#my therapist wants me to get assessed but it’s so fucking expensive so i’m putting it off

[wherewolf]

okay i’m here everybody clap

[briamichellewrites]

43

I’m not going back to the hospital and I’m not taking my medication. Those were two things Elliot was adamant about. His head twitched as he had another tic. What his therapist was worried about was his self-harming. He looked down at his arm before looking back at her. It was just a few cuts. He didn’t even know he had done it until he saw the blood. Did he black out or disassociate? He probably disassociated because he couldn’t remember doing it.

Did he have problems with doing things and not remembering them? Yeah, he had ADHD, and sometimes he would put something down and forget about it a few minutes later. Did he ever find himself somewhere without any memory of how he got there? No. As she continued asking questions, he caught on to what she was doing. She was screening him for schizophrenia or Dissociative Identity Disorder.

After the questionnaire was completed, he was found to be at risk of having schizophrenia. He had been at risk since he was eighteen years old, maybe sixteen. His therapist wanted him to go through another evaluation. Didn’t she just give him an evaluation? Yes, but she wanted him to have a more thorough assessment. One where his dad could be involved. His father wasn’t going to come. His girlfriend wouldn’t let him and his stepfather have a new baby.

She encouraged him to talk to them about coming with him to the appointment. Did it mean a different medication? It was unlikely. He took the appointment card and put it in his pocket. After getting into his car, he called Mike to see where he was. He was in the studio. You’re welcome to join us. Cool. He was on his way.

The guys were surprised to see him. He was fashionably dressed in a baggy sweatshirt and matching pants, with matching tennis shoes. They fit his tall thin body perfectly. How was he doing? Terrible. He had possible schizophrenia. They should just diagnose me with everything under the sun. He was frustrated and they could feel it. Mike had him sit down, so he sat in between Brad and Rob. Was he separating them from each other? Shut up. They laughed and switched chairs.

He was in a good mood, despite not being medicated and feeling frustrated. Where did he get his clothes? He got them at Target a few months back with Anna Kendrick. They were expensive but they were so comfortable. Who’s Anna? She was a friend he met while working on Pitch Perfect. They had the same outgoing personality.

Mike asked about the appointment. He told him that his therapist had given him an assessment, which was just her asking him questions. Whatever he said led into the next question.

“An example would be asking me if I have ever seen something I couldn’t explain. I said yes. What things have I seen that I can’t explain? Shit like that. She wants me to have a more thorough evaluation with my dad there because he can give background information, I guess. I have to get him away from Angie for a few hours.”

“Why is that a problem”, Rob asked.

“Because Angie has abandonment issues. Whenever he sees me, she has a tantrum. So, he sometimes has to sneak out. She’s the reason why I never go over there if she’s there.”

Was she abusive? Yeah, to his father. She never abused the kids, though. When she had tantrums, she threw things. She also physically attacked him and emasculated him. He couldn’t leave because she threatened to take the kids away and tell everyone he abused them. Parental alienation. He knew that everyone would believe her over him because she was a woman. She was a narcissist with untreated Borderline Personality Disorder.

She loved to have people think she was a good mother and humanitarian. They didn’t get along because he didn’t let her get away with her bs and they got into verbal fights. She never attacked him physically because he would go straight to the police. He was also a child in her eyes, even though she was only twelve years older than him.

“I called her a narcissist to her face. She got pissed off but I didn’t fucking care.”

“Wow. How long has he been with her”, Joe asked.

“2005, so six years and five kids. The first time I met her, I got a cold reaction from her. Like she was looking down on me.”

“Wow. She doesn’t strike me as the kind of woman your dad would be interested in.”

“She’s very sexual. I’m just going to leave it at that.”

His head twitched and he started blinking repeatedly. Mike timed him. Fifteen minutes. How many tics has he had? That was his second. He had one during the appointment. Did he ever have them while driving? No. Ok, good. How were his animals? They were doing great. Bark and his dog, Misty got along like mother and daughter. Bruce liked watching them. The cats tolerated them and each other.

Richie liked to cause drama with his brother. They had yet to break up a catfight, though. What breed was Bark? She was a pug. He got her because he thought she looked like Misty and he thought her face was adorable. She looked very innocent. They laughed. Where did he get her name? She came with the name Bark Damon, so it reminded him of Matt Damon. He then changed her name to Bark Minoda while hyperactive. They laughed.

“Bark Minoda. That’s awesome”, Chester said.

“She’s calm, while also outgoing. She kind of goes with the flow compared to her brothers. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing with my hands.”

They laughed as he moved his hands while he talked. His cats were more territorial. They didn’t hiss that much. Instead, they batted at the dogs with their paws. It took a couple of hits before they got the message to leave them alone. Bruce was the one who made sure everyone was getting along because he was the oldest.

If Elliot had not just been in the hospital, they would not be able to tell he wasn’t medicated. He was acting like he always did. Mike wanted him back on his medication because he could easily go back to the hospital. He didn’t want that for him. At the same time, he couldn’t make him because he was an adult. He felt like he couldn’t help him and that broke his heart. For the moment, he was enjoying his good mood because he didn’t know how long it would last.

He loved him as his son and always would. Mental illness was not his fault. His mind was sick. It was giving him false information and making him delusional. He took a moment to reply to a text on his phone before going back to the conversation. Who was that? It was his dad. He was going to call him later. How long has he been masculine? About a month or two.

He felt more comfortable as a guy. That’s why he cut his hair. He loved wearing looser clothes and not worrying about what his body looked like. They sold binders for transgender men but he didn’t want to use those. What were binders? They were like sports bras that made the chest look flatter. He tried one on one time just because he was curious. Holy shit! He could not fucking breathe! It made him feel suffocated, even at the biggest size! He decided he didn’t need them. TMI, Elliot. You’re welcome. They laughed.

@zoeykaytesmom @feelingsofaithless @alina-dixon

[untaemedqueen]

Room 732 (M)

Mafia!Jeongguk x Courtesan!Reader

Jeongguk brought to you by The Bird Cage

WordCount: 10k

Genre: Angst, Smut, Fluff, Strangers to Lovers!AU

Warnings: Excessive Drinking, Excessive Swearing, Guns, Jeongguk Is Haunted By His Dead Girlfriend, Character Death (Lee), Mafia!Jeongguk, Shy!Jeongguk, Possessive!Jeongguk, Dom!Jeongguk, Sub!Reader,  Jeongguk Is Riddled with Guilt, Praise, Cunnilingus, Orgasm Denial, Fellatio, Throat Fucking, Deep Throating, Begging, Jeongguk Has A Huge Dick, Daddy Kink, Did I Say Possessive? Because Jeongguk Is Possessive As Fuck, Cum Swallowing, Degradation (Cum Slut), Marking, Unprotected Sex, Squirting, Multiple Orgasms, Creampie, Begging

A/N: Can Be Read As A Stand Alone But If You’ve Read TBC. There are fun easter eggs. OKAY. ENJOY.

The mansion was silent on this Wednesday morning. Not a noise to be heard as Jeongguk pads down the right staircase of the large home. His sleep laden eyes drift to the brand new door before yawning loudly. His hand coming up to scratch at his bare tattooed chest as he makes his way through the sitting room. The perfectly white marble countertop of the island gives him a place to lean as he runs his hands through his black hair. He drank way too much yesterday with Taehyung to celebrate the birth of his new son. 

Everyone was finding love around him, starting families and here he was still a bachelor since his girlfriend Lee was murdered. He could sometimes still picture her, her black hair blowing in the breeze in the garden. Or, the way she used to wrinkle her nose at everything, a habit Guk had adopted from her. He sighs to himself before shoving off of the counter as he rounds the island to the liquor cabinet. Sometimes Lee visits him in his dreams, begging him to move on, to experience happiness like the others in his gang. But, how could he? He has this warped mind that only knows how to torture and kill. After she was gone there was no love, no yearning. He smiles, sure, at his nieces and nephews. He finds happiness in others' happiness but never his own.

Jeongguk jumps up on the counter, Johnny Walker in his right hand as Hawon runs into the kitchen. He smirks down at her before putting the bottle of alcohol behind his back. 

"Our Hawon." Her body sways as she does a little dance noticing her uncle. Jeongguk chuckles before hopping down off the island and picking her up. 

"Airplane?! Airplane, Uncle Guk!" Mirae enters not even a second later before sighing as Jeongguk throws Hawon up in the air. Her screech echoes throughout the kitchen as Jeongguk chuckles. See, this is a flint of happiness he obtains through the people around him. He can smile at the way Mirae becomes disheveled with the kids even though she has OCD and hates to be out of perfect form. He can smile at how Hawon is delighted to be with him. And yet, when he's alone the loneliness and anger gnaws at him, as if he has a constant leech on his body. Jeongguk spins around, hands grasping at Hawon's small body before putting her back on the ground. 

"Uncle Guk has to go to work. I'll see you later, hmm? We can watch that Tinkerbell movie." Hawon nods ecstatically at his promise before running out into the garden. 

"Just a ball of energy." Mirae mumbles before chasing Hawon out the kitchen door. Jeongguk smirks before grabbing the whisky and walking out of the kitchen.

The blood tainted towel falls into Guk's lap as he sits down in the wooden chair in his warehouse. The blubbering and shaking of the man in front of him makes him sigh as he kicks the chair back on its hind two legs. His feet coming to rest on the blood stained wooden table in front of him. 

"Just tell me what I want to know." His tone was not to be taken lightly as he shakes his long hair out of his face. Assessing the pained body in front of the table, he tilts his head. 

"I didn't cut your tongue out for you to talk so you'd better do so, or I'll tell my boss you bit it off instead." This is what Jeongguk was best at. Jimin's wife on many occasions has stated that she couldn't believe the cute, tattoo riddled boy in front of her was such a fierce person. But, it's what he is best at. It's all he knows and he's damn good at it. 

"You-I...Ple-Please." The voice was hoarse as if they haven't had water in days. Jeongguk taps his fingers against his leather pants before looking up at the wooden ceiling of his warehouse. 

"Not what I want to hear. I want to hear from your mouth how you got the address." All he needs is a name, that's it. 

"I have nothing else to take from you, Kyung. I took your eyes, your dick, your fingers." The man sobs hopelessly as Jeongguk looks at the blood stained bandage over the top of Kyung's head. 

"Im Junggoo." Jeongguk sighs, his hands covering his face before nodding. 

"Yeah. I was afraid you were going to say that." Jeongguk's body moves gracefully as he jumps out of the chair. He whistles to himself as he pulls his gun out from the back of his waistband. His fingers roll the silencer onto the tip of the gun before sighing as he jumps up onto the table before sitting down crossing his legs. 

"This was fun, Kyung. Let's do it again sometime." He closes one eye, aiming at Kyung's head before pulling the trigger. The body falls, twitching slightly before stilling and Jeongguk can do nothing but set down the gun on the table and watch how the blood begins to pool into the reddened dirt around him. His blood covered hands lean back behind him as he looks up at the ceiling. He was damn good at his job.

"You need to go get some relief of some kind." Jimin tells Jeongguk as he sits at his desk. Jeongguk looks over the rim of his whisky glass before furrowing his eyebrows. 

"What?" 

"Since you've stepped into this room your hands have been shaking, you have bags under your eyes and you can't stop bouncing your knee. You need to get some relief." The older man points at his knee, product of proof right in front of him that has Jeongguk rolling his eyes. 

"I'm fine." Jimin sips his coffee before leaning back in his chair, his crisp white shirt wrinkling as he does so. 

"I'm not asking you, I'm telling you." Jeongguk licks at his lips before folding his hands around the whisky glass in his lap. Jimin was the closest person to him since he was young. Jimin helped him find himself, made him who he is today and Jeongguk never takes that for granted. 

"I can't sleep. She comes to see me in my dreams." He tells his best friend as he looks down at the newly purchased Persian rug that replaced the old one after Jimin's wife killed someone in the office. 

"Lee?" Jeongguk nods to his question before downing the rest of his liquor. 

"She always tells me to move on, or be happy. Like that's such a fucking easy thing to do. Like I can't remember what her fucking body looked like when we came home." Jimin swallows thicky before looking up at the ceiling. 

"I get it. Really I do." Jeongguk's chest begins to tighten as he turns his head to look at the stained glass window. 

"It's not like I have a Kitten, like you do that magically transcends me into a different plane of existence and makes me better." Jimin takes a deep breath through his nose as he sets down his coffee. 

"Watch it. Your words are getting reckless." His eyes flicker shut, his heart beating in his ears as he sees Lee painted on the back of his eyelids. 

"I can see her. She's wearing that pink dress that I bought her for Valentine's Day. Her hair was in pretty curls. I can see her smiling at me." Jeongguk chokes on his own spit as his eyes open wide before standing up and walking over to the liquor caddy. 

"Guk." Jimin whispers as the alcohol sloshes into the crystal glass. 

"I'm fine." The lie slips right past his lips as he looks up at the portrait of all the guys behind Jimin's chair. 

"Go see one of Kitten's girls. It might help." A giggle bursts through the room as Jeongguk turns to his older brother. 

"Help? They aren't therapists. They suck cock for a living." Jimin sighs before putting his hand to his forehead. Jeongguk was stubborn, he always has been and probably always will be. 

"Then go see a therapist. You're getting out of control. I saw what you did to Kyung's body. You're lashing out." 

"I was doing my fucking job." Jimin clicks his teeth as the study door opens.

Jimin's wife stands in the doorway, one hand holding their son Minseok as the other rests comfortably on her growing belly. 

"Sorry. He wants daddy." She whispers before looking at Guk. 

"We don't cut people's eyes out." Jimin responds to Jeongguk before standing up and grabbing his son from his wife's arms. 

"I got it, Kitten." She hums before her eyes take in Jeongguk's disheveled body. 

"I was just doing my fucking job. Okay?" He looks over at Jimin's wife before raising his eyebrows as she stares at him. 

"WHAT?!" He screams to her as Jimin sighs gently.

"Jeon Jeongguk-" 

"Easy, Kitten." Jeongguk's head cocks to the side as Jimin rubs at her pregnant belly. 

"Go to a therapist, Guk. I'm not asking." The silence was palpable, eyes glancing here and there from all three people in the room before Minseok whines. How would Jeongguk even be able to process his thoughts? Let alone tell them to some quack who would just nod and ask him how he feels about it? Just give him snarky remarks before writing down a prescription for some soothing meds and telling him his hour is up. "I'd rather get my cock sucked."

Jeongguk stands in front of the Beasley Hotel. His eyes reading the same scripted letters on the facade of the expensive building for the thirteenth time before sighing. Of course, Jimin's wife immediately made an appointment with one of the girls for him. She asked Jeongguk what he liked and he didn't respond to her so she just set him up with someone new. Now, of course, all the girls that worked for her and her partner Hyunah were  incredibly capable. It takes a high standard to get into the Golden Cage. But, he couldn't bring himself to want to go through with the whole ordeal. Lee constantly springs to mind every step he takes. Could he really watch a girl get undressed, suck his dick or do anything to him without feeling guilty? He can't say he could. 

This girl would probably tell Jimin's wife he didn't go through with it and there would be hell to pay. He's getting a million dollar session for free. Jeongguk steps off the curb across the street before walking to the ritzy hotel in front of him. His hand digs into his black skinny jean pocket before producing a folded piece of paper. 

732

Jeongguk takes a deep breath through his nose. Just have to get it over with, right? He steps through the revolving door before entering the hotel. He pockets his tattooed hands as people bustle about in the hotel lobby. He receives a few strange looks, this was not the sort of grandeur hotel that usually has leather clad, tattooed men just waltzing in. His hand reaches behind him making sure to feel the comfort of his gun in his waistband before relaxing. His combat boots make a dull thudding noise against the marble flooring, the sound reverberating in his ears as he approaches the front desk. 

Orchards litter the large stone desk as he leans over it, a girl in a pants suit looks up before raising an eyebrow. 

"Can I help you?" Everything about her was dripping with disdain as Jeongguk cleared his throat. 

"Yeah, I'm here to see a guest in room 732." The front desk agent clicks her teeth before looking over his top half incredulously. This was the usual hotel for Golden Cage clients. 732 was always the room people would go to. It was common knowledge for most people in the hotel to know that a guest for 732 was going to get their rocks off. 

"Mkay." The agent mumbles before picking up the phone and pressing the numbers languidly. Her eyes never leave Jeongguk's face as he looks around the hotel lobby. This place was nice, really nice. Lee would have loved to stay here. See, this is the problem. Everything is Lee. Every waking breath he has he could equate something to his dead girlfriend, for years now. Even when he sleeps, all he sees is her. Whether that be alive, dead, dismembered, you name it he's had a dream of her doing it or being there. He pokes an orchard petal as the agent lets the girl in the room know she has a visitor. His body sways back and forth awkwardly as he looks towards the elevators. 

"You can go up." Jeongguk looks back down at the agent before nodding. "Thanks."

The hallway smells expensive, like lavender and warm vanilla. The chandeliers that hang from the ceiling exude the persona of this place and Jeongguk cannot begin to process how he came to be here. He nods his head to the Lee man who guards the door. 

"Arms up." Jeongguk clears his throat before doing as told. 

"I have a gun and two knives on me." He's courteous at least to tell him. He respects the Lees, they work quick and fast and have never given the Lions a problem. Especially since Yoongi just recently got engaged to Hyunah. The Lee man hums as he pulls the gun out from behind him. Jeongguk reaches down before pulling his knives from his boots and handing them over. 

"Have fun." He says before shoving the door open for him. Jeongguk looks into the room before clearing his throat and stepping inside.

The lights were dim upon entry, white furniture beckons him forward as he looks around the room. 

"Hello?" His voice was timid as he stepped towards the bed. The gold headboard catches his attention before turning to a noise in the bathroom. 

"Hello." There you stood, a grey satin robe covering your almost naked body as you take the tall man into your sights. Jeongguk runs his fingers through his long black hair, his eyes looking over your body before looking away as if it was inappropriate. He shifts awkwardly on one foot to the other, there was something cute about it. The tall, muscular man was seemingly nervous in your presence. You smile warmly as you walk past him, his muscles tensing as your satin robe brushes against his leather jacket. 

You sit on the bed, legs crossing as you lean back on your hands. The robe inches up, your bare thighs coming into view for his eyes as he pockets his hands. 

"You can sit. You know." Jeongguk opens his mouth before giving a small laugh. 

"Yeah." You pat the spot next to you and he slowly makes his way over. He sits on the edge, his butt barely connecting with the mattress as his shoulders tense up. He stares straight ahead at the black television screen. You lazily take in his features, big doe eyes and a perfect nose. Nice pink lips and a killer jawline grace your sight as you sit up. 

"I'm Y/N." Jeongguk turns to you before bowing his head. 

"Jeongguk." You hum to him before watching how his knee bounces in anxiousness. Why did your boss tell you to give him the plus treatment if he seems like he doesn't want to be here? 

"Drink?" You ask pointing at the liquor cabinet. Jeongguk takes his hands out of his pockets only to place them on his knees, his fingertips digging into the fabric of his jeans before nodding. 

"Sure!" He springs up before crossing the expanse of the room. 

Jeongguk takes a deep breath before opening the liquor cabinet. 

"Are you a virgin?" You ask as he pours two glasses of whisky. He chuckles, a sound that blesses your ears as you tilt your head. 

"No. I'm not a virgin." He turns back around to you, his black hair falling into his eyes as he smiles. He has a pretty smile, something about it makes you feel warm. Like nothing bad could happen when it was around. You find yourself smiling back as he hands you the glass. 

"You can take your jacket off, you know. I'm not going to immediately jump your bones, unless you're into that." He snorts, a simple exhale through his nose before shrugging off his leather jacket and throwing it onto the bed. 

"Good." You say before taking a sip of the whisky. The warm liquor soothes you, a fire producing in your belly as Jeongguk side eyes you. You were beautiful, he expected as much. Jimin's wife wasn't in the business of hiring ugly women. His gaze flickers to your bare thighs once more before looking anywhere else. You catch this within a second, and notice the discomfort he begins to feel. His body turning away from you out of instinct. 

You feel pity for him, something clearly isn't right with this situation he has been brought into. You grab at the duvet cover of the bed before throwing it over your legs. 

"Better?" You ask quietly as Jeongguk notices your movement. He looks back over at you, his doe eyes widening further. 

"I'm sorry. I must be being rude." You shake your head at his statement before giving him a smile. 

"It's okay if you don't want to do anything. I understand." He makes a noise in the back of his throat that you can't decipher before turning to you. You seemed like an understanding person. You didn't strike him as a courtesan to say the least. 

"I want to. But, I can't. My brain won't let me." He taps his index finger against his temple before taking a large gulp of the whisky. His teeth grit, neck veins fluttering as he swallows the whisky. You can sense his nervousness and it really doesn't look good on this handsome man. 

"I'll be right back." You whisper before standing up and heading for the bathroom.

"I fucked up." Jeongguk whispers before closing his eyes, he could see her. He could see Lee plain as day. She was frowning, her long black hair strewn over her shoulder as she folded her arms. Jeongguk couldn't move on, he was trapped in this miserable mindset. He wasn't even sure what it would be like to not see Lee or think of Lee at every given moment. It would probably terrify him. The bathroom door opens and you emerge in a long mocha brown sweater, black leggings shield your thighs as you smile at Guk. 

"I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to make you embarrassed or anything, I-" You cut him off with the shake of your head. 

"It's alright, you didn't offend me. Takes a lot more than that to make me offended." Jeongguk nods, his shoulders relaxing slightly as you jump on the bed. Your back connects to the gold headboard as you grab your glass. 

"Might be nice to not get fucked for once." He laughs gently before turning his body to you, the way his eyes crinkle makes your heart skip a beat. He's way too handsome. His hand pushes his hair behind his pierced ear before taking a sip of his drink. 

"You can have a drink and just chill out. Or, I can leave if you want." You suggest pointing your manicured finger at the door. Jeongguk is quick to shake his head, 

"No, no. Don't go. It's nice to just...just be able to sit and drink." He wholeheartedly means it. You felt comfortable to him. Nothing about this experience felt weird or strange which was a blessing in and of itself. Jeongguk scratches at the back of his neck and you catch the branding iron you've seen a few times before with a few clients. 

"You're a Lion." Jeongguk puts his hand down before giving you a small smile. 

"Yeah. I am. I'm one of the original seven." You hum before sitting up and putting your hand under your cheek. "I heard that you guys defile women and torture men." Jeongguk gives a carefree laugh as he fully turns to you. 

"Clearly that isn't the case. I made you go put your clothes on." You giggle before sipping the whisky and tapping your fingers to your temple. His smile doesn't fade as his warm brown eyes gaze upon your face. 

"I'm sorry your boss made you take me on as a client. I'm sure it's a waste of time." 

"You're not a waste of time. Don't say that. You're actually nice, compared to most people that enter this room." Jeongguk tilts his head before sucking air through his teeth. 

"I'll kill them if you want me to. The people that aren't nice to you." His eyes gleam with playfulness as you kick back your body before giggling. 

"Is that your way of flirting?" He takes a sip, the corners of his mouth quirked upwards as he stares at you. 

"So why are you here anyway? You said my boss made me take you on. Why?" Jeongguk clears his throat as he kicks off his combat boots before sitting cross legged on the bed. Now, he's uncomfortable. He looks past you to the pearlescent night stand as he puffs out his cheeks. 

"Because I, uh, can't function. My boss says I'm getting reckless." You hum as if you have any idea what he's talking about. After the hour you've been talking and drinking, you've kind of just assumed he's an enigma. He only answers what he wants to, he looks away at any given chance to not feel something. He seems like he doesn't want to feel. You wouldn't push him, it isn't your place. And yet, there's something about him that just makes you want to give him a hug. He seems so sad. You want to make him smile and laugh, he seems like he deserves that. 

"So they thought that you getting your dick sucked would make you better?" He laughs before looking down at his lap. 

"I think so." You sigh before sitting up and putting your hand on his knee. He stiffens, his eyes look up at you before relaxing his muscles. 

"Don't worry. I'm here to talk to you, if you want. I know my main job is to spread my legs for people but I'm a good listener." Jeongguk is quick to defend your honor to yourself. 

"Don't say that. Your main job is irrelevant to me. I'm happy I could sit here and just bullshit with you for hours. I feel kinda better than before." Your smile brings one to his own face. 

"Good. I'm glad." A knock comes at the door and you both turn your heads to the noise. 

"Time." You hear through the door and you sigh before standing up. 

"That's my cue." Jeongguk opens his mouth before nodding. For the first time in forever, he wants more time. He mentally chides himself, he spent so much time looking away and not answering that he didn't even get a real chance to speak with you. He regrets that. 

"Jeongguk. Hopefully I'll see you around." You say as you grab your bag from the bathroom. 

"Me too! Thanks, Y/N." You give him that warm smile he's suddenly become fond of before leaving the room. The Lee man enters before handing Jeongguk his weaponry and bowing his head. Jeongguk lays down on the bed before closing his eyes. Lee was like a faded print behind his eyelids.

"How was she?" Jimin asks as they sit down for the meeting. Jeongguk smirks before putting his gun on the table. 

"Really nice." Jimin raises an eyebrow before folding his arms. 

"How do you know she's really nice if she had her mouth on your cock?" Jeongguk scoffs before matching his best friend's actions with folding his own arms. 

"Don't talk about her like that. She didn't need to suck my cock for me to know she's nice." Jimin's expression softens at Jeongguk's murmur. 

"Did you dream of Lee last night?" His question is point blank as the others file into the room. 

"Briefly." She had come and gone, Jeongguk for the first time in a long time didn't wake up drenched in sweat. He didn't feel compelled to tell Jimin every single detail of last night but there was one sentence that had Jimin bursting at the seams to know more. "I'd like to see her again."

Jeongguk walks down the hotel hallway, his gun and knives already in hand before handing them to the Lee man standing at the door. 

"Enjoy." Jeongguk has come to know the Lee man as Junkwon, he was nice and always escorted you. Junkwon opens the door, the lights are dim yet again. 

"Hey." Jeongguk sounds breathless as you sit in the chair by the large window, your body covered in just a beige lace bra with matching panties. You look up before covering your legs with a gasp. 

"Jeongguk! They didn't tell me it was you. I'm sorry." You say quickly grabbing your robe. Jeongguk has become really fond of this, fond of how considerate you are. How comfortable you make him feel when you're around just being yourself. 

"Don't worry." He says as you stand up. His eyes drink you in, your skin looking soft as butter in the dim lighting. 

"Let me go change." Jeongguk hums to you before licking his lips. He wasn't nervous or afraid to look at you, he didn't hate himself for it. Because, it was you. You rush off to the bathroom as Jeongguk walks over to the liquor cabinet. His eyes flutter closed and for once his eyelids were just black. No Lee. No smile. No frown. Nothing. He stumbles backwards as he gasps before his eyes open wide. 

"Lee?" He calls gently before closing his eyes again. There was nothing. And, this is what he was most afraid of. His tattooed hand grasps the wooden counter of the bar before choking on his own spit. 

"Jeongguk? You okay?" You ask as his legs shake. 

"She-I...I don't-'' He shuts his eyes once more before a ball begins to form in his throat, it's form ever expanding as his knuckles turn white from clasping the table so hard. 

"She left me." He whispers before opening his eyes and looking at you. 

"Hey." You whisper calmly to him, your feet taking ginger steps towards him as he whimpers. 

"She left me!" There was a small sob before a large one. His innocent eyes glossing over with tears as he grabs at his black t-shirt above his heart. 

"Jeongguk. Sit down." You say putting your hand on his arm gently. He rips his arm away from your grasp before faltering as he knocks the whisky bottle onto the floor. 

"Hey!" The concern in your voice reaches his ears as he falls into the seat you were previously sat in. His eyes were like a wild animals, flitting here and there while trying to grasp onto a thought. 

"Jeongguk. Do you need me to call my boss?" Jeongguk gasps as he leans back in his seat. 

"Don't! Don't do that." You could see his hairline beginning to sweat as you crouch down in front of him. 

"I think you're having a panic attack. Just take a deep breath. In through your nose and out through your mouth." You've had a few panic attacks in your time. It wasn't always cushy like it is now to work in this industry. 

Jeongguk takes a deep breath, his body visibly shaking as he stares down at you. 

“Just focus on something, let your mind begin to process.” You whisper running your thumb comfortingly over his bare knee through the cuts in his jeans. Jeongguk groans as he feels dizziness encumbering his mind, but he couldn’t close his eyes for fear that she wouldn’t be there. His eyes fall to your hand on his knee, he focuses on how soothing your thumb feels. How soft and delicate the touch you’re giving him is. You give him a small smile, eyebrows still knit with concern as he looks back up at you. 

“What color is my shirt?” You ask him quietly before pulling at the fabric. 

“Purple.” He whispers before taking a deep breath into his lungs as if his body was finally allowing him to breathe again. 

“Good.” Then there was silence for a while besides Guk’s heavy breathing. That was alright with you, as long as he felt better. He has only come three times before this and each time he came things were slowly becoming more relaxing. 

You would talk for long hours, sipping on whatever alcohol you decided on at the start of the session. You would laugh with each other, listen to how Jeongguk’s day went. You told him things you enjoy too like the beach and going to the seaside to fish with your dad. He told you about his nieces and nephews last time and it warmed your heart to see him smiling so widely when he talked about them. He was always happy talking about others but never about himself, you noticed. He never mentioned women or anything of that nature and that was okay with you too. Everything was very relaxing when you were with each other, like nothing else even mattered outside of this hotel room. Jeongguk flexes his fingers realizing they were numb only seconds ago. 

“I-I’m sorry.” He mumbles before putting his hands over his face, his palms becoming drenched in sweat as he leans back into the chair. 

“Nothing to apologize for.” His fast beating heart begins to slow as he lets out an exhale. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” You ask gently before standing up. Jeongguk looks up at you as he moves his hands away before clearing his throat. 

“Sit on my lap.” He whispers and you gasp gently. 

“What?” He’s never asked something like this before. 

“Sit on me.” You look at him hesitantly before slowly sitting down on his thick thighs. His strong arms wrap around your figure, his arms interlocking with each other as he lets out a slow breath. You sit still, eyeing him wearily as he looks up at you nervously. 

“Okay.” He mumbles before slowly closing his eyes. The back of his eyelids were still black. He sighs deflated before letting you go. 

“You can get up.” You stand up off of him before tilting your head. 

“I have to go.” He whispers before standing, his eyes don’t look towards you again as he rushes to the door. “Jeongguk!” He was gone.

He had you sit on him to see if Lee would come back, but she didn’t that night. He went to sleep without a single dream. His unconscious mind reveling in the back wasteland of dreamspace. But, she did come back when he was black out drunk. He would have conversations with her as he lay sloped up against the wall of his room. 

“Don’t fucking l-look at me like that, babe.” He slurs to Lee as she sits in the chair across from his bed. 

“Koo, you have to let me go.” Jeongguk laughs loudly, the whisky in the bottle he holds sloshes around as he shakes. 

“Let you go?! You left me!” Lee sits silently, hands on her knees as her black hair falls in rivets over her shoulder. 

“I didn’t choose to leave you.” Jeongguk scoffs before gulping down the alcohol. 

“I’m not talking about when you fucking died, baby. I’m talking about when I went to see Y/N.” Lee’s lips press into a hard line as she leans back in the armchair. 

“Because you don’t need me when Y/N is there. She can take good care of you.” 

“YOU’RE FUCKING DEAD! WHAT DO YOU KNOW ABOUT KNOWING WHAT I NEED?!” Jeongguk’s voice is a sharp, loud cry as he widens his drunken eyes at his dead girlfriend. He scoffs before holding the liquor bottle close to his body as he folds his legs underneath him. There was a quick knock at his door before the door went flying open. 

“What’re you screaming about at three o’clock in the morning?” Hoseok asks his younger brother before noticing just how drunk Jeongguk is. The way his body is slumped over against his headboard, black hair in his eyes so he could barely see. 

“Guk.” Hoseok mutters before stepping inside and shutting the door so as to not disturb anyone. Jeongguk didn’t realize he was crying until now, tears rolled off his jawline before leaving dark wet spots on his light grey sweatpants. Hoseok takes a seat where Lee was just sitting before looking at the drunk younger man. 

“She fucking left me. Y’know? I go see Y/N, what, four fucking times and Lee just abandons me.” Hoseok gives a gentle sigh before running his hands through his hair. 

“Maybe she left you because that’s healthy and you need healthiness.” Jeongguk laughs before taking another swig of whisky. 

“That’s what she said.” He mumbles, his tone warped with pain as he slams his head into the iron bed frame. Hoseok leans forward before grabbing the bottle of liquor and putting it on the floor. 

“This isn’t healthy. You’re a mess. If it helped you so much to see Y/N, you should go back and see her.” You probably hate him after seeing him at his weakest. 

“No. I don’t want to see her again.” He was afraid, afraid to be at such peace with you. Afraid to be able to smile.

Jeongguk sits at the meeting table. His feet up on the table as Jimin’s wife slaps him upside the head. 

“Just bought the table, feet down.” She mumbles before pulling on her cigarette. He mutters an apology her way as the rest of the guys enter the metal room. Namjoon enters with a cheery smile, his dimples deep as he pulls his gun out before presenting it on the table. 

“Oh! Jaebeom went to go see Y/N, thanks for the suggestion.” Jeongguk takes a deep breath before taking his feel off the table and staring at the t.v. screen above him. 

“She’s pretty, no?” Jimin’s wife asks as Jeongguk’s knee begins to bounce. 

“That’s what he says. He also says, she has a nice mouth for sucking cock.” 

“Stop it.” Jeongguk mumbles loud enough for Namjoon to hear drawing his attention to the younger member. Was this jealousy burning through his veins at a quick pace? He wasn’t even sure what the emotion was that filled him, but anger accompanied it. If it wasn’t for the black tattoos on his neck, it would surely be beet red. 

“You went to see her too, right Guk?! Man, I’m fucking telling you, Jae says those tits she has-” Jeongguk pulls his gun out of the back of his pants before aiming it at his older brother. 

“I said stop. Don’t fucking talk about her!” 

“WHOA!” Jimin yells upon entering as Namjoon holds his hands up, backing his chair up into the corner of the room. 

“Don’t fucking go tell anyone to see her! Tell him don’t look at her! Don’t touch her! Don’t you dare!” Jeongguk yells as he cocks the gun. 

“Easy, Guk. Easy.” Jimin whispers before stepping in front of Jeongguk’s gun. 

“Just because it’s her job doesn’t mean she likes it. When she was younger, she wanted to be a painter but no one would accept her into their colleges. Do you know that? She likes to go to the beach to feel the sand between her toes because it keeps her grounded. And, you have the fucking audacity to talk about her fucking dick sucking skills?! She isn’t someone you can easily talk about like this! She’s a fucking person! With feelings! She was there for me when I had a fucking panic attack. She took care of me. Don’t fucking talk about her!” Jimin slowly waves his hands as Jeongguk begins to foam at the sides of his mouth. 

“Alright. Jaebeom or anyone else here won’t go and see her. You have my word. Put the gun down.” Jimin was being gentle with him, Jeongguk recognizes his tone of voice as his wife rubs at Guk’s upper back. Jeongguk uncocks the gun before clearing his throat and leaving the room without another word. 

Jeongguk stares at the bloody dirt of his warehouse, for once his warehouse was empty. It was dead quiet, you could hear a pin drop. He had left the mansion for a few days, just sleeping in the back of his car while he stayed out here. His mind was fucking him over, this much was certain. He left you in that hotel room and he felt guilty about it. He also felt guilty about feeling the need to have Lee around him when she wasn’t even on this plane of existence anymore. More than anything, he can’t help but think about your smile. How warm it is, how comforting it feels to have his eyes on you smiling widely. He remembers how soft your skin looks, how he would have been okay with you staying in that little amount of clothing before his panic attack. He remembers how soothing your thumb was on his skin. Jeongguk sighs before looking up at the wooden rafters of the ceiling. 

“Koo.” His breathing stops as he closes his eyes. 

“Lee.” 

“Why don’t you go and see her?” Jeongguk’s eyes begin to burn, he sniffles before pulling up his black hood and looking at his dead girlfriend. 

“I can’t.” A broken sob rips through his chest as he hangs his head low. 

“She probably misses you, you can’t be locked up in your own head anymore. I’m gone.” Jeongguk wails loudly putting his hands over his face. 

“I know. I’m just so afraid for you to leave.” 

“I’ll always be with you, in your heart. In your memories. But, it’s time to move on. You like her, I know you do. It’s okay to like someone else that isn’t me, Koo.” He scoffs as he pulls down his sleeves to make sweater paws. His sleeves meet his eyes as he sobs. 

“She probably fucking hates me. I left her there all alone.” 

“Look at me.” Jeongguk timidly lifts his head, his hands pushing his hair out of the way as he sniffles. Lee was in front of the table looking down at him.

“You deserve to be happy, Koo. You deserve to smile. You deserve to feel no awkwardness or fear.” He whimpers at Lee’s words as his bottom lip quivers. 

“Go and be happy. She makes you feel better.” 

“What am I going to do without you?” He asks, his voice cracking as he holds his arms out to her. 

“You’re going to smile.”  In an instant, she was gone. Lee’s form fades away in a sudden breeze that chills Jeongguk to the bone. He shivers before closing his eyes and swallowing. She wasn’t there either. 

“Lee?!” No answer but the sounds of birds chirping outside the warehouse. Jeongguk buries his face in his lap before taking a deep breath. Lee left him, after all these years. She just disappeared, to prove that Jeongguk didn’t need her anymore. He didn’t need to depend on her when you were around. He smiled and laughed, he felt relief. Felt at home. He clears his throat before pulling out his almost dead cell phone from his back pocket. He scrolls through his contacts before putting his forehead to the lip of the table as the phone rings. “Jina. Is Y/N working?”

Jeongguk steps out of the elevator on the seventh floor before looking down at Junkwon. 

“She’s with someone.” He tells Jeongguk as he walks towards 732. 

“Open the door.” His voice is brisk as he stares at the three gold numbers that hang on the door. He could hear moaning inside the room before cracking his neck. 

“I can’t Jeongguk, I’m sorry.” Jeongguk sighs before pulling out his wallet and pulling out a few hundred bucks. 

“Go away.” 

“You can’t just-” Jeongguk shoves the money into Junkwon’s semi-open hand before pulling out his gun. 

“Go away.” Junkwon counts the money before sighing and walking down the hallway. 

“Don’t hurt her.” Junkwon calls to Guk as he rings for the elevator. 

“Never.” Jeongguk shoves the door open. He takes you into his sights, you were on your knees jerking off some random guy. You looked bored and unamused before looking over and gasping. Jeongguk points his gun to the guy. 

“Get out.” “Jeongguk!” Jeongguk walks over, cocking his gun before grabbing your robe and throwing it at you. 

“You heard me? Get out.” The man scoffs before standing up and pulling up his boxers. 

“Hey man! I paid a lot of money for this!” You haphazardly put the robe on before stepping away from your client. 

“Jina will pay you back. Get out. I’m asking nicely.” You look up at Jeongguk, his black hair is fixed behind his ears. His domineering persona was something you’ve never seen before and you can’t say it didn’t intrigue you as you lean against the wooden table. 

“Okay! Okay! I’m going. Shit.” Jeongguk watches as the man fumbles to get his pants up from around his ankles. His eyebrow raises as the guy looks at you before stepping in front of your small figure. 

“Don’t fucking look at her. Get out. Now.” The man grabs his dress shirt before running out the hotel room door and slamming it behind him. Jeongguk uncocks his gun before putting it in the back of his pants. 

“Hi?” You say before sitting down on the edge of the bed. 

“Hi.” Jeongguk whispers before sitting down next to you. You sigh before looking at him out of the corner of your eye, taking in the way his black hoodie was two times too big for him. It was endearing. 

“Feel better?” You ask quietly as Jeongguk closes his eyes. 

“I do now.” You hum playfully before laying back on the bed. 

“That was hot.” You tell him as he turns towards you. He snorts before laying down beside you. 

“What was hot?” 

“Defending my honor like I don’t do this for a living.” Jeongguk chuckles openly before turning on his side to look at you. His warm brown eyes bore into yours before fingering at the white duvet cover. 

“I’m sorry I left that day.” How could you hold a grudge against him when he looks like this. His big doe eyes gazing into yours only shows how guilty he actually feels about it. 

“Wanna talk about it?” 

“Yes, I do.” His answer surprises you, he normally says no or looks away quite quickly. 

“Oh! Okay! Let me put some clothes on!” You go to sit up and Jeongguk’s arm cages you down onto the bed. 

“No, stay.” You take a deep inhale before turning on your side to face him. “Alright.”

Jeongguk gives you a small smile, the corners of his mouth quirk up as he stares at you. 

“You’re very beautiful.” Your cheeks heat up pink at his compliment, he's always looked at you like you were pretty but he's never said a thing before. 

"Thank you. You too." Jeongguk chuckles before laying his head down on the pillow. He clears his throat before taking off his sweater and throwing it elsewhere. His white tank top reveals all of his tattoos up to his chest and you can't help but look at the tasteful designs he has printed on himself. They look great on his honey colored skin. 

"I don't want to keep running away from you anymore. I like you. I just have some...undealt with issues." He takes some time before completing his sentence but you stay quiet as if to tell him to keep going if he chooses to do so. 

"Do you like me?" He asks, tilting his head into the pillow. 

"I do." You tell him honestly, making him smile. 

"Okay, good." You giggle at his beaming smile before he looks off past you. 

"Don't get...I don't know weirded out when I tell you my story." You nod to him before putting your arm under the pillow getting comfortable. He was different now, he was uncertain, sure. But, he was nervous or anxious to look at you. He wasn't fidgety and making himself uncomfortable, he was just him. And, it's really nice to see that. 

"Years ago I had a girlfriend-" Jeongguk clears his throat before sitting up suddenly, "-her name was Lee. I loved her, a lot. She was the first person I fell in love with. Um…" He looks down at his legs as he rubs his hands over his sweatpants. You put your hand on his knee before sitting up, your head tilts to the side as you watch him struggle to swallow. 

"Fuck. Fuck! Sorry." You shake your head as he takes a deep breath. 

"So, yeah, I loved her and she lived in the house I live in with my crew. One day I came home and called out for her and she wasn't answering me. Me and my boss, Jimin, he's been my best friend since we were younger. We ran upstairs and there were little drops of blood on the floor." You close your eyes as Jeongguk clears his throat again before squinting. 

"She was dead. In our room. Another gang had killed her and did stuff to her body." You put your hand over your mouth as he struggles to go on. 

"That was a long time ago, but she stayed with me. Like, a ghost. I would see her every night in my dreams and when I closed my eyes. She was always there. And, it started to get out of hand. I was drinking a lot and I was very angry. Guilty. I was so guilty. Y'know? What if I got home just ten minutes or twenty minutes before I did. What would have happened? It ate me alive, then I would see her and feel this fucking weight pushing down my goddamn chest every second of the fucking day. Everyone around me was getting married and falling in love and I was stuck in this sick little fucking sand glass that kept flipping over when the last piece of sand was about to fall." Jeongguk sighs loudly before looking at you, his hand grabs your wrist before pulling it away from your eyes. 

"But, then. I met you. And, I really liked you because you made me feel comfortable and I didn't feel like this anxious wreck anymore. But, I got scared because before you Lee was painted on the back of my eyelids every second of the day. After I met you she started to fade. Then she left me completely, that was the day I had the panic attack. I felt frightened because she wasn't with me anymore and I-I was so used to it that it made me terrified. I felt guilty that I pushed her away or something. But, I felt even more guilty that I might have pushed you away. That I fucked up my chance for you to like me when I left you that day. Lee was a big part of me that left because you made me feel safe. You make me feel comfortable. And I-I really l-like you. I want to get to know you and not have to feel guilty or worried anymore. I just want to be able to be myself and smile again. You make me smile." 

Jeongguk presses his lips together after he's done talking and he notices how glossy your eyes have become during his talk. You nod to him before giving him a small smile. You lean forward before enveloping him in a hug, he feels his body relax and he didn't even know that he was tense. His arms snake around you before hugging you back. You could feel how fast his heart is beating through his chest as he holds you tightly. 

"You make me smile, too." Warmth starts to seep through him, starting at his heart and spreading through his limbs as he holds you close. Jeongguk pulls back before brushing some stray wisps of hair behind your ear. 

"I'm going to kiss you." You nod at his chivalry before closing your eyes. He takes this moment to look over your features, how soft and angelic you look in this lighting. He thumbs his finger over your bottom lip before leaning in and kissing you slowly.

His kiss was soft and sensual. A small jolt of electricity runs through you as he places one hand to the back of your neck. You would never have assumed this drop dead handsome man could kiss like this. His tongue licks over your bottom lip and it produces a fire in your belly. 

A gasp emits from you, mouth opening as your nerve endings tingle. Jeongguk takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. His tongue, tasting and caressing every inch of you before mingling your tongue with him. His hand pulls you closer, his instinct to have you close makes you mewl as you grab onto his tattooed arms. He pulls away, only to take large breaths to fill his lungs before diving back in. His hands find your hips before flipping you onto him. 

His back hits the mattress with a thud as you lean down to smother him with more kisses. His large hands trail downward. The feel of satin wraps him in a cloud of pure pleasure as his hands come to rest on your ass cheeks. He groans into your mouth and the sound is so intoxicating that you feel your core seeping with liquid pleasure. 

"You're so fucking gorgeous." He whispers as you kiss down his neck, your teeth gently biting at his smooth skin. Jeongguk's hips buck upwards as his eyes close. Behind his eyes all he can see is you, the image of you above him is a welcome sight photographed onto the back of his lids. You tug at his shirt and it brings him back to reality as he opens his eyes. He sits up only to tug off the white article of clothing. Your eyes marvel at his tattooed chest, the way the planes of his eight pack highlight each tattoo perfectly. Jeongguk grabs at the robe belt before pulling it undone. He takes a sharp inhale of breath before looking up at your eyes. 

"Are you sure?" You ask quickly, his blown out pupils shake as he chuckles. "Kiss me, baby." 

You can do nothing but oblige as his hands begin to trail over your bare thighs. His fingertips knead at your skin as he sits up. You wrap your legs around his waist before feeling how hard he is underneath you. A gentle mewl leaves your lips as he kisses down your neck with heated fervor. 

"Feel how hard my cock is for you?" Your arms wrap around his neck as your head lolls back. Jeongguk playfully nips at your bust line before groaning as you thrust your hips to his. 

"I'm going to cum in my pants if you keep doing that." 

"You feel so hard." Jeongguk smiles against your skin before kissing at your cheek. 

"All for you, baby." This was serious whiplash. You could never have expected this. Jeongguk flips you over with ease, his thick thighs pining you underneath him as his lips lazily traipse down your chest. 

His hand snakes underneath you before taking a moment to unhook your bra. It was clumsy but he was determined to do it with one hand. 

"It's been a while." His admission makes you giggle as he finally unhooks your bra. Jeongguk groans as he throws your bra onto the floor. Your nipples become stiff at his longing stare. 

"Fuck." His warm lips envelope one, his tongue flicking at the sensitive skin as you whimper out his name. Something possessive flits across his gaze as he stares up at you. His fingers trail your thighs before swiping up your soaked panties. You could feel how they stick to you, almost embarrassing soaked. 

"Say that again, baby. Say my name again." He rubs your clit through your underwear. The silken fabric feels amazing against your sensitive nub as you moan out. 

"Jeongguk." He hums before bending down and pecking your lips. 

"That's right. That's who you belong to now. And, I don't share." Is he telling you to quit your job? You don't have much time to dwell on it, though as his fingers hook into the sides of your panties before peeling them off of you. The cool air of the room berates your sodden cunt as your skin produces goosebumps. 

"Look how wet you are, baby. Soaked." His voice is that of wonder as he spreads your legs wide. His tongue licks at his lips as if he's seen a feast in a great banquet. 

"Please." You whimper as he bows his body down. 

"What do you want?" His lips kiss at your pubic bone, teasingly slow kisses litter your skin and upper thighs as he intertwines both of your hands locking them to your sides. 

"I want you to touch me." Jeongguk looks up at you, his black hair beginning to stick to his forehead as he smirks. 

"Want me to touch you like everyone else that comes in this room? You think you deserve it, baby?" You wiggle your hips, trying to thrust them towards him. 

Your cunt was aching, a dull pounding reverberates through your lower half as you bite your bottom lip. "Your pussy is soaked and I haven't even started. What does that say about you?" You gasp as he kisses your clit. 

"Jaebeom was in this room not too long ago. You remember him? He touched your pretty little pussy I bet. You think you deserve my touch?" Jeongguk gives a flat swipe with his tongue to your pussy, your body sags into the bed as he pulls away. 

"Fuck, you taste good." 

"I'll be good! Please!" Jeongguk chuckles before suckling at your pussy lips. 

"Please, Daddy." His tongue gives two quick licks to your clit before blowing on your pussy. Your cunt quivers and throbs as the ache begins to drive you insane. 

"Please, Daddy! Please!" Your hands are squeezing his so tightly, he wonders where you get the strength from for it. "Good girl." 

His lips suckle at your clit, his teeth rake gently against the sensitive nub as you moan loudly for him. He hums in agreement as you lift your hips to buck up into him wanting to feel more. He lets your hands go only to push your hips back down into the bed. 

"You taste fucking good, baby girl." He relishes in how fucked out you look already and he hasn't even made you cum yet. He was good at this sort of thing, this sexual torture. He revels in it. 

"Fuck!" Jeongguk smirks before teasing your entrance. His finger slowly enters you as your head falls back. 

"Nuh uh. Watch me. Watch me eat your pussy so well." You whimper, fingers gripping at his black hair as he curls his finger inside of you. 

"Jeongguk!" He likes when you call his name so he takes pity on you and adds a second finger. Your walls begin to flutter, your orgasm approaching at a high speed. 

"I-I'm gonna cum!" He pulls away as you whine out. 

"Tell me what you're mine and that you won't share and I'll let you cum." 

"What?!" You pull at his head but he doesn't budge. 

"Tell Daddy that you're his and his only." He enters his two fingers into you again. Slowly pumping them in as your clit throbs. 

"Daddy, please! I w-want to cum!" Jeongguk hums before spitting on your pussy. 

"That's not what I want to hear." You keen for him as he soothes your clit with a gentle suckle. 

"I'm yours, Daddy! Yours only." Jeongguk sits up before looking at you with passive eyes.

"Yeah, you are and you better remember that, baby girl." You moan loudly as he begins to flick quickly at your clit. His fingers fucking into you so fast it almost knocks the wind out of your lungs. His fingers curl, finding that one spot inside of you that has you melting into the bed. Your orgasm comes back and full throttle as you whinge. 

"Daddy, please! I'm going to cum." Jeongguk moans as he feels your walls coax him. 

"Cum for me." As if he has given you the right to do so, you orgasm for him. Your eyes fill with spots as your thigh tremble with pleasure. 

"Good girl." He pulls away from your clit, his fingers slowing as you come down from your high. You looked gloriously fucked out before him, thighs and cunt still twitching as you lick at your swollen, kissed lips. He pulls his fingers out of you and you mewl at the loss before lifting your head. "We aren't done here. I'll fill your needy cunt, baby girl. Don't worry about that." 

Jeongguk stands up tall, his hands pulling down his sweatpants as you sit up on your elbows. His cock springs out, slapping his stomach and smearing it with precum that seems to be oozing like a never ending waterfall. His tip was an angry red as he strokes at his long length. Okay, you knew he was hard before but this, this is impressive. He had the length and the girth that has your mouth watering as you look up at him through your lashes. He chuckles at your surprise before sitting up on the bed, back resting against the headboard. His hand lazily strokes his cock before tilting his head at you. 

"Come suck on Daddy's cock." You're quick to scramble in front of him, your body falling between his open legs as he stares down at you. He nods his head simply before letting his cock go. 

"No hands." He says as you go to grasp him. You lean down, swirling your tongue around the tip earning a sigh from him as he grasps your hair into a makeshift ponytail. 

"Suck Daddy's cock better than you did Namjoon hyungs." With pleasure. You swirl your tongue around the base before bobbing your head up and down with quick movements. 

"Oh fuck." Jeongguk's teeth clench as he watches your cheeks hollow out. You gag on his cock, spittle and tears streaming down your face as you look up at him. 

"That's a good girl. Choking on my big cock like some cum slut." You whimper against him, his eyes falling between your legs as your arousal and cum drip down your thighs. 

"This is the only cock you'll be sucking so you better take good care of it." You moan against him and Jeongguk's eyes flutter shut. You gag on him once more and he taps at your throat. 

"Take it in." You whimper quietly before relaxing your throat for him. Wanting to do nothing but please him as he looks back down at you. You nestle your nose against his bare pubic bone earnings a hum from Guk. 

"Good girl, baby." He tugs at your hair gently, testing the waters only to be rewarded with a whine. 

"Mmm. Fuck. You like that? Like being pulled like a little fucking rag doll? Hmm?" He pulls harder and you moan against him, the reverberation has his cock thrusting gently into your throat. 

"You're so fucking pretty choking on my cock like this." He pulls your head up, before pushing it back down on his member. His toes curling in pleasure as he groans. 

He does this a few more times gently before beginning to thrust into your throat. "Fuck! That's it! Take this cock baby girl. No one else gets to fuck this throat but Daddy. You hear me?" You moan for him as his cock begins to throb. 

"I'm going to cum down your throat and you're going to swallow and show me that you're a good little girl that can follow instructions." You grab at his thighs as he puts his hand around your throat, squeezing gentle as he feels his cock pumping in and out of you. That's all he needs before he's groaning loudly. 

"Oh Y/N, shit! I'm cumming!" The way he moans your name has you fueled with desire, you greedily guzzle his cum as he streams ropes down your throat. 

"Fuck, baby! Fuck." Jeongguk gasps, his head lolling back as he eases up on your head. You pull off of him before showing him your empty mouth. He hums before wrinkling his nose and leaning up to kiss you. 

"Good." He lays you down before twirling his finger. "Get going." 

You flip over, face down and ass up as Jeongguk slaps your ass. "Who do you belong to?" You moan as he soothes the rub, "You, Daddy." Jeongguk kisses down your back before spanking you again.

"That's right. Good girl." You whimper as his slaps get stronger. 

"You let Namjoon hyung cum in your pussy?" His question sounds rhetorical but you answer him anyway. 

"No Daddy, everyone uses condoms." Jeongguk hums at the information before running his cock through your soaked lips. You moan gently burying your face on the mattress. 

"Does Daddy have to use a condom? Is baby girl on birth control?" 

"Yes, Daddy. I want you to fill me, show me I'm yours." Jeongguk takes a sharp breath between his teeth before smiling. 

"Aren't you just a perfect little girl, hmm?" You smile at his praise before rubbing your pussy on his cock. Jeongguk groans before stilling your hips.

“Be good, don’t make me punish you. I just became your boyfriend, don’t make me scare you off.” You laugh at his comment and he chuckles in response before bending over you and kissing you softly. He prods the weeping head of his cock to your entrance before slowly pushing in.

Your mouth opens with a groan as he stretches you, “Thank Daddy for his big cock.” You whimper as Jeongguk buries himself to the hilt. Your cunt begins to accommodate the intrusion by relaxing on him. 

“Thank you Daddy.” He moans gently, his fingers gripping at your hips so hard you know you’ll bruise by tomorrow morning. But, fuck if it doesn’t feel good. He pulls out, his eyes marveling at how sodden his cock has become with your arousal before thrusting back in slowly. 

“Fuck, you’re so wet on Daddy’s cock. Jesus Fucking Christ.” You moan loudly, your fingers gripping at the white sheets as you spread your knees wider wanting more. Jeongguk thrusts harder, his power would send you up the bed if he didn’t have such a tight grasp on you. 

“So tight on me, baby girl. Like your pussy was made for me.” Your eyes roll back as he begins to bulldoze inside of you. Your thighs quake at the pleasure as Jeongguk wraps his hand around the back of your neck pulling your body back onto his cock. 

“Fuck, you feel so good. Such a cum hungry slut.” You moan loudly, as he picks your body up to press flush against his chest. His fingers toy with your nipples, plucking and rolling the stiff peaks between his fingertips as he suckles harshly on your neck. He paints your neck with pretty red and pink patches before burying his forehead in the crook of your neck. 

“Mine. All mine.” 

“Yes, Daddy! Yours! Fuck! Your cock feels so good!” This angle is perfect for your pleasure as the bulbous head of his cock brushes against your g-spot. 

“Yeah? Shit, you feel good on Daddy’s cock, baby girl. Daddy’s gonna cum in your little pussy and claim what’s his.”  His words goad you on to your next orgasm as his fingers open your pussy lips before rubbing at your soaked clit. You sob loudly, head lolling back on his shoulder as he clasps his arm around your waist holding you in place as he fucks you to his liking. 

“Such a pretty little thing getting fucked right open. You’re going to take my cum nice and deep. Hmm? Walk around with my cum running down your legs so everyone knows who you belong to?” You grip at his hair as you feel your second orgasm approaching. 

“Yes. Fuck! Yes! I want people to see you drip down my legs.” Jeongguk lets out an almost inhuman groan as he kisses across your jawline. Your pussy begins to flutter around him, the action making his cock throb. 

“Daddy, gonna cum. Can I?” Jeongguk could fucking die right now and he’d be pleased. 

“Cum on my cock baby. You deserve it.” You moan loudly, ears ringing as you orgasm. Your cum coats the bed and Jeongguk can only choke on a moan as he looks down. 

“Fuck, you’re so hot. Christ.” Your cunt begins to milk him in the aftershock of your orgasm, Jeongguk’s grip on you tightens as he moans. 

“I’m cumming. Fuck. Take it like a good girl. Take it deep.” He gasps loudly before stilling inside of you, his warm seed filling you as he gives a few more short thrusts before gripping you tightly and falling onto the bed.

You giggle before closing your eyes as he kisses the back of your head. “Turn and smile for me.” You raise an eyebrow before turning with a genuine smile. 

“I love that. You’re so beautiful when you smile.” He wrinkles his nose once more before kissing you gently. His teeth gently nipping at your bottom lip lovingly before sighing. Jeongguk pulls out of you before looking down at the mess your pussy makes as his cum floods out. 

“Fuck, look at that.” He murmurs before smirking. You lay on your back, eyes taking in his tattoo riddled body before smiling. Who knew the nervous man you met a while ago would turn into this. Jeongguk stands with a before hearing feet outside the door. He’s quick to grab his gun from the floor and cock it at the door as you raise an eyebrow. 

“Who?!” Jeongguk yells walking over to the liquor cabinet, his eyes still trained on the door. 

“Junkwon.” 

“Fuck off.” Jeongguk calls back before uncocking his gun and putting it on the wooden table. 

“You’re kinda hot Jeon Jeongguk.” You tell him as you sit up against the headboard. He gives a whole hearted laugh, his back muscles tensing and releasing as he pours two glasses of whisky. 

“You’re kinda hot too, baby.” He turns back to you, eyes glued to your cum laden pussy before pointing at you. 

“I meant what I said. You’re mine. No one else's.” You sigh gently before closing your legs. 

“This is my job.” Jeongguk clicks his teeth before walking the expanse of the floor and handing you the whisky glass. 

“We’ll find you something else to do. Jimin’s wife was supposed to be a maid and look where she is now. She can teach you how to be a vixen like she is.” Jeongguk presses his lips to your temple before pulling your naked body to his. You ponder this for a second, you had told him before you never wanted to do this but it paid well. And, you trust him enough to not lead you down the wrong path. “Alright.”

You stand with Jeongguk in his bedroom, his eyes flitting to the green dress he bought Lee that many years ago on the day she was murdered. 

"You don't have to do this, you know. I understand." You whisper to your fiance as you hug his broad back. His hand rubs comforting strokes at your arms around his waist before turning to you. 

"Yes, I do. I've moved on. I'm happy. We've been together for two years. It's time for this to go." You look over at the dress before looking up into his doe eyes. Although one is black and bruised from a fight he got into not long ago because someone looked at you too sexually they still had this innocent look to them. A look that melts your heart as he opens up your bedroom door. He holds his hand out and you take it without a second thought. He leads you down the hallway and down the staircase as you both pass Jimin's wife. 

"What're you doing?" She asks, raising an eyebrow as Jeongguk balls up the green dress. 

"Tying up loose ends." She hums in confusion before shrugging. 

"Have fun, meeting in thirty minutes. Y/N, I expect you to be there." 

"Yes ma'am!" You call back to her as Jeongguk continues to pull you. 

Jeongguk wraps his arm around your waist as you walk out into the garden. Your feet feel the green blades of grass underfoot as you walk out to the firepit behind the row of rose bushes. Jeongguk looks up at the orange sky before sighing. 

"Baby-" He throws the dress into the pit without another word before grabbing a book of matches from his pants pocket. He lights a match before throwing it into the fire pit and looking at you. 

"I love you, baby girl." 

"I love you, too." He sits down on the stone bench before patting his thighs. You sit on him sideways, your arms wrapping around his neck as he leans his cheek against your breast. He watches the green fabric blacken as it scorches to nothingness. He was finally happy, he was finally safe within the confines of someone's heart and he couldn't ask for anything more. He rocks you gently as you run your fingers through his hair. Lee never came back to visit him. Not in his dreams or anywhere else. But, he didn't need her to, he found his own happiness.

[steponmepinkjun]

Sara I hope you dont mind me dropping this kind of ask, I just dont have anyone to talk abt this topic in particular and i have seen you open up about being neurodivergent multiple times.

All this time I believe that im neurotypical and always have to progress through life the way neurotypical people do, but from like 2 years ago i'm starting to question if i really am one bcs when I read about neurodivergency I slowly began to see myself in the description. How does one get um.. Diagnosed? I feel like theres sth abt myself that i havent figured out yet and I just want to know and love myself better.

Also forgive me for not being articulate enough, this is something im working out on.

Okay so I am obviously not a doctor or expert on neurodivergency, but I've gleaned a bit of knowledge from the nearly three decades I've spent being ND. So heres my advise.

First, I would begin with identifying why you'd like to seek an official diagnosis. Depending on what it is you're trying to diagnose, there are advantages and disadvantages.

Officially being diagnosed with ADHD gave me a sense of understanding I never had, gave a name to the symptoms that had been, quite honestly, ruining my life, and most importantly gave me access to the medication that completely turned my life around and made me a functioning human being. Even though I was diagnosed late in life (ie after school/developing years), I was still very lucky—my psychiatrist saw what the six previous ones I'd seen didn't. Before that, I was in treatment for depression and anxiety since age 11, had seen 13 therapists, and been on over 15 medications, to no avail. I'm lucky because a lot of obtaining a diagnosis for ADHD relies on self-reporting and reports from your parents—which is fucking stupid considering adhd is genetic, so my adhd parent probably isn't going to see my behavior as abnormal, IF they can even remember my behavior or payed attention to it. Despite those things, I was able to finally get diagnosed at age 22, and it changed my life. However, despite the fact that I suspected since I was a teenager that I might be on the autism spectrum (my brother, father, and several members of his family are), I made the conscious decision not to seek an official diagnosis. The medical community at large is incredibly ignorant and biased in regards to diagnosing autism in women, getting a diagnosis is ridiculously expensive, and unfortunately where I live an autism diagnosis can put you at significant disadvantage in the court system (it's often used as proof that an individual isn't mentally competent enough to do things like stand trial or be given sole custody of their own children, among other things). Plus, autism itself isn't treatable, so in my eyes I saw no benefit to getting a piece of paper telling me what I already knew. That's a personal choice that no one can judge another for—your reasons for seeking diagnosis are entirely valid whatever they are, and you owe an explanation to no one. I only wish to point out that not all diagnosis carry the same cost/benefit.

Getting a diagnosis can be a huge uphill battle, and it usually takes stamina and mental fortitude to get there. But everyone needs and deserves to have a community, a sense of understanding, and a support network, and wanting that alone is a more than valid reason to pursue a diagnosis.

So here's what I'd do. Get yourself in to see a psychiatrist (a therapist will do IF they have the training to diagnose, not all do), and do some research beforehand. Things as simple as googling "I think I might have/be (insert neurodivergent term here, for me this would be ADHD or autistic)" can give you some good starting points for what traits/symptoms are common. And as you're doing your research, take notes! If you see something jump out at you that you super relate to or that puts a feeling you've always had into words, write it down, copy the phrase, include things like how often you feel that way and what age you were when you began experiencing that. If there are ND behaviors that your immediate family share, that is very relevant, and actually gives a lot of context as to if something is a ND trait, trauma response, or shared personality quirk. Bring those notes with you to your appointment, reference them, and take notes of your own with the Dr's feedback. If you feel like you're being dismissed, tell them that, if you feel dissatisfied with their assessment, say so, and ask what your options are going forward. You probably won't walk away with a solid answer in just one day, but it's a good place to start.

It usually doesn't hurt to seek out community online, either, provided you take it all with a grain of salt—I've found that doctors tend to minimize symptoms, while peers online tend to maximize them. Ie, the way ND tiktok has become a slew of "do you breathe oxygen? Here's why that might be a sign you have adhd" type vids. Get second and third and fourth opinions before you take something to heart, you know?

And (even though this may go without saying), while I am no doctor, I have amassed more knowledge of my own disorders (as well as cptsd, ho lawdy its a fuckin doozy) than perhaps any one person should, so if you're at all in my vein or neurodivergency then please feel free to reach out to me directly, I'm always open to offering advise or a friendly ear or a sounding board for thoughts and ideas.

[queenofallwitches]

Venus trine MC, my MC lies in Saturn and Saturn is in 9th house Aquarius.

Saturn Return, and my Soul Journey into 12th house Sun conjunct Mercury (in Aries) bound by the 12th house Shadow Secrets. Jupiter is Leo and Mars is softened by my conjunct cancer moon, both in my 3rd house. The kicker is Chiron simultaneously sitting over in my wounded goddess divine feminine Luna moon compelling me to build a home, a base and a clan of like minded souls. cancer and Chiron sit together and Chiron is akin to the wounded healer. I have a complex but alchemical natal make up and its been 6 years of accepting the square and oppositions in difficult places to come to terms to work with my natal astrology in a way I can become creatively involved in.

23/3/20 initiated the formal induction of my Saturn return as saturn transited to Aquarius for the first time since 92/93.

It’s a taste of the full saturnine swing coming up after the December 21st astrology grand conjunction. Saturn will be in Aquarius up to July. before moving briefly back before that grand Conjunction with Pluto/Jupiter later in 21/12/2020. (activity period from 14 April 2020 until mid-July 2020) Venus trine MC

Yeah on a tangent but one day I will be thankful this was forged. I am will using my moonchild manifesto to track the astrology and transits for my own wounded healer journey. I don’t have the consistency of a computer to hoard things as I did before the big brother fascism came full formed this year and cannot freely trust anything can be stored. I will be putting things online purely to keep a record of what may soon be lost, unable to be accessed.

Plus I’m burning my journals after I take the photos of them and upload them for a ritualistic purpose.

It’s part of this creative alchemy and trauma soul retrival quest I’ve found myself on. I note this as my Saturn is returning home for my FIRST Saturn return. I have been formally initiated for the infamous, enigmatic Saturn return that marks the passage from “adolescence into adulthood”. (Funnily last time I heard a university lecture on neuroscience, the latest research noted recent findings that the brain of a fully, functional prefrontal cortex in adult brains don’t become fully formed until age 28-30. This first sparked excitement and also uncertainty about the privilege cast to the “teenage myth”. As kids brains are still developing when things like getting a driving cars, choosing a life career, alcohol privilege and making other major life changes at those critical developmental stages are still as risky when a 12-16 year old does it. So now psychology and neuroscience knows that the adult higher order thinking that marks the turn of a mature and civil adult come in the late 20s. Not the teens. So until after 25 a brain cannot be fully assessing its choices due to underdeveloped prefrontal higher order thought processes This was fascinating in the social science side of things where we look into social constructs of society and how teenager was a made up archetype for a post war period. I remember being in my early 20s at the time and my life was no longer a race as it had been made to be prior.the schools of the latest brain neuroscience confirm my impulsive nature could change before age 30. I was hopeful. Maybe I wasn’t a gifted genius who was highly sensitive and afflicted with the contrasting “ADHD or Attention Deficit Primaily Inattentive” which could only be “treated” (as far as I had experienced), via heavy duty schedule 8 drugs. The kind of medication that calmed me down but other people wound beg me to have. Meaning in the past people in my life around me were constantly trying to turn into their party high by taking advantage of my disdain for psychostimulants. But my love and need for money back in that time. Fuck fake friends I say. Taking advantage or dysregulated prefrontal cortex with or without all my labels was still, after all, a risky business, when it comes to juggling psychopharmacology and a myriad of labels that resulted in other medicines given to me that may or may not be accurate. No brain scan or confirmation has been given that my brain is anything aside from ADHD. So my academic quest in childhood was confounded due to this.I learnt a lot about my childhood and growing up with a long list of multiple mental illness diagnosis, and the medical pharmacology given to me for those things; was beyond measurable.

But my neurochemistry was tweaked ineffably by both psychiatric pills pushed on me from age 9 and for things I may not even need. The end result of what my social science teacher termed “social constructs akin to mental illness medical model DSM labels”. My self pursuit of understanding my own brain was a hard thing to understand in the sense that prior to hearing about this from the side of academic and professional training, I had spend 12 years in expensive and possibly more damaging than beneficial treatment for “mental illnesses”. My life was a focal point for the goal I set to help women with the “borderline stigma” after I had fixed my own borderline.

Clinical psychologist was my end game until I found the trauma truth sweeping me into a existential soul contusion merged with trauma after trauma therapy went into flooding memory. Academic research and the psychology and counseling journals I spent my spare time fine combing. For answers. For my why and how. By the time I found any sense of this it became a painful limbo of dancing with my demons, coping destructively and limbo between the underworld and the reality I found my body and mind entwined in.

Now it’s even more synonymous to my own Saturn return journey and how the Saturn return is the mark of adulthood. This can be a speculative musing I make now on celestial astrology and how it aligns to our inner psychological makeup. (The Jupiter return is age 12, puberty ; and the other inner planets all mark significant development milestones in growing up. I’ll go into that more in later blogs).

Astrology is a map of the soul, psychology makeup, can be so deep too. How does it measure up to statistics? Sun sign horoscope is nothing versus the natal chart and how it corresponds to planetary magick and Kabbalah. I have been seperate in my magick and academic work but it was always my will to merge these at one stage I could research it. But now the sands of time are shifting, and Aquarius Saturn is calling for novel innovation I never could convey due to academic being seperate as spiritual, magickal practice is something I was careful to keep silence on when working with clients, peers and mentors, forget telling my psychologists or doctors who wound dismiss any test as “bipolar mania”. I remember once I read “the difference between the mystic and the mad man is the mystic knows who NOT TO TELL.

Now it’s my time to informally but officially start logging my journey into my own healing, soul mapping, I call it cognitive alchemy, gnostic psychology, soul psychology, metagnosis.. I’ve had many a name for the potential inspiration from my true will calling. But I can now forget about the archaic bonds from the academic world I was schooled to excel in by confirming. I am also a high iq gifted kid and having been labelled gifted but “adhd” simultaneously while having traumatic events left right and center is a mix of confusion for me. Teachers classed adhd as a learning disability, my in attention confused with inability to listen to simple tasks. This meant my mind never adapted to that school conditioning but my education was still installed due to the private school system somehow making my alters succeed without effort. Most of my spare time as a kid that wasn’t dissociative was reading books. By me processing my own literature in my spare time, I knew so much random stuff but hid it in order to seem dumb bc that was accepted. But in private in encyclopaedias and non fictional library quests I’d devour books. for my 10 maximum haul of borrowing books. This was a routine my mum and I went to do each week but my reading speed was beyond anything known, as I read and synthesised up to 10 books mostly in one day, from age 6 onwards.

I also stole books and hid my reading habits at school due to a deep shame of not being liked due to reading being for losers without friends, as girls bullied me over my gifted weird quirks. I was pretty but saw my self as ugly for trauma will deprive the mind of seeing it’s own true perception. I was never understood how my looks became a thing used against me by girls who were jealous until I learnt about this myself. I recently accepted and remembered this all after 3 years of integrated healing. I was doing this all on my own. the spiritual and metaphysical work is my primary tool that was keeping me here. Actually saving my suicide program from self destruct after the March 2017 incident I shall not talk about now. But I’m here now, alive, kicking, Saturn here to shove my shadow to consciousness without prompt and this change can bring me into a 30 year blueprint of setting things right.

Now in order to build a solid and functional framework and foundational life. I have a litany of secrets I need to get off my chest. I think to share my growth, my thoughts and my experiences for my own liberation of my deep dark secrets finally free to be released into the public domain.

I have no choice but to share this.

I do this co consciously as a part of my integrative process.

Maybe One day it might be a guide for someone who was as alone as I feel doing all of this self work without support. Maybe it will fade into the cyber void forever. Maybe I’ll use this as a tool to help clients in the future. Whatever this is means nothing but what the process of alchemy can do to forge my liberation from soul loss and traumatic dissociative trauma.

As a therapist I always wanted to avoid what I went through growing up. Now more so. I never want another lost dissociative mental health client who was also stuck between professional and academic pursuits being my “purpose” and having to sacrifice career and my study and research to sit in my shadow to see the shit.

In order to break the shit therapist mould I list journey through my own shit first. This meant I needed to be away from all therapy both as a client and practitioner and student for awhile. I’ve been off since the end of 2017 and now it’s clear it was neeed, how do I heal without healing my own shit first? Am I not the finest example of how bad therapists can get away with their bullshit and be paid for it but never really know who they are. I’m never doing that. I never was about that. So due to therapeutic negligence. I am finding my gift was the lesson. Those a shitty therapist who are a dime a dozen were the anti mentors I saw too often: but my purpose was to be a therapist. But a therapist who did things the way I never had.

Never did I want another to go into the heavy weight of shame from the secrets of sexual wounds, childhood schemas, mixed up and messed up conditioning made to seem functional to outsiders. But that was all alters. Now it was a spiritual journey as magick and my mystical path entwines to save my soul. The self awakening, trauma revelations, merging with the dark night of soul, and the shadow work. Plus everything else coming out is not a journey I can say is or was at all easy, I suffer more now as a co conscious intergrating my trauma. I feel it all without the dissociative switch to save me from witnessing all the shit. Now I see my entire life and it’s fucked up raw and grim reality and I have to do something because I survived it this far? Again I never suicided or stopped into self destruction when I knew my own inner child’s wounds were no longer blacked out but burning bright longing for love. Symptoms for survival and the survival was part of the dissociative switching making my outside self seem so functional, but never seen. It’s not something they needed to drug me for, but it’s another thing I have to address now. My symptoms they drugged with medications that were mind altering and powerful for anyone let alone a developing child’s brain, were suppressed by many meds. Who knows where that ends and the damage via trauma and other things begin? It’s a mess of some thing I was never aware of but always trying to silence due to the need for people to accept me. But that was many mes all living a life that appeased many people, but not for me. Here we are.

[lilsherlockian1975]

I need to unleash about my family and, unfortunately, I must do it here. Else I explode!

Feel free to ignore me but I could really use some love and support. It’s under the cut...

Backstory: About two years ago, I got into a HUGE fight with my oldest sister regarding my mother and her finances. I will admit, I’d made some mistakes. Let me be clear: I wasn’t spending her money - far from it - I had neglected to pay her property taxes at the house she all but abandoned when she moved in with us 7 years ago. Honestly, I lied to my sisters the handful of times they bothered to ask about it (they were more than happy to just ignore most of what was going with her and let me ‘deal’ with everything). I was overwhelmed and refused to admit that I needed help. 

**I hate to fail. Hate it!! Especially in the eyes of my family.**

So, I blew them off, “Yeah, all taken care of” when frankly, I had no idea what was going on with it. I didn’t have access to mom’s checking account was not (am still not!) on it, even though she has asked me to do so several times. It’s too much. I have enough on my plate to take on her money as well. 

I take care of her entirely alone. Not just a bit, I literally do everything for her except feed her and light her cigarettes (although on bad days or if it’s windy, I sometimes do). At our old house, she could at least get around, somewhat on her own, but not here. Someone (90% of the time me) has to wheel her from room to room and outside to smoke. 

Since moving, she seems to be in the beginning stages of dementia (I have a Speech Therapist coming over this week for an assessment). She has good days and bad. Sometimes, on bad days, she forgets how to walk - and when I say walk, I mean transfer from chair to wheelchair or wheelchair to toilet and so on. Last night, for instance, after her bath, she suddenly forgot how to stand and pull up her diaper at the same time. I was forced to hold her full weight of 200lbs and pull up the diaper at the same time. She put all her weight on my left shoulder, dead weight. I managed to keep her from falling, but because she’s so short (about 5′1″ and I’m 5′11″) I had to drop to my knees and brace her like I was changing a toddler. I thought she’d dislocated my shoulder but in now I think it’s probably just a pulled muscle. We’ll not talk about my knees, which aren’t in good shape from years of abuse, playing sports.  My point is: this is fucking hard. I quit my job to do this and it affects every aspect of my life, my marriage, my family. My typical day starts at 7.30am. If I’m lucky, Mom’s still asleep when I take H to school, but she’s always awake when I get home, yelling my name: Liiiiilllliiiiaaaan! In a sing-song voice. I HATE my name. Please never call me Lillian. Ever! I help her out of bed and into her wheelchair - about half the time she’s either soaked the bed (thankfully, my brilliant husband bought her a water-proof hospital mattress and it can be cleaned easily with bleach - but the laundry is another story), peeing through her diaper or crapped herself - no matter what time I get her up. We wheel into the bathroom and I clean her. If it’s bad (a nasty poo): Bathtime! If not, I still have to clean my mother’s bottom and girl-bits (repeat that about 4 to 5 times a day). She wants her meds next (my mother LOVES taking medicine) then wants to smoke, so it’s off to the porch. While she’s out there, I prepare her breakfast (usually an Ensure, some fruit and something sweet - old people love sweet things because those are the last tastebuds to ‘die’, or so I’m told). I’ve also been giving her some tea to replace the craptastic Diet Rite that I now refuse to let her have (she’s still mad at me about that one!). She’s usually good for about an hour or so, then it’s back outside for more cancer sticks. In between her smoking trips, I’m cleaning, doing laundry and P’s homeschooling (which is basically at an end, but he’ll be doing a smaller summer program too). Sometimes she naps, sometimes, when her bipolar is flaring, she calls me over and over, just for attention. I understand, it’s part of her and there’s nothing she can do about it. Then lunch (and clean up, because she always drops food) smoking, bathroom, smoking, bathroom. Dinner - clean up. Smoking, bathroom, smoking, bathroom. She’s suddenly refused to read - the only thing I remember actually doing from my youth - and now obsessively watches CNN. I feel responsible for this; I’ve turned my conservative, fundamental Christian mother into (and I’ll quote my beloved father on this one) a Pinko! She’s a liberal all of a sudden. Whatever. Every other day, she gets a bath. Once a week I wash and set her hair. I have to apply eye treatments, help her with her nebulizer, and administer her meds (if not, she overtakes them). I also try to keep her mind engaged, hoping it will stave off any deterioration that’s happening, talking about current events, reading my (not smutty) stories, asking any questions I can think of to make her brain ‘work’. She goes to bed at 10 on the dot every night and FINALLY, I can be alone with my husband if we manage to get the boys to leave alone, that is. 

Why would I do this? And, why am I bitching? I asked for it, right?

I’ve only mentioned this once before, and just recently broached it with my psychiatrist (because he figured it out, the sneaky bastard! “Lillian, did your father pointedly ask you to take care of your mother before he died?” - Internally: Of course he did, you sadist! Out loud: “Yes, he did. And I promised him I would.” - “What did he say? His exact words? I know you remember them.” - I really don’t want to do this... “Someone will have to take care of her, Lillian, she’s never taken care of herself. Never balanced a checkbook, never pumped her own gas. I can’t leave not knowing she’ll be okay. I love her too much...” I’ll never forget it. That man’s devotion is why I’m so fucked up! “And you feel like you can’t let him down?” Fuck me! Now I’m crying!)

I don’t know if he had similar conversations with the other kids (three of them, all much older and none of them with kids at home! Frankly, I don’t care. ALL of them make significantly more money than me and Mr Lil - we are practically destitute compared to all of them!) but I got her and she’s mine. I do this because it’s the right thing to do.

Now, to my current frustration, finally. Gin, my oldest sister, is selling mom’s house for $10,000. It may be worth more, but this is not my problem. Mom’s agreed to it and I don’t want to be involved. Her day to day care is my problem, not her money. I don’t touch it other than to reimburse us for what we spend on her, and nothing more. Mom, on one of her better days, told me she wants to pay me for caring for her, but I’m afraid about the backlash from the family. Mind you, she (alone!) makes more than we do as a family of 4. She also wanted to give us $2000 toward the house. I refused it for the same reason. She doesn’t know this, thinks I took it.  Gin has access to her account - she put herself on the account - she did this even though mom wasn’t really comfortable with it. Today, she texts me & our other sister in a group text, telling me to send a $3000 check to pay off the back property taxes (that she was supposed to be taking care of since I failed to... um, she failed as well, what do ya know?!). I text back, ‘can mom pay that much at once’ - she says, ‘yes’ - I still have to buy mom’s meds and a new walker this week and all her normal expenses, so I ask Gin how much mom has in her account. Her response? ‘Enough, Lillian. Just send the check.’. 

I ask you, how is that suppose to make me feel? It’s like she doesn’t trust me with the amount. Like I’m gonna go nuts and buy myself somethin’ French! But the idiot doesn’t realise that I have the account holder in my living room. I have mom call the bank and find out. She’s got well over $6000. How is that not enough to know that I’ve not been thieving from our mother?!  I’m so tired of being trusted to wipe her ass but not with anything else! I work my ass off for her - never going on vacation, never really taking much (or any) time for myself while the others take two, three, four trips a year. I can’t leave her alone and just go shopping or have a day out with my family. The other night, we wanted to go out to eat and try the new Mexican place in town. Mom didn’t want to go. We couldn't leave her, so... nope. Pizza again. When the four of us went to see End Game, my mother-in-law came to sit with her, not either of my sisters (and certainly not my worthless brother who, admittedly, lives 3 hours away but hasn’t phoned ONE TIME in the last 7 years to check on her... or me!). They couldn’t be arsed. Gin has promised over and over to ‘take her for the weekend, every two weeks’ to ‘give me a break’. It’s happened once, the weekend we moved. Never before, never again. She’s never really thanked me, even though she told our sister that she has. After returning mom after the move she told me that she told her husband, “Lillian deserves sainthood for doing this every day. Mom exhausted me and I only had her for two and a half days.” It was the only (I’m not even exaggerating) time she’s ever even mentioned how hard this is.  I don’t want anything from them. I don’t ask for their help because I know they won’t give it (my middle sister actually said, ‘don’t ask me to help with mom, I won’t do it’) but how about not making me feel like a dirtbag? How about, I don’t know, saying, “Hey, Lillian, Mom has plenty of money, you should pay yourself a bit every month. You work hard to make her quality of life really good and deserve it.” Or even a simple, “Thank you. Thank you for taking care of our mother, we appreciate that you do it and we don’t worry about her safety and wellbeing.” No one has EVER said this to me. Not once. 

[thepointofthestory]

Pressure Release Valve

I’m starting this blog as a way to release some of the pressure I’m experiencing.  A journal to help me process what’s going on and deal with it.  I process verbally a lot, which is good, but I can’t afford a therapist right now so I’ve been leaning heavily on friends - and they’re amazing for listening to me, but, I just keep going over the same shit again and again and they have to be getting tired of me.  I can’t vent on Facebook anymore - because that’s just so fraught.  Anonymous venting onto Tumblr seems like it’s worth trying.   So, here we go - first real post.  This is some background about one of the topics that’s got me deeply wound.  

My father is an elderly man.  He is 71 years old with Type 2 Diabetes, Severely Reduced Kidney Function, and Moderate to Severe Sleep Apnea. 

A Quick Medical Overview about 15 years ago my dad was in a long term relationship with a woman and was living in her home.  During that period he was diagnosed with Type 2 Diabetes and, because he snores to wake the fucking devil, she made him do a sleep study and he was diagnosed with Moderate to Severe Sleep Apnea and given a CPAP machine.   About 4 years ago my father’s kidney’s failed.  He had a UTI and went in for a contrast dye test for some other issue, and, the combination of those things plus my dad’s unchecked Type 2 Diabeties (and very high blood sugar levels) made his kidney’s throw up their hands and go “Fuck it, we’re done!” 

He spent THREE FULL WEEKS in the hospital.  At first trying different treatments to see if they could “reboot” my dad’s Kidneys, then, after a day or two doing Dyalisis and getting his bloodwork stabalized.  Three full weeks.  And he nearly died.  

He was released to Hospice/Rehab care where they assessed his abilities and capabilities.  They recomended a walker.  Set up on-going out-patient Dyalisis treatments.  Literally helped him get back on his feet.  The Rehab center was wonderful and recomended that he move to a facility with nursing staff.  Not that he go into a “Home” or Hospice care, just... a place with medical staff on hand.  Someone to help him manage his diet and medications.  He refused.  Because he’s a grown man, see. 

THREE days later he called me at 2 am hysterical.  Utterly freaking out.  At the time I had a 5 month old baby and I was awake when he called because I was nursing my son.  But also I lived an hour and a half away from him and could not understand what he was saying or what was going on.  I was sleep deprived.  I hung up on him.  My sister ended up calling an ambulance to check on him, which was good, because his blood sugar had crashed out so low he was having a delustional episode.  

He went back to the hospital.  He got stabalized again and relased to go home within 48 hours, but, with the caveat that he take a Diabetes 2 education class.  I agreed to go with him to the classes - which were at a location close to his house.  So I drove an hour and a half to pick him up, sat through an hour of class, drove him home, made him fucking dinner and then drove an hour and a half back home with breasts that were, at that point, painfully full of milk - because there was no possible time to pump in that whole mess of activity. 

The course was 5 classes long, after the 4th class we got into an argument about how he couldn’t just eat McDonalds all the time anymore.  Because the class had focused on how fast food was an especially bad choice to make for Diabetics who have other health issues.  The teacher had specifically pulled up the nutritional information for a BASIC McDonalds Hamburger and talked about all the reasons why it was bad for blood sugar, even though - yes, there was a high protein count, there were all these added sugars.  Our argument began by me basically saying “Now that someone else has said it, will you please stop doing this?”  The argument ended when he OPENED THE PASSENGER DOOR OF THE CAR WHILE IT WAS IN MOTION AND THREATENED TO THROW HIMSELF OUT.

I had to pull the car over, get out, shove him back into the car (as he wasn’t able to right himself) while he hit me in the shoulders and threw a tantrum like a toddler about how all the women in his life have ever done is screw him over. I didn’t go to the 5th class.  I’m not sure if he did.  And I didn’t talk to him or deal with him for months. 

During those months my sisters (both younger) discovered that he was so deeply in debt that he was going have all his utilities shut off and to be evicted from his apartment if he was late on another payment.  So, they took over his finances.  Like, litterally took them over.  My youngest sister (who we’ll call Teri) is his Trustee for his social security payments, and, all his money goes into an account that she has access too but that he does not.  My middle sister (Who we’ll call Beth) now manages the day to day bill paying and distribution of the account, including putting money weekly onto a pre-paid debit card that my dad has access too for shopping and miscelaneous expenses. 

About six or nine months passed and things had evened out a little.  My father was coming out to see my son on a fairly regular basis.  I was ignoring him to the best of my ability.  Working. Raising my son.  Ignoring.   And then I got a call, while I was at work, from my father.  He needed to go to the ER, he said.  To schedule a surgery apointment.  Huh?  He had a wound on his big toe that wouldn’t heal.  This happens with Type 2 Diabetics, so it wasn’t a surprise. I was already aware of the wound and that he was seeing doctors about it.  He had assured me that he was taking care of the wound and he was having apointments reguarly to have it dressed and assessed, so, I hadn’t done any digging into it.  Apparently his doctor had recomended surgery and told him that he should go to the ER in the morning and get scheduled for a surgery apointment... which doesn’t make any sense at all.  That’s ... not how that works? 

So, I took a break at work and called Kaiser.  I spoke to someone who read me the visitation notes from the doctor.  Basically, the doctor had come to the conclusion that the tissue was damaged enough that it needed to be abraded and recomended that my father be transported to the hospital and admitted and scheduled for surgery that night.  My dad, who was STILL paying off the ambulance bills from his last two hospital stays refused to go.  He said he’d drive himself in the morning.  His doctor recomended against that and suggested that, if he didn’t want to be transported via ambulance he could get a family member to pick him up.  He refused.  The doctor made a note in the after visit information that this course of action could result in serious issues up to and including DEATH and that my father was refusing/leaving the office against medical advice. 

So.... I got a friend who drives Uber to pick my dad up at his apartment and take him to the closest ER.  I met them there.  There is a whole story associated with this pick up and my friend had to get his car detailed afterwards.  Whee. 

When I got to the ER they had my dad laid out in a hospital gown and had done some initial blood testing and my dad was waiting in a curtianed area.  His blood sugar was all out of whack.  He had an infection in his toe that threatened to spread to his blood - and if you don’t know, blood poisoning is fucking deadly.  They were running fluids and antibiotics via IV.   The toe was necrotic.  Unsaveable.  They needed to remove it ASAP.  It was a good thing I had gotten him in tonight, the doctor told me.  If he had waited until morning he might have fallen asleep and never woken up.  

They ended up removing his big toe from the first knuckle to the tip, and wrapping it up.  He went back to Hospice/Rehab and spent another 3 weeks learning how to use a cane to help him walk.  He was instructed to use the cane all the time, but especially while he was recovering from surgery.  He never used it, still doesn’t.  

Another six months pass.  It’s December now his toe has never healed from surgery.  Refusing to use the cane has put too much pressure on the toe and it won’t heal.  Being diabetic makes it important that he keep it clean and dry, but, he continues to stand up to pee ... and misses the toilet regularly.  So... he’s peeing on his open wound and not changing the bandage or cleaning the wound.  

And, so, there’s a need for a second surgery.  This time they take the whole toe.  And it’s back to rehab.  Again.  Where he ends up pushing for release early - and ends up getting authorized to go home on Christmas Eve.  This time he promises he’ll use his cane.  He does not.  

It’s been two years now without any catastropic injuries or events.  He’s mostly stabalized but his kidney function is in the 24% range (which is a failing grade on any test I can think of) but means that he doesn’t require regular Dyalisis.  His Diabetes is under control only with the help of medication, and his A1C is generally in the 6-7 range, which is boarderline and if it gets any worse will not be able to control it with the meds he’s on.  He’ll have to do insulin injections - this is an ineveitablity.  But he doesn’t test his blood sugar.  

He continues to ignore the dietary recomendations for both his Diabetic and Renal conditions.  He refuses to use his cane.   My father comes out to my house on Tuesdays to spend time with my son.  Mostly he naps in the chair in the living room and we feed him dinner, so at least he’s getting one good meal a week.  But, recenly, over the last three months he’s been falling more.  He shows up to my place with new visible scrapes and bruises every week.  He always wears slacks and a button up shirt, sometimes with a sweater.  So, the visible bruising is on his wrists, hands, and face.  In addition to that he *falls down* in front of me once every two weeks or so.  These falls are not little falls.  He trips, looses his balance and just CRUMPLES into a heap on the floor.  Usually face first.  Often he doesn’t even have time to put his hands out to slow his fall.  

Recently, I suggested we move his recliner so that it was out of the walk-way into his living room.  I have noticed that he often bumps into it or starts to stumble when walking through the narrow walk-way to get into his living room, because it’s in the way.  I suggested we move it to the other side of the coffee table, about 2 feet to the right.  And then, before he could protest, I said that if that meant he was too close to the TV, that we could then swap where his desk and TV sit, which would clear his desk chair out from in front of the entrance to the kitchen - removing another hazard.  

Keep in mind:  I DO THIS FOR A LIVING.  I am a personal organizer and I help reorganize and reorder people’s spaces for better work-life flow.  I am not simply making random suggestions.  I’ve thought about this for a while, and, it was a soft suggestion, not an order or an edict. 

But he flipped the fuck out on me.  He dug deep into the past to pull out some horrible bullshit he *did do me* as a kid and tried to weaponize it like it was shit I did to him.  It was dramatastic and awful, and, in hindsight probably an indication that his blood sugar is way off.  Because he was super irrational and kept saying he was shaking. 

I just get to sucked into his fucking tantrums and bullshit, because of a life-long dynamic of screaming fights and hysteria on his part.  I try.  I really do.  But I never recognize the possible low/high bloodsugar behavior until after the fact.  

[anthonysstupiddailyblog]

Anthony’s Stupid Daily Blog (68): Fri 20th May 2022

Back to work today. Fucking Hell this is not how I planned it. I was hoping that when I got back someone from the company I did that assessment for would immediately ring me back, do the interview with me and offer me the job and I'd be able to hand in my notice with this place straight away. Hasn't quite turned out that way. The day before I went on holiday I did a typing / data entry test for this company and the guy at the recruitment company said that I'd done great and that the company were keen to interview me. I reminded him that I was going on holiday the next day and wouldn't be back until the 14th and the guy said that would not be a problem and that he would make sure the company did not ring me until the 14th. On the 12th I was in Pompeii stood looking at Mount Vesuvius from the Temple of Jupiter (Which isn't a takeaway curry place) and an unidentified number rang me. I didn't want to answer it in case it was a fucking scammer and assured myself it couldn't possibly be the company ringing me because I'd specified to the agency guy that I wouldn't be back until the 14th. Well it turns out it them and they left me a voicemail telling me to call them back but they didn't leave me a number. Since then I've been ringing the company and the agency trying to get this interview set up but apparently just looking up who it was rang me and giving me their number is too much of a Herculean task because I still haven't heard from them. I'm still holding out hope that this new place might get in touch with me but I suspect that this agency wanker's incompetence has gone and screwed me out of the job. So it looks like I'm here for at least a little while longer. I had a one to one with my manager and she asked how I was doing. For the first time ever in a job I decided not to bullshit and just be honest. It’s pointless pretending that I’m doing well. My OCD and anxiety is fucking me up royally plus the fact that there are more calls than ever being monitored I can’t shake the feeling that I’m constantly being watched which is making me paranoid. My manager asked why someone with such anxiety would want a job in customer service and I explained that it was the admin and the systems that were causing this more than the customers. I've only been here six months and I'm already getting hounded about the length of time I'm putting them on hold, the time it takes me to finish the admin, the amount of questions I'm asking blah blah. I didn't think it was going to be as regimented as this and I also assumed there would be some sort of script for us to follow but there isn't. To her credit my manager did point me in the direction of a free BUPA healthcare professional who I might call in order to discuss my anxiety with because although my current therapist is really great she is also very expensive. I'm still going to try my best in this job but hopefully these new guys will get back to me and I won't be here much longer.

[rezilient-m3]

March 2

I feel like the dumbest girl. And I’m sitting here crying because some guy said we’d meet today and didn’t msg at all today. He was from the fb dating app, added him to snap awhile ago, and we have spoken on and off for bit. Always flirting, and he’d always joke about meeting, then take it back. His excuse the first time was that he’s always busy working. Fine I thought. I was starting to think maybe we’d have a lot in common and would get along. Maybe my first mistake was giving the whole thing high expectations. But he’s Cree, like me, same age, and same job field. His Cree name was almost the same as mine, which I joked about having Thunderbird babies. 

Anyways, yesterday he says he wanted to meet, I said I didn’t believe him and he was bluffing. “No, serious this time. I’m free anytime after 5.” We had plans just to chill and go for coffee. But he never msged. I replied to his snap meme that said something about wanting attention, and I said “fucking same”, and all he said was “word lol”. Like, how lame. lol. I laughed it off, like I wasn’t bothered by any of it, cuz whatever, his loss. But got a random message from a stranger on that app I spoke about earlier, asking how my day was, and said I was supposed to meet someone and it didn’t happen. His response was, “aww, that must suck” or something, and I felt the hurt in my chest. 

I think it’s just because I felt like I liked him, and was genuinely excited to meet this one. I’m trying not to internalize this rejection, but fuck. How could I not? Why couldn’t he just say he changed his mind? 

Maybe it’s partly my fault. I should have been the bigger person to msg him, but fuck that. lol. I hate this. I wouldn’t even know how to talk to him anymore too. How dumb. 

Anyways, about Alex. I hired a lawyer and paid the 1500 dollar retainer (thanks to my dad). I printed out all these forms I’m supposed to fill out. I don’t know how though. It tells me to put down all of my monthly expenses of bills, rent, food, necessities, toiletries, car, gas... like EVERYTHING. And another set of forms that tells me to list the price of everything he and I own, which the only thing valuable I own is my suv, and that isn’t even worth much. Besides the point. I just don’t know anything about anything. i don’t know if he has RRSPs or investments, how much all his shit is worth. This is honestly starting to feel like a bad idea. Maybe all I’ll ask for is to put shared custody on paper, instead of trying to get half of all the assets? Idk. Maybe I’m just being chicken. 

I felt like this before. I didn’t want to do it. But the way it was explained to me, by my therapist, and the lawyer was, Alex and I had a life where our kid was living comfortably (at the lifestyle we gave him, k?) And when we separated, the kids are supposed to be still living that way, without much changing for him. But with Alex keeping his money, and me just getting by (or if I didn’t have my dad, we’d be below poverty), D would soon notice the difference. And as he kept getting older, the question they asked me was, “Who do you think he is going to choose to keep going to, if Disney dad can get him anything he asks for and mom is trying to figure out what to eat for supper?” Like, my dad wouldn’t ever let us starve, but I understood what they meant. Plus, his money was “ours” because me staying home, keeping up with the house, and taking care of the kids let him going out to work and making that money happen. If it wasn’t for me, he couldn’t do that, our pay a substantial amount having had to pay someone else do it. These explanations led me to agreeing to go through with it, and now I feel stuck, because I don’t know anyone to help me with this, and my lawyer would probably charge me the time to sit down with me and do it. So annoying. 

Anyways, on a brighter, but still suckier note, I’m 2 and a half weeks from finishing school. I’m stuck with 2 major assignments, that I’m slacking off on, and about 6 assessments starting next week. Then, my practicum on the 21st. Wow. Maybe I’ll just delete all these guys that stress me out. lol. Even stupid guy that I said likes me, but does nothing. I almost made him come here the other night. Before me and thunderbird dude made plans. I told this guy to come over, cuz I was feeling lonely and said fuck it. What did he say? “I’m too stoned right now.” AND A, the guy I spent the weekend with like a month ago, I went and told him I missed him over the weekend, because I did and he made me feel comfortable. HIs basic response was “aweeee”. Hahaha, like wtf.? I swear I’m not ugly, I can hold a conversation, and I honestly feel like if I dated someone, they’d be lucky to have me. Sooooooo? But whatever. I’m over it. Guys suck. 

[frostbite883-archive]

Well, either of your ideas that you had written was already written before (albeit differently) by someone else a while back basically (out of the fact that I made questions similar to the ones I gave you which resulted in tumblr bloggers giving me different answers to them). 

gingerly-writing: to this ask I filled out for them. I’m pretty fucking pissed off, and I’ve had my fury checked out by uninvolved parties to make sure it was righteous. It’s righteous.

Me: Not entirely so.

gingerly-writing: First off, feel free not to send people rude-ass messages after they’ve put time and effort into coming up with a response to you? 

Me: The top comment there (the “Well, either of your ideas” comment) wasn’t really the rude comment I typed out. The other one was (which I’m sorry for) which you didn’t copy paste in your third post so other bloggers can see it as that public evidence is vital for context.

gingerly-writing: Also, I thought you were going to use my idea and have me to thank you or something for it when I came up with something like my asks I gave you and something to the equivalent of your “heroes and villains school” stuff before I replied to your ask box sometime ago. Basically, wanting me to give you undeserved credit for my very own idea. I certainly didn’t know you were going to make comments like this either.

So, I actually have a hero and villain school in my own original superhero works, and I did come up with a solution to this one. If you’re writing your own original stuff, please change this up, but if you’re writing fic I don’t mind if you nick it wholesale (as long as you tag me in it! I’d love to read it).

Y’know, for me, this was just background information, but now I kind of want to write a whole book focusing on it.

gingerly-writing: It took me a good 45 minutes to get tumblr to accept my answer to your damn ask, so you’ve just made that a waste of my time.

Me: Maybe. But, from below, you were not bettering the situation.

gingerly-writing: Also, feel free to simply not respond rudely to people’s posts, at all, ever, especially if you were the one who sent the ask in the first place. I didn’t need to know how shit my ideas are, thanks.

Me: Yeah...not really sure where you’re going with this. Are you saying your ideas were horrible because they were based on my idea and how I spread more around on tumblr? Or do you think I’m saying your ideas were horrible because you think I’m somehow saying, implying or thinking that? 

Either why, that comment of yours was not helpful for anyone. Yourself included.

gingerly-writing: Also, as a more general PSA, feel free not to send identical asks to multiple bloggers. 

Me: Not happening. As I can sent any ask at any time by my own free will. As is my right.

gingerly-writing: Seeing someone else answer the same ask really disincentivizes me to answer it, even if it’s in my queue: I worry about stepping on the other responder’s feet, 

Me: Well, to be fair, I can understand the sentiment there. Still, what you say next will lower that sentiment.

and also, it’s motherfuckin rude, you absolute assclown. 

Me: Childish name calling. So...how is it you’re any better with what you had said. What would you benefit from doing that other then venting out your anger. ...Which ironically enough I didn’t even do here and wouldn’t now just so I won’t sink to your level of rudeness. 

gingerly-writing: And if you do send multiple asks and get similar responses, maybe it’s simply because it’s a good fucking idea. If you get different answers, maybe it’s because we’re all different fucking people with awesome different ideas that I’m not sure you deserve.

Me: You know what, I’ll be upfront, and say that I should have not jumped the gun and assumed the worse and could’ve worded my comments better (or just replied privately about the whole matter), you, on the other hand, didn’t do much of anything to resolve the situation as best as you should’ve. In the end, you basically became me. But a little worse.

gingerly-writing

: feel free to block me on the way out

Me: Already did. I’m hoping you don’t treat other bloggers the way you had treated me. Especially if they were nicely bringing up stuff to your attention among other things. And especially, even, in the ‘ginning once they asked you something.

gingerly-writing: #I try to be nice on this site #but I have my limits #and now I'm in rage mode #the asks and the answers #rude #ungrateful

Me: As if you were better with your own fair share of rudeness that might be on the level of hackedmotionsensors’. 

hackedmotionsensors: THIS PERSON IS SO WEIRD!! All they ever do is send these bizarre questions about the DCEU being in MCU!

Me:  Actually, that's not ALL I do. I asked other questions too. And my qs aren't as weird as any one else's either, hacked. Best to not go by assumptions and call people weird for what they say or do. Be it in front of their faces or behind their backs. Also, don't like me or my qs? Then either block me or just blacklist my name.

See ya...never, I guess.

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

Here’s some context on what I was talking about on this post:

TumblrFrostbite: How would you want schools for villains' kids (for Marvel villains' kids, for DC villains' kids, etc) to be ran? And who would you want to run those schools?

gingerly-writing: This is one of those things that I’ve put way too much thought into after you sent this, because I love stuff like this. The question is, are the villains running this school for their kids, or is this something the heroes are putting on to try and rehabilitate the kids while their parents are in prison? I’ll assume the former, but the latter is also super interesting to me.

Disclaimer: this will have a strong DC bent because I have little to no interest in most Marvel villains, whereas I could yack on about DC villains for month. In fact, I might just stick to DC in its entirety because other than Loki (who would be the worst teacher ever, he would encourage so much shenanigans) most of the Marvel villains I know are Nazis or space monsters. Second disclaimer: I’ve watched a lot more animated DC movies and read a lot more fic than I ever have comics, soooooo these depictions might not be comic book accurate. Fanboys, please don’t come for me…but I also don’t really care that much tbh. I like the incarnations that I like. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Actual answer under the cut because this got hella long. Hope you like it!

Sponsor: Lex Luthor. Funds the school, shows up to speech day to give speeches and hand out prizes, gives the brightest and most stable kids scholarships to work at Lex Corp in the holidays. Absolutely 100% has his own ends, no one knows what they are. Chucks buckets of money at every problem. Likes to bring the school up at fancy soirees in front of Bruce Wayne and Oliver Queen just to piss them off.

Headmaster: Deathstroke (or rather, Slade from Teen Titans). Has no idea how he wound up with this job, complains about the pay 24/7 even though it’s in the range of millions of dollars a term paid in untraceable cash from 50 different countries. Basically ends up like Gordon Ramsey: threatens to assassinate the teachers and parents all the time, has actually taken out some abusive parents, but is weirdly, gruffly nice to the younger kids. Teachers self-defence to all the non-powered kids and weapons to anyone who’s interested and has the discipline for it. Grudgingly tolerates old man jokes.

Deputy Headmistress: Talia al Ghul. Absolutely terrifies all the older kids, mothers the younger ones. In charge of who graduates and who doesn’t; will only let kids graduate if their villainy won’t critically endanger their own life. Sometimes shows up in the backs of random classes and lurks there for ‘assessments’; shows up in more than 50% of Deathstroke’s classes to harass him about his technique. Keeps a photo of Damien on her desk, refuses to acknowledge it’s there if someone asks about it.

Biology: Poison Ivy. Excellent teacher, surprises both herself and her students at how brilliant she is. Everyone wants to take biology with her even if they have no villainous interest in the subject. Litters her lectures with feminist rants, eco-warrior tirades and talks about LGBT+ rights, will gently but forcefully correct anyone who disagrees with her. Runs a vegetable outside the school and encourages the kids to get closer to nature. Just enough passing knowledge of memes to make her older students roll about with laughter: ‘Batman’s homophobic because he inconveniences me and I’m gay’. PDAs with her girlfriend in the corridors.

Women and gender studies: Harley Quinn Ivy’s girlfriend, part time teacher. Wanted to take up the psychology post, but after she seriously suggested sharing it with Jonathan Crane (Scarecrow) no one wanted to let her anywhere near it. Knows every meme. Gives great relationship advice, will kill anyone’s abusive boyfriend with no questions asked. Brings her hyenas to school in a ridiculously massive handbag. Has her own locker.

Thievery, sneaking around, Gotham safety: Catwoman. Definitely brings in her cats to act as therapy/comfort animals for the kids. Unofficial therapist; absolutely mothers anyone from Gotham, no exceptions. Brings the kids super expensive (stolen) jewellery to wear on prom night and for big dances, charges in secrets about their parents.

Business and Economics, with a side in mind control: Maxwell Lord (in the more business-orientated editions). Keeps to himself, is one of those teachers who doesn’t actually seem to like kids. Always wears a freshly pressed suit. Bit of an asshole. Selina tripped him down the stairs once.

Magic: supposedly taught by Felix Faust, but Klarion enrolled as a student just to show up in his lectures and argue. Every. Single. Point. Magic classes have turned into a magical war several times. They can only get along when someone else turns up claiming magic isn’t real. Faust has a lecture prepared for the non-believers, Klarion has a fireball. Circe often shows up in these classes, ‘borrows’ all the female students for private lessons and turns all the boys into pigs. Pig-Klarion does not appreciate this.

Physics and advanced thermodynamics: Killer Frost. Gets on really well with the Gotham City Sirens; they have cocktail parties in the staff lounge every second Thursday. Is paid by other villains kidnapping Firestorm so she can feed. Absolutely has favourite students and students she hates with a passion; has been known to freeze some students to their chairs in lieu of detention.

Other random villains that show up from time to time: - Flash’s Rogues Gallery. Created the infamous ‘Rogues week’ at the end of the year where every single one of them shows up and helps the students wreak absolute chaos across the school. Can never be stopped from showing up and starting this. Captain Cold comes grudgingly, sits in Slade’s office and has a drink with him; the rest of the Rogues join in with the chaos a bit too enthusiastically. Best week for the seniors. The younger rogues would totally be students and help to smuggle the older ones in for Rogues week.

- Black Manta: shows up sometimes, teaches a few lectures, leaves. Always on super random topics, often tangentially related to his latest evil scheme. The students have a betting pool that reawakens after each visit on how his talk will relate to his next scheme. Literally no one understands why he shows up. Doesn’t get paid, doesn’t seem to enjoy it. ?????? Has great on-land fashion sense though. A lot of the older students have lowkey crushes on him

- Cheetah takes advanced genetics and many other complex of aspects of science. Only shows up to teach special classes for the seniors. High fives Ivy in the corridors.

- Deadshot. Sometimes shows up and interrupts Deathstroke’s guns lessons (poor guy can never teach a lesson in peace), always gets chased out of the school. Gets teary eyed over the young female students kicking ass. Doesn’t seem to do anything useful but somehow gets paid a salary. Sleeps in the gym when he’s on the run from Amanda Wakker/Batman.

- Hugo Strange keeps showing up in disguises and trying to get the psychology job. Last time it was just a fake moustache. What is he even hoping to achieve.

- Merlyn shows up when he’s bored to host archery competitions on the front lawn. Mostly does this when Oliver Queen is in town. Keeps saying he’s going to pick a protégé out of the best archers and never does because the Arrow Clan kids annoy him so much he’s wound up thinking he hates kids. Actually loves kids, pretends to be snooty and above them though. 100% has to prove he’s still the best archer at every competition, even the one for 12 year olds.

TumblrFrostbite: If the super villain academy children, by the time they hit twenty, had to do some VERY impressive villainous in order to graduate, what type of villainous stuff would you have the rookies villains do to not only graduate, but also to be considered as full fledged villains?

gingerly-writing: So, I actually have a hero and villain school in my own original superhero works, and I did come up with a solution to this one. If you’re writing your own original stuff, please change this up, but if you’re writing fic I don’t mind if you nick it wholesale (as long as you tag me in it! I’d love to read it).

My thought was: all villains are going to be different, with different strengths and gifts. Sending them all to, I don’t know, infiltrate an island or fight Black Canary (which no one would win, let’s be honest) doesn’t seem fair on those it doesn’t suit. I was really struggling to come up with something that could work for everyone that didn’t force them to work in a team, because, well…villainous teams never work so well. Too many egos and whatnot.

My solution was: have the kids pick their own challenges. Make it their end of final year project. They submit a fully researched plan, all the way from the developmental stages to the final polished article. Plans like ‘killing Batman’ or ‘blowing up the planet’ are swiftly vetoed, but as long as they’re convincing enough the plan can get as elaborate and dangerous as they like. Half the marks come from the plan itself, and half for execution. Sometimes, my particularly vindictive kiddos make their plan to screw over their nemesis’ plan; I particularly enjoy when their plans are both to screw over each others’ plans. That gets entertaining.

They’re assigned a teacher whose knowledge base best fits with the plan the kid wants to execute, and they submit and resubmit and re-resubmit it to improve and refine their scheme until it’s as perfect as it’s going to get. Then, with no further outside help, they have to execute it.

This method lets you titivate the grand finale to best suit your plot needs. Your character has a serious nemesis? Pitch them against each other. Parental grudge? Make their aim to foil their parent’s plans. Hero that they hate? Plan to ruin their day. Plus, you can shove in bureaucratic nightmares and whatever other problems you can dream up (sabotage, indecision, dreams too grand to execute) into the planning stages.

I’m not sure you could do anything in a school situation to make the outside world consider them ‘real villains’: that would take time, money, and a body count, all things a school probably can’t afford to have on their books, villainous or not. But a huge, large-scale, dramatic graduating plan probably wouldn’t hurt any young villain’s rep!

Y’know, for me, this was just background information, but now I kind of want to write a whole book focusing on it. xx

[tierra]

When you fucking love science...

Post 17/30

OKAY. Take 3. I finally learned from my first 2 mistakes of trying to type my blog up on the website itself-apparently all you have to do to delete your whole post is tap outside the window and bye-bye 30 minutes of thoughtful introspective words.....

Back to science. I’ve learned a lot about my body over the past year or so. Thanks to my functional medicine doctor, physical therapist, acupuncturist, co-workers (physical and occupational therapists), and ofcourse, google, I now feel more in control of my body than ever before. This. This is a feeling I have never knew I needed- I never fully understood could be possible.

QUICK flashback to how I felt at age 13/14: Constant constipation (TMI- sorry not sorry). Constant heart burn (totally normal for a teenager, right...wait what???). Chronic anxiety and difficulty focusing. Overweight and insecure. Poor memory (especially short term). Poor sleeping habits due to aforementioned anxiety and overall abdominal discomfort. All these things made me feel so out of control of my body. At least once a month, I would pace in the bathroom for hours at night thinking I was going to puke while also having mild panic attacks thinking “why does my body hate me??”

Worst yet, it didn’t make any bit of sense to me at the time because I ws doing everything everyone told me to do to make me feel good. I was a year-round swimmer, I ate low-fat and low-carb foods (ever-since learning about Weight Watchers and trying to eat similarly), I took ant-acids and miralax every day. WHY did I still feel so terrible?

My mom’s solution: drink more water. (LOL-she may have had me there. But really? Water is going to cure my heartburn and anxiety and constipation that has been happening for years? Thanks mom, but I think there’s more..)

My dad’s solution: well, let’s face it, he just wanted me to be happy, even if it meant feeding me comfort food that was slowly killing my insides. “What’s one milkshake really going to do?”

My doctor’s: drink less milk (he may have been on to something there) and take a daily stool softener. At 14????? For the rest of my life???? UM FUCK NO.

So why do I love science so much? Because I have cured almost all of my above symptoms without a single synthetic medication. Without taking laxatives or any daily medication (aside from my natural digestive enzyme). I feel great throughout my whole body more than 90% of the time.

It’s been a solid year since starting my lifestyle change of no grains, no dairy or no sugars. (The no sugars part has definitely been most challenging... for anyone wondering). I thought it would be annoying, a pain in the ass, to cook separate from Chaz, expensive (that part is slightly true, but not for everyone), and just an added stressor to my anxiety-ridden life. Guess what? It has literally been NONE of those things. Not even annoying to cook separate from Chaz... believe it or not (to anyone who knows how much my boyfriend despises most vegetables).

Not to brag, but I am so fucking good at reading my body now. I have a slight headache? It was probably the sugar in my kombucha this morning. Haven’t gone to the bathroom today? Probably those 3 paleo banana muffins I had with the excess flour and coconut sugar. Sore muscles? I haven’t been drinking enough water and haven’t engaged in my daily yoga. Anxious day at work? I didn’t meditate and get my brain ready for my day. Seriously, I felt like I had it DOWN. (And still feel like I do!)

So when I hurt my pelvis/tailbone 4 weeks ago, I did not realize my body would take a toll as severely as it did. My anxiety since this has risen exponentially, my pain has taken over my brain for much of my day, and I am fearful to over-stretch or over-work it in fear of more pain.

Cue science.

This disorder actually has a name and a perfectly logical explanation! It’s called CPP or chronic pelvis pain, and is prevalent in over 15% of women in the US. The reason it persists is that it is often caused by fear-avoidance in women (Alappattu & Bishop, 2011). Simply put, my fear for more pain is exacerbating my current pain. Here’s some of the supporting evidence:

“People who confront pain adapt positively to an injury; they are motivated to return to their prior activities and view pain only as a temporary annoyance.

“People at the other extreme, who avoid pain, are motivated to avoid activities and experiences that they perceive as painful. This avoidance behavior is believed to lead to negative physical and psychological consequences, such as immobility and increased reinforcement of the discrepancy between pain sensation and pain experience and behaviors.” (Alappattu & Bishop, 2011; pg 5-6).

>>>I used to avoid pain at all costs. With my new-found confidence and ability to control more of my body, this has recently started to shift. I no longer see pain as negative and try to embrace most painful experiences as they relate to me trying new things. I’ve been dirt-biking and snowboarding and made a few painful falls, however, when it sticks around for this long, it’s difficult for me to see the light. My patience diminishes. I want control of my body NOW (said in voice of Veruca Salt from Willy Wonka).

In one study, pain sensitivity was assessed with thermal stimuli at the forearm, which is a pretty good distance away from the low back. Results suggest that overall pain sensitivity was enhanced in the patients who had catastrophizing, or extremely negative, thoughts in relation to their pain.

“This may blur the lines between an actual stimulus and an expected stimulus.”

Now you’re just shooting your self in the foot because you’re becoming classically conditioned to feel more pain than should be really occurring. Expecting something that is not real. (So like, the exact definition of anxiety?)

So, long story long, the more negatively I THINK about my injury, the less likely it is to heal. Additionally, the more difficult it will be to heal.

I really needed to read this. Especially today, on a beautiful sunny day like today when I’d LOVE to be hiking or snowshoeing or being outside in the slippery ice and snow. I am not fearful, I am cautious. I am healing. I am accepting of my healing and aware of the precautions I must take. So instead, I will stretch, do my exercises, light housework, and continue my personal development through the weekend.

This all being said, what pain is bad pain and what pain is healing pain? Now that I know WHY, I am curious to learn how to know when my body is healing and how to know if it’s remaining the same. This will be my next question for my PT when I’m able to see her again. I’m still learning so much and by no means was this post a way to say “hey I know everything about this topic!” But rather to talk about how science has helped me so much in my journey to not being ignorant. It’s easy to be ignorant to outside stimuli (e.g., politics, news), because you don’t have to be constantly reminded by it with it following you around- your body on the other hand, will literally remind you any time you move a certain way or go to engage in activities you’re used to before your injury. This is something SO many people take for granted- a healthy, amazing, perfectly-functioning body. Something I’ve decided to vow to NEVER take for granted again.

Hope everyone has a joyful and healing weekend!

All my love,

Tara

[timetogoawaynow]

Melz meets Alexei SL with @MelzWithABite and @AWanderlustCur

Alexei meets Melz

Melz: *I was really starting to wonder why I'd come back. Okay, that wasn't completely true. I'd missed Brie terribly and felt horrible for leaving her for so long. She barely let me out of her sight these days and had taken to sleeping in my bed every night. For such a little girl, she had been through enough in her short life. I only hope I didn't do too much additional damage. So I let her stay attached to my hip as much as possible. I knew the break for Lark was welcome. At least I hoped it was. I wouldn't have to be a genius to pick up on how unhappy Lark was with me either. It had been completely selfish of me to be gone for as long as I  was, but then, it hadn't been the human half’s decision at all. The guilt was still mine, even as now, my wolf chuffed derisively in my mind. Yet another problem I still had to deal with. I was terrified of repressing her, yet terrified of shifting again. Being constantly at war with myself was exhausting.

The fact that I'd come back because of the fanged threat was another unknown frustration, patrols yielding no additional evidence or information so that we were at a dead end there. And as if I didn't have enough to deal with, Lyric's update consisted of a bombshell wrapped up in a time bomb! Now, that wasn't exactly fair. I didn't begrudge him his happiness, but finding out we'd had squatting wolves in our territory for however long that I'd known nothing about didn't sit well, let alone another one that was apparently now staying with her. Plus the fact that he was engaged after a week to an Alpha’s daughter no less?! I was all for standing up to her father, honestly, because fuck that heavy handed alpha wolf bullshit, but talk about a blind side. Needless to say, my coping mechanisms at this point were basically nonexistent, but I was trying. Once I got a read on this second? Or was the the third? New wolf in my territory, I'd be able to try and make heads or tails of the situation. One thing at a time. Glancing at my phone, I rolled my eyes, exhaling a sigh. Of course he was late.*

Alexei: -When I’d gotten Austen’s text I’d been summoned by the Alpha of the area, I started to shove it off. I’d tried to avoid Austen and her little boyfriend as much as possible, staying at home while she was at work, out while she was home. We hadn’t gotten off on the best foot, and I was too damn tired of explaining my shit to people, least of all her. The more I thought about it, the more I was pissed at her dad for what he’d done. I was a fucking part of that pack, and on top of that, his family, and he just dumped me out like trash. Every day made it worse. It didn’t help I stayed mostly intoxicated, but it was better than being high. Heroine was expensive and I was almost broke, and add onto that it was illegal, and it was a step in the right direction. I bummed a ride to the address Austen gave me, not willing to stoop and ask for a ride, I looked down the long road and began to hoof it. I’d never dealt with a female alpha, and I didn’t know what to expect. I wasn’t warm and fuzzy with those types of personalities anyways, more a buck the rules kinda guy, sometimes just because I was bored, but I had to be good today. If she kicked me out of her territory, it could affect Austen and Brent, and I wasn’t that much of an ass. Brent had the gym and Austen her shop, and her boyfriend. I had no one. So it was just her and me and I planned on keeping it that way. I reached the barn door, pushing it open and stepping in, looking around. I smelled only her a while back, so it was really just a formality to check around for others, there were none, but her. Standing in the middle. I kept my distance, ‘bout ten feet, stuffing my hands in my jeans and staring for a moment, then bowing my head slightly- Alpha. Sorry I’m late. Like to make an entrance.

Melz: *Ooooof. Course. I mean, I wasn't expecting an ugly wolf. They really didn't exist. Besides, his cousin was gorgeous. But...damn. did he have to be...damn. Although...eyes narrowing slightly as the good looking loner entered the old been, my alpha senses tingling. Yeah, Alexei James was something more that he was trying really hard not to be, even if I couldn't quite put my finger on it. Some way back memory buried deep was trying to come to life, but I didn't know. Shaking my head before I looked like a comatose idiot, I kept my features blank, giving him a slow, assessing top to bottom once over.* Do you work at a distillery, or are you just doing your part to keep them in business? *Arching a brow, I gave a sniff before starting to make a slow circled walk around him. I hated this posturing bullshit, as anyone that knew me well knew, but I didn't know him. From the sound of things, his home pack didn't give much stock to females, so I didn't want him to think he could waltz in here and run roughshod over me. His uncle was already on my shit list for not only allowing two of his heirs to establish businesses in my territory without as much as a word to me, but because of his disgusting treatment of his own daughter. Yeah, that was one alpha I never wanted to meet for fear that I wouldn't care about containing my wolf in his presence, but I digress. Coming around to face Alexei once more, I met his eyes, held them for a long moment as I let the alpha power fill the air. It was a calculated risk to let my wolf this close to the surface, my eyes turning amber, but it was necessary.* I'm going to need you to be real honest with me about your reason for being on my territory. And what your plan is while you're here, if I decide to let you stay. *I knew Austen’s version of his “why", but I wanted the whole store from him and to see if it meshed with what she'd said.*

Alexei: -When she did her alpha thing, the one that made my wolf cower inside, I realized male alpha, female alpha, it didn’t matter. It was nothing to fuck with. That kind of dive bombed my first plan, which was charm her, but it looked like Austen had already dimed me. Princess must have been all ready to impress the new alpha that she just gave me up. Figured. Like father like daughter. Fine. I never needed anyone to stick up for me. I got myself in this shit, I’d get myself out.- How nice of you to notice my contribution to the fine establishments in your territory. I do my best to be an ass—et. And as the brat may have already told you, my pack put me in time out. So, I have nowhere else to go. Technically, I’m not supposed to have contact with any pack member, which means my family wants me to live under a fucking bridge for a year so I’ll learn not to be a fuckup. -I chuffed, looking down and shaking my head.- Thought I’d get a job, I’m pretty good with my hands, woodwork, maintenance shit. Make some money, get me a place so I don’t have to have the princess on my ass, and wait. -Boy, if I were me, I’d really want me in my territory. What happened to making a good impression? I laughed a bit, reaching up to rub the back of my neck- Look, if you want me to move on, I will. I'm not saying my pack was wrong about me. You asked for honesty, so that’s about as much as I can give you. Truth is… -and I’d been thinking this for days, and it just rubbed me the wrong way, sending me into the bottom of another bottle- I don’t think they’re gonna let me back in. So. It’s whatever. -I hated that alpha shit, that thing that made you spill your guts and not hide shit.- I don’t need a fucking therapist or your pitty, so if you’d ease up I’d really like to shut the fuck up now.

Melz: *I hadn't used my “Alphaness" like this, probably ever. My pack was my family by choice. We'd been through it all since before I was alpha. We'd each taken turns losing our shit, yet been there when we came back or needed a good slap across the face. We'd dealt with imposters before and come out stronger. Whatever had been set in motion, we'd handle it together. So exertion any sort of compulsion hadn't been thought until it had. Worth it though. His side of the story filled in a lot of the blanks Austen’s had left out. At least the picture I was painting in my head was...interesting. Filing certain details away for later, I snorted a laugh as he finished talking, reeling in whatever it was I was doing.* No, you definitely don’t need my pity. You've got plenty of your own. But when your party's over, the pack owns a garage if you're looking for something to do with those hands besides lift a bottle. If you can change an oil, I can give you a few shifts a week. Last thing I need is some drunk ass were going wolfy and attacking a tourist. At least your cousins have kept a low profile. I have a feeling that's not really your style. If you can pull your own weight, I'll give you a shot. *Standing legs shoulder length apart, I let an authoritative flair pulse the air before taking a step back.* Does that sound like something your poor abused ego can handle?

Alexei: Me? Pity myself? -I laughed out loud, shaking my head. It was only then that I took a long moment to really look at her, head to toe in a way she’d know I was looking. She was fucking gorgeous, in that take no shit way, that I am woman hear me roar thing that I loved. In other circumstances, I’d be all over it, but I’d never cower, and it seemed like that might put us at an impass- Woman, you are delusional. All that alpha shit’s gone to your head. You asked for the facts. I told them to you. -probably not the smartest thing to say, but dammit, I didn’t appreciate being called a whiner.- Thanks for the offer of a job, pretty big of you, but I don’t know a thing about cars, and I didn’t come here for charity. Maybe I like lifting a bottle. Maybe… -I smirked, tilting my head- it's exactly what I want to do. Seeing as I’m doing it, that’s probably accurate. So thanks for the offer, but I’m going to have to say no thanks. -I rocked back on my heels a bit, feeling her influence, but as soon as I got my bearings, which was much later than I had hoped, I gritted my teeth a moment and shrugged- Don’t sweat your tourists. I’m not a pup. Only thing they may be in danger of is being given incredible sex by yours truly. Don’t worry about my ego, either. It’s far from abused and going strong. -I wasn’t stupid enough to duck out of an alpha’s presence without being dismissed, but I sure didn’t have to take her ridicule. Insult on injury. I could just as easily move on, and would rather do so, than have her talk down to me like I was nothing.- So, like I said, if you want me to move on, just say the word and I’m fine. Austen and her boytoy will kiss your ass and call you queen. All one big, happy family. But if not, I’d like to get back to the bar I was enjoying and finish my evening. Cute little redhead gave me her number and I don’t want to miss the end of her shift.

Melz: *Oh. Hell no. I'd met a lot of dumb fucks in my day, but this one was at the top of the list. The more insults and disrespect he touted, the angrier I got. My wolf didn't care if he was baiting me in some type of fucked up bid to get himself killed. She was pissed enough about the lax way I let my own pack function, no way she was going to take it from some punk loner wolf who'd been expelled from their home pack already. Fuck no. Before the last word left his lips, I was on him. Sweeping his legs out from under him, I slammed him to the ground and came down on top of him. My growl rumbled through the room as my teeth sharpened, claws extended as I wrapped my partially shifted hand around his throat, deadly points resting just over his jugular. Leaning into his face, my eyes blazing with fury, my voice the gravelly bark of my wolf as I spoke.* The hard way it is. I don't know who the fuck you think you are, but this tough guy loner shit ain't going to get you nothing but killed. Now, it seems like that might be what you're looking for, but fuck you. I'm not that merciful. My pack pulls their fucking weight. You ain't my pack, but you're on my land. I already plan on having words with your uncle, but at least your cousins have contributed to the area with their businesses. I'll be damned if I'm going to start letting your uncle send his trash here too. *Chest heaving, spittle on my lips as my fangs rested there, I held his gaze for a long, long moment. He wasn't getting another shot at this. I would not be a doormat to some broken asshole. I had enough shit to deal with.* You have no idea who you're fucking with, Alexei James and you know nothing about my pack. No one kisses anyone ass around here. That pack hierarchy bullshit is for the birds. But we do respect the positions and work as a unit. I'm not offering you to join, so don't get your hopes up. I was willing to let you lie low for your year if you could follow two rules. Work. And don't be an asshole. Looks like you can't do either, so you've got to go. *I didn't need to justify myself or explain anything to him, but I wasn't going to take his shit. At. All. Pressing in my pin point nails just enough to break the skin, my nostrils flared when I scented his blood before climbing back to my feet. Back to him, I showed him exactly how little of a threat I considered him.* You have an hour to get the fuck out of my territory. I'd wish you luck, but I don't like lying, so fuck you, seems sufficient. *Walking deeper into the barn, I didn't check to see if he'd gone. If he didn't, I'd kill him.*

Alexei: -I’d feared for my life a few times, a few deals gone wrong, a few sunken escapades, but nothing like this. Nothing like her wolf right on me, in my face, and my life in her hands. She should have killed me. Part of me probably wanted her to. But the longer I lay on that barn floor, bleeding, shaking now, I realized a few things.

I had to make it right. My wolf demanded it, and something in the pit of my stomach just wouldn’t let me be this person anymore. Shame rolled over me, and I rolled over onto my knees, my neck bared, my voice low- I’m sorry doesn’t even cover my disrespect. -I swallowed hard, trying to hold back the tears. What kind of fucking man cries? So I sucked it up, kept my eyes to the ground, and continued- You’re right. About me. I had no right to act the way I did. Even offering my life wouldn’t do anything, because you have every right to take it. -I thought of my family, of my mother mostly, and my brothers, how devastated they’d be. How long had it been since I’d thought of anyone but myself? The tears came anyways, but I refused to acknowledge them, my wolf cowering before this alpha, as I begged for my life- Please. Give me another chance. I’ll work wherever you want me to. I’ll do whatever to say. I...don’t have anywhere else to go. I’m at your mercy, and I don’t deserve shit, but I’m asking. Please. -And that was all I could do. I had no other option. If she didn’t kill me, I’d be lucky. But I had to try. I hated what I’d become, and maybe, if I tried, maybe if I cared about my life a bit more, I could make all of this right.-

Melz: *If I was any other Alpha, I'd kill him right then and there. The groveling was nice, but didn't quite cut it. But I hated how black and white every other pack I'd known operated. Black or white. In or out. Live or die. With the paths Zoey, Jessy, Bray, Lyric and I had taken, we should all be dead or disowned. Had been over the years. If it weren't for that one chance we'd each gotten when we needed it most...I didn't owe this wolf anything. And I'd probably regret it, but I wasn't ready to take a life over it. My wolf would, of course, disagree, but I'd taken enough of them.

Glancing back over my shoulder, I raised a brow, not hating the sight of him on his knees begging. I stood for a long time in silence, making him sweat, suffer. Yeah, I was going to spare his life, but that didn't mean I wasn't going to make him pay for his mouth. Let him cower, wonder if these were the last seconds of his life.* Be at the garage at eight am. If you're late. You're gone. Bitch about the job? Finito. Slack off? Pack your bags. Basically if you o anything that pisses me off, take one step out of line, I will end you. *Turning to face him fully once more, I flashed my still elongated teeth, the growl in my voice returning.* Please, try me and think that I'm fucking around. I really hope that you do. Because underestimating me will be the last thing you do. *Long strides closed the distance between us as I shouldered past him and exited the barn. I hated the structure tucked at the back corner of my property. It was only for pack use, and we hardly used it. Without a backward glance, I made my way across the lawn toward the house. That was checked off for now. On to the next disaster on the list.*

Alexei: -I stayed on that barn floor, my arms covering my head, face to the ground for a long time. I didn’t know how long, really. Seems I found myself on my face more often than not these days. When it didn’t feel so shitty, I stood, wiping my face on my shirt and walking out to the road, pushing my thumb out and waited. A few people didn’t bother, but soon, a guy did, and I hopped in the back of the truck after giving him the address to the garage, and I was on my way.

I sleep outside the place, leaned up against the building, so there was no chance of being late. I was hungover as fuck, probably going through some withdrawals, but I stood when the man came to open the place and introduced myself. Respectfully. Weeks passed, and I toed the line so tight. Melz came in periodically, and we didn’t speak, but I was alright with that. Head down, work. Lyric didn’t speak to me either, and that was fine too. I wasn’t there for him. I was shit with cars, but I picked it up fast, gophering, too, and cleaning up the place after everyone left. Some days we’re on the clock. Some days I just came in because if I didn’t, I was gonna be at a bar, and I couldn’t do that right now. There was a small room up above the shop with a shower and stuff, and I stayed there. Nobody said anything, not Melz or Bray or Lyric, and I closed up, but I kept it free from my stuff just incase it became an issue I could just...find another place. Most nights, I fought my demons alone, going to bed early, picking up a few books from this used bookstore beside the place the guys liked to get lunch. Tonight, I pushed the broom across the room and sang a little Willie Nelson.- Maybe I...didn’t love you. Quite as often as I could have. -The acoustics in the garage were great, and singing always seemed to calm me down.- Maybe I...didn’t treat you. Quite as good as I should have. If I made you feel second best, girl I’m sorry I was blind. You were always on my miiiiiiind. You were always on my mind. -Another night in the books. Only a few more hours and I could sleep, making that a few more hours I had to come up with a good excuse to stay put.-

Melz: *I hadn't had high expectations at all for this Alexei guy, I had expected him to turn tail and run and never look back. Needless to say, I was shocked to get a text bright and early the next morning from Bray, asking what he was supposed to do with him. My “bitch work" reply seemed to be all he needed to know, which was fine by me. I had no qualms about him doing all the grunt work at the garage. When he showed up for a few consecutive days, proving that he was somewhat reliable I put him on the schedule. When he showed up for more time than those listed, I pinned a note to the board telling him that I was only paying him for the times he was scheduled. He wanted to keep showing up anyway, fine by me. It rankled that he'd started using the spare room above the garage without permission, but when I went up to remove his shit because of it, there was nothing to throw out the window. Sneaky jerk. Even so, I could tell over the next week that he was actually trying to keep his head down and his nose clean. I'd wait and see for how long.

Finishing up the billing on the 67 Chevy Lyric had just finished the restoration of, my brow furrowed as I heard a voice I never had join to tune pumping from the speakers. I thought I was the only one left. Shutting down my laptop and closing the safe, I let my curiosity take me to the back bay, where I propped my shoulder against the wall and listened. He had a really nice voice. It was a shame I couldn't say anything else positive about him.* Hey, Willie, you about done? I'm ready to lock up. Planning on squatting upstairs again tonight?

Alexei: -I stopped singing immediately, standing up straight, and the embarrassment in my chest was real. I just hoped it didn’t travel to my face. I looked over at my bag by the door, then back at the alpha, and shook my head- No ma’am. I’m almost done. -I held her stare for a moment, then went back to sweeping, doing it much quicker and making a pile before putting it in the dustpan and dumping it in the trash. I put the broom back where it went, walked over and grabbed my pack, and walked to the door. I’d gotten used to being invisible there, so it was odd when she spoke to me, and I didn’t want to take carte blanc and start a full fledged conversation if that wasn’t her intention. I knew a few shelters, but it was iffy if they had a bed this late. Guess I’d go and find out.- Have a good night. -I waved, pushing both arms in the pack and hoisting it on my back, pushing the door open carefully. I guessed I’d have to find a permanent place, seeing as she obviously minded that I stayed there. I could, in a month or so. That wasn’t long. Brent would let me in to the gym to shower, I think, and...it wouldn’t be too bad. I stopped outside the door as it closed behind me, putting the hood on my hoodie up and stuffing my hands in my pockets. Walking was good for my health-

Melz: *Brows raised as I watched him finish, I was surprised that none of his bravado from out first meeting came out. He didn't seem able to shut himself up before, now he might as well have been a mute. Could it be that sobriety made him meek? Standing back with the door held opened when he grabbed his back that looked like it held everything he owned, my brows now furrowed in confusion. I almost didn't ask. It was none of my business what.he did or where he stayed, except that it was if he was going to keep sneaking around, staying in the upstairs room like no one noticed. Calling after him as he began to cross the lot, I didn't chase him. He'd hear me.* Hey, I thought you were staying at your cousin's place? Why do you need to use the upstairs anyway?

Alexei: -I turned back, shocked a bit that she’d care where I stayed. My impression when I left the barn was that she was done with me, and even at work day in and day out, she didn’t seem to give me the time of day.- I can’t. She can throw a fit all she wants about being independent, but she’s pack, and I can’t associate. -I winced a bit, pointing at my healing black eye- Brent reminded me. -I waited, not sure what to do now, hanging onto the straps of my backpack- Do you need anything else? -part of me wanted to just ask to use the room, but it seemed I still had too much pride and a lot to learn. Maybe a few months sleeping outside would be...a character lesson, maybe that’s what I should call all this. A lesson in character.-

Melz: *Goddamn, this guy was something else. Too proud to ask for anything even when he had literally nothing else? Grinding my teeth, my mind warred with itself. If anyone knew broken and beaten and how it either caused lashing out or shutting down it was me. Hell, I should be the poster girl for building up brick walls encased in steel and topped with barbed wire. My own pride didn't want me to offer something he didn't ask for, but if I wanted to be different from the way other Alphas operated, I'd have to act like it. If I didn't help, it didn't seem like anyone would. He wasn't my pack, but he was connected to someone I now considered under my protection. Damn my penchant for adopting strays…

Blowing out a long sigh, I dropped my arms to my sides and unbleached my jaw.* Hey, asshole, if the pavement get too...pavementy, the room is yours. I pretty much was considering your unpaid shifts as covering your rent. Just don't go hooking up the ultra deluxe cable packet and we'll be straight. Or sleep on the street and prove absolutely nothing to no one but the fact that you're an idiot. It really won't phase me. *Hitting the key fob, I headed towards my Mercedes, cursing him out in my mind as I went.*

Alexei: -I stood still, just watching her, wondering where the punchline was. No one, no wolf, did anything for anyone like me. I’d realized that in the last few days. You were either working to benefit the pack or you were out. At the shop, I was working to benefit the pack, just not mine. Instead of a place, I was working for my life, my right to exist here. And that was fine. But this was...she owed me nothing. Before she got in her car, I spoke carefully- Thank you. -And I turned back toward the shop, heading inside to lock up. My hands were shaking, but I wouldn’t even acknowledge it. I simply climbed the stairs and put my stuff down, looking around. I took out my few pair of clothes I’d bought, setting them on the bed. I put “Stranger” by Albert Camus on the nightstand. I took a family photo and set it there too. Then I sat heavily on the bed and put my head in my hands. I couldn’t do this all the time. I didn’t want to be in my head. I wasn’t this person. I didn’t want to think anymore.

Shedding my jacket, I left it on the bed, with my shoes, and walked outside, jogging to the edge of the woods. I stripped, hid my clothes, and the shift had never felt so good. My wolf took over, and I immediately threw my head back and howled. Here, the loss of my pack was deepest. Here, I couldn’t hide. But I could run. So I did.-

Melz: *Shaking my head as he turned and walked back to the garage, I was surprised he even let me see that he was taking me up on the offer. Blowing out yet another exasperated breath, I climbed behind the wheel of my car, put the top down, and was off. Merging onto the highway, hair blowing in the wind, the howl of the wolf that carried on the breeze had my breath hitching. Eyes closing briefly, my heart ached for the pain that filled it. What was I going to do with this one?*

[justalonesomepotato]

Rant? Personal Talk? Eh?

It feels wrong, weird, stupid even. Its makes my brain go so muddled, and it makes my chest start to ache, whenever I start typing or explaining. I want to explain to these people why, I want to figure this out and try to solve the riddle that is my literal mind, but whenever I start writing everything feels wrong. It feels so fucking pathetic when people are going through so much more. It feels so open and exposed, and nothing terrifies me more than that. It feels like useless, not worth the effort, because for all the anxiety that its going to produce, I know that only one person is going to pay attention. And this is the person that I am most terrified to know. Talking about personal crap is one of my biggest personal struggles, but I’ve always found it harder to talk about things with people I know than people I don’t know. Words are a hard thing to muster. So I don’t know how far into this I’m going to go, how much of the fucking long, long, long-ass haul I’m going to rant about. No matter how much I talk about, I always seem to come away wishing I had said more, or thinking of more that I needed to say. So, I guess we’ll get started? Now the awkward place is where to start, heh. I guess we’ll start from the beginning. My Mum is from a a bad background, abusive parents, leaving home and moving away when she was very young. She was pretty much forced into marriage with another disgusting, perverted man, my father. He didn’t do much use, with my Mum doing all the housework and home care while we lived on a farm, paying for all the expenses, caring for us, etc. Fortunately they divorced when we were quite young, which wasn’t so great for my Mum. She was left alone on a big farm having to manage all the expenses and massive tasks, young children, no family support, and continued trouble with my father. The same man who went behind my mothers back and befriended her family. To this day, he visits and has a close relationship with her abusive family, absolutely adoring tempting and teasing her. Later on, she started dating another man. An alcoholic, an abuser, another lazy asshole. We moved. She gave birth my younger sister, which to this day suffers the effects of an alcoholic background and highly violent behavior. He couldn’t deal with a child, left us to move across the other side of the country somewhere. He too provided my mother with absolutely nothing to assist her, and the court is still chasing for the debt he owes. Myself and my younger brother continued to see my father, who also remarried to a woman with two children. She was horrendous, still is… A woman who slaps her children in dedication to her religion. He would spoil us with outings and sweets, but he was never there when it mattered. There were times when he would slip up, make comments, curse, get drunk. He put ideas in our heads, made us says, manipulate us. Things went downhill when I got ill. I don’t know how it happened, where it came from, why it was happening. I don’t recall anything from that time, about how I was feeling, or how I looked apart from pictures my Mum had of me. I got diagnosed with anorexia nervosa and obsessive compulsive disorder, and was in and out of hospital visits, therapists offices, doctors officers. I was probed and touched and questioned. There was a time when another alcoholic, crude family member made me strip off my clothes until I was naked, and stand in front of the mirror while they poked and chastised me. There were times when things were particularly bad. My Mum got uncontrollably angry at one point, screamed and threw glasses at me because I couldn’t eat. I got scared, called my father, and he called the police. When they arrived, they ridiculed me for a while about how I should respect my mother. I agree, but I don’t think it was the best solution for a terrified child. There was a time in the heat of summer when I was locked away in my bedroom for days, because I was told no one wanted to see my face. One time at my fathers house, I couldn’t eat, my stepmother left, told me that it was my fault her marriage was being ruined. And one of the worst nights… When I was locked in a hot car, yelled and screamed at while my father stood back smirking, only to come home where I thought I was safest and have a bottle of pills thrust in my face, demanding that I take them and quote “never have to be seen again.” After that, I moved into my mothers house where I am now. He used to try to send me stuff, until I started fighting back and telling him no. He used to send my cards with creepy quotes, one time for a birthday sending me poems of rape, incest and domestic abuse against women. Around the same time, I found out that he as one of the authors, that he used to get my mother involved in the production of his little stories. Schools always been hard… Through it all, I’ve always been the weird, anxious outcast kid that gets laughed at and things thrown at me. Highschool was alright at first, until my anxiety started getting worse. When I was 15 years old, I started self harming… I thought it was bad back then, heh. When I was 16, I tried to commit suicide three times, everytime unknown to everyone but myself. Twice with suffocation, once with pills. I could never go through with it, no matter how much I wanted it at the time. It was around this time that I made my deepest cut. It probably needed stitches, bleeding for 3 days straight, but I dealt with it on my own beneath my school skirt. The anxiety got worse. I tried working in hospitality when I was 16, but I found myself throwing up before and after work due to the anxiety of it. My coworkers laughed at me, being the awkward, clumsy kid, and there was no reason for me to stay, so I left. I’m at a point now, where my anxiety is so fucking bad that even the simplest of things is a struggle… Talking to others, eye contact, being called on, paying for things, leaving my home, anything Social, noise, crowds, shaking hands, revealing my body in any way, assessments… Each and everyone gives me an anxiety attack. I hate my fucking hands because of all they’ve suffered and continuing to suffer, showing the extent of my anxiety, past disorders and childhood scarring. So much so, that now with my anxiety peaking so high, I have to wear a jumper/sweater/cardigan to pull over my hands all year round. I avoid any form of hand contact, my hands fucking disgust me, and people only stare with judgement when they finally see or notice. T-That’s something I’ve never admitted before, and never will again. A few weeks ago, I had a school retreat that was compulsory to attend. It was one of the most open experiences of my life, and it terrified me. When we were forced to go on a date with someone of the opposite sex, I physically couldn’t. When I had locked myself away, and I was crouched on the ground unable to breathe, I knew how bad my anxiety and the pressure had gotten. A coupe of teachers made me come out and talk with them, while I was gagging on a fucking anxiety attack. These are people I see everyday, and now I cant even fucking look at them, I’m so ashamed that anyone had to see me like that. Its been a few weeks since then, and its still managing to get worse, everything has. For years now, I’ve been struggling with another illness… Doctors have bounced around with diagnosis’, but nothing fits. Nausea, throwing up, dizziness, fatigue, weakness, headaches, pain in my sides and back, excruciating pain down my legs… Other stuff has started happening too; hair falling out, problems with my skin, bruising, joint pain. I have an idea, but I don’t want to say it incase it might be true… Maybe I’m just exaggerating. No one knows the extent of that either, what's truly happening with my health and how much I've physically deteriorated over the past year or so. On top of that, there is the constant never ending anxiety, the self harm, the panic attacks, the depressive episodes that draw me away from others at months on end. I will hopefully be going to university next year, despite that causing us more debt, and worrying me about my anxiety which will no doubt be sky rocketing with this unfamiliarity. The future terrifies me, how bad my anxiety will be when everything is so unfamiliar, how bad it will get when I have to do so much scary adult stuff. My head is filled with this all day, every day, and I don’t want any one else to have to experience that. I don’t want people to have to deal with me, I don’t want people to experience that burden. And even if they insisted, I physically can’t, not with everything in my being, I can’t. No one knows about this story, absolutely no one knows about my whole story out there. Even this here, this is not my whole story and there are many elements I have avoided speaking of. People call me weird and stupid and an outcast, even my friends look towards me with judgement, and I ducking hate myself for it. But even so, they could never know what was really happening behind the happy, carefree mask. So I’ve well and truly accepted that I’m going to be alone for a long while, until I’ve done what I need to, and I can allow myself leave. I don’t trust anyone that much to get that close, it terrifies me to get that close, to reveal myself in that way only to be consistently judged as I have in the past. I know how people respond, but they don’t know it like I do, how corrupt absolutely everything else and how every single aspect of life is strenuous on me and those around me. Those people who insist otherwise… You don’t know me, and you will hopefully for my sake and yours never get the chance. So that’s why… That’s why I can’t… That’s why I’m like this. I’m sorry. 

[punishandenslavesuckers]

A Joan Bright character study. Assume Joan takes a less passive approach to Damien’s influence in her life. Assume she’s sitting in her car with the engine running and he’s on the sidewalk in front of her. Assume there’s six months between this moment and the moment she first met him. (ao3)

PRESENT DAY:

He’s not very careful.

Why would he be careful? No one would ever hurt him, right? Ever. How could they bear to bring him harm?So he’s walking to the beach alone at night, cutting through the bad part of town. Joan wonders if chemicals have an effect on his power; if she drugged him or got him drunk or just hit him over the head, would he not be able to focus enough? Or would his panic make him stronger? Could she disable him? If so, what then?Dope him and… then what, Batwoman? Keep him tied up in your basement?

Give him to the AM.

Give him to Ellie.

Ellie would tear him apart. Easy. She’d disassemble the mechanics of his personality at a glance. She’d crack him open and engineer his brutal deconstruction. His reconstruction. His surgically designed weaponization and... Joan grips the steering wheel and watches Damien’s back. He’s drinking a soda, watching a bonfire from the edge of the parking lot. He’s illuminated by the street lamp, dressed in the same jeans he was wearing during his session. But the jacket is nicer. Not the hoodie he wore to see her. Is he trying to look normal?

She thinks about running him down. Let’s the idea live in her for a while. Let’s it breathe.

(Not here though. This isn’t the opportunity. A road somewhere, a lonely curve of highway along a guardrail or a wall. It takes so little trauma to break the fragile machines that keep a heart beating, a brain lit up. Bleeding out internally, ribs crushed along the flank -- that would do it. Make it solid hit and run. It would have to be done right the first time. There would be no circling back.)

He’s leaning against a wood fence. A man passing him toward the beach stops and turns to talk to him. Damien glances at the man, shakes his head. The man’s expression in the lamp light is confused and a little desperate. He’s got a beer in one hand. Tipsy. She can’t see what Damien’s response is with his back to— what the hell? The other man drops his beer and yanks Damien forward, gripping his head, thumbs hooked up behind his jaw. He pulls Damien into what looks like a sloppy but violent kiss, drawing in close, hungry, almost frantic… which looks especially terrifying compared to Damien’s complete and utter unresponsiveness. Damien stands rigid, hands clenched, jaw tight, shoulders set back until—

The man lets go abruptly. Damien just stares at him.

Joan watches the drunk man’s expression resolve into confusion, then mortification.

He mouths, “I’m sorry. God. Sorry.” And then he stumbles up the beach.

Damien bends down and picks up his dropped soda can from the sand. He stays crouching down there for a while, hair sticking up where the man gripped and pulled it. Eventually, he takes a drink of soda, swishes it around, and spits it out. He tosses the can onto the beach and walks away from the beach back toward the main road. She waits, then puts her car in gear and follows.

SESSION ONE:

Sarah lets him in without a scheduled appointment, something which Joan does not largely tolerate except in the most urgent of circumstances. This means, either the client has expressed intent to hurt themselves or something has set off Sarah’s remarkable intuition as to a person’s need or vulnerability. (Joan particularly trusts Sarah’s intuition. Sarah’s intuition is top notch.)

So she’s willing to give the benefit of the doubt when a man in jeans and a hoodie steps through the door of her office and quietly closes it behind him. This would be less suspicious if he weren’t doing everything physically possible to look suspicious—keeping his head down, wearing his hood over his eyes, standing there slowly looking around her office as though taking stock of exits and entrances. Joan posits a few possibilities paranoia, hypervigilance, social anxiety, or (especially since Sarah let him in without an appointment) perhaps even suicidal intent.

Joan, still seated in her arm chair, says, “Hello.”

The man at the door slides his hands into his pockets.

“Hey.” He keeps his head down. “You’re… a therapist right?”

“I am. I’m Doctor Joan Bright.”

“I’m Damien.”

“Damien. Nice to meet you. You’re not on my schedule, but Sarah says you have an emergency of sorts?” Joan waits, hoping he’ll volunteer information.

He does not.

“She wouldn’t elaborate, so I have to assume it’s fairly serious. Are you thinking of harming yourself or others, Damien?”

“Huh? Oh… uh.” He shrugs and starts walking around the room. “Yeah. I guess.”

Joan notes it: the slight surprise, almost as if he’s bored. He’s lying. He’s not suicidal; he just wanted in the door. Strange. Unless she’s missing something, her gut says he’s a tourist of some kind, or…

“I’m glad you came in today then, Damien. I want you to know that you’re safe here. You can talk to me.” She waits to see how this lands with her new client. When he continues to simply pace the perimeter of her office, she maintains a gentle tone and rejoins, “Would you like to sit down?”

He’s picking a book off her shelf by the window. “I’m okay.”

Joan stands up. “Then I hope you don’t mind if I stretch my legs too?”

He turns his head. When he does this, she gets a good look at his face and the bland look of surprise. Quick assessment: Between twenty-five and thirty years of age (Mark’s age, he’s about Mark’s age.) but he seems young somehow. Or maybe it’s just the expression he’s making, or his haircut (unkempt, dark, curling in his eyes a little, a kind of teenager-like disregard for personal appearance). Doesn’t look like he washed his hair or his face today—a possible sign of depression or something else? Hoodie is old, worn, holes cut into the wrist for his thumbs. (Comfort clothes; it looks like he slept in them.) Jeans are also worn in, almost threadbare. Shoes are expensive.

He says, “Sure, Doc.”

“What brought you here today, Damien?” Joan hooks her hands behind her back and paces slightly, not toward him but idly around the room, mirroring him. “Did you want to talk?”

“Kinda. I’m just, you know, lost and stuff.”

“And stuff?” Joan repeats, tone measured.

He grins. “Ah, you’re gonna call me on it right away.”

Joan maintains eye contact, silently watching until he’s ready to speak.

“I wanna talk,sure. But I don’t think I’ll feel comfortable doing that until I know a bit about you.”

“I see.” (She internally notes the manipulation -- a function of narcissism, a defense mechanism, or something else.) “Well, I don’t usually sign new clients like this, Damien, but I suppose I can give you the benefit of the doubt. If you needed to speak to someone this badly, then it must be important to you.” Joan stops pacing, sliding her hands into the pockets of her pantsuit.

Damien’s watching her, waiting.

“This practice is about a year old. My credentials are listed on the way in, and I have references if you’d like to check them. However, my personal information is not necessarily useful to your recovery. Does that make sense?”

“But how can I trust you if I don’t know anything about you?”

“I’m a professional. You can trust me with anything. I’m legally bound to protect your secrets, barring any major crimes, past or future…”

“Nah. Not a major crimes kinda guy.”

“Then you should have nothing to fear from me.”

“Can you tell me something about you though? Your favorite color?”

“I could tell you that, of course, but to what end, Damien? My personal life is not important or relevant to helping you. It could even be distracting or detrimental.”

Damien tilts his head at her. He’s facing her now, one of her books open in his hand, but he’s looking directly at her. Maintaining fearless eye contact. Surprising. She wouldn’t have thought he’d be the eye contact sort.

“Most therapists will tell you that it’s not appropriate… to…”

His eyes are very dark. Very focused. Joan blinks.

“Um…”

“Something wrong?” he asks.

“No I just… Blue. My favorite color is blue.”

“Cool.”

“Damien, I should be up front. I specialize in… a very specific field of psychology. Did you… find me in the paper? Most of my clients do.”

“Nah. You were listed in the business registry.”

“Ah. Then, maybe I can refer you to a more general practice?”

“No, I like you. I want to talk. You’re… well, you have a little backbone.”

“How so, Damien? What makes you say that?”

“The other therapists. They just told me whatever they thought I wanted to hear.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Therapy is often an imprecise practice. A process. You shouldn’t let that discourage you, though.It’s just a matter of finding someone with the right approach. Perhaps someone to challenge your positions? Provide contrast?”

He thinks about it. “Yeah. Exactly.”

“I have a list of very tough customers I could refer you to.”

“I’m a bit… wary of new therapists to be honest. The last couple were pretty fucked up.”

Joan mentally backs up a step, re-assessing Damien’s tone and previous statements. “Are you saying that your previous therapists were inappropriate, Damien?”

He shrugs. “Some of them.”

“I… I’m very sorry to hear that. Do you want to discuss that?”

“Huh? Oh, wait, no, no, no. Like, not like that. They didn’t do anything, just… said things.”

“Nevertheless, I can see why you might be hesitant to trust another professional in my field if so many have disappointed you previously. Do you think there’s a reason so many therapists are unable to help you?”

“I have that effect.”

“Can you unpack that? What do you mean?”

“People make bad decisions around me. They can’t help it. Even pros like you.”

Joan considers the possibility that he’s lying, sets it aside. “You persuade people into bad decisions? Or you feel there’s some quality you possess that causes people to act a certain way?”

“A bit of both honestly. I definitely goad people into it sometimes, but a lot of times people just… do what they do because I’m there. Even when I’m not trying.”

“Damien, other people’s behavior is not your responsibility. If people behave badly, then they make that decision themselves. You are not responsible for other people’s actions—only your own. Some things are our fault, and we should take responsibility for them. But not everything is our fault. Knowing where your personal responsibility for others ends and begins is crucial to understanding your place in the world.”

Damien’s staring at her. He looks surprised again, but in a tired way.

“Yeah, I’d love to know that,” he says.

She’s struck a nerve of some kind. She presses a little, gently.

“Do you blame yourself for the actions of others?”

“No. It’s their fault. I don’t do anything. I’m just there.”

“Does it upset you? What people do around you?”

“I mean, I guess, kinda, if they do something really bad. But hey, it’s not my fault. Like you said, people do what they do, and I’m not responsible.”

“That’s not exactly what I said. I said there a limit to our responsibility in the actions of others. You said that people sometimes do bad things around you? Like what?”

“I… I don’t want to talk about this.”

“Of course. I’m sorry. What would you like to talk about?”

“You.”

“Very well. What do you want to know?”

Damien is leaning against her desk, the one in front of the windows, by her bookshelves. She doesn’t… like that’s he’s doing that.

“Would you like to sit down?” She gestures toward the armchairs in the middle of the room. “It’s more comfortable.”

“Sure, Doctor B.”

He pushes away from the desk and moves across the room. She sits in her arm chair and watches him drop as if boneless into the seat across from her. There’s a coffee table between them, with a pitcher of water and a stack of paper cups on top of it. A box of tissues. A tiny wicker basket with knickknacks for fidgeters. A few stress balls. A tiny stuffed panda. Damien examines the contents of the wicker basket, and Joan examines him.  He slouches, knees apart, elbows on the arm of the chair. Very… open. Disrespectful, in her opinion. Deliberately too casual. He’s trying too hard.

“So tell me,” he says before she can say anything. “Why did you want to be a psychologist?”

“Damien, I don’t think…”

Joan stops, jolted by a sudden unexpected longing , almost painful in its intensity. Like a wire around her heart. She blinks, laying a palm against her thigh for a moment, hoping it will pass like nausea, like a headache, like any other myriad passing passions but it persists. It persists . Why? What is --? She looks up.

Damien smiles at her.

“Well, I like knowing how people tick. The human mind is interesting, how it responds to the world. I’ve always loved seeing what people do and puzzling out why they do it. I’m particularly fascinated by human responses to extreme situations and unusual circumstances. The human capacity for evolution and adaptation is incredible, and nothing makes me appreciate the world quite like finding those new and strange ways that our species keeps changing.”

Damien laughs. “Wow. That’s way more interesting than the others.”

“Thank you, but what do you mean?”

“All the other shrinks said dumb shit, like how they thought crazy people were interesting, they didn’t know to do after college, or they just like helping people. Heh. A couple said they kinda get off on knowing people’s, like, deepest fuckin’ fears and traumas and stuff. You’re the only one who said something interesting. I like ya, Doc.”

“That’s… your therapists said that to you?”

“Yeah.”

“They admitted to enjoying their patients’ pain?”

“Oh yeah, one schmuck almost got a woody just talking about it. I left pretty quick.”

“Damien, that’s horrific. I can’t imagine why a therapist would tell you something like that. That’s incredibly inappropriate, not to mention traumatizing for a patient! You should be able to trust that your therapist has your best interests at heart.”

“Aw, you’re nice.”

“I’m serious. What that therapist did was completely unethical. If you want, I could help you make a complaint to the licensing board.”

“Nah. I don’t think he’ll have a career much longer. He may or may not have reported himself before I left. I call that my good deed for the month. Plus, he said some really gross shit to me so, like, fuck that guy.”

“Wait, he… confessed to what he did? Why?”

Damien picks the panda up from her coffee table. “He wanted to.”

“I don’t… understand. You just implied you had something to do with it. Did you convince him to confess?”

“Don’t worry about it, Doctor B. Why don’t you tell me about your most interesting patient?” He tosses the panda like a softball from hand to hand. “You said you specialize in abnormal psychology, right? Gotta be some cool stories there.”

“I… that breaks confidentiality. I can’t talk about any of my current or previous patients.”

“Ah, but I can tell you want to. C’mon. I won’t tell. Besides, you want me to trust you right?”

“I do. I… okay.” Joan sits forward, smoothing the fabric of her pants a little to fold her hands on her knees. “Honestly, it’s been so long since I’ve had someone to talk to about this kind of thing... My most interesting client came in suffering from a high-level control loss of… let’s call it a skill. She would often find herself involuntarily using her ability and causing great harm to others.”

“Like… wait, what do you mean? Was she like a sleepwalking martial artist?”

Joan laughs. “Kind of. That’s a good analogy. Let’s go with that.”

He grins. “Okay.”

“You mentioned sleepwalking. That’s actually the interesting thing. We found that she practiced lucid dreaming, you see. She had personal fantasies about using her abilities on people but would never actually do so in reality. So, she instead trained herself to dream lucidly so she could act out her desires while asleep and never harm anyone.”

“She… had fantasies about hurting people?”

“She was a detective. Several criminals were able to evade punishment, and it made her very angry. She wanted to kill and hurt these men, but she knew it was wrong, so she instead channeled her rage into fantasy. When she realized what she was doing, her guilt only escalated the incidents. She became self-destructive. To resolve the involuntary sleepwalking, we had to work through her anger and guilt. She was… is a remarkable woman. She’s gotten her life back, and I’m proud to say is out there doing an exemplary job once again.”

“Whoa. That’s fuckin’ cool, Doctor B.”

“Yes. One of my favorite cases, like I said. It’s been a while since I talked about it.”

“Don’t shrinks have shrinks?”

“Yes, but not me.” She sees Ellie, suddenly, looking at her from across a desk. Her smile. Familiar. Warm. It doesn’t reach her eyes. Joan shakes her head slightly. “It’s impossible now.”

“Why?”

“My work is too sensitive, and those who are available and qualified to be my therapist... I could never trust them. It’s a conundrum.”

“Sound lonely.”

“I… I suppose. Yes.”

“You know…” Damien props his chin in one hand, elbow on the arm of his chair. “You can talk to me if you want, Doctor Bright.”

“I shouldn’t. I… don’t think I should have told you that story.”

“Just don’t use names. Besides, don’t you want someone to talk to?”

“I do.” Christ, do I want to. “But this goes against my code.”

“Huh… wow. You must feel really strongly about that.” Damien clears his throat and sits forward, as if giving her his full attention. “Are you sure you don’t want to talk to me about it? I mean… you said how nice it was right? It’s been a while. I mean, I like listening, and I think it might help, you know, with my recovery or whatever. Like reverse therapy or something.”

“I’m glad to hear you’d like to be a patient here but we’ve only just met, and I’m not sure I’m the appropriate psychologist for you. Like I said, I’m very specialized.”

“Like… what? Psychopaths? Trauma victims?”

“No. My specialization is people with… unusual circumstances. What I do is akin to being an in-house psychologist for, say, covert operatives for the government. There are some things my patients can only tell me; no other therapist would have the experience to help them cope with their unique experiences.”

“That’s interesting. A bit vague though…”

“I can’t share any other details about my practice.”

“Whoa.” Something ghosts the corner of his mouth. Almost a smile, not quiet. “Hard stop on that. Nice.”

“What?”

“Never mind. Why can’t you tell me?”

“I… don’t get me wrong. I want to tell you. A lot, actually… but I can’t. It would endanger my other patients and, potentially, even you. What I know and with whom I work is very complicated.”

Damien frowns. “It could endanger me?”

“Yes, if someone found out I had told you anything. I am truly sorry for sharing what I already did. I don’t know why I…”

“Don’t worry about it, Doctor B. So, wait, you’re like a shrink for… cops and secret agents or something?”

“Or something.”

“Iiiiiinteresting. So like, real black ops stuff?”

“In a way, yes. That’s why I’m reluctant to share too much. That and, again , therapeutic confidentiality.”

“Yeah, you’re really hung up on that stuff.”

“I would love to help you, Damien, but again my specialty isn’t –”

“Don’t worry about that; just be my doctor. I think you want to.”

“I… you’re not… well, I guess I could make an exception. If other therapists have failed you so completely, maybe something different would be good. I could… yes. I suppose I could be your therapist. Maybe pro bono work, since you fall outside my usual client base?”

“Capital idea. Thanks, Doctor B. You’re an angel.”

“No trouble at all. I… yes, I want to.”

“Hey, it’s been real. Why don’t I get something on Sarah’s schedule and we’ll do this again?”

“Of course.” Joan stands up, smiling. “It was good to meet you. Until then.”

“Yeah. Until then.”

    SESSION TWO:

“What is this, Damien?”

“Hanger steak with red wine sauce. I made too much.”

Joan stares, perplexed, while Damien digs around the interior of a brown paper shopping bag and unearths a series of tin-foil covered plates, still radiating heat and wafting faintly the scent of red meat and shallots. He shoves the other things on her coffee table aside to make room and sets a plate down in front of her, then one in front of him. He digs again, produces what appear to be napkin-wrapped silverware. Her office smells mouth-watering within seconds.

“Damien.”

He ignores her.

Damien removes the tin foil from both plates and sits down cross-legged on the other side of the coffee table. He’s wearing a black T-shirt that says, neutrally, FUCK YOU YOU FUCKING FUCK with his torn jeans and boots. He looks a little healthier lately, like he’s showering. His skin a little darker. Less oily. Like he’s getting sun. He starts stabbing the fragrant hollandaise-dripped asparagus with a real silver fork and eating it with a kind of joyless focus.

Joan watches him chew in silence for about thirty seconds.

“Damien, what are you doing?”

“Eating. Like I said, I made too much.” He pours himself a cup of water from her ice-water pitcher on the table. “I can talk and eat at the same time, you know.”

“I refuse to believe you don’t know how strange this is.”

“I do, but I made too much. Seems a shame to waste a $200 piece of meat.”

“I’m not hungry.”

He gives her a look .

Suddenly it seems essential she at least try it. Joan picks up the extra set of silverware and spears a small cut of steak from the edge of the plate, tapping it gently to wipe away the excess red sauce. She’s in a skirt and heels and therefore refuses to sit on the floor. She just leans forward in her arm chair and carefully takes a single bite and chews. She pours herself a cup of water and drinks that.

“Well?” Damien says.

“It’s good,” she replies. That’s an understatement. It’s quite good, but she’s annoyed with him.

“Honestly?”

“Yes, Damien. Honestly. But if I’m being entirely honest, this is highly irregular. I would prefer if you didn’t bring food to our sessions like this. Coffee is one thing but this… is distracting.”

She stares at him.

He stares back.

She pokes her fork at another bite. “I will eat, but you need to tell me a little more about how you’re doing. If we’re going to have an honest dialogue, then we should start with the basics.”

“What do you want to know?”

“How about you tell me a summary of yourself? If you had to quickly summarize what and who you are and only had a few sentences, how would you do that? Or does that exercise sound impossible?”

He thinks about it. “I do whatever I want.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, if I had to sum it up. I do whatever I want.”

Joan looks at the expensive food on her coffee table, somewhat drily. “Do you think that habit has a negative impact on your life or does this perceived freedom make you happy?”

Damien laughs, loudly. “Oh, fuck no, it doesn’t make me happy.”

Joan notes that. Sounded real that time, less posturing condescension. She would hazard it’s the first honest thing he’s said.

She sits forward. “Most people would say that the freedom to do whatever they want is a life goal, a dream. You’re saying you feel that you’ve achieved this, but it’s not fulfilling? You’re not happy?”

“No. Not at all.”

“Why is that?”

He shrugs, jamming another asparagus into his mouth.

“Do you know what would make you happy, Damien?”

He rotates the fork between his fingers, the tines making an unpleasant whining sound against the plate. “I dunno. Never thought about it really.” He stops spinning the fork. “I guess it would be nice to talk to someone about this stuff. Not, you know, a therapist. I mean, someone who gets it. Who could do stuff with me.”

“Do don’t have friends or family you can confide in?”

“No.”

“Do you feel lonely then, Damien?”

“That’s a bit dramatic. I just get bored.”

“Hmm. This is not universally true, but generally people want people to feel things for them, to knowledge their experiences. Understand them. It’s difficult to feel understood when we feel alone. Do you think having others who understood you… might make you happier?”

Damien looks annoyed. “So I’m sad because I’m lonely. That’s your prognosis?”

“No, Damien. I’m still getting to know you. I wouldn’t claim to know why you feel the way you do. I’m hoping we can figure that out.” Joan pauses a moment, then sits forward to pick up her fork and eat a bit of asparagus. “You said you weren’t happy. I didn’t assume you were sad simply because of that.”

“If you’re not fuckin’ happy, you’re sad, Doc.”

“Not always. It’s possible to simply be neutral. Not distressed, but… perhaps unchallenged or listless. When I first met you, you said you were ‘lost’. Now, that might have just been touch of sarcasm on your part…” She meters this with smile to assure him she’s mostly joking. “But I have to ask: do you feel that you’re just a little directionless or… do you actually feel sad?”

“I’m not sad. I’m frustrated.” He’s speaking with his mouth full. He takes a minute to chew and swallow. “Every year or so, I get sick of just doing things on my own and try to… talk someone. It’s like I’ve got fuckin amnesia. Like it’s gonna be different this time. But in the end, no one really wants to be around me, they just… reflect. It’s hard to give a shit about people when they’re just, like, parroting your own fuckin thoughts back at you, right?”

Joan frowns, dipping a bit of steak in hollandaise. “You’re saying you’re good at… persuading people to your point of view? Am I understanding right?”

He laughs a little, propping his chin in his hand, elbow resting on the coffee table. “Sure. Let’s go with that.”

“Do you think you’re looking for someone to challenge you then?”

He frowns. “Never thought about it like that but… sure. Yeah.”

“You said ‘every year or so’. Are you saying you don’t talk to people very much or in depth because they disappoint you? Do you mean that literally or…?”

“I don’t literally not talk to people for years. Maybe… months at a time. Sometimes.”

“Can I challenge you not to do that, Damien?”

He blinks at her. “What do you mean?”

“You might be surprised or comforted to know that is a very common sentiment to feel misunderstood or alone.” Joan shrugs. “Connecting with people can be… difficult. It can be very hard to find like-minded individuals who understand us. In fact, not everyone even requires the company or validation of others to be happy or fulfulled, but generally humans are social animals. I’d hazard it’s not healthy to shut off human connection like that. Unless you feel otherwise? That being alone makes you happier or calmer?”

“I don’t have social anxiety, Doc. Society just doesn’t hold a lot of appeal for me.”

“Society seldom holds appeal for many people, Damien. It’s usually the individuals we find within the whole of society that make societal contracts worth keeping. Developing trust takes time and effort. Earning confidence and a view into the private face of others… that’s hard. That does not mean we should give up on seeking those connections.”

“So it’s my fault no one understand me because I don’t talk to enough people?”

“No, but I would submit it’s hard to get to know people if you shut yourself up for months.”

“Doc, you might not be understanding how difficult it is for someone like me to find… uh, common ground with others. My odds are lower than the average schmuck.”

“What do you mean?”

“There just aren’t people like me.”

“What do you mean? People who feel lonely? People who like to cook expensive food and bring the left over to their therapists?” She levels a look at him when he smirks. “People with dark hair? People who are frustrated or misunderstood or play… I don’t know, video games? Do you play video games?”

He snorts. “Sure. Who doesn’t?”

“Yes, precisely. Who doesn’t? I would hazard there are things about you that are very unique, combinations of experience and facets of emotion that are singular to you and in that… yes, you may be alone. Truly. So is everyone. That fact is there are many more things that make us similar and, perhaps, focusing on that may make the world seem less… hostile.”

“That’s pretty good advice, Doctor B. Not sure it applies to my… particular situation.” He folds his arms on the table and drops his chin onto them, staring up at her. “You ever take it yourself?”

“I like to think so.”

“Hmm, really though?”

Joan means to say that it hardly matters what she does, but she she says is, “No, not really. I do not maintain a social life outside of my therapy work. I find it useless.” Then, because the words have escaped and she cannot grab them and stuff them back in her mouth where her damn patient can’t hear them… she clears her throat. “But… that does not mean you should do what I do. I find solitude relaxing. I have never needed much company.”

Damien grins. “ Really , though?”

“Well, actually, I would prefer the company of like-minded people, but like I said, it’s hard to find them.” Joan attempts to end the sentence there, but additional color bubbles up. “Or rather, those I’ve found who are like-minded are also awful people who I wouldn’t spend a single solitary minute with unless forced at hypothetical gunpoint.” She sits there, vaguely aware of a headache forming behind her eyes. “I honestly don’t know why I told you that. I don’t imagine you found that helpful.”

Damien’s grin is ear to ear. “Ohhh, I dunno. I feel a lot better.”

“I apologize.”

“Don’t. It’s nice to know my therapist is human… and that fortune cookie advice about love and friendship should be taken with a grain of salt.”

“All advice should have a grain of salt with it.” Joan sighs. “I did not at all mean to imply that my personal habits are in anyway something you should model. My isolationist tendencies are not one of my better qualities, Damien.”

“Sure, Doctor B.”

“Damien, while I may not follow my own advice, that does not mean it’s not sound advice. It simply means I’m not currently in a position to follow it. Perhaps I will in the future. You are not me. You can make moves to change your circumstances immediately if you would like to. It’s your decision to make.”

“Yeah, I’ll just walk out there and because I’m thinking positive, things will be fine.”

“No. But if you walk out there and try, the odds improve that you’ll find what you’re looking for.”

“Sounds like bullshit, Doc.”

Joan sits back folding her hands. “Don’t knock it until you try it, Damien.”

“I have tried. I told you.”

“And I hate to be honest, but you will need to keep on trying.”

“So why don’t you? What’s stopping you , Doc?”

“What I do is not important. You shouldn’t fixate on… on what I’m…” Joan closes her eyes, exhales through her nose. “Actually, the reason I don’t maintain friendships presently is simply that there is no one else out there I can share my secrets with. Any relationship I have would be a pretense based on my forever screening them from a part of my life that is absolutely core to myself. What I do, my work -- I love my work. I would even say it defines me. And yet, I cannot talk about it. So what is the point?”

Damien smiles. He stands up. He grabs his jacket and says, “I know right?”

Then he walks out of her office. He does, however, book another session for later in the month.

Joan buys a bottle of very expensive scotch later that evening.

    SESSION FIVE:

Joan is looking for her car keys when it occurs to her.

“I think he stole my panda.”

Sarah, seated at the front desk looking immaculately put together and focused on her work, looks up from her day planner and says, “Oh no. Mr. Black-Black?”

Joan looks up from her purse. “The stuffed panda does not have a name.”

“Yes, he does. It’s Mr. Black-Black. Who stole him?”

“Damien, I think.”

“Ugh. Of course.”

Joan gives Sarah a look .

“Sorry. He drives me crazy. He missed his appointment today. Again . No courtesy call. And, you know, the first time he came in… I’m pretty sure he said that suicide line because I’m legally obligated to send him back if he makes that kind of threat. Also: I’ve never messed up patient’s paperwork like that before. I don’t know where my brain goes when he starts talking to me. It’s aggravating. So I find him aggravating. He’s ruined my reputation as the perfect secretary.”

“Nonsense. This place would burn to the ground without you.”

“I know, Joan. I’m essential. That doesn’t mean I have to like him.” Sarah sips her early-evening latte. Her perfect fingernails sparkle iridescent in the waiting room light. “Didn’t he show up to his last session late with fast food then literally leave before you even sat down?”

“McDonalds. He has thing with food, I… Nevermind. Just try to get his information down next time.”

“Joan. Sorry.” Sarah grimaces, nose wrinkling. “Could you ask him to fill it out? I… I am serious about my not being able to focus around him. It’s been twice in a row. Maybe if you do it, he won’t circle around the issue? I know it’s literally my job but I genuinely can’t seem to get it together when he walks in. He kind of blows right by me.”

“Oh. Well, if you’re that worried about it.” Joan frowns at the little purple orchid on Sarah’s desk. Sarah, immutable and unflinching Sarah, can’t get a patient to fill out basic paperwork. It makes something… squirm in her brain. “Give me the intake sheet. I’ll get him to fill it out next time he’s in.”

Sarah hands it over, slowly. “Are you okay, Joan?”

“Yes. Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know. You just seem like maybe you need someone to ask that question. Barring that, is there anything I can do? Get scented candles for the office? Pick up more of your favorite tea?” She smiles brightly, having reached the end of her ‘sensible and pragmatic’ list. “Set you up with a smoking hot yoga instructor?”

Joan plucks the file from Sarah’s fingers, a smile twitching at her mouth. “You’re making fun of me.”

“No. I’m saying you deserve nice things.”

“Appreciated. No thank you. You could, perhaps, pick up more flowers for around the waiting room. I think a few of my patients like them.”

“No, Joan. I was asking what things you like.”

“I like making my patients more comfortable.”

“Fine. But I’m getting you those little scone things you like.”

“Very well.”

Sarah pumps her fist once, minutely, in victory. “Yes.”

“I’m going to tidy up a few things before I head home. If you want to go, just flip the sign on your way out.”

“Okay. Don’t stay late. Go home and relax.”

“Have a good evening, Sarah.”

Joan smiles and makes to turn back to her office, stopping when she hears Sarah in the hall.

She’s saying, loudly, “Oh, uh, you’re late.”

Joan turns in time to see Damien – dressed in black, holding a Starbucks cup in one hand, grinning – set his hand against the door by Sarah’s shoulder and push it open a little wider. When he does this, he briefly comes in slightly too close in the process before stepping past Joan’s secretary into the foyer. Sarah, who looks down at Damien when in flats and presently sports a pair of platform pumps, glares down at him from her impressive tower of pink sweater vested dislike. She folds her arms, making to follow him.

“I can reschedule you. We’re closed.”

Joan sets her purse down behind Sarah’s desk and tucks her notebook under her arm, waiting, brow arched.

Damien, entering the waiting room, smiles at her. “Hey, Doctor B.”

“You’re late. This office is closed.”

“Not to me, surely.”

“Don’t call her Shirley,” says Sarah automatically then looks sorry when Joan shoots her a look. “Doctor Bright, do you want me to stay? I can stay.” She’s headed toward her post behind the desk already. “It’s fine,” she says.

“No, Sarah. It’s okay.” Joan gives Damien a long sideways stare. “I will close up. It’s not a problem.”

Sarah takes her seat anyway, picking up a pen. “I have some work I want to finish.”

Joan, who knows Sarah has no work whatsoever to finish, nods neutrally. “If you feel strongly about it. Then okay.”

Sarah nods, eyes Damien, then goes back to scribbling something on a sticky note.

“Your secretary seems… defensive,” says Damien, once they’re safely in Joan’s office. He takes a seat in his usual armchair and has a long sip of whatever he’s drinking. The name on the cup says, Katie. “She not like me?”

“She doesn’t like it when patients are late or don’t call ahead.” Joan takes her seat across from Damien and tugs the intake sheet from the folder beneath her arm, shaking it out. “You didn’t fill out your paperwork last time. Please do so.” She slides the paper and a pen across the coffee table. “If you want to be my patient, I need you on file.”

Damien continues drinking Katie’s Starbucks order, looking at the paper but making no move to fill it out.

“Is there something wrong?” Joan says, crossing her legs and waiting.

“Nah. Sure thing.” Damien sits forward, sets his drink down and scribbles some info down on in the blank spaces. He finishes with unlikely speed, then sits back and picks his drink up again. From the faint scent, it’s some variety of cloyingly sweet mocha something. He shrugs. “There ya go.”

Joan picks up the paper. “You didn’t put your full name... or your address.”

He shrugs again. “Problem?”

“I… no. Actually, it’s fine.”

“Great. Hey, doc, I wanted to ask you something.”

“Damien, can we talk about your tardiness before we move on? You were supposed to come in at three today. It’s almost five thirty now. Is there a reason you couldn’t make your usual time?”

“I just got caught up with something. You don’t mind do you?”

“No, I don’t mind. I think we’ve established that you’re… not entirely like the rest of my patients, but I would prefer if you give Sarah a courtesy call when you can’t make your appointments. You can inconvenience me, but not my staff. Is that understood?”

Damien smirks. “So you admit I’m special?”

“No, Damien, you’re just more high maintenance.”

“Ha!”

“What did you want to talk about today?”

“I dunno.” He studies her. “What do you want to talk about?”

She maintains neutrality. “This is your session, Damien.”

“Yeah, I know, but sometimes I get the feeling you look forward to these talks as much as I do.” He sips his drink then laughs. “Oh, c’mon , Doctor B. You can tell me. I think we’ve established, like you said, that our doctor-patient relationship’s gone a bit sideways. I think it’s a two-way street, yeah?”

Joan sighs.

“Damien, while I admit that I’ve allowed personal information into these conversations -- mostly at your insistence -- the point of these conversations is your mental health and well being. So these sessions are yours. We can talk about whatever you think would be most helpful to discuss. Whatever’s been on your mind.”

“Kay, so you circled around that. Be honest: You like talking to me or not?”

Joan sighs again, more for effect.

“Damien, you are by far my most challenging, demanding, and aggravating patient. You know that. You’ve asked me dozens of times and for whatever reason, I feel you can handle me telling you that.” She lets the statement stand for a moment. Then sits back in her seat, flipping her hair over her shoulder in annoyance. “But, I admit, I can talk more freely to you than I have anyone else in a long time. I personally have no idea why you haven’t gone to another therapist. This is highly unorthodox.”

Damien grins over the top of his Starbucks lid and shrugs. “Hey, even therapists need therapists.”

“You’re not a therapist, Damien.”

“Yeah but… talking about stuff helps, right?”

Joan says nothing for a moment. “Yes. Yes, it does.”

Damien’s brow knits slightly. “So… do you actually like talking me or…?”

“Sometimes. Mostly talking to you is frustrating but… I do look forward to a chance to simply be honest about things from time to time.” She shrugs. “This arrangement is beneficial to me, I think. A mutual therapy if you like. I do appreciate your being a sounding board from time to time. It’s helpful.”

“Just kinda unprofessional?”

“Immensely. But you know that.”

He snorts. “Yeah I figured it out after you vented to me about the girl that took all your crayons in third grade or whatever.”

“Ugh, why did I tell you that? Stop derailing me. What did you want to talk about today?”

Damien laughs. Joan… she smirks a little. Later, she lie in bed and driver her car and eat dinner and listen to her notes and all the while, somewhere, eating at her: his question. Do you actually like talking to me or…?  

   SESSION TWENTY:

“You have a brother?”

Joan freezes.

Damien’s looking at her.

It’s eleven ‘o’clock at night and the sky’s gone dark through the windows of her office. Joan stares at her patient for a long moment, then sits back on her seat and runs her fingers through her hair and just stares at the carpet between her shoes because she can’t… She checks her recorder. It’s on. It’s been six hours since she sat down with Damien. His jacket’s lying on the floor by his chair. He’s got one boot up on the edge of the coffee table, sitting slouched in his armchair, a cup of warm tea in his hands. She made a pot around hour three. He’s gone through most of it.

“Um, yes, but that’s… that’s not what I was talking about.”

“Sure, but that fact you’d rather tell me about your shitty ex from grad school and not once mention you have a brother this whole time? Kiiiinda weird, Joan.”

“Don’t… uh, don’t call me Joan, Damien.”

He blinks at her. “Seriously?”

“Yes. Seriously, I would prefer you didn’t.”

“You just told me three stories about dudes you dated through college; their failures as people and as lovers… but you don’t want me using your first name?”

“I… yes, Damien, exactly.” Her face feels hot suddenly. Her palms itch. “I don’t want you using my first name. Can you not?”

A startled look. “Uh, sure. Okay. I won’t.” His brow furrows. “Hit a nerve there, Doctor B?”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

“Hey, I get it. People calling me by the wrong name would piss me off too.”

“Yes, uh, I guess it’s been a long day. It’s getting late. Should we pick this up later or –?”

“So your brother,” Damien says, ignoring her. “He live nearby?”

“No. Let’s not talk about him.”

Damien tilts his head. It makes her spine tighten. “Why not?”

“He’s been away for a long time. He’s sick, actually. I don’t want to talk about him.”

He just looks at her, gaze steady and dark and magnetic.

Joan closes her eyes. It’s still there though, growing in her guts somehow, a weed taking root and blooming words into the back of her mouth – the longing . Desperate and intense. She focuses on her hands, her nails digging sudden crescents of blood into her palms because Damien says ‘your brother’ and she has a vision – warm summer sunlight through the kitchen window, illuminating a bowl of fresh strawberries and a cup of sugar. Granules on the wood. An old backpack on the floor and little boy carefully dipping a berry in the soft white and –

“I miss him.”

Her eyes sting. Joan sits there, mortified, as saline runs molten behind her eyelids and heats the interior of her skull. Her throat aches. Her tongue swells. She cannot breathe around the poisoned organ between her teeth and yet she opens her mouth and goes on, like someone has their hand in her throat and keeps pulling the words out like ribbon from a reel.

“It’s almost been a year and I haven’t seen him.” She presses one hand to her face, her mouth, shaking. She drops it to her lap. To the cushion. She brushes her hair from her face. “I want to see him so badly. No one will let me.” Her cheeks are wet. She’s crying. Oh god . She’s crying. “I can’t talk to anyone about him, Damien. There’s no one I can tell and I just want to tell someone. I want someone to help me. He’s sick and I am trying so hard to help him but there’s no one.” She draws a ragged breath. Vomits up words. “He’s my little brother. He’s my… my responsibility.” Another heave. “I don’t want to do this alone.”

She’s breathing too fast. She can’t. She stands up, presses a palm to her belly.

“You need to go.”

Damien’s staring at her.

“You need to go, Damien. Go right now .”

“You okay, Doctor B?”

“No! I’m not. I don’t know why I told you that.” She turns away, walking toward the desk on the other side of the room. “Why did I say that? What’s wrong with me?”

“Because you wanted to tell someone?” She hears the soft clink of a cup being put down. Boots on the floor. “Because you literally just said you’re all alone with this big fuckin’ secret? Your brother’s sick? No one knows. You gotta take care of him but you can’t? I mean… that’s pretty heavy, Doctor B.” Joan feels Damien standing to her left now, peering at her. “Only makes sense it might come out talking to a friend.”

“You’re not my friend , Damien.” She looks at him just in time to catch a small startled hurt, there for a moment, then gone. “You’re a patient. This is… this is inappropriate.” She drags her hands through her hair, aware of how out of control she’s getting, unable to rein it back. There’s not enough pressure on the planet to staunch the wound she just ripped open for nothing. For no fucking reason at all. “I wasn’t… I didn’t want to talk about him. I can’t talk about Mark. Why did I do that?”

“It’s okay,” Damien says.

“No, it’s not. It’s not…”

“It’s okay that you wanted to talk about it,” Damien says, louder this time. He’s moved to stand in front of her, meet her gaze. He holds his hand palms out, non-threateningly. “Hey. Doc. Listen . It’s okay that you wanted to talk to me. Right? You wanted to talk?”

“I… what is that?”

“What’s what?”

Joan drops her hands from her forehead, feeling dangerous suddenly. Feeling on edge. “You. There’s something about you.”

Damien takes a step back. “I didn’t do anything, Doctor B. Remember? I’m not responsible for –”

“You feel like… like…” She blinks, stops. “ No .”

“Are you okay?”

“What are you?”

He looks afraid. “What?”

“Don’t lie to me. You came looking for me. Did you already know who I was?”

“ What ?”

“What are you? What are you doing? Is this… some kind of empathic projection? What is this?” She starts to reach for Damien’s arm but he jerks back. “Damien. Tell me right now, what are you doing here? Did Green send you? Is this Ellie? Are you one of Ellie’s?”

“I don’t know who you’re talking about, Joan.”

“Don’t call me Joan!” She shoves a palm into his chest. “Are you with them!?”

“ Back off!”

Joan feels static. Goes static. White noise in her head suddenly. She comes back with her hands flat against the spines of many books, the ones across the room. She’s leaning against the bookshelf. She’s missing one heel, like she lost it sprinting away from… She looks slowly over her shoulder, through the now tangled sheaf of her hair, at the young man about Mark’s age standing in front of her desk. He’s looking at her. His expression: dead. Pitiless and empty. A line of sweat runs hot down the back of her neck. Her palms, sticky, she peels from the books and she turns her back slowly to lean against the shelf, bracing against it for support.

She’s gutted, insides out, nerves turned up to the stinging air. Her skull’s got a hole in it and Damien’s got his hand in it. Or he did. Or maybe he does. She can’t be sure. He’s just standing there looking at her and she can feel her skin start to crawl with anticipatory terror. She grips the shelf behind her until her fingers ache.

“Damien,” she says. “You need to get out.”

“You figured it out,” he says.

“Get out, Damien.”

“No. You figured it out. You said…” He shakes his head, runs his fingers through his hair, processing. “You didn’t seem surprised about me. Like… like it wasn’t that weird I could do something like this. You’re freaked out, but not… surprised .”

“Just go !”

“You asked what I am?”

“I don’t know what you are.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

Joan flinches, feels it now, not subtle like before. A heat suddenly, a shunt of desire like a chemical injection just below her belly and somewhere in her head, like a rising migraine and she wants it. She wants to tell him everything. All of it, pour it all out on the floor and show him every part of it and – She makes a noise, hand coming up instinctively, no protection at all from whatever he’s doing, however he’s reaching through the ether and rattling the insides of her brain. Damien starts to walk toward her.

“ Don’t ! I’ll tell you! Just stop!”

Damien stops just before he reaches the coffee table. The pressure lets up.

“I don’t know what you are. Not exactly. I thought you were… like other people I’ve worked with. You’re… atypical. You can do things most people can’t.”

“I – I’m not the only one?”

“No. There are others. I work with people like you, people with abilities.”

Damien seems shaken. “There are others like me?”

“No. Not like you.” Joan swallows, speaks through her teeth. “I’ve never met someone like you. That’s why it… why it took me so long to realize. You’re doing something. You… make people… Telepaths can’t do that. They can’t…” Joan shakes her head. “I can’t think straight right now. You need to go.”

“No way, Doctor B. I want you to tell me –”

“Damien! Stoppit !”

And to her amazement, he stops. The pressure lets up, he freezes a moment, expression blanking for a moment to surprise. Joan breathes, straightens up, and pushes her hair back from her face, gathering it at the nape of her neck. Then she smooths her button down a little and raises her chin.

“Damien. It’s late. I’ve just… realized that you are, in fact, exactly the kind of patient who should be on my books. My specialty is people with atypical abilities like yours. I wish you’d told me sooner.” I wish you’d never walked through that fucking door. “I have the context now and I am more fully prepared to help you. This is good. This is progress.”

Damien watches her confused and wary.

“If you want to keep talking, then we can do that. Do you… do you want to come back tomorrow? Same time? I can answer your questions then.”

Damien narrows his eyes. “Aren’t you mad?”

“Yes, Damien. I am. That’s why I don’t think we should talk until tomorrow.”

“How do I know you won’t run? Tell the truth.”

Joan grimaces. “I won’t run because if I ever want to see Mark again, I need to keep this practice going. I won’t jeopardize it or my patients just to run away from you .” She breathes in, slowly, then crosses the room and moves to pick Damien’s jacket up off the floor. She steadies herself, turns, and hand it to him. “Come back tomorrow. We’ll have a real talk.”

Damien doesn’t take it immediately. He studies her face, her eyes. Joan keeps holding his jacket out, gaze even.

He takes the jacket from her hand, very deliberately grabbing it so his hand touches hers. She keeps the reactionary scream behind her teeth -- lethal as a bullet.

“Okay. See you then, Doctor B.” He pulls his jacket on, straightening the collar and tucking his hands into his pockets. “Really, lookin’ forward to it.”

She waits until he’s gone.

She waits another two minutes.

Then Joan falls against the armchair and sinks to the floor of her office and lets out that scream.

    SESSION NINE:

“Is that scotch?” Damien says, sitting down. His boot finds her coffee table almost immediately.

Joan glances lazily at the bottle and two glasses on her desk across the office where she is now openly keeping it on display.

“Yes, it is.”

Damien narrows his eyes slightly. “Are… you a little drunk right now?”

“That would be inappropriate.”

“You are. I can feel it.”

She shrugs. “ Oops .”

“Uh, that’s kinda weird, Doc. You sure you should be drinking around me?”

“I’m not drinking around you. I drank last night. And today. The effect is just continuing into now. Which is good, because I feel that I need to be a little drunk to have this conversation.”

Damien snorts and sits back in his seat, taking the moment to look her up and down and fold his hands on his stomach, just above his hips. “You really that mad I didn’t tell you?” He huffs a laugh. “I didn’t even know there were other people like me, much less that you would know anything about it. Why would I tell you?”

“That’s not why I’m angry, Damien.”

“You’re mad I yelled at you? Because you came at me.”

“You honestly don’t know why I’m upset?”

“Because you accidentally told me about Mark?”

“No, Damien, I didn’t accidentally do that. You used your… ability to get me to tell you about Mark, something I was not emotionally prepared to do or obligated by any social contract to do. You extracted deeply personal information about my sick brother from me, Damien. That’s… very cruel of you. I hadn’t thought of you that way until last night.”

Damien glares at her. “Guess you don’t know me very well.”

“No. I know nothing about you, but I get the feeling you want to know everything about my work so, in light of the fact I will have to do this, I’m making it as easy on myself as possible.”

He sits forward to pluck a stress ball from the table. “If you puke on your fancy coffee table, that’s your fault. Not mine.”

“Noted. Did you know it took me until just a few hours ago to rationalize a decent argument as to why you probably won’t rape me?”

Damien stops fiddling with the stress ball and looks at her. “What the fuck ?”

Joan sits back in her seat, hooking one elbow over the back of her chair. “Does that surprise you?”

“That’s fuckin’ gross. I wouldn’t do that.”

“Yes, comforting words from a man who regularly coerces people into doing things they would normally never do and will likely regret later. Who sees no moral issue doing that. Who does it regularly and without any sign he intends to stop. Why would I ever be worried this man, a virtual stranger to me, might do me harm? That’s unheard of in this day and age. I’m clearly irrational.”

Damien doesn’t say anything.

“You understand that what you do… it puts anyone in your radius under a certain level of influence.” Joan’s hands tighten a little, small ligaments tensing. “You know that, don’t you?”

“Yeah, doc. I do.”

“Do you care?”

“ Jesus , I don’t do that, Doctor B. Calm down. I’m not stupid.”

“It’s not about stupid; it’s about apathy. If you don’t care about hurting others, why would you let a little thing like consent get in your way? You’ve given me literally no reason to think otherwise. I don’t see why--”

“Because it’s dangerous .” Damien tosses the stress ball on the table, clearly not impressed with its effectiveness. “Okay? I don’t do that because it’s dangerous. Core drives are dangerous. I don’t fuck with that stuff. Happy?” He waits for her to say something, then, when he gets no answer, says, “ What ?”

“So, because it’s dangerous to you… that’s why you don’t do it.”

He stares at her, dead-faced. “Yeah, I guess so.”

Joan sits forward and picks up the stress ball. “Just checking.” She palms it, fingers digging in. “So… let’s talk.”

  PRESENT DAY:

“I thought I saw you on the road a few days ago.”

Damien, who is on his way out the door, turns and frowns at her. “Oh?”

“Yes, walking along Bourbon Street. Toward the brewery district.”

“Maybe. I go there sometimes.”

“Do you always walk?”

“I like walking.”

“You shouldn’t walk with your back to traffic like that. It’s dangerous.”

He looks at her. His eyes are dark and there’s gravity in them, but she detects the nuances now. The undercurrent of uncertainty, the confusion. She feels the beginnings of a compulsion settling somewhere in her teeth, her bones, her brain, like a hand around her amygdala… but then it fades and Damien just smirks. It’s less convincing these days.

“Thanks, doc. I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Please do.”

   fin.

[veteransystem]

Plural Friendly Fire: It Sux 4 Evry1

So, I was going to leave it for the night, but against my better judgement I read our entire dash, including this ask and response (in a series of angry anons). And this segment of the anon rant stuck with me:

“actually also u can help being what u are! just stop pretending! its so easy when ur not traumagenic bcuz it actually isnt an illness u suffer with!”

Because this statement, and the attitude behind it, is why most systems don’t last a year out of the closet. Of all kinds: endogenic or traumagenic, neurogenic or spiritual, fictive/factive or split or walk-in or any variation, past or present. In every category of plural there is, systems that have recently come to terms with the fact that they do not experience life as one mind in one brain have been bombarded with the message:

1) you must perfectly match this particular extremely strict model, primarily defined in negatives, stereotypes, and impossible catch-22s (e.g., “all systems with fictives are fake,” “traumagenic systems have just been brainwashed by their shrinks,” “you’re not real unless everyone can front on demand BUT if people front for any reason other than ‘just feeling like it’ they’re fake”, etc.)

2) if you do not perfectly match the model, you are either fake or mistaken,

3a) if you are mistaken, you can stop being mistaken instantaneously by obeying the first total stranger to yell at you in ALLCAPS, or

3b) if you are faking, you can stop faking by Deciding Not To Fake Anymore, and this is an easy, painless process which you can do Right Now and will cause you absolutely no harm.

The number of systems who have had to check into psychiatric hospitals for suicidal ideation over “failing” at 3b is larger than you’d think. Trying to force yourself to Stop Being Plural tends not to work. The damage done to cooperation, in-system trust, and whatever we’re calling co-consciousness this year can take years to repair, and will leave serious scars.

And the thing is, much of this is aimed at a perceived “enemy” category, but primarily hits vulnerable systems of the same subcommunity.

Here’s another statement, drawn from this angry ask from the same series as before:

“go get a brain scan and tell me if ur amygdalar and hippocampal volumes are around 15% smaller bcuz of childhood abuse and trauma like DID systems are”

Now, the research backing up or refuting this statement, I’m going to leave to @solipsistful and @lb-lee, since they’re old hats at it. What I’m going to do is break down is how this statement, though aimed at a quoigenic system, is not exactly a helpful thing for vulnerable traumagenic systems to come across either.

First, “go get a brain scan”. What kind? CT? MRI? PET? In the US, a medical doctor would have to place the request for imaging, and most trauma-certified therapy specialists do not hold a professional medical degree, so the request would have to be placed by a psychiatrist working closely with your therapist. 

Are you a traumagenic system with DID or OSDD on Medicare because dissociation, flashbacks, and other symptoms of severe trauma prevent you from working? Medicare Part B only covers “medically necessary” clinical diagnostic laboratory tests—”medically necessary”, in this context, means “is it an essential, non-optional requirement for diagnosis or treatment?” Since the diagnostic criteria for DID and OSDD in the DSM-V does not require brain imaging for diagnosis, Medicare will refuse to pay for this procedure. You definitely do not have between $2000-$5000 to pay for it out-of-pocket.

Are you prepared to fight over the phone every day for months trying to get the United States government to recognize the medical necessity of finding out the size of your amygdala and hippocampus relative to a control subject when it’s not part of the diagnostic criteria for a particular illness? You probably already know the miserable process of being rejected for disability income and having to repeal the decision in court.

Second, “tell me if ur amygdalar and hippocampal volumes are around 15% smaller”. Now a neurologist is going to have to be involved, since 15% is not a dramatically obvious difference to a non-specialist’s eye and even your psychiatrist is probably going to have a little difficulty with this one. You’ve got three professionals and an extremely expensive yet “optional” test involved to satisfy an angry system on the internet. Finally, though, you go through all of this and come out the other side with confirmation, rush to Tumblr to tell them...

...and they don’t believe you. “You’re just saying that; what’s your proof?”

Now you need to show them your brain scan. Maybe you’re lucky and were given a disc with the data on it. Maybe you’re also lucky enough to have a computer powerful enough to handle the software necessary to analyze that data visually. You throw yourself into it and figure out how to use this software just well enough to take a screenshot of your “amygdalar and hippocampal volumes” and toss that up with a scan of the neurologist’s written assessment for good measure.

Even if the original anon accepts it, someone at some point is still going to go, “Nope, it’s fake, you totally got that off Google Images.” You, already exhausted and dealing with mental illness, have just spent ridiculous amounts of effort getting an extremely expensive scan of your brain and putting it on the internet in order to prove you are Really McReal when the mere fact that the scan is on the internet will render it suspect.

"This is a strawman argument,” you might say. “That’s an absurd series of hoops no one would ever go through.”

But that is my point. I will be extremely surprised if there are more than five traumagenic systems on this site who have had brain imaging where the data has specifically been analyzed regarding the size of various volumes relative to what a neurologist would generally expect. Most traumagenic systems do not know how their specific brain compares to research findings, because most have not had this kind of imaging done for this purpose. Some may have had imaging for other diagnostic purposes, but then it hasn’t been assessed in this very specific way. They likely don’t have a personal copy of their own brain imaging data, and if they did, where are they going to find a qualified, verified, and trustworthy DID/OSDD-friendly neurologist to assess it for free?

It’s a near impossible qualification for most traumagenic systems to meet, to have jumped through all the hoops to acquire this very specific knowledge about their brain to meet this extremely specific criteria unrelated to the actual diagnostic criteria of DID and OSDD, but it’s being thrown at a quoigenic system as if it were Something All Traumagenic Systems Know.

A very newly out system could read it and think, “Oh no, we don’t have a brain scan and we can’t get one. Everyone’s going to think we’re fake!” or even “Gee, we’ve never had a brain scan. Our therapist didn’t say anything about needing a brain scan. If he doesn’t think we need a brain scan, maybe our trauma wasn’t that bad? Does he think we’re faking? Are we faking?” or “Oh god, one day we’re going to be the ones being screamed at and torn to pieces and who the fuck even knows what it’ll be for. I mean, brain scans? Fucking BRAIN SCANS? I can’t fucking handle this, guys. I can’t fucking handle all of us having to walk on eggshells Or Fucking Else, we’ve got to go”.

All three lead to genuinely traumagenic systems quietly fading out of the community, never to be seen again. Because someone decided to Protect The Vulnerable by Attacking The Enemy without thinking about splash damage.

Meanwhile, most endogenic systems probably just looked at it, thought “pfft what a nutter” and went on with their day.

Hate whoever you want to. It’s not like I can stop you from thinking or feeling a particular way. Just remember that your actions can hurt people you don’t want to hurt in addition to the people you’re taking aim at, and if you’re not careful, you might even hurt them more than the ones you hate.

—Ilya

[radioactivedaydream-blog]

OKAY. So the psych said she doesn't think I have BPD. I have some issues with things that people with BPD typically struggle with, but not as extreme as people with BPD. She thinks that my issues stem mainly from my thyroid issues and my anxiety. The way she described it actually made a lot of sense. What I thought were swings from high to low to high to normal, etc, are more than likely my thyroid levels being wonky for whatever reason. They aren't the same level every single day and there is fluctuation that is going to affect things like my energy, mood, symptoms of my mental illnesses, etc. She thinks my childhood and being in an emotionally unsafe environment is the primary reason why I don't have much of a sense of self, because I was essentially forced to be what my parents wanted me to be. Or forced into being their version of what I wanted to be. THAT and because their discipline and/or anger was unpredictable and inconsistent as FUCK, I was constantly on guard and unsure of "who" I needed to be that day. Can I be sarcastic today? Do I have to be more quiet and unassuming? Am I allowed to express an opinion without criticism? Shit like that. It made a lot of sense. I do have some sense of who I am, but I feel like I downplay myself a lot. I know what I believe in and what I stand for, but I really couldn't describe myself using personality traits, other than the negative ones. She told me to focus on becoming myself and work on strengthening that sense of self. It's kind of like a clean slate. I don't really know who I am, so I can be whoever I want to be. What I thought was me idealizing and then devaluing people (and also my flip floppy personality) she thinks is literally just me being so mentally exhausted from combating my anxiety, that some days are just harder for me to deal with things like cancelled plans or a coworker being rude to me. If I'm having a bad anxiety day, I don't have the mental fortitude left to fight off the extra anxiety caused by my boyfriend having to stay at work late or something so I freak out and get mad about it. I'm not doing her explanation justice at all, but it really made a lot of sense. I know I struggle with anxiety A LOT and I honestly think it's my biggest issue, so it kinda sucks that I still haven't really addressed it yet. The first psych I saw was more focused on treating my depression and then I got diagnosed with ADHD, so working on the anxiety just got pushed back. I'll definitely have to start seeing about getting on a medication that's better for depression and anxiety or just simply taking yet another goddamn pill. She also suggested therapy, but I'm wary about it because my first experience with a therapist was terrible and she focused on all the wrong things and made me feel stupid for the things I would be upset about. I know all therapists aren't like that, but it sounds exhausting (and expensive) to keep switching therapists until I find someone that I like. I can't really afford therapy anyway. A offered to pay for it but I really don't want to take his money. Maybe if we were married and it was "our" money, but we aren't so it's not. I don't know. Working on the anxiety and possibly starting therapy probably won't happen until I move down to NC and get settled in. It feels like there's no point in starting now, just to have to put it on pause in 2 months. I feel a lot better. I'm starting to figure out how my parents and my ex have really negatively impacted my mental state and now that I'm doing that, I can work on overcoming it. I've also already figured out most of my own coping mechanisms, like having a billion to-do lists and alarms on my phone so I don't forget anything. Or recognizing when I need to remove myself from a situation. I'm already SUPER good at recognizing when I need to just keep my mouth shut so I don't make a conflict worse than it should be, so uh shout out to my abusive ex for helping me learn that, I guess. Whatever. Even though I didn't get the answer I thought I wanted, I'm glad I went and actually did the assessment because it was like half assessment and half therapy. I feel a lot better about the future and the steps I need to take to get myself into a better place