.

Picturing your bed head hair and lack of makeup, you briefly considered not even answering the door. Screw it, you thought, as your curiosity got the better of you. Pulling your robe tighter, you opened the door. 

Jim’s gorgeous face lit up when he saw you. “Hey. How’s it going?” he asked.

“What are you doing here Jim?”

Jim shrugged. “You ran off so fast yesterday,” he began. “I don’t know, I just wanted to make sure you were ok.” 

Secretly, you were pleased that Jim even thought about checking on you before you shook those thoughts off. “I’m ok I guess...” Realizing you were just staring at each other, you stepped back. “Um, do you want to come in?” 

Smiling, Jim nodded and followed you into the kitchen. 

“Coffee?” You asked indicating the half full pot on the counter. 

“Sure. Thank you,” Jim answered politely.

After pouring coffee into a mug and depositing it next to Jim along with the vanilla creamer, you stood fidgeting across the breakfast bar from him.

“So, you never answered my question,” Jim said, breaking the silence. 

“What question?”

Jim’s luminous eyes pinned you. “I asked if you wanted to go to the dance with me tonight.” 

Of course the truth was that you wanted to go out with Jim more than anything, but stealing a popular girl’s boyfriend wasn’t really going to help you make friends. Plus, why was he even asking you and not Heather?

“Jim! Why are you doing this?” You asked incredulously. 

“What am I doing?” Jim questioned. 

Sighing deeply, you looked back into his big blue eyes.  “Look, I like you Jim. A lot. And I’m not exactly a fan of Heather, but that was mean what you did.” 

“What are you talking about?” He asked, confusion written all over his lovely face.  

“She’s your girlfriend!” You said in disbelief. “And she was standing right there when you asked me to go to the dance with you.”

“Heather’s not my girlfriend,” Jim began. “I mean, yeah we hung out a few times when I moved here last year, but that’s it.”

Staring at him in confusion, you opened your mouth but no words came out.

“Why did you think she was my girlfriend?” Jim questioned. 

Biting your lip, you hesitated. “She said... I mean I overheard... Just never mind. Sorry,” you stammered, grabbing the creamer and taking it back to the fridge.

“Wait, what did she say?” Jim asked standing up and following you around the breakfast bar.

Cheeks flaming with embarrassment as you remembered her words, you avoided Jim’s eyes. 

“She was talking to her friend about how good you are with your tongue, like you know... When you were eating her out,” you said, the last words mumbled under your breath.

“When I was what?” Jim questioned.

Covering your red face briefly, you tried to figure out how you ended up having this mortifying discussion. 

Dropping your hands, you looked Jim in the eyes. “When you were eating her out.” 

Jim stared at you silently for a few seconds.

“Wow. That’s awesome,” Jim said rolling his eyes. “And nasty! There’s no telling where that chick has been,” he shuddered, pretending to gag. 

You couldn’t help the giggle that bubbled up out of your throat. 

“Oh, you think it’s funny?” Jim asked grabbing you around your waist and trying to tickle you. 

Squirming, you tried to escape Jim’s big hands, but he blocked you in against the open fridge. Your laughter died in your throat as you met his icy blue gaze. He cupped your cheek and then he was leaning down to press his soft pink lips against yours. Sliding your arms around Jim’s neck, you returned the kiss. Tingles traveled up your spine as his tongue swiped across your lower lip, asking for entrance. You opened to him and Jim’s velvety tongue slid slowly into your mouth, tangling with your own. Threading your fingers through his thick soft hair you deepened the kiss. Jim’s arms wrapped tightly around you, pressing your bodies close, as your mouths slanted together hungrily. Abruptly pulling back, Jim looked down with concern.

“I’m sorry! Are you cold?” Jim asked pulling you away from the fridge so he could close the door. 

“No,” you said, admiring his full lips.

Jim watched you staring and then your mouths were crashing back together. Slowly, your hands found their way under Jim’s denim jacket and around his lean waist. Jim gripped the back of your robe in his long fingers, holding you against his chest. His lips traveled across your cheek to your ear. 

“So does this mean you’ll go to the dance with me?” He asked, warm breath tickling your skin. 

Tagging...

@venusxxlangdon @lovelylangdonx @sojournmichael @allyadarth @langdons-rep @queencocoakimmie @kaigitana @uinen-ulmiel @sunshinemycat @langdvnshepherd @elena-75s-blog @bbyduncan @rocketgirl2410 @depressedbitch43 @flowing-imagination @witchbloodsworld @napping-is-my-favorite @langdondelrey @lennonlemon @itsnomystery @winxfred @soomishuwu @i-monky @thedeviltohisangel @frogmuttforever @manahime193 @deeppaperbatapricot @kleineshaeschen @bookobsssesed99 @wheredoiwhaaat25 @drama-penguins@dramapenguinthe3rd @divinelangdon @moltenskeleton @sloppy-little-witch-bitch26 @ms-mead @divinelangdon @softlangdon @dyns33 @langdonsdemon @coloursunlimited @nightsblackroses @omgsuperstarg @whope123 @urmomgayforlettuce @micheallangdons @langdonsinferno @redrxbel @blakewaterxx @michael-langdon-appreciation @nickisgirl

Please tell me if you want to be added or removed

[jamiebluewind]

Fantasy High Theory: Fabian has an eating disorder

TW: eating disorder symptoms, anorexia symptoms, abuse mention, death mention, violence mention, gun mention, alcohol mention, drug mention, trauma mention, smoking mention,...

Word Count: about 2100

I know this is a big assumption to make with what we have, but I couldn't ignore all the data and the warning signs. In fact, I think that even if Fabian does not have an eating disorder at this time, he's certainly at risk for one and needs the issues addressed before it gets worse.

Before I get into it, let me remind everyone that I am about to talk about a very heavy subject. Remember, stay safe and consider the warnings before you continue. You can always message me for a summary of the red flags or for an edited version if you need it. I would rather you be safe than to have you're like on my theory.

Okay? Okay. Let's start by defining a few things.

Eating Disorder: Any of a range of psychological disorders in which people experience severe disturbances in their eating behaviors and related thoughts/emotions. People with eating disorders typically become pre-occupied with food and/or their body weight/shape.

ARFID: Avoidant/restrictive food intake disorder is an eating disorder characterized by eating very little food and/or avoiding eating certain foods. It does not include having a distorted body image (as occurs in anorexia nervosa) or being preoccupied with body image (as occurs in bulimia nervosa). People with avoidant/restrictive food intake may not eat because they lose interest in eating or because they think eating has harmful consequences. They may avoid certain foods because of their color, consistency, or odor. When it becomes more severe, it can cause substantial weight loss, slower-than-expected growth in children, difficulty participating in normal social activities, and sometimes life-threatening nutritional deficiencies.

Anorexia nervosa: Diagnosed when patient BMI (body mass index which is a rule of thumb measuring body size vs mass) is low for their age and height. Severity is classified as mild (BMI of greater than 17), moderate (BMI of 16–16.99), severe (BMI of 15–15.99), or extreme (BMI of less than 15). Hallmarks of anorexia include limited food intake, excessive monitoring of the calorie and fat content of food, fear of being “fat”, problems with body image, denial of low body weight, excessive exercise, food rituals, cold intolerance, mood swings, sleeping issues, chronic fatigue, distorted body image, and many more. Eventually, the body goes into starvation which cause a lot of bad symptoms.

Atypical anorexia nervosa: All of the criteria for anorexia nervosa are met, except the individual's weight is within or above the normal range.

Again, ANY BMI can still mean a person has an eating disorder. It is NOT confined to those that are underweight. The BMI is only there as a red flag and to help classify severity of anorexia. I want to make this very clear, not just for my theory, but for the people reading this who recognize parts of it in themselves or others. I'm about to give an example that gets... personal in order to show that people who don't fit the stereotype of being underweight can still have an eating disorder. How personal? My own.

I am overweight to obese (depending on the doctor and the range). I don't exercise much. I eat pretty well around friends. But I have an eating disorder. I just... don't get hungry most of the time, so I forget to eat a lot more often than is healthy. A LOT more. I've been to the hospital a few times due to dehydration. I've collapsed because I literally forgot to eat for two or three days. I could have died at one point because despite being overweight, I was eating so little that things just... stopped working. Again, I was overweight. People and doctors thought I was just lazy. I was told to eat less and exercise more. Even my blood tests came back fine until one day, they didn't. And even then, nobody listened. Somebody doesn't have to look how you expect them to in order to have a problem. Also, don't be afraid to reach out for help if you feel like some of this hits close to home or someone you know is showing symptoms. It's okay to need help.

So remember, eating disorders can affect anybody with any body. The important thing is to be kind, supportive, and encourage professional help such as cognitive therapy.

****

Now to list Fabian's risk factors (I only listed the ones I believe he has)

Dysfunction family: This is a big risk factor for Fabian. His father is chaotic evil and (despite loving his son) puts massive pressure on him and tries to make him conform to his ideal for most of Fabian's life. Fabian has seen his father abuse his crew and snap at the drop of a hat. His mother has been a heavy alcoholic and mostly absent his entire first 16 years and when she gets off alcohol, she puts an extreme amount of pressure on him herself.

Abuse: This is another big one. His parents have been verbally abusive, emotionally abusive, neglectful in a variety of ways, controlling, manipulative, isolating, and his mother rested his food intake. He could have also been physically abused in the guise of sparing.

Genetics: Fabian's mother is very slim. Using images of weights and comparing it to her shape, she in fact fits the underweight shape which may or may not imply a genetic component depending on if the normal body shapes are different for high elves or not.

Exposure to warped body ideals and weight stigma: Exposure to "body ideals" in places like the media (especially if at a young age) can increase body dysfunction and eating disorder risk. Weight stigma can make this worse due to discrimination and stereotyping based on a person’s weight. Fabian has actually been exposed to this a lot due to his father and the crew. He's a kid around very strong muscular people and he feels pushed to get stronger to live up to his dad. It's also very easy to imagine that crew members who were not strong or active enough got a very bad reaction from his father, which would reinforce the ideal. Some of this is conjecture, but it's not so far outside the realm of possibility to be impossible.

Participation in sports: He's on the Bloodrush team and is a fencer.

Pressure to have a certain body shape from family: I think this risk factor is there too, especially when his mother takes over training.

Bullying/Teasing: Fabian was actually bullied by peers when he first starts school, but I believe his parents were bullying him long before that.

Trauma and PTSD: Oh boy, is this solid. He was most likely traumitized by his parents before high school. He saw two new friends die the first day of school and nearly died himself, only saved by Riz. He watched two teachers die by gunshot right in front of him (and a staff member killed by bludgeoning). Fabian mentions having nightmares about Riz killing Daybreak which might have been due to it being via gunshot. He was forced to kill people due to the situation he found himself in. The person who was supposed to have been helping them the entire time (Biz) turned out to be an evil dude who trapped one friend in a palimpsest and wanted to capture another. He was stuck in jail for weeks! His family was attacked, his home was damaged, and his dad died (and by his hand no less). He and his friends almost died to a dragon. That's a LOT of trauma for a kid to try to process and Jawbone mentioned that he never came to visit him, so he probably dealt with a lot of it on his own.

Low self-esteem: This is unfortunately something else he has. Despite all the bravado, he doesn't know how to be a friend or have people like him for who he is (instead of who his parents are or how much money he has). He tries to put up a cool front, but he judges himself very harshly.

Perfectionism. One of the strongest risk factors for an eating disorder is perfectionism, especially self-oriented perfectionism, which involves setting unrealistically high expectations for oneself. If they fail to meet their high expectations, the person becomes very self-critical. Fabian has this type of perfectionism.

History of an anxiety disorder: This one is reaching, but possible. People often show signs of an anxiety disorder (generalized anxiety, social phobia, OCD,...) before the onset of an eating disorder and Fabian stays on edge a lot, worries excessively, puts up a front, and deals with nightmares.

Substance abuse: Fabian has had alcohol and drugs before the age of 16, his parents almost encouraging it. He smokes regularly. Addiction runs in his family as well with his mother being an alcoholic and his father doing multiple drugs. Neither parent even hides the fact that they take drugs and drink alcohol to excess, the crew probably took drugs and got drunk in front of a young Fabian, and Bill offered drugs to his friends upon meeting them.

History of using weight-controling methods and dieting: Fabian exercises a great deal. He skips meals. He has a limited number of things he will eat. There is a lot of evidence to back this up.

Limited social networks: This was a HUGE issue before high school. Fabian was very isolated. He had no friends, limited social activities, and lacked proper social support. Recently, he's been skipping class exclusively which on top of smoking a lot, puts distance between him and other people.

Long story short? Our boy is at risk. Big time.

****

List of common signs of eating disorders (including anorexia)

Limited food intake: Seen when he has mostly protein smoothies, his mother tries to give him limited rations, and when he refuses to eat with his friends more and more as the series goes on. The first incident of it was in Cool Kids, Cold Case where Fabian refused the food he was offered on two separate occasions, passing it to Riz both times. Once was after the battle with Daybreak and being stuck at the police station a good while. The other was when the teens were hanging out at Riz's appartment when Sklonda got takeout. Fabian's mom also makes him earn food as seen in the live show. This mentality could have very well been internalized, even with Cathilda there to try and give him more.

Excessive monitoring of the calorie and fat content of food: He worries about empty calories, how fattening something is, and removed the cheese from a slice of pizza and dabbed the oil

Fear of being “fat” or in a shape that is not the ideal: In episode 1 of season 2, he is very preoccupied with staying trim and tight.

Excessive exercise: He exercises who knows how long every morning plus for Bloodrush plus the times outside of that

Food rituals: This is interacting with food a certain way (like small bites or how it's prepared) which causes anxiety when not followed. The pizza event might be one, but it's hard to say without a pattern.

Sleeping issues: Fabian has issues with sleeping, dreaming, and nightmares. His father confirmed this and he himself mentioned his nightmares.

Weight loss: By comparing his previous official artwork with his new official artwork, it's easy to see that Fabian looks visibly thinner. He's also VERY cut. (very defined muscles requiring very little fat) for his age. He was muscular last year sure, but his chest and abs are much more defined this year. Being that cut means that despite how muscular Fabian is, he has been eating less and probably doing fat burning exercises, getting a lot of his nutrition from multivitamins and whey, and would have less energy than normal.

Negative energy balance/chronic fatigue: This is only a possibility, but it deserves being mentioned. If this is going on, it puts a spin on some of Fabian's other actions in season 2, episode 1. He showed up late on move in day and didn't really move anything (just carried a book), which might have been a character thing, but could have also been because Fabian is running on empty and capable of things like adrenaline fueled busts of energy, but otherwise dealing with low energy and fatigue.

Also, Fabian is smoking now which works as an appetite suppressant as is common among those with eating disorders.

(Signs with no evidence as of this post: problems with body image, denial of low body weight, cold intolerance, mood swings)

~*~*~*~*~*~

TLDR: Fabian is showing a lot of symptoms of an eating disorder and also over a dozen risk factors. The number of both is substantial enough to see a pattern. Enough that I sincerely hope that it's acknowledged during the season because if Fabian does not have an eating disorder, he is at substantial risk of developing one.

PS: I know it's data heavy, I might have missed a few things, and it could be totally wrong, but I seen enough there that I thought it might make for a solid theory. D20 is no stranger to heavy subjects and I think if they do cover it, they will do a good job (as always). If they don't, I still learned a lot making this theory and maybe a few of you will as well. ^_^

[princiere]

💛💚💙!? :)

aaaaa tysm 🥺🥺

also this got super outta hand so I'm gonna try to put it under a read more, if it doesn't work I'm so sorry hfjdhg

💛 - Domestic Headcanons

Akira's job is actually freelancing, so he's a pretty good stay-at-home husband when he's not working.

Akira denies that he misses having Morgana around, but sometimes you can catch him talking to our cats as if they'll respond with coherent answers.

Thanks to the money Akira gets during his Phantom Thieves business, we're able to afford a pretty good apartment. We get one with two bedrooms, and use one of them as a "hobby room".

While we don't have a balcony, almost all of our windowsills are decorated with plants. Any plants that are too big to fit on a windowsill are placed where it can still get lots of sunlight.

Akira refuses to take off his wedding ring. Ever. His Joker gloves aren't tight enough to force him to take his ring off, but just enough that you can see the indents of it under the fabric. He'll only ever take it off if he knows it needs cleaning, but you can still see the marking of the ring on his finger.

I'm still debating on what he goes to college for, but he does go to college! Thankfully he's a lot better about managing his schoolwork alongside his jobs and personal life nowadays, now that he feels he's got a reason to stay healthy ♡

Akira doesn't admit it, but he's quite doting towards me. He knows not to interject and try to assist me all the time, otherwise it makes me feel useless, but he'll tend to keep a watchful eye on whatever I'm doing and is fully willing to drop everything if I ask for help.

He also knows that I'm kinda intellectually stunted due to mental illnesses and trauma, so he knows I may not be aware of when I'm actually sick or something, as well as not understanding or already knowing basic things (I recently learned how to use a goddamn printer). Again, he knows not to say something unless I ask, with the only exception being if I could be in immediate danger or I'm physically incapable of helping myself at the moment.

Privacy who??? Akira will obviously respect my privacy, but for the most part he doesn't bat an eye at any of the "weird" things I do around the house. It's kinda what he signed up for by dating me, so he knows what to expect.

💚 - Holiday Headcanons (Any Holiday is cool)

Akira's interested in celebrating any holidays, even if they're ones he's never celebrated himself or even heard of before.

They give him the opportunity to use his Extra Gene, and go a bit overboard if he knows I'll enjoy it.

The big holidays, like New Year's, Independence Day, Christmas, etc are about what you expect. Those holidays tend to go above and beyond anyway, so Akira celebrates them like anyone else does.

However, it's in holidays that aren't internationally blown up that Akira likes to participate in the most.

March 31st was TDOV, so he absolutely does shit like hang a trans flag up in the living room and wear clothes that have the same colors as the flag. He also keeps saying "trans rights" after everything he says lmao

The only big holidays that he unabashedly goes overboard for are Valentine's Day and Halloween. He's a super loving partner, so Valentine's Day is a given with him. But I want you to look me in the eyes and tell me this guy doesn't plan out his Halloween costume at least a month in advance, because you're wrong.

Akira's the guy that starts celebrating Halloween the moment October starts. He won't completely deck out the place with skeletons or anything, but he does bust out the cool spooky shit for things that were already around the house.

Humidifiers are now being used for smoky cauldrons, he'll put up a skeletal hand where our key hanger usually goes, he put a fuckin cat skeleton on our cat tower-

💙 - AU/Crossover Headcanons

*sweats bc the only AU's I think of with Akira are the stereotypical "you're born with the first words your soulmate will say to you on your skin" and "you and your soulmate feel each other's pain" scenarios*

Still I might as well mention them lmao

Akira gets...a bit of a ramble for his marking. He never thought much of it until his teen years, when all his peers start finding their soulmates.

He gets the words "I'm sorry, I just...I didn't mean to weird you guys out. I heard the rumors and I wanted to see if everyone was lying about you. You just...don't seem like the scary or intimidating kind of guy." along the side of his thigh. His parents used to tell him that he was actually born with just the first sentence, given how long it became in the end, and that more and more developed as he grew up and grew more space for the rest of it.

Akira...isn't really sure what to make of it. Apparently he does something that gets him a bad reputation, and his soulmate seemingly doesn't care about that? That's a good thing, right?

It isn't until he's forced to confront me with Ryuji that everything clicks. He's remembered the words in his skin to a T, even the hesitation in parts of it.

He can't help but go completely silent, shocked that he'd finally found his supposed soulmate.

And at now, of all times in his life.

Akira puts aside his shock, however. Maybe it's just a sick coincidence, even though I said exactly what his skin had written. He manages to say, "It's alright. I didn't mind, really, but...you could've come talked to me if you wanted to. I don't bite."

His shock then comes back tenfold when he sees the realization hit me as well.

Later on, when we know each other better, I reveal that mine was written along my right inner wrist. Sure enough, word for word, it's exactly what he said the day we met each other.

Now for the other AU

Everything for us still plays out like it does in our actual universe. I start to experience a lot more sudden pains by our 2nd year of highschool, but I don't make the connection that it's because of Akira up until The Interrogation.

The rest of the Phantom Thieves are already worried out of their minds when their leader disappears, but it begins to skyrocket even further when I suddenly experience pains far worse than I've endured before.

By now, we've all made the connection, but we're all also more worried about what Akira must be going through, as well as making sure I don't develop any issues that could need serious and immediate medical attention.

It gets to a point where I just faint from the shock. I fall into a bit of a coma, where I only wake up due to sudden pains that feel like my body was being frozen alive, before I go comatose again.

The others desperately try to keep me alive themselves, knowing the legal trouble that could arise if I'm taken to a hospital. They watch as I develop bruising all over my face and body the longer this goes on, still flinching in my sleep.

Thankfully, Akira's able to avoid The Shooting, otherwise we'd both be dead. Even if this all was part of the plan, the pain inflicted can't be ignored.

I don't fully wake up until the cognition change, and even then the pain is still too much for me to move at all.

Akira doesn't know what's happened to me until he's freed, and when the others surprise him at Leblanc and he notices my absence.

When he's told about our connection, he rushes to my place, where I originally collapsed and was taken care of.

The similarity in bruising and injuries were hard to ignore, but we couldn't touch quite yet due to how much everything still hurt.

We do agree to talk things out once all the current issues are taken care of, and Akira can't help but take his bandaged hand in my own.

And maybe a little kiss to the crown of my hair too

OKAY CROSSOVER TIME

There's only one crossover I've had in mind for Akira.......

Animal Crossing.

Akira's absolutely a black cat, sporting glasses like Raymond. If given the chance, his personality's a mix of smug and uchi.

He's not much into fishing or catching bugs, but he's into shooting down balloons and getting heavily involved in the turnip stock market.

He's a bit of a night owl, meaning he'll be out and about even after all the other villagers have gone to bed. He'll usually head back to his house at around midnight though.

He's one of the Able Sisters' best customers. He loves to check out the huge variety of clothing options they have, and actually makes some of his own designs. He doesn't present them for others to wear, however, unless he specifically made one for someone.

His house is about what you'd expect. It's a simple layout with everything he'd need, along with the addition of a couple plants and a piano.

[afinepricklypear]

Mother’s Day and Mental Health Awareness Month

**Warning - This post talks about depression, mental disorder, and an attempted suicide. Please do not read if you are sensitive to these topics. The events described here are real and true to the best of my memory.**

I went to make a post May 1st and Tumblr was kind enough to inform me that May is Mental Health Awareness month. It isn’t without irony for me that Mental Health Awareness month occurs the same month as Mother’s Day.

My relationship with my mother is a difficult topic, it’s usually only one I can talk about with my sisters, but it’s this time of year that people most want to talk about moms. When I was younger, I didn’t know what to say when people brought up their moms and mom-like behavior in general, mostly foreign concepts to me. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve learned I don’t have to say anything at all, like in my work meeting this morning when our supervisor reminded us all to call our mom’s this weekend, you know, “if they’re still alive”, since most of our department are near retiring age, but I don’t always know how to feel. Here comes the guilt: do I call, do I text, do I take the risk that she’ll be in a good mood or will she turn it around, again, like the year I sent her a gift and she used my gesture as ammo to attack my “ungrateful” older sister that’s still trying to untangle her own complicated relationship with our mother. I’m ten again, twelve again, sixteen again, walking on eggshells around a house where the air is so thick with the constant fog of her misery, I can’t see farther than a minute into my future.

There were good moments, of course, like any home. She was always the more encouraging parent when it came to my writing, my father would pick it all apart – in the long run, both approaches helped me become a better writer. There was the time she was given two tickets to see Mama Mia at the casino where she dealt, and she chose to take me. We got dressed up, she leant me this white faux fur jacket and some of her jewelry, curled my hair and did my make-up, she was riding high on her emotions. She took me to a fancy dinner at the Hard Rock Café before the show. We didn’t get spoiled often, and to this day, Mama Mia and ABBA hold a special place in my heart. I always think of her singing along to the radio in the car, she has a nice voice, and maybe in another life, she could’ve been a singer.

There were moments when she was trying to be sweet and it still leaves me with conflicted emotions. Like the time the German shepherd she took off the hands of a coworker who was afraid of him violently attacked me. She bandaged me up, laid in bed with me and comforted me, it’s the most motherly I ever remember her being. She kept the dog for a while after that, I still have scars on both my arms from the attack, I’ll have them the rest of my life, just like my little sister will still have her scars from when it attacked her, and my friend who came to visit will still have the scar it gave her…my older sister was only lucky that it was muzzled when it went for her face. My mother was convinced she had a special connection with this dog, that in his heart of hearts he believed he was protecting her, so I get it, she didn’t want to get rid of something that she felt loved her unconditionally.

Sometimes it’s hard to conjure these kinder memories, they become overwhelmed with the harder, darker ones that feel infinitely more numerous. There are the moments that seem innocuous, when you could say I was acting a spoiled child, like the time I was in middle school and I wanted to keep my hair long, but my mother decided I needed bangs. My dad tried to stop it, but she had made up her mind. I cried and pleaded with her but she commanded the reluctant stylist to chop the hair off. Armed with a brush and blow-dryer, she attempted to show me “it was cute” that night and things escalated to the point my dad and older sister were stepping in, arguing with my mom to let me be. I went back to that same hair stylist with my friend who was getting her hair cut the next day, and the stylist apologized, confessed that she didn’t want to cut my hair, told me it was so healthy and beautiful too, and she felt terrible doing it. Years later, when I was an adult and decided to cut my hair short with sideswept bangs, my mother would throw this memory back in my face, “sure, now you want bangs”, still incapable of understanding that it wasn’t about her, but about me wanting to define my own body and style. She did the same to my older sister in high school, dyed her hair blonde – it took so much bleach to lighten her naturally dark hair color that the hair looked fried afterwards and we were all amazed it didn’t fall out. Never mind that my older sister never wanted blonde hair to begin with, it was antithetical to her personality, and she won’t even go near the hair dye aisle now.

There are the moments where my mom was so unreasonable that everyone felt helpless, like the day I was alone in my room, my sisters in the living room talking and watching television – doing I don’t know what – and my mom was sleeping in her room because she worked graveyard shift at this time. Suddenly, inexplicably, my mom came into my room in a rage, “how dare you call your little sister stupid,” she scolded me, she continued to berate me for being cruel and mean, even as I told her, baffled, I didn’t know what she was talking about, even as my sisters argued with her, “no one called anyone stupid. She wasn’t even in the room with us.” My mother wouldn’t listen, she knew what she heard, she grounded me and, matter settled, left back to bed. My dad got home from work not long after, and I was in my room still bawling, inconsolable and unable to work out what I’d done wrong. He asked my sisters why I was crying and they explained, and, again, my mom comes storming in my room yelling, “how dare you tattle on me to your dad!” I don’t remember much of what happened from there, my dad stepped in, they argued the rest of the night, and he would later assure me I wasn’t grounded. It was the only thing he could undo from that day.

There are other, harder to define moments. The nights my mom would argue with my dad, we’d be in bed, school in the morning, and she’d turn on all our bedroom lights, rip the covers off our beds, and scream at us to get out of her house, that she was putting us all out on the streets and it was our father’s fault. I remember vividly the fight between my parents that happened in the day, everyone awake in the house, I collapsed in the kitchen as my mother ranted that we all hated her so she should leave and we won’t have to deal with her anymore, and I cried and trembled, overwhelmed with the thought, I don’t want anyone to leave, I don’t want to lose my family. I had to get out, so I did, walked right out of the house, not sure where I’d go, and my mother panicked and raced after me, put an arm over my shoulders, coaxed me back to the house. The moment the door closed; she was yelling at us again for not loving her enough and I realized I couldn’t leave, I was trapped. There was the gambling addiction, every Christmas we would be prepared, “mom lost a lot of money at the casino last night, we might not have a Christmas this year” – we had learned not to expect anything anyways and that every gift came with a quid pro quo and years of ‘remember I did this for you’. My older sister and her then-boyfriend, now-husband, watched my mom gamble away more than a month’s mortgage and spend the entire night chasing it back.

I’m thinking about all of this more recently, I think, since I started writing some fanfics for the Bungou Stray Dogs community. One of the main characters of the show is named after and inspired by author, Dazai Osamu, a man that died prematurely from a double suicide. This is treated tongue-and-cheek by the anime and its original manga through Dazai’s many failed suicide attempts and his odd flirtation strategy of asking ladies to commit double suicide with him. I kind of like this approach to the topic, it might on the surface seem insensitive to make a joke of something so serious as depression, but humor can be therapeutic and give us an easier way to broach otherwise difficult subjects.

I was in high school when my older sister and I were allowed to be in on the conversations about my mother’s mental disorder, both undiagnosed and untreated. We’d all speculate, my father and his sister, my mother’s sister, my sisters and I, the favorite theory was bipolar disorder, but we may never know. My mom refused then and refuses to this day to seek help. There were little things about her past before marrying my dad that we were allowed to know as we got older, too. Like, how she’d been put in a hospital that wanted to keep her there for further treatment – they knew something was wrong but didn’t know what, this was during a time when bipolar disorder was unheard of and they called similar diagnoses ‘manic depression’ – and she had to threaten legal action to get released. When she was eighteen, she had married a man knowing he had a terminal illness in order to help him get his green card, he died two years later, and she still considers him the great love of her life. We’re told by the media, movies like A Walk to Remember, that this is romantic, but in reality, it’s an unhealthy fixation on a relationship that was doomed from the start. She idolizes the memory of it, puts it on a pedestal as the standard for all of her other relationships to compare to, but it isn’t realistic. It was a relationship with a known expiration date, it wasn’t a real commitment, nothing had to matter because it would all come to an end soon, and they never reached the hard parts of a marriage – children, growing old, changing bodies, financial struggles, loss and disagreement. She went through a deep depression after he died and it reached a point that her sister had her placed on a suicide watch and thus began her long and sordid history of depression.

There are a lot of fanfics in the BSD community that explore a darker tone to Dazai’s depression, to varying degrees of accuracy. I mostly steer clear of them. There is one writer in the community that I won’t name, they’re an amazing writer with beautiful technical skill, and they do an impeccable job of showing depression exactly as it is for those who live it and those who live with a person that suffers from it. I left a one-word comment on one of their stories, the only positive thing I could say, and I couldn’t write anymore without the comment turning into an emotional lecture, I don’t know that author’s personal emotional state, but I also won’t read any more from them. It wasn’t the accurate depiction of depression that turned me off from the story, but the depiction of Dazai’s depression being known by all the characters in the story, including himself, but he won’t seek treatment for it, and all of the characters are shown to enable his depression and put up with his abuses that stem from his disorder. In the story he was placed in an intimate relationship with the character, Chuuya, and Chuuya is painted as the patron saint of boyfriends, willing to overlook Dazai’s every episode, draw him back from the ledge and bandage up his scars with an endless patience and gentleness. I couldn’t move passed the romanticizing of this relationship dynamic. Chuuya is shown to be noble and celebrated for his self-sacrifice and unconditional love that compels him to stay beside Dazai despite everything Dazai inflicts upon himself and Chuuya, and more importantly, despite Dazai’s refusal to get treatment.  

My mother’s emotional state was constantly our responsibility growing up. She was sad because we didn’t love her. She was angry because we were ungrateful. She was miserable because we couldn’t see all that she did for us. If she hurt us with her words, if she lashed out at us irrationally, it was our fault, because we didn’t do everything right. Never mind that what was right could change within a minute in a day. Too often when someone in your life is suffering from a mental disorder, you’re made to shoulder the blame, either unintentionally by them as they suffer from their illness or intentionally by well-meaning individuals outside of the situation that don’t know better: you just need to give them love. If they take their own life, it’s your fault, you didn’t love them enough.

It was the Friday before Mother’s Day, I was in my early twenties, finishing up my degree in Anthropology (after changing my major, I don’t know how many times). My parents were long since divorced and my mom lived alone in the house where I grew up, still shrouded in all of those dark memories. My mother’s sister had recently left town after a short visit, she had called me a few days earlier to let me know my mother lost her job  that week and was struggling to get out of the depression. In retrospect, she’d been sinking for a while now, after the violent dog and so many other incidents like it left us all with too many scars to overlook and we didn’t know how to walk back into that house, how to feel safe there. She’d covered herself in tattoos, cut her hair short, wore different wigs to work every day, she’d gained a lot of weight and was chain smoking so much there was a permanent haze in the house. None of these things should be thought of as red flags for everyone, it should be taken on an individual basis, but for my mother they were all signs that she was spiraling. She didn’t like who she saw in the mirror and was desperately trying to cover it up, find someone she did like. I had promised her I would come over, make her a dinner for Mother’s Day, and I would take her to see a movie. I was on my phone with my aunt when I pulled up, snowballing ideas for what to do if things got serious and if we needed to think about placing her on a suicide watch, how that would work. I rang the doorbell; it was outside of the gate she put around the front yard for her dogs to go in the front yard.

No answer.

Rang it again.

Still no answer.

She knew I was coming over.

I opened the gate, went to the door, the door was cracked open, my aunt was on the phone in my ear, “what’s going on?” I opened the door fully and my mom’s dogs came to greet me. The house was in disarray, furniture toppled over, papers scattered across the floor, so many of the details are blurred out of memory, I remember distinctly a ceramic statue broken on the floor but I couldn’t tell you what it was a statue of. I could hear a low intermittent moan coming from farther in the house. I followed it down the hall to my mother’s room, into her bathroom, where she was collapsed, naked, on the floor of her shower.

I told my aunt I had to go, I hung up and dialed 911. In the moment, I didn’t know how panicked I really was, my voice unnaturally high, my body warm and shaking and electric with adrenaline. That feeling hits me again, sometimes, when I don’t expect it. There was white like foam around my mother’s mouth, her eyes stared wide and blank at the ceiling, her every breath was that guttural moan as she attempted to draw air in, an autonomic action, she was completely unresponsive. Her body was on autopilot, and so was mine. I’d been rehearsing for a long time what to do in that situation, it’s the only way I made it through everything that needed to be done. I gave the dispatcher the address, answered her questions, “I think she did something to herself but I don’t know what…no, there’s no pills nearby…no, I don’t see anything in the trash…she’s been severely depressed…she has a history of depression…”, between pleading with my mom, “please don’t leave me, please stay with me, mom,” and wrestling her dogs into the front yard and out of the house. The dispatcher told me the ambulance was on its way and asked if I wanted her to stay on the line and I begged her not to hang up, not to leave me with nothing but the moans of my dying mother, she didn’t say anything during that time, was just silently present as I talked to my mom and waited for the paramedics. They couldn’t come in until I got the dogs out back, I cursed and screamed at the unruly mongrels and felt an irrational anger that my mom never got them properly trained.

I took a seat in the kitchen, let the paramedics work and my brain shut down. I called my aunt back, told her what happened. The paramedics came to ask me questions, I tried to answer them but I didn’t know and my aunt was correcting me over the phone, so I handed her over and let her talk to them. They took my mother away to the hospital and I was alone, in that childhood house, that held so many horrible memories of my mother’s untreated disorder, and every aspect of our lives that it colored and perverted. Every Mother’s Day was always fraught with anxiety, I think it was my mother’s least favorite day, her mood was always sour, and no matter what we gave her or tried to do for her, it wasn’t enough. Even the year before, the Mother’s Day when she told us exactly what to get her. She was so happy with her present, a sterling silver ring with our birthstones imbedded that cost us all a pretty penny – I was paying my own way through college, my older sister was paying rent on a Starbucks salary, and my little sister didn’t have a job – but a week later we were ungrateful brats again. There was one Mother’s Day when I was maybe ten or eleven, we’d set her up roses and two cards – one from my father and one from her daughters. I was watching television and waiting for her to come home from work to wish her a happy Mother’s Day. She came in and years of practice had taught me to recognize she was in a dark mood, a cigarette on her lip, her posture tense, muttering under her breath about how nobody loved her, nobody cared. She stalked to the desk, ripped the cards in half without opening them and threw them on the ground in front of me without sparing me one glance or word, and stormed to her room, slammed the door behind her.

We would later find out that my mother drank antifreeze, a method that has about a 5% survival rate. She was in a coma for about a month. It was another few weeks before they took the respirator tube out and her throat recovered enough that she could talk in small sentences, and not without effort and pain. She told us she filled a cup with the antifreeze, showed us with her fingers set apart how high she’d put it in the glass, when she finished, she washed the cup and stuck it in the dishwasher, hiding the evidence. She’d always heard antifreeze was flavorless but it tasted awful – they add flavoring to antifreeze to deter people from accidentally ingesting it. She’d thought it would be quick, but it’s really an excruciatingly painful and long, drawn out way to die. She’d stripped in her deliria and taken a shower because her body felt so awful, feverish and almost on fire, as it was shutting down and her nerves fried from the chemical reaction. I wrestled for a long time with the ethical delimma of my choices in that moment after finding her, and there was a thought that stuck with me through it all: What did I get my mother for Mother’s Day? I saved her life, and it was still the wrong gift.

It isn’t noble or romantic to stay with someone who refuses to get professional treatment for their mental disorder. There is no amount of love or patience or understanding that will heal them. In most situations, the harder and braver thing to do is walk away. None of us is a perfect person and none of us should have to bear the burden of another person’s unwillingness to get help when they need it. It took me a long time to come to terms with the notion that there is no one to blame in this situation. It isn’t my fault that I can’t give my mother the love she craves. It isn’t my mother’s fault that she can’t see the love that her daughters wanted to give her. But it is her responsibility to get help. If she refuses help, no one can force it on her.

It’s been years now since this happened. My mother is now as recovered as she’ll ever be. Her mind isn’t as sharp, and she struggles with controlling her muscles and the devastating damage to her nervous system that will never fully heal. She remains undiagnosed and is not receiving any kind of professional guidance or treatment. There have been new, dark memories, added to the old ones, in those times when we tried to be supportive and “there for her” during her recovery. Episodes that remind us she doesn’t want to change and she never will. So, we keep our interactions to a minimum, answer when she texts, try to help her when she asks for it, check in every so often. She lives on the other side of the country with two cats and goes regularly to the neighborhood karaoke bar. In a weird way, she seems happier with this set up, this distance between her and all of the pain that my sisters and I seemed to bring her, that constant demand for love that we couldn’t fulfill, maybe it really was all our fault and we were the ones to blame, or maybe it’s because I’m not living with her depression anymore.

I don’t know if I’ll call my mother on Mother’s Day, but for anyone else out there with a complicated relationship with their mother, it’s okay if you decide not to call your mother either.

[honeybee-hannahh]

Without you | Calum Hood

Summary: Calum helps you clean up your childhood house, after your mom passes away. 

Warnings: Mentions death of a parent. 

Word Count: 2k 

Author’s note: Flash backs are in italics. 

“Am I speaking with Lisa’s daughter?” a cold voice asked from the other end of a phone call “yes this is her, can I ask who is calling?” you asked hesitantly “I am your mother’s doctor here at Penrose Hospital in California, we are calling to inform you that your mother's condition has worsened and we think it would be best if you came in so we could talk about the next step.” your stomach dropped you immediately knew what he meant, while she hadn't been sick for long, you knew she wasn’t getting any better but you never expected it to happen this fast. 

You were there the day she passed away, in the bleak hospital room, surrounded by a few friends. No longer sure if she could still hear you, but you always stayed. You watched as she took her last breath. It had been less than two months, since you had found out she was sick. You never knew just how sick she was until the day you came home and found her passed out barely breathing. Your breathing stopped as you raced for your phone dialing 911 before you even had a second thought.  And now less than two months later she was gone. Just like that everything changed.

Death comes as a shock, and is almost never expected in someone who is only 48 years old. You spent the next month in bed, hardly moving to shower or eat, unless Calum forced you to. You felt empty, numb, everyday felt like a thousand without her. You never thought that at 21 you would be motherless.

“Are you sure you’re ready to do this?” Calum asked squeezing your hand lightly “you can take a few more days love.” you close your eyes taking a deep breath, it had been a month since you had been outside of the house Calum and you shared “no I’m ready, I need to do this.” you took a step towards the front door of your childhood house, your  hands shaking as you reached for your keys to unlock the bright red door. You stood in the doorway of the house, letting the memories rush back to you.

*7 years ago* “Calum did you take my phone?” you yelled tearing the living room apart, all you could hear as a response was him laughing which was more than you  needed to hear, to know that he had taken it. You rolled your eyes walking into the kitchen “Jason said he can’t wait to see you again, sweetheart.” he mocked sticking his tongue out. “Not funny Cal,” you reached for your phone taking it out of Calum's hands. “Ew why is it so warm?” you yelled almost dropping it onto the kitchen counter, Calum laughed holding his sides, “you did not put it down your pants again.” he shrugged “you’re so gross.” you yelled lunging for him.

You could feel the tears start to well in your eyes, Calum lightly placed his hand on your shoulder snapping you out of your thoughts. “Are you okay?” he questioned “yeah, - yeah sorry, I just we have so many memories here. I mean I grew up in this house, my whole childhood is within these walls,” you took a few steps inside running your hand along the wall it had been almost a year since you were here last “I fell in love with you inside this house.” You stopped walking to turn and look at Cal who had been looking at the pictures that were hanging on the walls now covered in a thin layer of dust. “You will always have these memories my love, they will always be with you when you need them the most. Just like your mom will always be with you from now on, she’ll always be right by your side. ” he wrapped his arms around your shoulders holding you tightly against his chest, you let your head loll back against him, allowing yourself to relax for a moment. “Do you remember when we bought jiffy pop and burned it on the shove,” he asked, you let a soft laugh fall from your lips “I had never seen your mom so mad before, the house smelt like burnt popcorn all night.” “You know she never let me cook popcorn on the stove after that night, i honestly don’t think she trusted me to cook ever again.” You smiled thinking back at the fond memories that this house held.

You ran your hand along the smooth wall of your childhood bedroom, the bright blue paint was cool to the touch, you begged your mom when you were 13 to paint it anything other than the god awful hot pink color it had been.

“Mom please I’m a teenager now and I don’t like pink anymore it’s such a baby color and I want to have a cool room, please pretty please.” you must have begged her on end for weeks before she agreed to finally let you paint your room blue. You never knew there were so many different shades of blue, the first day you both went to the paint store you couldn’t pick one single color, you must have come home with at least 10 different shades of blue. “Cal do you think deep sky blue or do you think cornflower would look better?” you had narrowed it down to your two favorite shades, “I think they look exactly the same.” he mumbled distracted by the video game he was currently playing, you lightly pushed his shoulder, “pick one please I can’t make up my mind.” You pouted handing him the paint samples. “Cornflower.” he said simply before turning his attention back to the video game.

You sat down on the cold wood floor opening the drawer to your night stand, you started filling the box next to you with memories you pulled out a large stack of polaroids, letting the memories of unforgettable nights flood your mind. Countless notebooks filled with poems, and stories of how you thought my life would be, books you started to write but never finished. You closed the first box placing the tape along the top. Calum knocked lightly on the door, making you jump slightly, “I found something I think you’ll want to see.” he gave you a small smile and offered his hand helping you up. “I was wrapping up the pictures from the living room and I found these.” he handed you a stack of cards, your  breath caught in your throat, you knew what they were, it was every card your mom had written you from my first birthday all the way up until your most recent 21st birthday, you moved back towards the couch collapsing completely, letting your tears fall freely for the first time that day. “I can’t believe she kept them all.” Your voice was hardly a whisper as your body shook. Calums strong arms wrapped around you, holding you as if he was trying to put all your pieces back together. “Every year she would make sure to mail my card to our house so that I would feel special, when it came. When I moved out she refused to send me a card, told me that I could have it the next time I saw her, I always thought she just wanted to see me more. I didn’t know she was keeping them this whole time.” Your hands shook as you opened each card, almost as if you were scared that the wrong touch would cause the cards to fall apart in your hands, You carefully read and reread each message that was perfectly handwritten in cursive. Calum’s hand lightly wiped the tears from my cheeks.

“I think that was the last box love.” Calum said walking towards you, “it’s so empty, Cal.” Your legs dangle over the edge of the island, eyes scanning the bare room, that once held so much life and joy but now only held sadness of what used to be. You watched Calum as he walked around the now empty kitchen, taking everything in as if he was trying to commit every detail to memory, this might have been your childhood house but Calum spent so much time here when you both were kids, it’s almost like his second home. It can be hard to make a house feel like a home, but your mom never failed to welcome every single person into her home. You still remember when you told her about Calum and yourself dating, you had never seen her so happy, she always thought that Calum was the kindest and most respectful young man. He will always treat you right, I know he will, she told you the first time she saw Calum and yourself together she told you the way she knew he loved you, was in the way that he looked at you, even when you were  just simply talking. He never takes his eyes off of you, she told you.

Calum and you stood outside of your childhood house for the second time that day. The moving van had long left, filled with boxes of clothes, books, pictures, and other various items that you had found while cleaning out the old house. Calum's arm was lightly draped around your shoulder as him and you stood there. You smiled as a tear ran down your cheek, “I miss her,” the tears burned your tired eyes as you ran your hand through your hair, “god, I thought I was ready for this. I thought I was ready for everything to change, I’m not ready to accept that she’s actually gone.” you let out a shaky breath. “She was such an amazing person, she would have given you the shirt off of her back, she always had a way of making people listen and understand what she was saying. It’s not fair that, it’s not fair that she’s gone.” you shook my head “It should have been me.” you mumbled, Calum moved standing in front of you, lifting your chin lightly so that you looked him in the eyes. “No it shouldn’t have been, it’s hard to see that right now, I know the guilt of surviving when you think you could have done so much more is overwhelming. But you did everything you could have done, you spent more time in her hospital room and with her doctors that you did at home. You did everything you could do and more.” “It doesn’t feel like I did, I feel like I could have done something else.” You looked down at your hands, playing with the ring on your right index finger. “It’s okay to feel that way right now, but you have to understand that you did everything possible to help her.” Calum said reaching for your hand, giving it a soft squeeze. In that moment it was almost as if time had frozen, the way everything stood still,the wind stopped blowing and not a single car passed as we stood outside the house. You don’t know how you got so lucky as to have Calum in your life. He was your best friend from the first moment you met him, he had stayed with you though so much never giving up on you or us for that matter. You don’t know where or even if you would be here without him but one thing that you knew for sure was that your mom was right when she said Calum loved you.

[countlessimagines]

The Right Time [ Stephen Strange x Reader ]

Warnings: Drug and alcohol addiction

MASTERLIST LINK

-

When you and Stephen were seventeen, you both were madly in love. Some people often rolled their eyes or said how annoying you two were, while others supported it fully.

Yours and his parents were the first kind of people. They did not approve of the relationship and said that you both needed to focus on studies and your future ahead.

And it didn’t help the fact when you found out you were pregnant. Of course, you panicked and almost ran away with Stephen but realized that it wasn’t the best choice.

So, you told your parents and he told his own. And like you two expected, they were furious and demanded the baby be up for adoption.

“We are keeping this baby!” Stephen said to his parents as well as yours. Maybe it wasn’t the best idea to tell them both at the same time.

“You can’t keep this child, you’ll ruin your life,” His father spat, and your own nodded in agreement.

“You don’t know that,” You said, close to despair. “This baby deserves to be with us.”

“You’ve made a mistake,” His mother said with gritted teeth. “This baby will be put up for adoption. That’s the final decision.”

You shook your head, running out of the house with Stephen close behind you after yelling at them.

You collapsed on the driveway where Stephen kneeled down next to you. He delicately held onto your face, wiping the tears away.

“What are we going to do?” You whispered, your hand clutching onto his favorite band t-shirt.

“We have no other option. We don’t have money to raise a baby by ourselves,” he said, a few tears leaking out of his eyes.

You fell into his chest, sobbing.

And the two of you sat there, holding tightly onto each other - afraid if you let go, everything you had left would fall apart.

-

You held onto your baby boy with tears in your eyes, “Hi, little one.”

Stephen raced into the room, sweat dripping down his face after running five blocks to you. His father refused to give him his car keys - said it’d be better if he didn’t see his baby.

Stephen had flipped him off and immediately left the house to see you give birth.

He unfortunately was late but still had a heavy heart when he saw you holding the little bundle of joy.

“(Y/N),” He said softly, catching your attention.

You beckoned him over, and he shyly made his way to you.

He saw his son who had his big, blue eyes open - staring at Stephen.

“Do you want to hold him?” You asked him, looking up into the same blue eyes that Stephen had.

He hesitated at first, afraid he’d get attached if he held onto him. But, he knew he’d probably never get the chance to ever again.

You passed your son to him, delicately and told him how to hold him. He did so effortlessly, a small smile on his face.

“His name is Samuel,” You said.

“Samuel Strange,” Stephen whispered, then kissed his forehead slowly. “I hope whoever has you knows how lucky they are... and that they raise you right... and you’ll never have to go through pain like this.”

The three of you laid on the bed, sharing the few moments you had together before the nurse would take Samuel away.

-

It was fifteen years later when your world did a 360.

You and Stephen had broken up after high school while he pursued his dream of being a doctor. You, on the other hand, had endured a period of not knowing what to do. So, you traveled the world and ended up in Sokovia where you met the Maximoff twins.

You raised and helped them out, but one day Pietro had lashed out on you, saying that you only helped them because of your misfortunes. After asking him what in the world he was talking about, he said you only cared for them because you wanted to reassure yourself that you could have a been a wonderful mother to the baby you lost.

You were furious, saying that you didn’t see it that way, but Wanda saw through your lies.

They had gone away a week after the argument, and then another week after that, men in suits had came to your apartment. They spoke of experiments, how much money was involved, and how you would change the world.

You agreed.

-

A year after that, you joined the Avengers with Wanda. She had her telekinesis while you were able to warp time, you could go back and forth as you pleased. But, you had to be careful with how you used your powers.

-

Three years later, you were at the Avengers compound by yourself - going over files and government records to see if you could find your baby boy, Samuel.

You had reached dead ends many times, frustrated beyond belief. But you knew you had to find him, a part of you longed to see and tell him what happened nineteen years ago when you and Stephen had given him away.

You also tried to reach Stephen at the hospital you knew he worked, but a nice lady Christine said he left the job a couple years back.

That’s when you completely gave up. You lost your first child and first love.

Or so you thought.

While throwing a pile of papers to the side, there was a weird noise behind you - to which you turned around to see.

With a scream, you fell backwards but suddenly a red cloak wrapped itself around you and held you upright.

Confusion overtook you while looking upon the man in front of you.

“Stephen?”

He smiled warmly at you, “Hello, love.”

He looked almost the same as he did when you were teens. His black hair now had whites on the side, his ocean blue eyes, and he wore blue clothing that looked like something out of a movie.

“How... What?” You stammered, stepping forward to him. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“I know,” Stephen sighed and placed a slightly shaking hand on your cheek, like he had before so many times. “It wasn’t the right time yet.”

“Where have you been?” You said, loving the feel of his warm hand on your cheek.

“Well, to cut a long story short... I had gotten into a terrible accident that left my hands ruined. I found my way to Kamar-Taj and they helped me. I learned to control the shaking in my hands... There have been fights and battles. I protect an Infinity Stone now.... And, I’ve mentored a boy recently.”

You took everything in, listening intently to what he had to say. “Wow, you really have been through a lot these past years?”

He chuckled, “you wouldn’t believe.”

Suddenly, a person stepped out of the portal that was behind Stephen.

“Dad! Something is happening,” a boy who looked almost exactly like Stephen exclaimed while running up to him.

You did a double take as the boy paid no attention to you and only looked up at Stephen, who at the moment was panicking.

“Who’s this?” You questioned him quickly.

“Samuel... this is... This is your mother,” Stephen said and lightly turned the boy towards you.

Samuel stared at you before a smile draped his face, “Hi.”

You were in shock, completely frozen in your spot.

Samuel whispered to his dad, “Did we break her?”

You broke out of the trance, running forward and almost crushing Samuel in a hug. He was taller than you, but that was no surprise since Stephen was taller in your relationship.

“I’ve waited for this moment for so long,” you whispered to him, not letting go. “Oh, my baby boy... I’m sorry I left you.” You pulled away and had tears in your eyes. “We didn’t have a choice... Ever since I came with the Avengers, I searched every database to find you. But I couldn’t because it was a closed adoption and they wouldn’t tell us who chose you.”

Samuel placed his hand on your shoulder, “Hey, it’s alright. Dad explained everything to me.”

You turned to Stephen who had a smile on his face, “Why didn’t you come sooner?”

“Well, Samuel had actually come to Kamar-Taj by himself,” He went on to explain. “He was struggling with addiction and reached rock bottom. Therefore he became my apprentice, I guess you can say, and he opened up to me about his life and everything. Then sooner or later, we found out I was his dad.”

You did a faint grin, “I’m glad that you found your way to him.”

“We would’ve come sooner, but I didn’t want you to see me at my worse,” Samuel admitted.

“I would’ve loved you anyways,” You said and hugged him again.

“Sorry to break up the reunion but we have trouble.”

The most unexpected person stepped out. Tony freaking Stark.

“Tony?” You asked him with a confused face. “How do you know Stephen?”

“That’s not important right now, there’s complete chaos outside.”

“What’s happening?” You asked the three men who shared worried glances.

“It’s the start of a war.”

[avengers-nextgen]

We Are On XX

Chaos was the only word that could describe the aftermath of the war. The medical wing- packed with injured and non injured personnel-smelled strongly of blood and sweat.

However, news travelled fast and it was discovered that two had fallen in battle aside from the countless injuries inflicted and received.

Alex sat staring blankly at the floor with the same scene playing over and over again in her mind. The echoing shot and blood bursting across pavement sent her heart dancing. James had fired his weapon just as the sniper was firing too. The intended target-Killian-collapsed in the street sending the bullet plunging into Jame’s shoulder.

He fell like a limp doll unmoving in pools of water that turned pink then red only to be washed into street gutters. From the upper floors of the building it’d been nearly impossible to tell if he’d been killed. Alex recalled the way her heart had skipped a beat, the way her breath froze, how her eyes refused to look away, and the way her world grew fuzzy.

While it wasn’t a fatal wound her heart still ached for James. He’d tried so hard to talk Killian down. Her callous brother wasn’t so callous after all and he’d paid the price for it.

Blinking back tears, Alex raised her head to observe the room around her. Arthur sat in a chair beside the single room labeled ICU with a bowed head and shivering shoulders. Nathaniel sat beside him trying desperately to comfort the younger boy.

Inside the small room, Chloe was on life support. The amount of voltage that hit her system had stressed her heart forcing it to shut down and consequently kill her. The doctors were doing their best to revive her and she’d come around briefly only to fade again. Still, there was hope the doctors assured.

Downstairs, Piper was working with a team of doctors trying to repair Bianca’s mangled form. The metal prosthetics had been torn and demolished leaving carnage in their wake. No one knew the repercussions of such injuries, and Alex feared they would be permanent.

Two beds over from where James rested was Thalia still sedated from surgery. Bloody bandages lay in thick layers over her chest where Kubu’s claws had torn her open. The damage had been severe but the surgeons had done their best to play damage control. The tell tale signs would be the healing process.

Surrounding her bed though, was a supportive family. There was Thor, Loki, Siyanda, Sif, Valkyrie, Enzo, and Sage who bounced back and forth between her cousin and Bianca.

Meanwhile, Bucky paced the hallways in anxious silence unable to find rest for his body or mind. Steve would leave his son’s side on occasion to offer words of comfort to his age old friend, but words only did so much.

Fox sat in an interrogation room with Harper across from her. It felt wrong to question her after all that had happened, but the truth needed to be known. They needed to understand the extent of what went on amongst Killian’s ranks.

Maria stood on the other side of the one way glass watching with a heavy heart.

Not more than three doors down the hall, Drew was floating in a clear glass tank. An oxygen mask ensured her safety while numerous wires monitored her vitals. Screens indicated brain activity and neural images as Tony tried with Stephen to undo the programming.

Orion could only imagine what it was like for Stephen working on a project while his daughter was dying close by. When he asked, when he insisted that Stephen leave, the man refused. It was best for him to focus on something trivial than to dwell on the fluctuating state of his daughter. He couldn’t handle the thought of it for longer than a handful of seconds.

So Orion waited anxiously for a sign of success because he knew that if these two men couldn’t help Drew -no one could. And all he wanted was for her to be happy. For Drax to smile and embrace something he’d once lost. For Drew to have a proper family again. But it seemed impossibly far away. He was starting to doubt happy endings.

And he wasn’t the only one. Max stepped into the building knowing full well what would happen, but still they knelt in surrender and let the agents cuff them. The guilt had worn away any resolve or faith they’d had in Killian.

No matter who was right or wrong, good guy or bad guy, Max had betrayed the moral code they’d once upheld. To be a good person. That’s all Max wanted to be and it had slipped away just like that.

With a rough tug Max was pulled upwards and guided through the halls to a waiting cell. It was small and clean but Max was certain they didn’t even deserve that much. Not after what they’d done.

Swallowing tightly, Max sat on the cot watching as the agents closed the door. Never once in all of the years they’d been alive did it occur to them that they’d be sitting in a cell. Somehow, that made it even crueler. Max was farther from the person they’d wanted to be than ever before. Hockey games seemed like some distorted past now. A past unlikely to become a future.

— — —

“How is it going?” Fury asked, resting a careful hand upon Maria’s shoulder.

At first she gave no reply, but then she remembered who was beside her, “Well. She’s a good agent you know.”

“So I’ve heard,” Fury nodded, retracting his hand. “Top scores in her class, quick witted, intelligent, street smart, and young.”

“You should have seen her,” Maria shook her head, “the way she handled everything. The other agents would have just shot Harper. “

“From the way people describe this girl, she reminds me of someone I know,” Fury smiled thinly.

Silence strung out between the two for some time until Maira broke the silence, “What are we doing to these kids, Nick?”

“The best we can,” Fury sighed, running a hand down his face, “because that’s more than the world offers them.”

“Yeah,” Maria nodded, feeling her throat tighten. She’d watched each of the kids grow up from the moment they were first born to their first steps to their first days of school. Even those who’d recently become members of the family had grown on her. “You get some rest Nick, this is gonna take a while.”

“I guess I should prep for the fallout of this,” He chuckled. Maria gave a tiny smile and let her colleague go. The door eased shut with a soft sigh.

Maria stood there in silence for hours watching the two girls exchange words and the more she watched the more her mind wandered and the more an idea blossomed into something of fruition.

— — —

When the interrogation had ended the building was still and quiet except for Fox and Harper. Silence seemed to be their friend as the two studied one another with tired eyes. At last, Fox drew something from her pocket: a folded piece of paper. She slid it silently across the table for Harper to read.

“Your family can stay there. I was told it’s being remodeled. No expenses need to be paid. It’s not much money and I own my parent’s bar so I make enough to pay the bills. I’m currently setting something up so you can pay for your brother and sister’s funeral service,” Fox explained. “And before you refuse, don’t. My pride always kept me from accepting help. It didn’t do me any good. Don’t make my mistake.”

“Thank you,” Harper sniffled, folding the paper with care and setting it aside. “It’s...it’s strange feeling like I finally have a friend in this big world. I didn’t know I was so...”

“Lonely?” Fox smiled thinly, “that’s the funny thing about it. You spend so much time convincing yourself you’re not lonely, that loneliness becomes your only companion.”

“Can...can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” Fox nodded.

“You said someone helped you once. Who was it?” Harper asked.

“Someone you’ve met,” Fox laughed lightly, “and he’s currently in the hospital believe it or not.”

“Then why’re you wasting time here?” Harper’s eyes widened in alarm.

“Because he’s not going anywhere. If there’s one thing I know about him-he’s a pain in the ass and stubborn as hell. He’ll fight death before he leaves this shithole planet behind,” Fox grinned earning a laugh from Harper in return. “Anyways, it’s late. Maria will get you set up in a spare room. If you need anything let me know.”

“I will,” Harper promised, standing slowly and following Fox from the room.

Once she was certain Harper had been taken care of, Fox wandered quietly down the hallway to the medical wing. The lights were on low and only one person remained in the room. Arthur was fast asleep curled awkwardly in a chair.

Letting the boy be, she made her way to sit beside James’ cot. His arm was in a sling with bandages surrounding the shoulder in neat fashion.

“Hey,” James greeted, opening his eyes slowly, “it’s late.”

“It is, and yet you’re awake.”

“I’ve been on drugs. I’ve slept most of the day,” James grinned clearly still on some drugs from the wonky slant of his lips. “It’s also hard to stay awake when your Mom keeps running a hand through your hair.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Fox shrugged. “Usually I just had hair pulling so I’d do chores.”

“Really? Well it’s like this,” James ran a hand through his own hair and then-still with his good arm-did the gesture to Fox. “See? Soothing.”

“I think you gave me a bald spot.”

“Ha Ha.” James rolled his eyes whilst smiling.

“You’re really loopy aren’t you?”

“Sure am!” James laughed.

“Do these sort of drugs have the same effect on your sister?” Fox asked.

“Nah, she’s all super soldiery so it’s not as bad,” James assured. “Anyways, I heard what you did.”

“Really?” Fox couldn’t keep her surprise in check.

“My sister has a habit of bragging so once I came around she spilled all of the beans. Barbecue beans, pinto beans, re-fried beans, and black beans. All on the floor.” James looked down at the tiles as if the ‘beans’ were still present.

“You’re hungry aren’t you?”

“Sure am.”

“I can get you something-“

“No. Shush!” James placed a lazy finger to Fox’s lips which she half wanted to bite and half wanted to brush aside. She went with the less violent option. “I think you did something really cool. I’m proud. Harper’s gonna come out of this okay cause of you. Be proud of that.”

“Uh, thanks.” Fox nodded. “Means a lot.”

“No problem,” James waved his hand slowly through the air as if brushing aside the reply.

“Hey, I wanted to ask you something,” Fox sighed, clasping her hands together as if she were praying.

“Go for it,” James encouraged.

“Do you maybe...uh, want to go out sometime? Like, to the movies- or something exciting if you want. It doesn’t matter to me,” Fox shrugged casually but she was holding her breath while waiting for a reply.

“Yeah. That sounds cool. I haven’t gotten to hang out in ages and be normal. Totally a date. But I get all of the popcorn. It’s my favorite,” James smiled once more like the Cheshire Cat.

“Sure thing,” Fox laughed. “I gotta go. See you tomorrow.”

“Yep,” James yawned going from spastic to tired in a matter of seconds.

“That boy,” Fox breathed on her way out of the medical wing, “is a piece of work.”

[fmdhyunmi-blog]

you thought you saw the last of me, but here i am w/ my original baby. 😈 i revamped hyunmi. & despite that, i will be keeping all her threads (paras & texts) as she hasn’t changed much. that being said, if we plotted but have no thread, that connection has been dropped simply bc i do want to start fresh in certain aspects. (but if we’re still plotting, ofc i’m keeping that!) come talk to me if you still wanna keep something, tho! 🤗 any differences will be touched upon below! but before clicking keep reading here are hyunmi’s [ BIO ], [ PROFILE ] & [ PLOTS ] pages. check them out, & LIKE this post so i can hop into inboxes to get started. i do also have discord now! *scattered applause* anyway, without further ado, chae hyunmi.

— the first main difference is hyunmi’s heart issue. the problem has been fixed, altho, there have been concerns as of lately, which she refuses to acknowledge bc she’s scared of being pulled from ELEMENT. — and the second would be hyunmi’s family dynamics. her parents are somewhat present in her life. her mother, a famous fashion designer, is against & shames her being an idol, while her father is kinda “there”. — also she’s no longer lazy & is the typical hardworking, ambitious, driven, perfectionist capricorn. let me tell you kids in ballet class did not like her bc she was so bossy. LOL. but she still cannot cook. it’s a running gag i can’t drop, ok! — another running gag is her lack of eyesight, but she actually utilizes her glasses and contacts this time. tho, she probably glared @ you & pretended she was blind to avoid trouble. 💁🏻‍♀️ — regardless of how independent and serious hyunmi seems, she’s actually not that independent. her mother purposefully hindered her to prevent her from being strong enough to leave (& easier to puppet). hence, why she cannot cook, clean, etc. yet she was still tossed aside. 😒 strongly dislikes her mother. — so, yeah, hyunmi’s bratty disposition stems from always having everything done for her. in simpler terms, a spoiled brat, and that shows in how she handles certain situations or lack-there-of. — demanding of attention, since she was so used to her mother giving her just that. & she’s scared of being left behind but won’t actively stop anyone from doing so bc her pride is tremendous. confidence goals, tbh. chasing after anyone isn’t her thing. — likes to nag others to do chores & complains a lot but won’t actually clean the dorms & probably has only recently learned how to turn on a vacuum cleaner & do laundry. her half-siblings mockingly call her princess bc she was waited on. — should have half-siblings on her father’s side. older and younger ones. (connection, anyone? 👀👀) most likely they do not get along too, too well bc hyunmi is an illegitimate child. — back to her heart issue, it tends to flare up when she’s too passionate(?). whether it be joy, sadness or anger, her chest starts tightening & you can find her counting to ten to calm down. aloud, too. everywhere. — isn’t as rough as she used to be but isn’t demure, either. still feisty, headstrong and stubborn. a blue flame, really. hotter than the usual fire but seemingly cool; her temper can be really, really bad but she’s learnt to keep it in check for health reasons. — can come across glossy eyed & disinterested. bored & unenthusiastic. & she probably truly is. but mostly bc she was taught to act… confined(?). or if you’re a guy. 💁🏻‍♀️ — she’s bisexual but prefers girls over guys. she was sexually assaulted, so it takes a longer time for her to warm up to them. nor does she ever want to devote herself to them like her mother did. yet those who are her friends she appreciates & cherishes. — loves girls. all girls. girls for girls. girl power. a whole feminist. v flirtatious to her girl friends, often hugging & clinging onto those she trusts w/ her life. — but yeah, give her a casual girlfriend (a boyfriend will be cool, too), someone to have a little fun w/. ✨⭐️✨ hyunmi loves having time to herself (selfish selfcest), so she won’t invest in a relationship unless someone is down for a slow, slow burn. 👀👀👀 trust issues galore. — before the revamp, hyunmi used to use people & she might continue because it’s for the job. nothing against her targets, ofc, but she’s a career woman. it has to be done. (networking!) she befriends people w/ greedy intention (all business) but does genuinely consider them a buddy & won’t shit talk them. — still left BCE w/out telling anyone bc she her mother pulled her out. and hyunmi was too miserable in the hospital to reconnect. she was already starting to shut down before leaving bc of what the actor’s son did, then she collapsed not too long afterwards & rumours spread she was pregnant. she was too angry to clarify, too. — while training at BCE, tho, she was quite popular, finally doing something for herself & happy. she made friends easily. but gold star was another story. she just kinda burst in & snatched an ELEMENT position. rumours also said she was dropped from BCE bc of attitude issues. — ELEMENT is her family & no one messes w/ them; she’s fire, so she considers herself quite strong. some would think she’s disheartened & sad with what happened to her but she’s livid more than anything & she uses that as motivation. — goes from sweet to dry in 0.5 seconds, but that’s who she is. a friendly, sarcastic, narcissistic, dry cynic with astounding self-confidence, who loves those deserving fiercely & unconditionally but is rather methodical & business orientated, appearing cold & heartless. 

[a-diary-of-delicacy-blog]

Series 1: Days Leading to Death Part 1

The days leading up to my death are interesting, in the sense that a lot happened, not necessarily that intrigue was spiked. The events were plenty and lengthy, and the only real way to describe them is with this narrative. I am writing this to you from beyond the grave. Or, more accurately, from my bed, but now, as you are reading this, I am, in fact, six feet under. Or maybe they cremated me. Or maybe no one found me and I am just a missing child. I don’t really know. I haven’t planned how I want to do this. I always envisioned myself in a bath of pink water, two long gashes down my arms. And then sometimes I thought I was going to be the girl on the white plush carpet, foam coming out of my mouth and a stomach of antidepressants and sleeping pills. But, in full honesty, I think I am too weak for that. Or maybe just too lazy. I mean, if you really think about it, I would have to find access to all those pills, firstly. And I’ve always been a bitch when it comes to blood. The first time, it was almost an accident. I was in my room, the sun was streaming into my window, but it was still kind of dull. I had cleaned my room, lied down to listen to some music, and I just sort of felt like sleeping. I just wanted to be asleep, and maybe not wake up for a while. Maybe I could even get out of school the next day. I ate some sleeping medication, not really trying to kill myself, but successfully putting myself into a 42 hour coma of sorts. My mom told me that when she tried to wake me up from school that I told her I was sick and that I had been throwing up. The bathroom was greasy and smelled of vomit. I have no memory of ever getting up, stumbling to the bathroom and throwing up half of the pills I took, but apparently I did. The mess proved that. My second suicide attempt was both a few slashes to my wrists and a few handfuls of ibuprofen p.m. However, my mother ended up finding me and cleaning me up. I think that if I had just bled a little more, I could have actually gone to the hospital. And the third and most recent, I don’t know as if I would have actually died, but something inside of me wanted it to kill me so damn bad. I just stopped eating. Just like that. I didn’t eat for days. I was shaking, sleeping 20 hours a day, mostly intermittent naps. But I just refused to eat. I told my parents that I didn’t feel well, and only pretended to nibble. The only times I did eat, I threw up after. I guess in my head I felt that I would be able to deprive myself of the nutrients and energy it needed and I would simply die. This lasted several days. By the time I reached a normal diet again, I had been so influenced by what I had done that I couldn’t ever see myself going back to the way I was. I needed a way of controlling the things that happened in my life. I couldn’t control the baby my dad was now expecting, or the court hearings my mother was serving. I couldn’t face the college applications and the due dates. I’m not really sure what I expect. It has been a little over two weeks since this happened, trying to kill myself by not eating. I don’t think it will be immediate. I don’t think that it will be easy. I think that this is the most not-lazy, least-bitchy way I could kill myself. Ever. It is going to be slow. It is going to be painful. It is going to be consuming and toxic. Even now, I can feel how the vomit has been corroding my teeth and my mouth. I can feel how shaky I am after a fast and how my knees are starting to hurt from the smallest of strains. And this is when I still eat! What is going to happen when I really commit? When I really get to fasting five days at a time? Right now my parents watch what I do very closely, especially my stepmom. She comes home from work every day and asks me what I ate for breakfast and for lunch. I can’t tell her that I eat at school anymore. I haven’t been in school for months now. I can’t tell her that I have been eating at my mom’s. I barely visit there anymore. I have been throwing small amounts of food away, or feeding it to the dog. Just a slice of bread here or a granola bar there, just enough to give credit to my lies. They don’t notice yet, and I don’t think they ever will. I know I am not skinny, I am practically huge, in fact. I am overweight, I can see that in the mirror. I know that it is not just my head playing tricks on me. I know I can’t have body dysmorphia or whatever. That isn’t possible; why? Because I can’t just see my body and all its immense imperfections. I can feel them. I can grab at the fat under my ribs, and tug at the skin on my hips. It’s not just an illusion that my hands can’t fit around my thighs, not even close to. It’s not a mirage that my calves jiggle when I walk. Body dysmorphia is for people who are skinny and think that they are fat. Not fat people who think they are fat. I suppose the conclusion that I am trying to reach is that this time I can be subtle. Did you know that after my second suicide attempt, I wasn’t allowed to go out, or see anyone, or do anything at all for six whole months? I was grounded for trying to take my life. I don’t know if anyone knows about the first time (until now), and I don’t know if I want them to. My parents like to hold my past over my head. At dinner parties they will bring up my self-harm tendencies and comment on the disturbing pictures that used to be painted on my walls. They like to make comments about how disgusting I was, cutting and scarring my body. But they don’t know about the beauty that I felt when I did that. It was something that I could control. And isn’t that the whole point? I preached about it back up there about control. I can’t control anything! Expect for my own body. I can control its bruises and the blood and my sleep and my weight. Even though it might take a few punches, razors, pills, and fasts, I can control it. And I haven’t tried everything, of course. I don’t burn myself (I’ve been a bitch about fire and heat since I burned my arm baking cookies; I was ten and I still have the scar eight years later) and I haven’t tried tying a rope around my neck. But I like to believe that I have a fair choice of past experiences and this plan that I have come up with ranks by far the best. They won’t notice this until it is far too late. They won’t notice this and ground me and keep me from seeing anyone. They won’t notice until my bones protrude and my hair falls out. Hell, maybe they won’t even notice until I’m dead. I guess that really doesn’t matter anyway. I leave for college in four months so they can’t really shove food down my throat after that. I can see myself as a pretty little university freshman, my roommate asks me if I want to go to the dining hall with her; “No, that’s okay, I have to study.” I say as I casually grip my thighs, fingertip to fingertip. I can see myself slowly withering away. That is, of course, if I don’t die long before then. Like I said, I’m really not sure how I am going to do this. Maybe I wait until I die in my first semester of college, after only eating an apple for three weeks. Maybe I’ll die tonight! I have my old razors in my drawer, tucked neatly in a packet just begging to slash some soft skin. Maybe I will just go downtown and jump off the bridge. When I was thirteen, I learned that kids that jump off that bridge on dares or just for fun often don’t make it back up. You see, when the old bridge collapsed or was taken down or whatever, they left the old frame in the river below. So the giant metal beams and the concrete columns are all still there, just a dozen or so feet under the water. The new bridge is so high, that you can get a pretty good depth by jumping from it. It wouldn’t be too hard to position the jump just right, just where the highest part of the sunken metal is. I could just do that. Right now. Nice and easy. But I prefer this, I prefer to die the way I deserve to, slow and painfully. I suppose this is taking self-hatred to a whole new level, where my perpetual suicide turns into a game of how long I can keep myself alive and in pain. So far, I guess, since making the decision to die, it has been a long time that that game has been played. I just keep moving my pawns, my razors and pills and calories. And as I get closer and closer to the end, I seem only to feel lighter. Not necessarily in terms of weight, but maybe in responsibility. If I die, I won’t have to worry about college loans or the new baby brother. But maybe these are things I want to worry about? See, I am just so conflicted. I want to die, more desperately than I could ever possibly describe. But I also have five baby brothers, one of whom I haven’t even met, and a baby sister. What would happen to their tiny little hearts to never see their big sister again? I suppose it may hurt my parents. My stepmom would be resentful, my dad would blame himself. I can’t imagine how my mom would take it. She would probably fall to another heroin relapse. My stepdad would call me selfish but be sad anyway. He would be right, of course. To leave all my family, my lover. Jon would take it hard. He does that. He likes to believe that most things are his fault when they aren’t. He blames himself for the breakup of his previous girlfriend. But from loving him for a year now, and for many more that may have come, I can tell that he could not have caused any ill feelings. He says that he can’t even tell me why they broke up because he is far too ashamed. But I know that there is nothing that he could have done. He is the best person. I am unbelievably in love with him and I am completely bewildered by how he has chosen me. I can’t list more than three reasons to be with me; pussy, comfort, attention. And while these are not the reasons that he is with me, knowing this because I know he is not at all, even close, this shallow, I know that he must have other reasons that I could never begin to understand. I am not pretty; any photo of me could tell you that. I am not skinny, I am not overly smart, though I know my way around an intellectual phrase or two, and I am not funny or interesting. I try to think that I am but I can tell by the way people react to my “jokes” and my sense of humor that I am awkward at best. So I am left to question the exact reasons for his being here and I can only hope that they are not good enough reasons to really hurt him when I die. And who knows? While I fantasize about how I will kill myself, I will also imagine the future I have with him. He has an amazing job working for an amazing salary, and he is barely out of his junior year of college. I am on my way to a degree. He dreams of building a house upstate, a bay window and a wraparound porch just for me. We have plans to road trip and see the world. Do I want to give that up? I don’t really know why this would even be a question. Maybe I am just doing this for attention. Maybe I am just looking for some sort of reason to be different. I have no reason to be sad, besides the physical aspects of my own self that are so damn easy to change. But I simply don’t like the simple responsibilities of living. Breathing hurts. Walking is strenuous. Every word that I speak makes me realize further how much better things would be if I never spoke in the first place. Mirrors are my worst enemy, or maybe it is my own head that is the problem. I assume a lot of girls would kill for a body like mine, curvy and voluptuous. Well, all I can say is that they can have it. I don’t want my body, with hips and an ass and good tits. I want bones and goosebumps and bruises. I don’t want to look the way I do. But this is no reason to just kill yourself. So I ask myself again why I do. I simply don’t want to live in a world of constant approval seeking. Everything that I do is for someone else; how I dress, the school I choose, my haircuts. It’s a constant attempt at impressing people that I don’t care about. And it isn’t enough to just “do it for myself,” because I don’t deserve self-fulfillment anymore. I am way beyond the point of deserving the things I have. I don’t deserve Jon, with the way I fight and treat him. I am ungrateful and unappreciative and I still have the nerve to pick fights for no reason. I don’t deserve the laptop I am typing this on, or the bed I sleep in or the shoes I wear. I don’t deserve any of this silver platter shit that has been handed to me my whole fucking life so what’s the point of pretending I deserve the air I breathe or the food I eat? I fill out these damn applications, asking me about the community service I’ve done. I haven’t done a single thing for any other person but myself. Whenever a situation presents itself, the first thing that crosses my mind is “how can Sky benefit from this? What can Sky gain from this seemingly selfless task?” And if I can’t come up with an answer, I ignore the whole situation completely. I will do nothing if I don’t get something from it. I am a selfish bitch and it has taken me almost exactly eighteen fucking years to realize it. And it was eighteen wasted years for that matter. I have nothing to show for when I have been alive. I ruined a couple of teens lives when I was conceived, I made some younger siblings lives hell by being a bully as a kid, and I started countless fights and problems in the lives of everyone around me. I could detail endless lists of every little thing I have ruined for Jon, my brothers, my parents, my school mates, my coworkers. I could write on sticky notes and label every person with the misdeed I have committed against them. Some may require just one little note, and others would have novels taped to their backs. So why do I deserve the air that God or whoever the fuck determined that my grandpa didn’t, or that all those beautiful souls who have lost their lives to the hands of fucking bullies like me. Why do they all get death and I get to walk this earth free and happy? What gives me the right to what they didn’t get? NOTHING. Every time I eat, I am succumb to deafening and completely overwhelming guilt. Not just because of the fact that I aim for double digit weight, but also because I feel as though only good people deserve the pleasures in life. And the taste of my parents’ delicious food is fit for queens, not scum like me. So, then, why do I find myself overeating? Is it hunger, or part of this deluded disorder I have convinced myself I have. It can’t be that. I am literally just gluttonous. That is the bottom line. I know I don’t have an eating disorder, because I eat. I binge. I know I don’t have an eating disorder because I am not underweight. I am fat. And I know this based on my reflection. I need no other proof. But I want to change that. I will work hard until I am as delicate as I want to be. I need this. I have no other purpose than the control I claim to have over myself. And there we find another contradiction; I say that I have control but I obey weight and hunger. I SHOULD OBEY NOTHING BUT ME. If I say not to eat, then I shouldn’t be fucking eating. I just ate a huge dinner and a dessert with my baby brothers and I have never been a bigger disgrace. By Friday, when I return to a room with a working scale, I will be lighter. And not just because of my wanting to lose weight, but this is the path to suicide. I want to consider this my fallback plan. If I am too much of a bitch to put a gun in my mouth or slit my arms again, then I will just use this. I will starve to death. And worst comes to worse, I will just be a really sad skinny bitch. And I won’t be making excuses anymore. Tomorrow, I suppose, can serve as a restart. These last few days I haven’t been following the rules. I have been eating more than one meal, snacking. Exceeding my calorie limit. How can I have an eating disorder if I enjoy eating so much? Most people set their limit and then that is that, but I literally just cannot do this anymore. I will be the way I want to, so that I can at least die skinny. I’m sick of everything going wrong. I either don’t take enough pills, or don’t cut deep enough, or whatever. But not anymore. My mom isn’t here to clean me up this time. I remember her and Shawn yelling at me in the bathroom, my arms all bloody and I could barely stand. I couldn’t see, the pills were clouding my eyes. They screamed at me and made me wash off my arms. I was still bleeding. There was blood all over the place downstairs. They made sleep upstairs. I can only remember them yelling, and then in the morning I said I needed to shower, but mom said I had to leave for school now. She wouldn’t let me wear a long sleeve shirt, she said everyone needed to see what I had done. So I left my arms to be seen, countless slashes on the left, and one long vertical slit on the other. I remember very little of that day. It’s all in and out. The pills were messing with my head. I thought I was unconscious but everyone at school told me that I was awake, but not moving, or blinking. I don’t remember my classes, my presentations, going to the office trying to call home. But apparently all of it happened. So was that what it is like to be on drugs? Like hardcore ones, not like pot and shit, but the bad ones. Is that what happens? I fucking hope not because I hallucinated like fuck. I imagined people were talking to me, that they were saying my name, in a completely silent room. I must have looked like a fool. Or maybe a stoner. Or a crazy. Either way, I didn’t realize anything until I got home. I remember sitting at the table and realizing that I didn’t remember anything from school that day. I had no friends to reach out to. So I cried in the dark, going to sleep at seven o’clock in the evening. And I suppose I was okay the next morning, but I really don’t remember. From that day on, my memory was spotty, for about a year, I just had trouble remembering simple things. I don’t know what all those pills did to me, but the effects were scary after that. It makes me wonder what would have happened had I succeeded. If I had only taken those few extra pills, or lost that little extra blood. What would have happened? Maybe I would be happy for once. And there it is again, my selfish brain taking over my grateful one. I have a perfectly good life. Besides some slip ups with my mother and her fucking antics, some high school drama, I have a life some people would kill for. But because I hate myself so god damn much, I can’t seem to appreciate it. So what does this mean for my future? Will I ever learn to love myself? Maybe if I’m skinny. If I don’t die first. Maybe. But so much building up to this decision has made “recovery” or whatever seem completely impossible. So I guess the days leading up to my death are actually years, and they may not be over just yet. I don’t really know yet.