#past illness

[whumpacabra]

The Target

Angst, back from the dead, memory loss, amnesia, guilt, implied past abandonment, referenced past captivity and torture, referenced past illness, therapy mention

[Directly follows Tea]

The set up was cliche for a reason: it worked. No fancy equipment, as few moving parts as possible, and complete deniability. Jackson had taken the target to a small tea shop in the heart of the city. Crowded but not too busy. Bribing the waiter to sit the pair behind her table was easy.

The hard part was resisting the urge to turn around and look at him -

(She needed to be patient. Even if it was her Wolf back from the dead, she wasn’t sure her presence would be soothing.)

(…)

(If it was her Wolf, if Ghost had left him for dead, if he had survived all these years - would he hate her? Would he forgive Ghost?)

“You’re looking well, East.”

“Thanks. Helps to not be half dead and sick as a dog.”

The voice was…wrong. Too gravelly, too low - the accent though, the cadence of his words…oh, how desperately she wanted to believe it was him. A waiter brought her the tea she had ordered, creamy and warm and sweet. She didn’t have the stomach for it, thinking about the target behind her.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been around lately. I know it must have been a…rough adjustment.”

The man behind Liza scoffed.

“It’s been…an adjustment, to be sure.” He sighed, voice softening. “But I’m…doing better. Thanks to you - ”

“Oh, don’t you dare give me credit. That’s all you. And Nate, of course. I just dropped you at the door and left.”

“You didn’t have to. Help me, I mean.” East clearly meant to elaborate, but a waiter came by to take their order. Liza forced herself to swallow a few sips of her drink. She told herself she didn’t shiver at his coffee order - it didn’t mean anything, anyone could enjoy black coffee and four sugar cubes without milk.

“Speaking of, helping you, how’s Judy been?”

“Helpful.” The word was clipped and professional, but East worked some levity into his voice as he continued. “Starting to feel like a real person again.”

“I’m glad.” The warmth in Jackson’s voice almost took Liza off guard. So sickeningly tender and genuine. “You have no idea how relieved I am that you’re - ”

He cut himself off, their drinks served by an unwitting waiter. There was the clatter of tea cups and coffee mugs and sugar stirred with honey.

“Careful, it’s hot.”

“I know - it’s still good.”

“How can you tell with it burning your tastebuds off?” Jackson’s amused huff and East’s chuckling sigh only made the pang of nostalgia all the louder in Liza’s heart. Wolf (her Wolf) never waited for his coffee to cool; too impatient to wait - he always claimed it tasted worse once it cooled to a drinkable temperature.

“I’m glad you’re back, Jackson.” East’s voice was still warm, but there was a tension under his words. “How have you been? Is everything…alright?”

“Fine. I’m doing just fine - happy to be home, if I’m quite honest.” Jackson’s reply was immediate and open, but dreadfully vague. “Everything’s just fine.”

Liza couldn’t see East’s reaction behind her, but whatever it was compelled Jackson to continue. She could almost see him, in her mind’s eye: her Wolf…a decade younger, face pinched in worry - always worried - and eyes bright with determined preparation for every scenario.

“Things are dying down. Americans are keeping to themselves for once, and it’s looking like a cold case.” Jackson’s voice was almost too quiet to hear, but Liza could practically feel the tension bleed from the man behind her. “Almost out of the woods - just some finalized paperwork and seals of approval.”

“And what happens…after?”

Liza stared down at her tea, trying to picture it. The great and terrifying Ghost - who swore off apprentices after losing his first, his last - being told the man that was practically his son had survived. (Had been abandoned.) Wolf - who went through a hell at the hands of the enemy, who spent years abandoned and alone - survived and he could come home. (To a stranger in his room and the dog he loved long dead.)

(Her one regret in her life burned bright in her throat - oh, how he would have loved to meet Casey. How different things could have been if Wolf was around to protect her boy.)

“After…we get you home.”

“Which is?” East (Wolf?)’s whisper was hoarse, laced with a sad desperation that broke Liza’s heart. Jackson had told her he might have - she didn’t really think, she hoped -

(She was a fool, always blinded by hope and it’s empty promises.)

“I - I thought you said things were going well with Judy - ”

“Nevermind. Your tea’s getting cold.“ It was like a switch had flipped, words suddenly steady and strong. Whatever fledgling hope Liza had that this was her Wolf, that he could come home, died in her chest.

(Wolf hadn’t had a home to come back to in along time.)

“Hey, I just - East…it’s fine. We said it would probably take some time. We’re not in any rush - ”

“You seem to be.” There was a thin bite to the words, defensive but still smothered in that muted parody of nonchalance. “I don’t know. I don’t really want to. It sucks to think about. I thought maybe you…figured something out that I couldn’t.”

“East…love, I - ”

“It’s fine. I like my job. I like my friends. Think Al and I might get a flat together - rent’s too high to not have roommates in this economy.” East’s sigh was decisive, a harsh swallow before he continued. “I just - God, fuck - I like my life right now. And I don’t want to leave it all behind. But I know - I don’t know - what you need or, or want me to do in return for - ”

“Nothing. East, I’m not here to take you away I just - I didn’t know if you had somewhere else you’d rather be. But, if you’re happy here…I don’t see any reason for you to leave.”

“Really?”

(Why did the relief in his voice sound so much like a nail in the empty coffin they buried for him?)

Liza wanted to get sick; she stood up a bit too quickly, chair bumping into the man behind her. She pulled on the mask of a stranger, perfect and apologetic and calm, and looked a dead man in the eye.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry - ”

“No worries.”

Her heart dropped to her feet, his polite glance failing to betray recognition, even though she knew that face and those eyes so well, even a decade removed -

(He looked so much older than she remembered him. Tired. Contented. Scarred and worn by time and it’s ravages. Where was the soldier more boy than man she remembered? Where was his fiery eyes and burning passion? Where was his fight?)

(…)

(Was it better, she wondered, for him to live a life without that fight, that fire in his heart? God knew how it had burned her and everyone else who knew him when it was snuffed out.)

Liza took her leave, heart in her throat.

—

“Did you - ?”

“I don’t know him. This was a waste of my time.”

“I’m sorry - ”

“I’m sure you are.” Liza let her voice soften as she looked out at the rain hitting her hotel window. She sighed into the phone, speaking before she could regret it. “Agent Jackson?”

“Yes?”

“I don’t know this Wolf of yours, but it sounds like he’s having a pretty good life.” She almost paused, almost stopped to consider telling him the truth before deciding better of it. Liza was far more comfortable in a lie. “Don’t fuck it up looking for something he doesn’t need found.”

“…Thank you, Liza.”

She snapped the phone closed, and closed her eyes, remembering the face she knew on a man who didn’t know her.

It wasn’t worth unburying that empty casket. It wasn’t worth uprooting a good, clean civilian life. It wasn’t worth opening old wounds. Wolf was dead, as he had been for a decade. Liza needed to make sure he stayed dead, and that East stayed alive and well and untainted by the world he left behind.

[Before Smoke Break]

(Part of my Freelancers: Changing Tides series)

Taglist: @stargeode @sacredwrath @genuineformality

[kairisk]

You have to take it out. Otherwise how can you expect to heal?

this is up on my INPRNT as per usual! This time tho I'll be donating any proceeds to Care for Gaza.

[miilkybnn]

y’all know that one audition tape Neil did? Yeah, so anyways make it Soap

[tumatawa]

Desktop Laios is finally finished… download (runs on Shimeji-ee)

[ash-and-starlight]

one day, in a thousand years

[whimsiboy]

my turn for one of these-

10 notes - i'll make my bed so it isn't an absolute mess ✔

20 notes - i'll go through my closet and get rid of the clothes i haven't touched since i was 9- ✔

40 notes - i'll clean up my shelves ✔

55 notes - i'll clean up my super messy desk ✔

70 notes - i'll make sure my water bottle is always filled and with me so im not dehydrated ✔

150 notes - i'll get back to work on an au i've paused working on for no reason ✔

300 notes - i'll clean my whole room ✔

350 notes - i'll take more breaks from wearing my binder ✔

500 notes - i'll eat 3 meals a day ✔

1000 notes - i'll start regularly taking care of myself  ✔

2000 notes - i'll tell my parents i wanna go on hrt ✔

only 10 reblogs per person please

[cutepotatook]

bruh *explodes*

[ninjasmudge]

a downgrade really

[thedisablednaturalist]

I think when people think of mental illness and what helps, especially with things like anxiety and depression, the treatment involves pushing yourself. Pushing yourself to get out of bed, to exercise, to take a shower, to go out in public, to order your own food from the cashier, etc.

And because the mental health movement has grown so much, people think that's the default of ALL illnesses. That the only way someone will get better is if they push themselves. That practice makes perfect. That you'll become more comfortable or strong over time the more you do something.

But what people need to realize is, with physical disabilities and chronic illnesses, pushing yourself in most cases is DETRIMENTAL. Pushing yourself past your limits can lead to flare ups or further injury. That's why it's important to know your limits, how certain activities may affect your condition, and learn how to either adapt or get help to complete the activity in question.

Also, most of us are already pushing ourselves. Most of us don't have access to the help or equipment we need. Most of us live in places where we frequently encounter inaccessible obstacles. Most of us NEED to rest.

So please don't try to be our physical therapists or doctors. There are people specifically trained to help us navigate our own conditions and limitations. There are people trained to help us strengthen our body's resilience without causing flare-ups or injury. Do not tell us "it'll be good for you" or "you need the exercise" when we say something is too heavy or too far or when we say we need our mobility aid(s). Your friend with depression may need to be encouraged to get out of bed, but your friend with chronic illness definitely doesn't.

Respect our rest.

[nonpoppie]

bingyuan sillies

[kkoct-ik]

recent doodle dump

[whumpacabra]

Halfway

Past trauma, headache, referenced medical treatment, implied past illness and injury, antibiotics mention, neonazi mention

[Directly follows The South]

Easton Howard. That was his name now. It didn’t sit well on his tongue, foreign in his mouth, but that was his name now. Jackson had an awkward smile as he handed over the fresh ID card.

“I’m terrible with names - we can change it later when you’re ready.”

(The Wolf wasn’t sure he would ever be ready. If he would (could?) ever unbury that box of secrets in his skull.)

That had been this morning, as they left the clinic. Dr. Ashford explained things about his injuries he already understood. (It helped that he had been sick long enough for the worst of it to heal.) But he promised her he would keep taking his antibiotics until they were gone.

Jackson’s explanation of his situation was…wanting, but East (the two syllables of Easton didn’t sit right in his mind) wasn’t going to complain. He was healed. He was healthy as he could be. His handler was dead. He didn’t really care what happened next - nothing and no one could be as awful as Smith, and he was gone.

(No one else could break him again, because he was already broken. How Smith loved to laud that over him, that no matter what it was he who had broken the Wolf - )

“I trust Nate with my life, Easton. I want you to trust him too. He won’t let anything happen to you.” Nathan. Right. Jackson’s contact at this…place he was taking East. Something about ex-felons and employment. East was far worse than any of them, but they wouldn’t know that.

“Yessir.”

“Hm, about - did you read the file I faxed over to Nate?”

“My name is Easton Howard. I’ve recently been released from Blackwater County prison. Five years ago I committed assault and burglary. I’m out on parole on account of good behavior. The Holloway House will give me an opportunity to find employment and become a contributing member of society.” East memorized the file before the car ride began. He was so happy to have a script to follow. At least when he was the Wolf for the volunteers, he could pretend he wasn’t hurt or afraid. (He could turn his resentment on the innocent, the weak, the powerless - for once he was the one in control.) “Don’t worry, sir. I’m a good actor.”

“Huh. If you say so.” Jackson looked at East out of the corner of his eye, clearly unconvinced. Somehow, it didn’t look like failure to East, and he was able to crack a smile and relax his brow. He was a good victim, a good monster, and now he had to play the part of a good civilian.

How hard could it be?

—

Hard. It was very hard. He didn’t realize how distressed he was until he was left alone in his room. Introductions had been a blur of nodding, half smiles, and a facade of boredom.

The Wolf - no, no he was East. Don’t break character on set. (He was always on set here.)

East sat with his back to the foot of his bed, staring at the closed door with his knees drawn to his chest. There was a lock on the inside. That was somehow the most unnerving part - that they gave him the illusion of power, of locking someone out instead of him being locked inside.

(Nathan had a set of master keys, for emergencies. The Wolf tried to forget this fact.)

His breathing was shaky as he tried to reign in his thoughts, reviewing the information rattling around his skull.

Nathan was the head ‘supervisor’ in the Holloway House. He was Jackson’s friend. Dark skinned, dark haired, dark eyed - but his presence was undeniably bright.

Nathan had asked East about ‘himself’ and he answered as accurately as possible, both with regard to himself and the man in the file. He didn’t have a gambling or addiction problem. He didn’t smoke, but wouldn’t mind a bit of drink. His employable skills were…lacking, but he was a hard worker.

(He didn’t want to share a room. He didn’t want a shared bathroom. He didn’t like to be touched.)

“It’s a bit unorthodox.” Nathan had said, scratching his bearded chin. “But even though you’re new I think we can squeeze you into one of the singles upstairs.”

The room was tiny - smaller than his room in the bunker. A bed that barely fit his bulky frame, a desk and chair with barely enough room to sit at wedged on the wall opposite the bed. An overhead light and fan. A cramped bathroom - toilet and sink, no shower unfortunately.

(But the Wolf would take whatever scraps he was given and be grateful for them.)

Introductions to the other residents was…fuzzy. Jackson had left at that point, reassuring East that he was in good hands, and as much as he wanted to believe Jackson, his brain could not shut off its hypervigilant paranoia.

Tierney was the youngest - scruffy, 22, and freshly on parole. Drug trafficking charges. Jacob was the oldest - late 60s, weathered by war and time, and evidently uninterested in getting acquainted with East. Nathan had informed him it wasn’t Jacob’s first stint at a halfway house.

There were a smattering of others - Ice had little skin visible beneath a tapestry of tattoos that ran up and down his arms, Mac and Tav had run in the same gang, and Alister…

Alister kept quiet, to the back of the group. Expression open but not smiling. Words gentle but unfriendly. He was tolerating East, or in the best case scenario, humoring him, testing the waters. It was a half whisper from Ice that made East’s blood run cold and stomach sour. Something about Alister being a skinhead prick.

And for some reason that vague knowledge had him mutter halfheartedly about a headache and needing some sleep. (He needed some time alone.) Nathan seemed disappointed for a split second but understanding as he herded East upstairs to his room.

There were only three private rooms in the house - his own, Nathan’s, and Alister’s. East pressed his still tender back against the cool wood of the bedpost, trying to ground himself. He focused on the soft patter of snow outside, January chill letting the flakes fall heavy.

Jackson couldn’t come back soon enough.

[Before Façade]

(Part of my Freelancers: Changing Tides series)

Taglist: @stargeode @sacredwrath

[mmyashas]

do not stand at my grave and weep

[hinamie]

@philosophiums and i have been nursing the beginnings of an atla au so have some preliminary designs while we cook :>

[lemongogo]

[natsmagi]

to say i lost it would be an understatement