#so that i can have a clean space for my stupid mental health and then i'll slowly chip away at the closet mess over the next week

[look-at-the-stars-tonight]

sometimes i think about that one post about how you should have people who are absolutely delighted by your existence and like that's nice and all but what happens when they get bored of u

[paradoxbeta]

WHO IS EOC? i am very curious now!!!

>:) okay SO

tumblr picture formatting is utter garbage and i dont want these to take up too much space so im cramming these drawings into one row (or not if this crapsite breaks on me, because it seems to be REALLY fighting me on this, so if it ends up not making a nice little picture row know that i tried my best). but this is effigy of composure!

he has a couple problems, but the big one is that his superstructure has a terrible parasite situation. the parasites are flat, thin, and able to make it into grooves and pipes the inspectors cant reach. flushing out doesnt do much to dislodge them and they breed faster than they can be killed, so theyve happily made their homes in this sheltered, food-rich haven (to the obvious distress and horror of the host iterator). originally the concept for these parasites were much closer to centipedes and had the placeholder name "synapcipedes," but ive since started leaning more towards an obvious tapeworm motif for them because its gross and i enjoy it morbidly. it also has some pretty cursed implications if you think about it for too long which i have decided are funny/really disgusting/so stupid that they have to stay. i still flipflop between considering them centipedes vs tapeworms though and i dont think thatll ever be rigidly defined. the ambiguity is nice to toy with

on the top 10 list of "things that are not fun" having turbo worms has to be somewhere up there, so eoc has it *rough,* and kind of sort of eventually barrels off into the deep end because of it. his futile attempts to clean his own structure are frustrating enough, and the constant feeling of bugs crawling all over the inside of his body (which only gets progressively worse with time) does no favors either. however, the real big reason why he mentally declines is just because there's a ton of centi-worm things eating like fire through his neurons and other what-have-yous that iterators need to think and function. i think if he only got hit with one of these 3 things then he might have been able to hang onto his sanity, but with the triple combo he doesn't really stand a chance of doing much except stalling his functional death. which is good on him because if i was an iterator and my overseers told me i had a structure infestation, my mental health would have just preemptively swan dived off a bridge before anything even happened

anyhow, exponential parasite population growth meant exponential increase in all this other fun stuff, which means the time from the beginning of the infection to the time eoc is considered officially gone is startlingly short (for iterators, at least). it still took quite the while because losing your marbles is a loonnnng process, but still, yikes. its unfortunate because eoc was a real jokester pre-everything, and a cool guy to talk to. he was one of those people who could come up witty comments for anything like hed been ripped from the script of a sitcom. oh yeah, also, should have mentioned this earlier, but he ends up accidentally amassing a scavenger cult mid-insanity which goes hilariously bad because he's barely aware it's happening. nothing really works out for this poor iterator.

tldr: eoc gets parasites, they erode his brain, he goes nuts about it, (accidentally amasses a cult,) dies

[crayonurchin]

If you have an OCD obsession that's so overwhelming in your life you don't think you'll ever be able to be indifferent about it, let me tell you what I did last week.

I ran a D&D one shot at the local gaming pub all about a bunch of lads going out, getting shitfaced and partying up with the goddess of joy. It was very stupid and funny.

About 6 years ago I was struggling with an obsessive fear around alcohol so severe that I had to do the following

clean my hands with scalding water if I touched a wine glass

Purge food and drink from my body if it contained alcohol. This included vanilla extract, sauces with alcohol cooked off in the process, wine vinegars etc

I had to hold my breathe when I walked near a pub. Near could mean next to, near could mean upwards of 50ft

If I thought about alcohol, I had to actively sit through intrusive memories of alcohol related trauma as a reminder to myself to never ever drink alcohol

Monitor every single alcoholic drink around me for the level it was at to determine if someone was drinking too much

Check every 'secret space' to make sure nobody in the house was secretly an alcoholic

make food in the kitchen with my eyes shut to ensure I didn't see wine glasses, wine bottles, beer bottles, beer glasses, cocktail glasses etc

work up to 16 hours a day in an office just to make sure I never saw family members drinking

accuse everyone I knew of using alcohol to cope with hidden mental health concerns

attempt to escape my cousins wedding because they were going to do a champagne shower

These were things I did frequently, and it well and truly felt like I was going to have to deal with this for the rest of my life. I had made peace with never ever being free of this aspect of OCD.

And then last week I ran a stupid D&D one shot in a pub about getting drunk and partying.

All I'm saying is you are very much entitled to 'feel' like it's never going to get better. But please try even if you don't believe it. It took me about 2 years to finally believe I could recover, and I thank my little baby 21 year old self every single day for pushing through and trying her best.

I don't know how your OCD manifests, but I do know OCD, and OCD is a shitty condition that I swear on my life you can still thrive with, so please try

[echologname]

Hack your ADHD brain to do things

If there's a pot of dopamine at the end of a rainbow, I'd believe it because I've been searching frantically where to find this stuff. But for now, here's some ridiculous and maybe unhinged advice on how to get your silly brain to produce it itself. In my opinion, the more silly, stupid and simple it is, the better.

Side quest roulette

https://www.instagram.com/reel/C7rard8ukBz/?igsh=aGxzdHNkaGl6MWxt

Tell yourself to do something that's NOT what you want to do and let the ADHD distract you down the correct rabbit hole.

Duck tape yourself to your task

https://www.instagram.com/reel/C-78ilVJlyb/?igsh=am9pODRzY2xtMTY5

Duck tape yourself to your chair if you need to sit down and do homework. If you move to get up, you'll feel the gentle pressure and it'll remind you to stay focused.

Honestly, I did say some of these were out there 😜

Sing

Singing stimulates your vagus nerve which helps reduce anxiety and has numerous other mental health benefits and makes you feel good inside. Signing while doing a task is a great strategy!

Nested roulette games

The brain thrives with unpredictability and brevity. Doom scrolling is so addictive because:

Appeal - something enjoyable

Brevity - a minute reel

Unpredictability - you keep scrolling for the surprise of what's next

So use this to choose your tasks at random and only commit to doing them for a little bit. If I spin a wheel and the task is homework, spin again for a random assignment and again for what part of the assignment and set a timer for a few to 30 minutes max. Then you can do some proprioception stims like jumping jacks or twirl around to help you task change.

If your brain is chaotic, then giving it a chaotic and stimulating environment is what it needs.

Create an environment conducive to productivity

I can't be in my room, it's a mess, I don't have the energy to clean it but I need to put things away if I want to get to my desk to do work. So, instead of mixing my "lazy" and "work" environments in the same space, I'm only allowed to be messy and do fun things on the other end of the room that way my work space stays neat and tidy. It can help to have a room divider.

I focus better when I'm in work environments like school where everyone there has the same goal. So, it's my attempt to recreate the division where I associate different spaces with different tasks.

Coldness

Sometimes I just get stuck but splashing cold water on my face or drinking something cold kinda zaps me out of that state and I feel alert and refreshed, ready to take on a task. You can set reminders to regularly get your cold fix to stimulate your nervous system and activate a mild stress response.

For example: Wisconsin Badgers Huddle Dramatically

Blanket head

For some reason, I focus better at night. So I try to recreate the same conditions by putting a blanket over my head, that way it's cozy, dim, less noisy and it's just me and my homework, nothing else.

Turn your routine into a mnemonic device

Wash face

Breakfast

Homework

Dishes

The sillier the better.

Social media encouragement

Post your completed task in an ADHD encouragement group to get likes, positive comments or even help from others about where to start on a task.

Puppy dog eyes = YES!

Place talky buttons on the floor for your dog. Each one has a task or chore you have to do and when your dog presses one like, "Do dishes." you HAVE to obey. They're too cute to say no to and I'd do ANYTHING for them, if I'm willing to give my life for my dog, I can definitely do a few chores for her. Also, if my dog is encouraged to do this behavior with treats after I complete the task, she'll keep barking and begging and being silly and obnoxious until I do the task.

ASMR

Do your tasks slowly and listen carefully to the sounds of the tinkling silverware, tap your fingers on hard surfaces you have to wipe down...etc. It's no longer "chores" but yummy homemade ASMR.

Silly hats

Wear a silly hat for different things (like homework vs chores) so it acts as a cue to your brain to help you gear shift.

Different music genres help too.

Gentle parenting

Tell yourself, "It's OK sweetie, I know it's frustrating and you're trying your best to do the thing but you feel stuck."

Opposite action (DBT therapy)

Do the opposite of what your emotions are telling you to do. If you're feeling sad and want to curl up alone in the dark and do depressed things, you're just going to encourage that emotion instead of doing things a non-depressed person does like go outside in the sun and talk to friends.

If you're demotivated and want to sit and doom scroll, just get up, do a power pose and start with one little thing.

Video game roleplay

Attach a controller plug to a headband and controll myself to do things.

Fictional character roleplay

Act how a character would act doing that task. Mimic their body language, tics, lingo, humor…etc.

If doing the task stresses you out too much, pretend you're summoning someone else to do it and it might as well be your favorite character.

Demon slaying

The task that you NEVER seem to be able to do is a demon that must DIE! Fuel yourself with that adrenaline! C’ause that pile of laundry is just going to mock you and your executive dysfunction indefinitely. And we can't have that, so be a hero and murder your tasks! Those stressful little burgers are going DOWN!

Exercise audio games

Using an app like Zombies, Run! or Marvel Move, get up and get going, knock out missions while getting chores done.

AI assistance

AI works as my brain, it plans everything out and I just operate as the body taking commands of what to do next.

Dog treatment

Give yourself a treat for doing basic human things.

Cleaning hacks

Everything has a colored sticker which goes in the corresponding colored drawer/box/shelf…etc.

Give everything silly names. The dingawongs go on the desk with the other dingawongs and the jigawigas go in the drawer with the other jigawigas.

Try to pick up things with robot hands (mechanical hands with string and cardboard/plastic) or your toes. It'll be so much more fun and novel!

Vtuber + Tasker

Record Vtuber vids of tasks and use Tasker to automatically play them at a certain time as a reminder.

Best used with smart watch.

Quests

Mystery dispensers by each task (like by the cleaning supplies) and go around doing tasks in order to get the reward.

Optional function: they have AI and you need to send a picture of the completed task (checks image date and time metadata) in order to get the prize.

Puppet/plush care

Instead of saying, “I have to do this,” it's “I have to make sure Fuzzy does this by this time because I care about her and love her.” So it uses my sense of maternal responsibility for caring for helpless creatures that can't do anything on their own.

Also, it's Jesus's love language helping others! His law is love and that's how He wants us to show it.

VR game

Highlights items to put away and where and gives cute animations and sound effects for doing the task. Like a SIM but uses augmented reality.

Virtual pet reminders

Whenever it yells at you for a specific thing like food, associate it with doing something for yourself like getting yourself food too. You can't always trust yourself to set reminders.

Audio planner A

Computer talks and says what the task is, for how long and plays specific music to mentally que that task.

Example:

7:30 AM

“Time to wake up!”

“You have an hour to get ready for the day”

Plays morning music

8:20

“10 more minutes”

8:30

“Homework time!”

“You have 30 min until a break”

Plays Lofi Hip Hop

9:00

“You can take a break now”

Has a web interface with a checklist and whenever a task is completed, it says something like, “Congratulations on completing ____!” “You’ve earned 10 virtual coins!”

Audio planner B

Same as above but a playlist of time chunks and voice clips

MP3 to-do timer

Music clips with the task as the “song title.” Selecting a random song to be played, would be the same as selecting a random task and setting a timer for it, in this case, the run time of a song.

Candy task randomizer

Take a candy/pill dispenser filled with beads with tasks written on them.

Plush task randomizer

Plush with sound module with recordings of different tasks.

Bead currency

Every task completed is worth a bead.

10 beads = 1 USD

Keep track of beads as they accumulate

Can ONLY buy something for puppies IF there's enough beads

Adulting kid’s app

In a virtual world, their parents can set up a to-do list and they have an in game calendar, bank, phone and such. They're goal is to take care of a virtual pet whose needs are very realistic: unpredictable. Anyway, to take care of a pet, you need money which is earned by completing tasks (parents and teachers can send tasks to their to do and appointments to their calendar.

They have to plan out about how much food and medicine their pet needs and spend it wisely. They get an virtual invoice/receipts.

Their pet can spontaneously get sick and they need to make an appointment with the vet and pay LOTS from savings.

Delayed gratification prize dispenser

Write tasks on paper

Add paper to jar once complete

When the jar is full/reaches a minimum weight, it’ll dispense a prize

Flower power

Write tasks on seed paper

When a task is complete, put it in a jar

The jar is filled by the end of the week and the tasks can be planted!

Egg system

Fill eggs with different tasks related to homework or free/break time. And set a timer to complete the task on the egg I picked.

For free time, instead of picking up my phone and waste time, I pick up an egg. This way, I can do things I’ve always wanted to do but never do because I’d rather sit and do nothing.

Also, keeping a strict schedule is hard, this way, it's not mindless routine, it has an element of surprise and flexibility.

Possible Motivators

Throughout all species throughout the world and time, necessity has been the driving force and the reward: life and continued existence, food and health. They’d literally die without the skills they acquired from their parents, sometimes horribly. There's no, “If I want to get distracted and not do this thing, there's no consequences, I’ll still live just fine.”

I suppose drastic stakes are super effective.

Also, like the Bluey episode, “Duck cake,” even when Bluey got things she liked and enjoyed for cleaning up, they didn't fulfill her as much as cleaning up to please her parents and make them happy. So, doing things for the good of helping others is also a strong motivator. If we always live for the things that please us, for the things we want, we’ll never be truly happy.

Or Tiana in The Princess and the Frog, she had a dream she wanted SO desperately, she worked hard every day for years for it, never once taking her eyes off the prize. What dream do you have?

Make other things just as or more enjoyable than my bad habits.

Find something or someone to live for (for me, it's my dog's). It's different when you take care of someone you love because you would do anything for them. They're ALIVE, they have feelings and it makes you care about them.

Though it's probably not the healthiest, nothing kicks me into high gear like being frustrated/angry. I get an "I can fight everyone!" mentality and end up taking it out on chores and doing things. At least I'm not too irritable and it's constructive.

[ilikepjo24]

People I don't like and the reasons why.

- Minors on adult spaces that make themselves unsafe by willingly entering adult spaces and then blaming adults for discussing adult subjects in those spaces.

- Parents of minors that don't monitor the internet experience if their child properly and get mad at the internet and at other adults for creating adult spaces instead of being mad at themselves for not protecting the children they are responsible for properly.

- Radfems. I believe in equality and real feminism. Not in inequality, reverse sexism, transphobia, shaming people that are comfortable with their femininity because "it's bowing to patriarchy", porn haters, slut shaming other women, child haters, man haters and all the things Radical Feminism stands for.

- People that turn everything into a talk about Palestinians. Shaming people for still having a life when you "feel guilty for just having water" isn't helping anyone. I still help the news spread, I still boycott the brands that support Israel, I still give amounts of money I can afford to give to organizations and people that are trying to raise money for Gaza. Just because I don't post about it all the time and victimize myself online doesn't mean I have forgotten or that I don't care. I can still have a life and support Palestine, it doesn't have to be my whole personality.

- Flat earthers. You're just too stupid to understand physics.

- Vegans that force their naturally carnivore pets to also be vegan because "it feels so wrong to love one animal and eat the other". If you don't like your pet to eat meat or meat based products, get an animal that is a leaf-eater like you, don't torture the poor dog.

- Vegans that walk up to you while you eat a burger and try to talk harass you out of it.

- "Seperate the art from the artist" people. You can't! If your favourite artist is a bad person *cough cough* like Kanye West *cough cough*, you can't listen to their music without supporting them, giving them money, and allowed all the bad things they've done to go answered. You either have to stop listening to their music, or admit to yourself that you're selfish enough to help a bad person continue being a bad person for a couple of songs. You can only "seperate the art from the artist" if the artist is dead, because only then you can enjoy the art without giving money to a bad person.

- People that say "it's freedom of speech" when it's not and then proceed to throw slurs around.

- People that are haters of artists and when you ask them why they say "because I don't like their music" + [incert 584370 incorrect facts the media and other haters pulled out if their asses and can easily be debunked if you put the slightest bit of effort]. Like, no. There's literally nothing wrong with that person and "I don't like their music" is a valid reason to not be a fan, but you don't have to be a hater instead, you can just be indifferent if you don't like their music.

- People that wear shoes inside a house they don't clean.

- People that steal your good without asking when they aren't your siblings. My sister gets a free pass, but you don't. If you want a fry, you'll ask for it and I'll just say yes, because it's just a fry, you don't have to be annoying and steal it.

- People that say "ADHD is not real" or "Aren't we all a bit ADHD?". No, we're not. ADHD is perfectly real and it causes issues with productivity and concentration that you could never imagine, don't use it as an excuse for your laziness and then say "don't we all have done ADHD?". There's medication for it, because it is 100% real, so don't disregard it or say it's not real, it's just getting annoying.

- People that make jokes about autism, mental health problems, SA, sexism, ect and all it "dark humor" but get upset when you crack some dark humor jokes about men or the church.

- Neurotypical people that give the most basic, overhead "advice" ever to neurodivergent people and then think they know better when someone neurodivergent says "I actually have already tried this, and it's not really working for me".

- People that don't believe in the seperation of religion and state. The laws are for everyone not just you, and "everyone" includes people with different religious beliefs and therefore the laws should not be based around your religion.

- People that are Anti-choice. If you don't want to have an abortion, don't. That's good for you. Congratulations. I hope your baby is born healthy and grown up to live a long life and be the smartest, healthiest, happiest, prettiest person ever and I hope they achieve all their dreams. But just because you didn't want to have an abortion doesn't mean you get to tell others what to do. You go and focus on raising your wonderful child and leave me the fuck alone.

- Homophobic and Transphobic people. Because I have normal human decency.

- Racist people. Because I have normal human decency.

- Sexist people. Because I have normal human decency.

- People that chew with their mouth open.

- People that are "Lesbian Truthers" when it comes to a female character that isn't canonically a lesbian and has shown attraction to men in the past and headcannon them as lesbian and then call homophobic whoever disagrees. I'm looking at you Lesbian Azula Truthers.

- People that are "Lesbian Truthers" when it comes to AN ACTUAL HUMAL PERSON that has shown attraction to men MULTIPLE TIMES, FOR YEARS AND YEARS and have the fucking nerve to "headcannon" them as lesbians AS IF THEY AREN'T ACTUAL HUMSN BEINGS AND NOT CHARACTERS, and then call you homophobic when you say "hey hadn't this person dated multiple men openly? And I actually remember them saying they don't like you be all up their business and guessing their sexuality." I am looking at you Gaylors (aka Taylor Swift Lesbian Truthers). K!ll yourself Gaylors. Please.

- People that blame the child for being abused.

- People that get big dogs and stuff them into little apartments and don't exercise them properly on a daily basis.

- People that get bird and stuff them into tiny cages all day long for all their lives.

- People that are prejudiced again certain dog breeds when it's proven that there's no bad breed, just but owners.

- People that are haters just to troll.

- People that say "I'm not done talking yet". Honey, if you wanted to give a speech you should have told me so that I wouldn't show up. This is a conversation.

- Teachers that don't like kids. Why tf would you get this job then? And why do you have to torture the kids now?

[nightinghoul]

About this NFT thing...

TL;DR I'm a disabled NFT creator, new to the scene, and it would help me to have followers on my design page, especially if they like cute bunny rabbits and mental health.

This is me: https://zora.co/@sourdoughbun

I'm one of these people who doesn't really like new things. Well, I'm autistic. I often feel wary of new technologies.

I think there's probably a lot of ND people in the crypto and NFT space, but I was skeptical. Plus, some people who are into it present themselves as a bit douchey. Some.

But, I have a person in my life who I consider a friend, but really he's a medical professional who does assisted stretching, and I see him once a week. (I have some really bad issues with muscle spasms. This helps a lot.)

He's young and hip and shit. Really nice guy, too. He started explaining cryptocurrancy and NFTs to me, and I was like, "Uuugh, that sounds stupid and annoying." But I was really catching on? And it started to make a lot of sense to me?

One of my special interests when I was a kid was stocks and bonds, because I liked to look at the graphs. When I was around eight, I decided that whenever I got some money, I was going to invest in gold, because commodities tend to be stable. But then I turned out to be bad at math, and have dyscalcula, plus I never had any money.

Anyway. Fast forward a few decades... I learned that NFTs are made from pngs.l (or can be, anyway). I took college courses in digital art, twenty years ago - got certified; have a degree in computer graphic design... But I didn't enjoy doing digital art until recently, after a lot of progress was made in digital technology. Even then, it took me a few years to find a stylus I was comfortable using. But now, I just do digital art all day. I'm usually working on my unpublished aspiring webcomic. Just for fun, I make several pngs every day.

So it turns out, I've been feeling like a failure for my entire life, but my brain is wired for the NFT scene. So I got four audio books on NFTs and cryptocurrancy, and I'm listening to them at double speed while making digital art of cute little bunnies. I also got into some crytpo groups on social media, but immediately felt uncomfortable. In that community, I feel like a real outsider.

Also, I'm not a hustler. I'm a tired person with social anxiety. If I could do this, I would feel like there's something I actually do - Something I could be good at. Narcolepsy keeps me at home - keeps me in bed a lot, and definitely doesn't let me drive. Before this, I was always very physical, and preferred jobs where I was working with animals, and able to be a busy body all day, cleaning up and caring for my shelter kitties. My skill set is all very physical and something I can't do anymore.

Except for this. This, I can do at home. I don't have to keep a set schedule. I don't have to work with other people who think I do everything weird. I don't have to worry about offending people by having a monotone voice, or not making eye contact. And it makes sense to me.

A lot of people hate crypto and NFTs and want them to go away. But there's this huge community of people who are enjoying themselves and staying sharp with this stuff. For me, it's helping so much with my brain fog to be engaged like this.

I just... I know if people don't see what I'm doing and don't care... I won't make any money; I won't feel like I can contribute financially to my household... I'll feel like a failure, and I'll burn out. And... I don't know how to show people what I'm doing. I don't know how to get my foot in the door.

So, having said all that, if anyone wants to follow me on Zora, or share my Zora page, I would be eternally grateful.

My brand is Sourdough Bun. Yes, it's just a cute bunny in a bunch of different little outfits. No, I don't dress my real life bunnies - They wouldn't like that.

But, I didn't want it to be without meaning, so my Sourdough Bun collections will always say, "Sourdough Bun knows it's okay to not be okay."

Sourdough Bun is a bunny who is usually in a bad mood, but she knows it's okay to express herself, and she finds enjoyment in what she loves. For her, that means wearing all sorts of costumes. She's also a shape shifter, and can appear with different patterns and colors of fur, and different kinds of ears. She does so for variety, rather then to fit in.

If you love bunny rabbits, or hate toxic positivity, you might like Sourdough Bun.

If you actually read all this... Wow! Thanks!

[mistfvlly]

My thoughts prompt me to return to this space.

My value at home is always equated to how many so called traditional, housewife-like tasks I can accomplish. Any other feats of mine don’t mean much. If I enjoy certain tasks, it’s not valued. I’m gaslit. It’s frustrating hearing this on a daily basis and when facing it to fight it, my efforts are not taken seriously. If I talk happily about something I enjoy, something like baking, it’s shut down as something useless and instead I’m questioned on why I cannot cook more traditional dishes. I am told I need to cook more. But this is said to my face, as though it has been forgotten that I have lived independently with little help from others in doing so. And even when I speak of that time, it’s shut down, stamped on, undervalued. It isn’t quite control, but judgments to restrain me, both consciously and subconsciously. My appearance, my weight, my skin condition is highlighted, with blatant lies thrown on me as accusations. I shouldn’t eat too many oily foods. I have said this out of my own judgment. Yet days later, my own comment is used as an attack against me. Something along the lines of “all these take outs cause your breakouts”. But “all these takeouts” are few, and the same as everyone else, since it’s a family thing. Yet somehow, it’s wrong for me to join in with that. And if I were to exclude myself, I’d be labelled as petty, stupid, dramatic, and so on. This is how it always was. I escaped it for a while. It’s small stuff. But big when it’s coming from within the house. It’s big if it’s consistent, almost daily. Do you not realise what you’re doing? The things I pursue are not taken seriously. No attention is given to them. You all prioritise other things. Things that don’t matter. The culture is dying. So e of those practices will mean nothing in the future. So why are you insisting? What do you achieve? Things can evolve in a different way. There’s nothing inherently wrong with me preferring to bake than cook. I still cook. And beyond the household chores of cooking and cleaning, which by the way in huge part drove me to literal madness approximately one year ago, something which I am still recovering from, I am struggling with other things that are important too. My mental health is in absolute shambles, I have deep fears and hesitances to even pursue some of these things further, and that affects my education as well as my life in general. It affects it all so incredibly and I always have to suffer with the consequences, alone. And I must suffer with it alone, for if you were to discover these failures, that would prove to be an even bigger disappointment. I must at least succeed in one thing. I cannot do the menial tasks, apparently, not to your liking at least, and I cannot even make something of myself, which disappoints you but most importantly myself. All of that, and more, sometimes makes me want to off myself.

[nerbs-the-word]

OC Intro - Eights + Briggs

Hey y'all, haven't written anything in a few days (Been enjoying my long weekend), but glad to see I've been kinda growing. Likes and follows make the Nerb brain chug like the machine I am.

So anyway, new OCs, new short story. Once again, asks are open for questions/comments or constructive criticism if you have any. Just one last FYI, their full names are Sgt. Ashley "Eights" Pierce and Col. Sandra Briggs. Eights is they/them, and Briggs is she/her. Sorry for any confusion!

This story does take place in my worldbuilding project! Pixies be upon thee!

This does feature military themes, guns, blades, violence, gore, drug use and some 'colorful' language, so if any of those things upset you, please don't continue reading for your own mental health. And if you're not sure, please feel free to stop reading at any time if you feel uncomfortable.

STRIKE AT ZERO HOUR

WITH OVERWHEALMING FIREPOWER

THEY'RE FUELED BY THE FEAR

IN THEIR ENEMIES' EYES

ITS A SHOCK TROOP INFILTRATION

A FAST AND VIOLENT ESCALATION

OUT OF THE TRENCHES...

"The stormtroopers rise." the voice finishes as the intense metal music in the background blares, bass thumping in their ears. Emitting a muffled grunt under the several pounds of metal atop their head, the hefty marine slams their breaching axe down, sending a spray of blood the color of moldy bread across their Mythbreaker armour.

Eights slams their boot into the chest of the Other, and using their mechanically augmented hands, pulls free their axe. Their metallic hands, themselves the size of dinner plates, make the bladed weapon in their hands look tiny; even if it is a bulky tool for the average foot soldier. An average man would require two hands to deal any damage with it; Eights can use it in one, and a shotgun in the other.

"Welcome to the 25th century, dumbass" They sarcastically mutter under their breath with a seething rage in their voice. A quick slam of their metal boot and a crunch of bone confirms that the alien isn't getting back up off the floor.

Hunting remnants of these stupid extraterrestrials has been getting old to the young marine. It's been five months since the end of the war, and here they were, being dragged around Known Space to every hulk, ship or station suspected to have an Other aboard. But yet again, after Operation Ragnarök, they didn't have much else to do other than tune the suit's motors and clean their guns. These battles weren't even exciting anyway, the Others always fell back on melee weapons; meaning they were perfect fuel for-

"Sergeant!" Exclaims a familiar authoritative voice from the doorway behind them.

As if by muscle memory, Eights turns to face the figure, their hand pressed against their forehead in a neat and orderly salute. Their posture was as perfect as a marine could get in the bulky armour they wore.

"Yes, ma'am!" They aggressively yell back, every fiber of their voice screaming respect and a sense of duty.

The colonel looks across the room, their diminutive frame being held in the hand of some poor private. While she had a stoic look on her face, the private's face went pale.

The room was stained in blood. Every wall was covered in some sort of bodily fluid in some unnatural, inhuman color. Extraterrestrial corpses littered the room, many with massive tears across their bodies, others riddled with bullet holes. Some still flickered with fire, smoldering silently in the room. It reeked of death, blood, ash, and gunpowder.

"At ease, sergeant." Briggs responds, and as if by command, the hulking, ten foot tall figure before her relaxed their stiffened frame, using the opportunity to pick up a large rotary cannon on the floor. The chest cavity of one of the targets gives resistance, but with a whir of the trigger, the barrel cluster is able to mutilate the innards enough to rip it out with a disgusting squelch.

"Ship's clear." The marine responds as they affix the cannon to their back.

"I noticed. Private, pass me off to the sergeant, please. Then report to your lieutenant."

The still-shaken private nods swiftly, quickly passing the tiny colonel into the metallic gauntlet of the heavily-armed stormtrooper, like a bug into the mouth of a waiting lion. And while pulling their hand back towards their chest, they swiftly leave the room, as silently as they walked in.

It did dawn previously on the colonel that Eights could easily turn her to mincemeat like they do so easily and so willingly to anything the Republic deems dangerous. Pirates, terrorists, Blue Angel cultists, and now the Others. The difference is that Eights respects authority.

"Ma'am, 34 dead, 5 captured. The survivors have locked themselves in what I assume to be the armoury." The sergeant replies, lifting the tiny colonel to be at eye level. Their helmet was menacing; more machine than person. Covered in valves, with a hose running from the mouthpiece to the chest, every breath was accompanied by a whir, and every word echoed inside the hermetically sealed suit.

"Good." The colonel responds with a nod.

"And I'm ready to-" The sergeant begins, before being cut off.

"No. You're dismissed. Rest up, and meet me in my office tomorrow morning at 0600. We need to talk.

_

"Pierce, I'm worried for your health." The colonel continues, pacing back and forth behind her desk. With the sergeant looming over her, it looked like she wasn't in command here. But she, and Eights, both knew the truth. She outranked them.

Eights crossed their pale arms across their chest. They felt naked, missing the second skin the mechanized armour served as.

"So what?" They exclaim dismissively, their emerald green eyes staring downwards at their commanding officer.

"So what?!" Briggs yells back, the sudden aggressiveness catching the battle-hardened and grizzled marine off guard. "That shit, that fucking concoction, that *Flux*-"

Flux. She spat the word like it was a curse. Some combat drug brewed up by the battalion stranded on Taurus-4 during their deployment. Before Eights was placed under her command.

"You're smart enough to know what it'll do to you." She finishes with a disappointed sigh.

"What I put in my body is my business. It helps me get work done, ma'am." They finally reply after a moment of silence.

A moment of silence that returned to the air, deafening, blinding, choking. Horribe in every regard.

But finally, with a deep breath, Briggs spoke again, her commanding voice easily heard despite her small size.

"I didn't want to, Pierce. But I'm ordering you. You will report to the ship's medical team, and you will seek treatment for your addiction. Understood?"

"Yes ma'am..."

_

[morg-among-the-stars]

Find Words As Light As The Birds

Word Count: 5,983

This fic is inspired by the below prompt and it is beautiful and sad at the same time. This fic contains topics of violence, mental health, self-harm and other dark/depressing things. If any of those things may be upsetting or triggering to you, then please do not read this fic.

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"It's really not that bad." Evan tells Jared, whose hand is gently turning his head to survey the results of whatever happened in the computer lab that Evan won't speak of.

Jared's hand is soft against Evan's bruised jaw, while his eyes flicker with flames.

He'd practically picked Evan up off the floor and shoved him into the nearest bathroom, handing him wet paper towels to clean the blood from his split lip as well as dried paper towels to soak up his tears.

They're still in the school bathroom, roughly fifteen minutes after the incident; Jared locked the door so Evan could have a second to compose himself. (After Evan could breathe properly again, Jared shook off those stupid nerves deep him his heart and asked Evan if he could assess the damage.)

Students aren't supposed to lock the bathroom doors, they are only allowed to lock the individual stalls. If Jared gets in trouble for picking his friend up off the ground, then sue him.

"Really not that bad? He looked like he was going to kill you. You looked like you were going to die." Jared states.

There's a light bruise on his jaw that barely touches his cheek, it'll get darker as it heals.

A big purply splotch, another thing that people can stare at him for and furrow their brows.

Evan's lip is also split, though it has (thankfully) stopped bleeding.

Evan's self-esteem is more injured than anything. He already felt like shit about himself; getting his butt kicked by a sociopath didn't help him.

"Why won't you tell me what happened?"

Evan looks at him, then vaguely down.

"I don't- I don't want to make it worse." He frets. "What if he goes after you, what if you get hurt because, because of me?"

Jared is grateful that Evan wants to keep him safe, but he can fight his own battles.

He frowns and his heartstrings are not pulled, but yanked while looking at Evan like this.

A little bloodied and definitely bruised, colored pink from crying as well.

Evan has learned to not be a "cry baby," but having Connor Murphy beat the ever-living shit out of him triggered a reflex of tears.

"If he goes after me, I'll deal with it. I don't want you to get hurt any further."

Jared's words are firm and reassuring, and Evan feels oddly comforted by the soft touch on his face that accompanies them.

Comforted and safe. He is safe for this short moment in time.

"Are you gonna go to the counselor about this?" It's a genuine question, but Evan just laughs. A small, bitter sound in his throat.

"They never actually help, and I'm... non-confrontational."

Jared doesn't know how Evan can be laughing at this situation, but it's admirable in a weird way.

Evan can be a bitter, sarcastic asshole like he is; the dumbest, most impulsive thought crawls into the back of his head. (His mind is telling him to let Evan's face go, but his heart feels like it's achieved the tiniest bit of intimacy that only his subconscious knows of.)

"I know you aren't, but it wouldn't be a confrontation. And, you can't let him hurt you and not say anything about it."

"Do you want to tell the counselor?" Evan asks. He knows that he should give Jared his personal space, but after being torn down so harshly, this comfort feels grand.

Being touch-starved is another thing to add onto the "Facets of Evan's Shitty Mental Health" list.

He continues on with honesty and a sigh, "I'd prefer you didn't, but you do what your heart tells you to do, you know? My heart told me to write the truth and... look where that got me."

Evan is visibly calmer now, though his words are somewhere between wise and sarcastic. He is looking at Jared curiously, wanting to know whether or not he'll go to the counselor.

He should mind the awkwardness that is his family-friend's hand so gentle on his face, but he doesn't.

Jared knows he should mind it, too, but his hand is unexplainably frozen.

Going to the counselor isn't on Jared's mind right now, Evan telling him to do what his heart tells him to do is. (He could hear the tone-shift towards the end of his sentence, but that sarcasm is what he sticks to. Hearing the soft-spoken boy speak with cynicism the same as he, himself, does... it turned a cog in his brain. A cog covered in cobwebs that shouldn't be dusted off for both of their sakes.)

Evan is somewhat calm and pink in the face, his body catching up with his mind slowly but surely; a halfway sarcastic sentiment in the air that Jared stupidly loves.

They're alone in the empty boy's bathroom, no jeering classmates to say anything about anything.

Both of them are still, Evan knows that it would be rude to snap his fingers in front of Jared's face to get him out of whatever trance he's in.

Jared looks at the thin red line on Evan's lip.

He thinks of cynicism and his subconscious and Evan finding a way to laugh as opposed to cry after a shit-storm.

Evan not pushing his hand away, something so small that is truly something so huge.

Jared does something stupid and impulsive, he kisses Evan, right where Connor's knuckles had landed and left a split-wound.

It's only for a second, then the door knob starts to shake violently.

"Hey!" A voice calls. It's Connor's voice, pissed off as all hell. "Open the door! I saw you run in here, Evan. You didn't explain this fucking letter!"

Jared isn't stupid, but kissing Evan once he finally calmed down wasn't the smartest idea he's had.

Even though Connor is yelling on the opposite side of the door, Evan's mind is fuzzy and on a delay. His eyes are wide and his body is still when Jared takes one big step back from him.

That was his first kiss.

Holy shit. That was his first kiss. Jared had kissed him.

"Jared- What..."

"I know, I know. God, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have..." He trails off and Connor becomes frantic with the doorknob. "I'll handle him."

Evan wants to say something, but he can't before Jared gestures for him to stay put, and then goes around the corner to unlock and open the bathroom door. (He'll clean up his stupid messes later, Evan can't afford another bruise. That is the message that is newly set into Jared's mind.)

A loud thunk is heard and Evan listens to an enraged,

"You fucking psycho-"

Another thunk; after a third one, he can't stay put.

Jared has never been a violent person, but Evan sees him swinging and swinging at Connor, laying into him relentlessly in the hallway outside the bathroom.

He didn't even know Jared could punch, he has never needed to see such a thing.

Evan is still on that delay and he is thinking about Jared coming to his aid and then kissing his split lip better like some miracle healer.

At least, he dumbly thinks that's one possible reason why it happened. (An obvious explanation is within his reach, but it is impossible. Jared doesn't... could he? No, he doesn't. There's no way he does...)

He can ask later, but seeing Jared punch Connor Murphy in the face makes Evan want to kiss him on his own merit as a way of thanking him. That is his true, genuine thought process. Irony or an actual consideration, whatever it may be.

Jared had always made the crude joke that Evan wasn't straight.

If he isn't, then Jared is the explanation, or the person to blame, or something else.

Whichever makes more sense in a nonsensical situation.

The school security officer is pulling Jared away from Connor in the blink of an eye and yelling, "Hey, hey, hey! Break it up, boys, break it up!"

He sees Evan standing idly in the bathroom doorway with a deer in the headlights daze on his face and asks him sharply,

"You involved in this?"

Evan shakes his head, but Connor is no help,

"Yes, that freak wrote a letter about my sister. He's in love with her."

Those words are heavier when said out loud. Love, not even the usual timid like.

The officer takes all three of the boys to the counselor, where they sit in a row.

Connor on the left, Jared on the right, and Evan in the middle; involved in this.

The counselor sits up and starts right away,

"What's this letter that Connor is referring to?" Connor reaches into his pocket to hand it to her.

Though she stops him and looks at Evan, "May I read it?" It's his letter, at least that is respected in one way or another.

Evan, self-described as non-confrontational, weakly nods his head.

She reads over the paper, reading out loud to the group, "Because there's Zoe... you assumed it was your sister, Connor? Zoe Murphy?"

"Yes. He wrote it to make me look crazy."

"Giving him a bruised cheek and a split lip doesn't help your case..."

"I'll give you one, too, Klienman-"

"Enough." The counselor says sternly. "Evan, is this about Connor's sister?"

Evan looks between them, at Connor's ice-cold glare and Jared's curious but slightly guilty expression.

"Yes," He admits, "But, but I didn't mean it in a creepy way. I just- I wanted a friend and Zoe is... well, nice."

"But you like her. You've been staring at her for years, I've seen you do it!" Connor spits out. Jared looks a little pained by that sentiment but he understands that it's a truth he'll have to-

"I don't." Evan informs everyone, his voice is unsteady and soft. The room goes quiet; Connor looks pissed (still) and Jared looks extremely confused and even more curious than before. "I don't like Zoe like that."

Jared leans towards Evan and his brows furrow together, he barely has to ask his question, though he still whispers it,

"But I thought you... y'know..."

Evan looks at Jared, at his lips as he speaks, since his eyes are too much right now.

He understands what the guilty expression was for and his mind is in a whirlwind.

He doesn't know what he feels and he wants to ask Jared why he kissed him.

He'd still kiss him again as a thank you for standing up for him.

That thought alone, his odd willingness to kiss Jared keeps the whirlwind going and going.

But saying something definitive and clear is his best bet.

Even if it's partly a lie, a partial lie that he doesn't understand. It's better than saying that he does like Zoe.

The slight, silent movement of his head signals the "No," and Jared sits back in his chair.

"Then why did you write about my sister? Why her of all people? Why do you need her to be your friend?"

"Why do you sound like your accusing him of something? What, are you jealous he didn't want to be your friend or something?" Jared questions. He rants for a handful of seconds and Evan learns that Jared really does not like Connor, maybe even down-right hates him. "You aren't the most approachable guy out there, you're kinda insane and maybe a little full of yourself. Get that stick out of your ass and-"

"You've already fought enough, we don't need anymore." The counselor tells them, then looks at Connor.

"Connor, why did you need to result to violence with Evan?"

"I don't want a loner like him dating my sister, she deserves better than him." He answers instantly, then looks down at his lap, picking at the ripped threads of his jeans. "I'm trying to look out for her."

It's odd, but Evan finds himself laughing bitterly to himself. He was once told that it is easier to laugh than to cry and he really wants to cry.

So, he laughs for a second time today. (He laughed at some joke he overheard in the hallway earlier, which earned him a side-eyed glare. So, technically, the third time today.)

"Dude, what are you possibly laughing about now?" Jared asks him bluntly.

"Do you beat up everyone else who's ever tried to talk to her?" Evan asks Connor, fear still inside of him, but he doesn't know anything worse Connor could do to him.

"No, because no one else has written creepy shit about her."

"I could've written much worse." Evan states, ironically bold for him.

The room goes quiet, but for an entirely different reason. "I did write 'much worse'. I, I don't even think- I don't think you got to the bottom of the page before you, before you..."

Evan is stuttering and his voice is shaky, his bitterness (that Jared saw as ironically bold confidence) faltering. He gestures at his beat-up face, Connor sinks into the chair a little bit.

He coughs a little bit too loud and swallows down anything that is threatening to come out of him.

"Would anyone notice if I just disappeared tomorrow?" He quotes himself and looks to his right. "You know, Connor. I already feel like, like shit about myself. I didn't need you to beat me up, I do it myself enough." His words come out shaky, but they're undeniably truthful now.

Jared sits up, on alert for the second time today,

"Woah, what does that mean?" Evan is faced with the truth that he has barely skimmed the surface of with his own therapist.

Telling the counselor (who he avoids, because confidentiality doesn't exist as he's found out), the sociopath who knocked his lights out and his family-friend who kissed him who he may or may not want to kiss again makes his stomach ache.

The answer he gives is cryptic, but Connor gets it immediately and, after a few long seconds, Jared wears the expression of someone whose mental computer is struck with an error and all it can do is buffer, buffer, buffer.

"You know that pocket knife my dad gave me before he left? He taught me how to whittle sticks and then I taught you." Jared nods.

He vividly remembers Evan as a little boy, with that oak-wood-hilt pocket knife always on his person; ready for whatever box needed to be opened or stick needed to be shaved down into a toothpick.

It seems insignificant, but it isn't. Hell, the way Evan says it, with something close to a half-smile on his face takes more away from it.

That has always been one thing he is a master at, making his troubles seem smaller than they are.

Everyone is looking at him, ready for the "Well..." or something else, but it never comes.

It sinks in and Jared rests a hand on Evan's shoulder.

The counselor is on alert, telling him,

"Evan, that is a serious but separate matter we can talk about another time-"

"I don't want to talk about it."

He is pushing back, something no one in the history of the world has seen Evan Hansen do. Jared keeps his eyes steady on him, thoughts racing a mile a minute.

Though, his thoughts are cut short and shaken away,

"Jared, what was going through mind when you saw Evan in that state?"

"Do I have to say it? I felt... I felt terrible. What would you feel if your friend was on the ground getting pummeled? I tried to be a good friend and pick him up off the ground."

"But I thought we were just-"

"Yeah, yeah. I know. It's bullshit."

"Watch your language."

Jared sighs and turns to Evan, holding onto his shoulder a little firmer.

"You're my friend, Evan. My real, legit friend, okay? I genuinely like you and I'd beat up any string-bean druggie to help you."

"Hey, dick-"

"Language-"

"Fine, fine. I'm sorry." Jared says, looking between Connor and the counselor. "But I wanted to help Evan. And if helping him involved getting all that blood out of his mouth and giving his pummeler what-for... then sue me."

It also involved kissing me, for some unknown reason, Evan thinks.

He also thinks how, in an instant, he's upgraded from family-friend to real, legit friend.

He might go home and throw up everything he's ever eaten, or run to the nearest bathroom and do the same.

Connor is already on the defense, saying that his family literally could sue him, but Jared is quick with a comment about how that wont hold up well. "You assumed the worst and gave couldn't-hurt-a-fly Evan Hansen a bruise on his face and a split lip."

Once again, their bickering back-and-forth is ceased and it comes down to this:

Three boys in a row in front of the school counselor's desk.

The first, Connor, resorting to violence in the name of protecting his sister. The last, Jared, resorting to violence in the name of protecting his friend (after many long years, he finally admits that he is Evan's friend). Evan, the in-between, more troubled than anyone first thought. Admitting that he, himself, hurts more in his heart than anything Connor's fists could ever do to him physically.

Jared, without the judgmental eyes of his classmates, sees Evan. He lets himself see Evan.

He knows that he'll have to explain himself for the abrupt smooch in the bathroom, he is trying to sort out how to do such a thing. How to explain something so illogical, something that he has come to terms with, but still plagues him, because it's Evan.

Evan, who he cannot have and hold.

The first and last are assigned after-school detention for the next few of days starting tomorrow, the in-between is told to go home for the rest of the day and to have a meeting with the school psychologist within the week.

From what he knows, the school psychologist is a separate version of the counselor, working closely with Dr. Sherman, but serving a more immediate purpose.

All three boys are dismissed and Evan makes the slow, utterly-drained walk towards the exit. He looks over his shoulder for a second and Jared is in the hallway, looking at him like he wants to say something.

If Evan squints before turning his head back around and walking out the door, he thinks Jared might've been wiping droplets off his glasses.

Unfortunately, Evan can't be picked up from school, so he waits for the public shuttle bus to pick him up.

Thick, grayish clouds hang high over his head. Great, rain, he thinks.

Evan loves the sound of rain, for it lulls him to sleep like a hefty dose of melatonin. But the feeling of cold rain soaking his clothes is one he despises, along with the startling and unpredictable sound of thunder.

Lightning (visually, at least) is something he likes, though the fear of getting struck by it takes over the small appeal that's there.

When it finally arrives, he rides the bus home while looking out the window, watching cars and people go on by.

The grayish clouds are fully gray by the time he gets home.

School has barely been in session for a week and he can sum it up in three words: exhausting, confusing, and surreal.

Zoe Murphy almost talked to him, he wrote the truth (of nearing hopeless for the school year, but holding hope that the kinder Murphy sibling would say, "Hey, Evan." to him) onto paper instead of fluff and over-optimism, one person (or as Jared called him, one "fucking psycho") signed his cast, Jared is his friend (who gave-slash-stole his first kiss), he admitted that he... never mind, and Connor Murphy nearly killed him.

(That last part is hyperbole, but he surely felt like the golden gates of Heaven were going to open any second after the first blow to his jaw... or the fire and brimstone of Hell would swallow him up, whichever he truly deserved. Sometimes, when he thinks of being old and gray, or in reality, finding a taller tree, or when he climbed that not-quite-tall-enough tree during summer, he hopes for the former, but believes that he is destined for the latter or nothing at all entirely.)

What a great list of things to tell his dad! (Sarcasm, so much sarcasm. Jared has more of an impact than he may think.)

If his dad ever calls to ask about his senior year, that is.

Evan trudges into the house and up the stairs to his bedroom. He doesn't even bother with kicking off his shoes before shrugging off his backpack and falling onto his bed with a bouncing thud.

His exhaustion, both mental and physical, overcome him and he is out like a light.

A knock at the front door, followed by clap of rumbling thunder stir him awake a couple hours later; the sun has already set.

Going in and out of consciousness, his eyes fall on his cast, on those awful, big, bulky letters.

CONNOR

The knocking at the door pauses, then resumes, and Evan fears the worst.

Connor is outside his house, ready to really give it to him, to kill him and then go around school talking about the letter.

He pushes himself off the bed and peeks through the blinds of his window.

Through the now pouring rain and darkness, he can't see any cars. He can make out a car window, but nothing else.

To live or to die, that is the question.

Stay up here and hide, but live, or face Connor head-on and get his ass handed to him worse than before, but possibly (probably not) explain himself and clear his name.

The first is safer, but the second could help him in the long run.

Evan slowly goes down the stairs, making soft steps as if to act like the house is empty; it makes no sense, he isn't being robbed.

What is there that a burglar would even want? Nothing much besides his laptop, or the living room TV.

Focus, come on. Deep breath, open the door, is the last thought he has before his shaking hand twists the door knob and pulls the squeaky front door open.

"Jared, hi. What are you doing here? It's... late."

"I wanted to make sure you were okay. I tried calling, but you didn't answer."

Jared is standing in the doorway, hair wet from the rain and his face painted with concern and sadness, but it feels more raw then it had in the bathroom earlier.

It was anger, earlier, but now it's worry.

Plain worry, Jared is worried about Evan, which he never is.

"Oh, I'm sorry... damnit- I was asleep, taking a nap upstairs."

Jared doesn't need those specifics, he knows that Evan sleeps in his bed. He steps into the house when he is motioned to do so.

Evan doesn't want him to catch a cold, even though his nurse mother told him that rain and inclement weather don't cause illness.

Jared has something he wants to tell Evan, something to talk to him about and neither of them want to continue the conversation in the entryway of the Hansen household, so they go up to Evan's room.

"I'm sorry," Jared says, pulling off his jacket and setting it near the bedroom door. Evan sits on his bed, fiddling with fixing his just-slept-on throw blanket. "I'm sorry about today. I shouldn't have... it was stupid, alright? I don't know- I don't why I did it that way."

"What do you mean?"

"I should've, y'know, asked at the very least. But I know you don't, um, swing that way, and it was stupid. And creepy."

There are words that Jared is beating around, right there in his mind. Evan's anxiously curious gaze isn't helping.

"Why did you..." Evan starts himself, but he doesn't want to think about it.

Jared can't like him like that, why on Earth would he? What is there that Evan has that's attractive? What could Jared see in him and think-

"I like you," Jared says out loud, then repeats himself within the second, "I like you, Evan."

Evan sits on the edge of his bed and he can't believe it. He almost doesn't want to believe it. Someone likes him, someone wanted to kiss him.

Someone so close and so far at the same time: Jared Klienman.

He is silent and his eyes are on Jared, who sits next to him on the bed and looks back at him, waiting a moment.

A moment before anxious thoughts take center-stage with one word.

"Why?"

Jared chuckles to himself, because the question is ridiculous (at least to himself, it's par for the course for Evan).

"What do you mean, 'Why'?"

Evan's instant thought is to think about that millisecond before Connor's fist hit his face, when his life flashed before his eyes and all he saw was a clear blue sky and tree leaves; he was on the forest floor of Ellison State Park once again. Broken, scared, somehow alive. His next thought is the first time that pocket knife had been used for a purpose besides opening packages and killing time with loose sticks.

A burden, a waste of money and time. The loner-loser who can't bring himself to say, "Hi." to anyone in school and who can't make a simple food-service order for himself. Who couldn't even succeed in getting rid of himself for the sake of his weary-eyed mother, Jared "Family-friend, why-would-I-sign-your-cast?" Klienman, and his dad who can't remember when his birthday is to send him a card or a text message at the very least: Happy birthday, buddy. Hope you have a great day. Love, Dad.

"Because I'm, well..." Evan is hesitant, he can't bring himself to laugh anymore. "Me, Jared. And, and I don't get why you'd like that." A shiver of sorts runs through him, and he closes his eyes.

Tears fall, one by one, then two by two, and more and more. He opens his eyes after a second, and talks as he lets the tears come down, "You couldn't- you wouldn't sign my cast, because we're 'family-friends', but now we're legit friends and you kissed me and you like me and... I don't get any of it."

Jared is quiet for a long moment, but he eventually figures out what to say,

"I'm sorry," He repeats, then stands up. Not to distance himself from Evan, far from it. (During some stressful times, Evan wants closeness and other times, he feels suffocated. His shoulders are tenser than usual; this is an example of "other times.")

He paces back and forth and Evan keeps his eyes down and barely focused on his knees.

"I'm stupid, alright? I have liked you for years, really. But neither of us are popular, let's be honest, and I wanted to try." Jared tells him. The brutal and honest truth, "I thought by being a dick to you, it would get me in with the cool kids, but it didn't. It never has, it's never worked. I'm sorry. You're the one person who isn't an asshole to me and I love that. So much, God."

He almost says that he loves Evan right then and there, but he doesn't. There are some things that can remain in his subconscious. He continues on, "I treat you like shit and I'm not cool for it. But I saw Connor going nuts and I thought, 'There's my chance, I can treat Evan like a reasonable person! I can help him and be a good fucking friend for once!'"

Jared's words come out pained, like he wants to beat himself up for all that he has done. Evan looks up at him after a while, he sees and hears repentance. Though, Jared is far from done. (Evan sees himself in Jared, rambling and explaining and pacing back and forth. It's incredible.)

There's a self-depreciating tone in Jared's voice, one that Evan has never heard before. "I tried to help you today, I cleaned you up and looked over the damage in the... in the gayest way I could, really. I didn't need to get all up-close-and-personal with you, but I did. Because we were in private, I didn't need to be 'cool'-"

Evan stops his rambling and asks the elephant in the room that he needs to know,

"Why did you... do what you did?"

Jared's pacing stops and his eyes meet Evan's. He knows what he means. It's what he was going to eventually reach, but he planned on stalling for a little while longer.

"You looked, I'll be honest, like shit, but you managed to be funny about all of it. And I've never seen you do that. You said something about, 'doing what your heart wants' and you let me keep my hand on you for way too long and-"

He pauses to catch his breath, Evan is hanging on to every single word. "I did what you said, I went with my really dumb heart. And I'm sorry-"

"You don't... you don't have to keep apologizing. I forgive you. It doesn't excuse what you did, but I can't tell you how happy I am that you're my friend. My actual legitimate friend."

It is all Evan has ever wanted, a friend.

In part, he gave up on Jared and knew that there was no point after a while. He couldn't ever get up the nerve to talk to Zoe or anyone else for that matter, so he accepted his fate of being alone.

But then, in his time of need, Jared showed that there is a beating heart underneath the wanting to belong and the desperate attempt to give up any feelings for Evan and his cool-guy act that he uses to get people to laugh at his jokes and invite him to their lunch table.

Jared looks a little stunned, like he is being forgiven too easily (Evan forgives easily, because he has never had to reason to hold grudges against anyone, except his dad) and he asks,

"So... you aren't- we're okay?"

Evan nods,

"Yeah, we're okay."

He now wants closeness. He dries his eyes on his shirt and non-verbally tells Jared to come back to sit with him on the bed.

Evan wants to hug him, in all honesty.

Though, Jared has never been too much of a hugger, which he respects-

"I know I already... y'know, but can we... hug it out?"

They don't need to hug anything out, but Evan takes this opportunity while it's right in front of him.

Jared hold him secure in his arms, longer than a hug typically lasts, but neither of them are letting go.

Evan closes his eyes and he thinks about Jared wiping off his glasses after the meeting with the counselor.

But for the moment, he stays silent.

He feels safe, a different type of safe than he'd felt earlier in the bathroom.

Maybe it's because Jared is hugging him for the first time since they were kids, or that they are definitively alone; in Evan's house at night while the rest of the world settles down.

The rain comes down hard outside the house and the settling world, and they hold onto each other in silence.

Until Evan speaks up softly,

"Were you crying earlier?"

"What? When?"

"After we left the counselor's office."

This is the least vulnerable thing Jared has said the whole night. He admits,

"Yeah... I was."

"Why?"

Jared's hold on Evan tightens,

"I didn't know you- that you were in that kind of pain, but I never asked, because I was too much of an ass." Evan hugs him tighter in return,

"You didn't know, I didn't tell you or anyone until today."

Jared sighs over Evan's shoulder,

"I know but, but I should've at least tried to ask if you were okay; you hide it well."

A little too well, Evan has always been good at hiding his troubles and hiding the ways he copes with them.

"I want to be a better friend to you, alright?" Jared tells him. Evan wants that, too. He wants to hold up his end and be more honest, more truthful, even if it hurts.

His truth made Jared cry, he's never seen Jared cry.

He doesn't want to see Jared cry, he wants to turn a new leaf.

He believes in Jared, that he can change.

In turn, he can believe in himself.

"Alright."

It's a long, tight embrace that falls into silence.

Silence of understanding, understanding of each other.

Today was painful, tomorrow is a new day.

Before Jared inevitably goes home, Evan does thank him, though not how he thought of during the day.

He doesn't kiss him. He tells him how much he means to him and how thankful he is that someone stood up for him.

(He keeps the latent thought that he is glad his first kiss was with someone he cared about to himself. Previously, in his mind, he envisioned being out at a bar to legally drink away his troubles and some girl would be intoxicated and find him handsome when not all-there, and invite him back to wherever she lived. In his life-long desperation for some sort of connection, he would be seduced and get the milestones of a young man's life out of the way, no true feeling involved.)

But, though it was not super ideal, his first kiss was from someone who likes him and that's more than good enough for him.

Jared gets through detention and Connor avoids his glares, though there are plenty of them.

The school psychologist is helpful and she advises Evan to get rid of the pocket knife if he can, though she understands that it’s the one remaining piece of a happy father-son bond he has.

Evan doesn’t get rid of it, but he does hide it in the back of his closet, out of his easy reach.

He gets better at talking to people, talking to Jared at least, about how he feels. He doesn’t feel alone, he is not a burden or a waste of anyone’s time.

Jared goes out of his way to prove this, he has a sleepover with Evan for the first time in years and he has never seen his friend smile or laugh so much in the span of a few hours.

Time goes on and Evan stops needing those painful ways to cope with his loneliness, he isn’t lonely anymore.

Though, he still has bad days. Days where doubt slithers into his mind and he thinks that Jared will leave him once again and he’ll be back at square one.

But that doesn’t happen, Jared is in no place to leave. He isn’t the best with reassurance, but he says enough to get his point across; he’ll be with Evan until the end of time if he can help it.

It’s what Evan has always wanted, a friend to be by his side, to stand up for him and to hug him when he cries and hoist him up and cheer when he achieves something.

It’s what Jared has denied himself for so long, Evan’s friendship and kindness, which he will not take for granted. Never again.

Senior year turns out alright.

It started off less than ideal, but it turns out alright.

[buck-yyyy]

agh. tonight turned rough. vent beneath the cut

i'm so fucking stressed about the idea of college- i desperately look forward to it, for a million reasons. college is freedom. college is cutting and bleaching my hair, college is hearing someone say 'theo' aloud, college is a fucking binder, college is a new start away from the people i hate. college is the way to my meticulously planned out life.

i'm not afraid to be on my own- i'm okay on my own, and GOD do i look forward to it, to have the space to become my own person. i can cook, i can clean, i can do laundry, i can use basic tools- i can do all the basic important things, yk?

but i'm fucking terrified about it at the same time- because my shitty mental health makes it so fucking hard to take care of myself. even when i'm not actively depressed, my awful coping mechanisms are still lurking at the back of my head, and hygiene is always hard, and motivation is hard, and the will to keep going is so FUCKING hard.

i'm afraid of depression fucking up my life as soon as i don't have people constantly around me that force me (they don't make me, but i make myself) to stand up straight and pretend that i'm okay and get out of bed and go to school and remember to eat and do my homework and again- TAKE CARE OF MYSELF.

on top of that, today was a rough gender day. i was hyper aware of my chest whenever i walked, i hate my long hair, and looking into the mirror, all i saw was a scared little girl who just so desperately wanted to be someone else.

on top of that times TWO, i just want to forget. i want to spend a night drunk and delirious on my own, turned off from the world, because god, i hate it. i hate it all. i hate fucking everything, and i just want to be able to pretend that it's all fucking okay even when it's fucking not and i just.

i'm not going to, right? i've been afraid of using alcohol as a coping mechanism ever since the thought first popped into my head of covering up the depression with it, months ago, and even though it hasn't left my head since, i haven't given in. i don't even drink- i've gotten tipsy twice, and it's not gonna happen again anytime soon. but in the back of my mind i know that it would be so easy, all it would take my lightweight little body is a few shots and i would be stupid, happy, and ignorant.

add onto all that shit, i'm so afraid that i'll never have a truly meaningful relationship. i cling onto fictional characters with close platonic and romantic bonds (can ya tell?), because i'm terrified that i'll never be able to experience that. i want the ride or die friend who understands me deeper than i'll ever understand myself, and i don't have that.

i feel so fucking alone.

i'll be okay, but for now it fucking sucks.

[sincelastsession]

Today is ass.

I tried to soak in the hours of quiet from the time I slept till the time I was woken by many people screaming.

It's incredibly triggering it really is the noise is too much for me to wake up to and walking around with headphones or noise blocking headphones or earplugs and fucking is annoying at this point like it hurts I get headaches my ears get clogged and these people continuously get away with doing terrible loud stupid shit and if I could move I would.

And for some reason my parents expect me to wait until September when they told me earlier dates and I honestly don't think I can handle this till September

I mean it would be better if I lived in another apartment in this complex like away from the loud noise but That's not an option.

It's way too loud.

I'm sick of crying.

I can't just walk out there and say "hey I can hear yall and everything you say inside my home"

I can't just ask them if they could be quieter.

I can't even let go outside with them in the pool without getting shouted at by the children which I can't prove because I'm too scared to record it and Get fucking attacked by these people.

And my parents do not understand what me and my neighbor understand is that these people are legitimately ratchet. And I don't hate them I just don't like the trashy behavior and the noise. It is bothering me greatly to an extent where I'm worried that it's going to cause me more health issues mental and physical and it is.

I have not had any other summers from the time I have lived here that have been this horrible.

I can't even go to the bank and get a loan and move the fuck out.

My parents do not understand.

I completely understand that they definitely do have the money but they still for some reason want me to wait.

I'm ready to find an incredibly cheap office space and somehow just fucking sleep there and come to my apartment to care for my ESA cats and pack.

I've thought up so many ideas.

I honestly am not tolerating this well at all.

I am worried for my mental health.

I'm not doing well.

I already have the extra stress before my birthday thing happening.

But now it's even more shit on top of that.

PTSD flare

Autism burnout

Situational depression type feelings

Pretty nasty intrusive thoughts

Flashbacks.

Like I just want quiet. I just want peace.

I can't fuckin eat from the stress.

And now I must wait till September.

This is going to end up breaking me. I'm so sick of it. I'm gonna get fucking evicted before September because of this shit.

There's only so much bullying from family and neighborhoods and loud careless motherfuckers I can handle.

I told everyone I was having a hard time handling it.

They said June or July.

Now it's "You're lucky if it's September"

I don't want to leave my apartment and I'm scared to without someone around or on the phone.

I can't even talk to my partner about this because it's going to be too much for him.

And everybody is treating me like I'm too much in the situation is too much but they're not the ones having to live it.

And I'm scared.

I am scared of what might happen because I am scared of myself because I do not want to flash out I do not want to have a full on PTSD episode and flip out and I don't know what will happen if I lose touch with reality during that.

That is what I am scared of and it makes me cry every fucking day because there's gotta be people screaming every fucking day.

And there is nothing I can do about it and I have to just stay here and fucking suffer

And I call our courtesy officer who is a sheriff and part of the swat team and I call BRPD and they don't do anything about the problem because the office has to fix the problem and this is bullshit

I can't even go swimming if I fucking wanted to because there's people on the pool and the next couple of days it's nasty as fuck and then turns green and then they clean it and shock it and usually on the same day that they shock the pool people go ahead and get in it anyway which is terrible for you and then I still never get a chance to go swimming and I'm supposed to be doing that

I don't want to go down to the pool after they all leave at 10:30 when the pool closes at 10

I don't want to go down to the pool after they all leave anyway because none of those kids get up and go to the bathroom they literally just let them piss in the pool and I've heard them tell their kids to just go ahead and pee in the pool.

And if I tell the office that they are gonna want a recording of it because they weren't recording of everything and they won't cameras up at my apartment and I can't afford a fucking ring doorbell

I don't have the money for all of this that they'd keep telling me to put up to prove something that is incredibly obvious and that my neighbor has complained about and still is complaining about with the office.

I mean she's trying to recover from breast cancer.

I feel like at this point I could move to the middle of the fucking ghetto and feel safer there than I do in my own apartment.

I'm tired of people treating me like I'm fucking crazy about this whole situation.

I'm not crazy and this is a problem and it's driving me insane.

I mean I have recordings of how loud these people are inside my apartment and outside of my apartment how loud they are and I have shown the office this and they don't care.

I can't wear earplugs and head phones and shit like that all day long it drives my sensory issues insane I don't like my ears messed with.

And then on top of everything I'm having a cardiac issue which is very concerning and I don't know what it is and I have to wait till the eighth to hear if my medicaid was accepted by this Heart Doctor specialist guy. And then I have to make an appointment and I don't know how soon I will be able to get in.

Meanwhile I have 2 other heart conditions that are aggravated by stress and could kill me they could just make me drop dead

And I don't know if I had an adult daughter with all the problems that I have I would be doing my damt to like at least invite her to my home where I have a spare bedroom that I don't even use because oh no the alcoholic isn't living with me so then she's got a spare bedroom so why can't I move in over there and just sleep and get some fucking piece and rest and then drive back over here to check on my cats because she would not allow me to have them in her home.

Meanwhile I'm looking at social media and seeing all of my friends go out and do wonderful things and watching all these snapchats of my friends that work normal jobs but somehow are able to travel all over the country and to other countries and You know I actually tried to go to the Netherlands and I can't find the paperwork that I need to finish my passport I can't really get my hair done because I don't have the money for that and I don't want to use box die and ruin my hair and have my hairdresser fucking strangle me once I finally get back in his chair.

And my parents were just going to give me the money to go to the Netherlands because I was supposed to be going this month.

But instead I begged them to use that money that they said that they had set aside for me to just help me get an apartment and they said okay.

But the money that they mysteriously had for my going to the Netherlands they don't have to help me move into a new place

And that doesn't make any fucking sense to me

And I don't know I don't know what's going to happen and I don't enjoy any of this and yes I've taken my fucking medicine and it's just not helping it's not helping the amount of stress that I'm under it's literally not enough of the medicine to do anything

Like yeah I'm sedated but my anxiety is still here I still want to go outside and scream at everybody I still want to fucking impulsively shave my head and scream for no reason

I literally don't even know how to explain to you the amount of pent-up stress and rage and anger and sadness and grief that I have inside me

And everybody just thinks that I'm either a piece of shit and terrible or that I'm so nice and sweet and loving and caring I'm neither of those things I don't even know what the fuck they're talking about

I'm tired of people telling me what I am and what I'm not

That's not for them to decide

Why I have to go through this why what did I do wrong

I feel like every single day is a punishment and I feel like by September I'm gonna be going fucking crazy like absolutely gonna have to check into a cycle a little crazy and I'm not tantrum big I'm telling everybody that I'm not doing well and my doctors are like oh yeah you're definitely not doing well

I have fucking notes from my doctors that my parents have read and they don't take seriously they don't care

Why should I give a fuck about myself if no one else does

I mean if I didn't have the cats I would have just left I would have just gotten in my car and packed what I needed and fucking left and I don't know where I would be right now

And I would love to foster another dog but I can't do that because my hip is fucked up and people may not see it or hear it because they don't bitch about it often in public because there's no point to tell people that you're hurting when they can't see where the coming from.

They can't believe you unless they see something wrong. And I don't always limp. I mean apparently I walked around on a fractured knee and didn't even know it for months and months and my new rheumatologist discovered that. So I don't know what's going on with my hip or my entire right leg I don't know what's going on with my heart I don't know why I'm in APTSD flare I don't know why I'm having autistic burnout I don't know why anything's happening other than yeah stress could be a giant factor there and I need to get away from the stressors that's what every fucking book tells you is to get away from what is driving you nuts but I cannot do that

I mean if I lived downstairs and I could foster a dog than I could just revolve my life around that but it would still be really fucking loud and that would make it hard for me to do anything like that

I mean I know I had a schedule and I had my own time and people treated me a little bit better when I was doing thit's not like it's a fall string and clicker training this dog that was amazing that I should have just adopted.

But I don't have the money to own a dog so that's why I would foster so someone else could own the dog.

I just don't feel like I ever get a fucking break.

I mean I haven't even gotten to go to the beach for a weekend vacation in a shitty little beach motel with friends or anything like that but it's because people don't invite me

People judge me without knowing what I'm dealing with and that's not my problem that's their problem.

And I'm so sick of dealing with everyone else's problems.

I don't know how to stop giving a fuck and I don't even know if that would benefit me at all right now like I can't turn my fucking ears off

[whisky-tango-foxtrot-biteme]

Self-care

When you realize you are being abused verbally, emotionally, or psychologically, take very good care of yourself. Love you. Do things that will help you heal and keep you healthy both physically and mentally.

You may find yourself ruminating. (Which ironically was what drove me to start this blog--I then thought to put my feelings and experiences into words that could spark discussion.) When you ruminate, you are beating yourself up because you'll be wondering how you can make the situation better or how you could adapt yourself to keep the peace. Be authentically you and understand this is not your fault, that attempting to adapt yourself or keep the peace will only make you feel worse. Do something with that energy rather than ruminate. Write. Walk. Clean. Go to the grocery. Call a friend to do lunch. Go for a run. Do something mentally or physically demanding. Dissipate that energy so that your mind cannot beat your up and harm your self-esteem. Do something that will require your attention and can absorb you so that you do not have the mental space to ruminate.

If at all possible, cut that person out from your life. Create boundaries that make you feel comfortable. Don't permit someone's terrible behavior and hateful attitudes to infiltrate your mental and emotional space. Block that person on social media, from your phone. Do not give that person the chance to explain or apologize. They know what they did. They know what they need to do--and it is to address their personal issues and mental health.

If you cannot cut that person from your life, minimize your exposure to them in anyway possible. You will see terms like "grey rocking" or "going dark" tossed around. And likely a lot of blah blah blah about how to do that or what it means. Ignore that mumbo jumbo. Just minimize your presence in their lives, communicate with them in the most minimal way possible. If they ask a question that requires a response, give them the specific answer they need: "Are you coming to mom's birthday party?" Your answer should be yes or no. Don't get caught up in their word salads because they often will drag side issues into the question or perhaps start on an all out attack against you if you give them an answer they don't want. Suss out the issue, understand it, and do not give more information than necessary. Your immediate answer isn't usually needed, take the time you need to understand exactly what they are asking or saying. Then at mom's birthday party, nod or give one or two word answers if the abuser talks to you. Whatever the need for being in their presence--minimize their access to you. GTFO of their line of vision.

Build your community. Despite the awful behavior that an abuser can display toward you that can wound you psychologically and make you feel worthless, and despite the flying monkeys they can muster, there ARE people out there who love you, respect you, and want you to thrive and be happy and well. Find that tribe and maintain their support. Even if it's just to text your sister to let her know, "hey, I'm having a bad day... can you chat or send me a stupid joke so I can laugh?" can do wonders. Just getting a positive few words will lighten your burden, I promise.

Seek out a therapist if you can. This is serious stuff. Verbal and emotional abuse can cause you great anxiety and affect your physical health. Therapy is a safe and effective way to get out how you feel and see the situation and will help you find practical ways on dealing with your emotions and with the effects of being abused.

Seek out medical care if you need. Any kind of abuse takes a toll mentally. That will take a toll on you physically. In my case, it was really awful anxiety. Anytime I saw his name or thought it possible he would be in my presence, my heart would pound rapidly and i got tense and fearful. I could not concentrate and I was terrified of making even the simplest mistake in his presence. My cortisol levels rose so high that my blood pressure elevated considerably--from about 115/75 to over 130/90. It took weeks to bring it down to 120/80. My physician knows about the situation I was in and she is monitoring not only my blood pressure but my mental welfare and did prescribe a low-dose anti-anxiety drug. I am trying that and I will work with my physician.

You may need to get creative with your self-care. But ensure that it covers your mental, emotional, psychological, and physical needs. You are not the monster the abuser wants you to be. You have people who do care about you and your well-being. You are a human being who has the right to live peacefully and be respected, loved, and treasured.

[rewritingtrauma]

I won't answer these questions anymore

What you don't see, what you don't know, is that I've been working incredibly hard. This work doesn't look like portfolios completed or buildings constructed, it doesn't look like a thesis, a masters degree, an exhibition, or a promotion. It doesn't buy me new clothes or holidays. What this work looks like is everything it takes to get out of bed in the morning, and stay out, the huge and assiduously tended infrastructure that keeps that tonne weight off my limbs just enough, that fends off that cacophony of negative, critical and harmful voices just enough that I can remain, for the most part, upright.

The work looks like walking through invisible, neck-deep mud to first reach the kettle and then, with that tiny win gained, to keep moving to the dishes... If It's a really good day, perhaps, to the garden... It looks like trying to get to know and to care for myself, against all the odds, against the reality I live with, against everything I have been told about who I am by parents, teachers, peers, society... I know I am an undeserving wretch, a bitch, ugly, lazy, fat, stupid, poor, ignorant, I know I am a waste of air, a waste of space, I know I do not deserve to live. But I have to do the work. I have to do the work that looks like stopping myself from hurting or killing myself most days of the week (even though this would be a gentler, easier option, free from pain and the burden I see I put on everyone around me). So, when you ask "What have you been doing?" "What have you been up to?" or, worse still, "What have you been doing for money?" What can I say? Do I list the million tiny things that just about keep me together at the seams? Do I confess that, many days, there is a return to bed, to tears, and to despair? How do I meet your sense of value in doing and in money earned? When almost everything I do is worthless in these regards? Caretaking, drawing, gardening, cooking, cleaning, homemaking, tree planting, tending, learning, surviving. None of these things earn me qualifications, money or esteem and yet they take up almost every waking hour of my life. And I work hard at them, against the current, and against the odds of my very being.

I'm so tired of this mentality that who we are is defined by what we do, what our job is and qualifications are. If this is the case, then every person born into wealth is immediately and automatically higher and "better" than those of us born into nothing. I am utterly fed up with the "pull your socks up" sentiment that I hear, especially from older people: Like mental heath is the same as a loose fitting pair of socks. If it were that simple, do you not think we'd invest in a pair of fucking sock suspenders?! Or, better still, go bare foot.

I am working so hard to remain a human being in a society that sees me as inferior, defunct, broken, because I do not possess a job with a salary, because my brain does not work like those who do, because I find it hard to turn up, and more to commit, because my mental health makes me and my life different to, alternative to, the path of progress and success, necessarily, because when I tread that, when I have taken those routes in the past, they have led to break down, burn out, and the most severe periods of illness.

Here, if I may be so bold, are some alternatives to those harmful questions:

"What has your highlight of the week been?"

"What brings you joy?"

"If you were a tree/animal/country which tree/animal/country would you be and why?"

I think we would learn much more about one another and connect on a deeper, more vital level by talking about these things than the damaging inferences of doing = meaning and what you do being synonymous with who you are. We all do things but, before and beneath the doing, there is a being. Let's get to know them and let's be kind to them.

With love,

Ix

[ladysyrinx]

RAD Panic

Part of my Under the Surface series of oneshots that feature an MC with mental health struggles.

*Trigger warning: describes a panic attack and unhealthy coping mechanisms and behaviors. Please seek help if you are struggling with anxiety.*

I knew what was coming this morning when that jittery feeling began sinking into my chest, making my heart beat a little too quickly and my breathing try to speed up. I felt fidgety and restless.

That was this morning. It had let up for a few hours, but now, five minutes into this class, it’s back with a vengeance. Ugh, it’s going to be one of the really bad ones. The feeling of painful anxiety just keeps building, the pressure on my heart and lungs increasing. I struggle to focus enough to take notes, feeling myself space out for a second or two before snapping back into focus. I swear I’m zoned out more than in at this point.

I regulate my breathing, forcing myself to take long, easy breaths. It doesn’t help much, and I fidget again, looking at the clock. I can make it another half hour, right? It’s just thirty minutes.

Twenty-nine.

Twenty-eight.

Twenty-eight and…I'm not going to make it.

No, wrong attitude. I just need to be okay for another…twenty-seven minutes. I fidget in my seat again, digging my nails painfully into my palms in a foolish attempt to distract myself from the growing pain in my chest.

I breathe deeply and try to focus on taking notes and on what the professor says, but an increasingly large amount of my brain is hyper aware of my building anxiety, the need to get away, to escape, and the imminent collapse I know is coming.

Satan gives me a questioning look from where he sits beside me. I give him a smile, trying to reassure him. Is it convincing? I have no idea. I hope so.

Ugh, why can’t I just make it go away? I hate these stupid anxiety episodes.

As the last few minutes of class approach it takes great effort not to pack up early, not to squirm in my seat. I just breathe and hope I can hold it together for the last few minutes. I’m so close now.

The deep chime of the bell announces the end of that class and I throw my stuff into my bag in an uncharacteristically haphazard scramble. I barely get myself to check and make sure I’m not leaving anything behind before I hurry for the door, not bothering to wait for anyone or talk like I normally might. Trying to get away before anyone tries to talk or socialize with me. Or ask me any questions I won’t be able to answer honestly.

I just need to get somewhere private asap. Then I can let the suppressed panic attack run loose and maybe get it over with.

The pain in my chest makes it feel like forever before I find a place where there aren’t any prying eyes–a small classroom off the beaten path. I wonder vaguely if it is risky going somewhere so isolated by myself–after all, it is a school full of demons.

Unfortunately, I just don’t have the mental fortitude or energy to care about that at the moment. I shut the door behind me and move along the wall away from the glass window on the door before sitting on the ground, hugging my knees to my chest and using the wall as a backrest.

Now out of sight of anyone else, I allow the panic attack to run its course. My entire body shakes and I whimper in pain, nails digging into my arms. I feel tears gather in my eyes at the isolation, being completely alone with no one to help, no one to talk to, no support system. I feel overwhelmingly afraid and lonely and it claws at my chest like an enraged bear.

I sob loudly before taking deep breaths to try to quiet myself. I was still at RAD. I didn’t want to draw attention to my condition here. Or have someone notice my presence here. I steady my breathing until I’m pretty sure I can’t be heard outside. I let myself shake and shudder, quiet sobs hurting my throat and tears streaming down my face.

I freeze at the sound of the doorknob turning. I bite my lip, frozen, holding my breath, then quickly cleaning the tears from my face, just in case. Crap. Who’s here? Holding completely still–an impressive feat for my adrenaline-overloaded body–I turn just my eyes toward the door.

“MC?” Simeon’s gentle voice asks. He stands in the doorway, teal eyes searching the room. I try to hold completely still but a slight tremor sneaks through. Turns out I can’t fully stop the shaking again.

His eyes land on me and I stand, laughing awkwardly. I don’t have any believable reason for hiding in an empty classroom in a remote part of campus, but it doesn’t mean I can’t try to brush this off.

I hate that I’ve been found, and by one of the angels, no less. He is probably more likely to pick up on my “super not okay” vibes. Ugh, what would an angel think of me, hiding in a room to cry? Probably think that humans are as weak and pathetic as they’d been taught, in need of angels for everything. I wish I could just go back to hiding and crying. But there is a person here now. I have to deal with this situation first.

“Hi, Simeon,” I say, carefully keeping my tone light and as close to normal as I can manage. And I can manage very well. I smile, allowing my hair to fall close to my face, hoping that somehow he’d miss that I’ve been crying. I didn’t turn my face completely to him for the same reason. “I was just taking a break. Did you need something?”

He frowns at me, walking toward me. I cringe inwardly, fear of being discovered as weak and pathetic freezing my insides solid. It frustrates me. It isn’t my fault my brain presses the panic button like it’s a fun game on the playground.

But that isn’t the point right now.

“MC, are you okay? It seemed like something was bothering you during class. Satan and I were both worried, but then you rushed out before either of us could ask you about it,” Simeon asks.

Ugh. Crap. I was afraid of that when I left so abruptly. Well, I supposed I was afraid whether I liked it or not at the time, but still. I’d have made a better show of being okay, but I hadn’t been able to take it. “Oh, I’m just feeling a bit under the weather. I’m okay, though,” I say with a bright smile.

Okay. As in not actively dying. That counts as okay, right? I fold my arms, which I can feel shaking slightly, digging my fingernails into the soft flesh as I attempt to hold myself together enough to get through this social interaction. To get Simeon to leave so I can have my breakdown and move on with life.

He stops when he's about a foot away. “You don’t seem like you’re okay. If you’re having a hard time, you can talk to me about it. I promise I just want to help,” he says gently. That soothing, caring tone is almost enough to rip the mask right off and send me sobbing again. I feel the tears rising at the prospect of someone being there to help and comfort me.

My control is beginning to slip. I hold on to my composure desperately even as a silent sob shakes my body and my eyes fill until the room is an incoherent blur. A high-pitched whine escapes my tight throat without my consent.

“Oh, MC,” Simeon says gently. He reaches out toward me slowly. I flinch away for a second, still unsure, and he stops. “Would a hug help?” His tone is so sweet, so kind. I feel my face scrunch up and swallow another whimper as I nod.

His arms close around me, warm and strong. I grab him in a hug tight enough I might have had to worry about breaking ribs if he’d been a human instead of a super-powerful angel. I can’t help myself. It’s like I was drowning and now that someone’s thrown me a lifeline I couldn’t let go even if I wanted to. I bury my face in his chest and sob the pain and overwhelming terror away, shaking uncontrollably. He just holds me back, steady and warm and real.

The warmth of another person helps stem the tide of hopelessness and fear and loneliness. He gently rubs a hand up and down my back, murmuring soothing words, the tone of which is much more important than the actual things being said. He’s so warm-hearted I can physically feel it, his mere presence comforting me. I could stay there forever without any qualms.

I hear the door open again and bury myself lower in Simeon’s chest, hoping whoever it is won’t notice me. Simeon pets my hair comfortingly as he turns his head to look at the newcomer.

“You found MC?” Satan’s voice says. I bite my lip, burying my face in Simeon’s chest, not sure what to do. The dregs of the panic attack are fading, but I know I’m a hot mess right now. I’m not sure I want anyone else to see me this way. It would be hard enough to explain to one person, let alone two.

“Yes.” Simeon’s voice is gentle and soft, the tone a person might use around a frightened or injured animal. He strokes my hair comfortingly, a pleasant sensation that is easy to focus on.

“What happened? What’s wrong?” Satan’s normally composed voice sounds a bit worried, distressed even. Maybe even a smidge desperate. I’m not sure I’ve ever heard those emotions in his voice before. I feel myself soften toward him, some of my anxiety about him being here fading.

I hear him walking closer and try to take a breath in to say something, but a shuddering sob leftover from all the tears steals it away. I carefully take a few breaths until I’m more confident in my ability to speak.

“MC?” Satan sounds alarmed. I stiffen, worried as my brain tries to come up with a way to explain myself.

Simeon’s hand rubs my back comfortingly. “It’s okay, MC. You’re safe.”

“I, um, I’m fine,” I begin, pulling back from Simeon. Both men frown at me, clearly knowing that isn’t the case. Ugh. My explanation is off to a great start. “It was just a panic attack. I have them sometimes.” I say it lightly, casually, like they aren’t anything to worry about. Not a big deal.

Simeon pulls me back into his chest, holding me tightly, making me squeak in surprise.

“Why didn’t you say anything? I could have helped you, you know. I’ve said so many times that you can come to me for anything.” Satan says, and I feel a hand rest on my shoulder, warm and steady.

“It must be really hard dealing with them, especially by yourself,” Simeon says. A sob shakes my body at the gentle kindness in both their voices, at the sheer relief of not being alone, the desire for their help, at their warmth and care.

“It is,” I admit, so softly I’m not even sure if they can hear me. Simeon rests his head atop mine, and I feel Satan wrap his arms around me from behind, burying his head in my shoulder. They both hold me tightly and some abstract part of my brain is surprised there’s no arguing about who does and doesn’t get to hug me. I’m grateful for that because I don’t think I could handle it at the moment. Perhaps they sense that, too.

“You’re even braver than I thought, and I already thought you were insanely brave,” Satan whispers in my ear. With that the recently patched dam on my still very tender and sensitive emotions breaks and I started crying all over again, incredibly grateful for both of these wonderful people who care about me so much.

Eventually I turn in their arms so I can give Satan a proper hug, Simeon pulling away slightly but still gently stroking my back to remind me that he’s there for me.

Eventually my tears ease and I pull back from them. I'm embarrassed to see the wet spots I left on both their clothing. “S-sorry about the tear stains,” I say nervously, blushing slightly.

Satan reaches out and wipes the last of my tears away with a thumb. “Don’t worry about that. Clothes can be washed.”

“Yes. You’re a lot more important than clothes,” Simeon adds.

“Thank you,” I say, voice still very soft and delicate.

Satan suddenly pulls me right back into a hug. “Anytime you’re feeling unwell, just let me know. I don’t want you going through this alone. Or going to someone else with it. Come to me.”

I feel a slight chuckle work its way through my body at those words. There it is. But it’s sweet, and it helps me feel like I wouldn’t be such a burden to him if I did come to him when I was struggling.

“You can also come to me if you’re having a hard time. I’m more than happy to help. And I hate the idea of you dealing with this by yourself. I hope you’ll tell me if you are struggling and if there’s anything I can do to help,” Simeon says, a hand resting on my back.

Before they can argue I pull back, grabbing one of their hands in each of mine. “Thank you both. You’re the best.” I turn my gaze between them so they know I’m sincere. And that is when the last of the adrenaline fades and overwhelming exhaustion fills me. I sway slightly, blinking, having trouble staying awake despite the fact that I’m standing.

I feel both of them take one of my arms. “MC? Are you okay?” Satan asks, worry creasing his brow.

“I-yes, just really tired. It happens after a bad panic attack. I need to sleep.” I blink a couple times to myself. “Wait, the next class, I was going to just go in late…”

“Don’t worry about it,” Satan tells me firmly. “We just need to worry about getting you where you can rest and recover.”

“I’ll let Lucifer know you’re feeling sick so you won’t be able to go to the rest of today's classes,” Simeon says.

“But you both need to be there,” I start again.

“Don’t worry about it, we can get the notes later,” Satan insists.

“I, um,” I begin, but Satan and Simeon start pulling me along before I can protest any further.

“I already said don’t worry about it,” Satan insists. “Just let me–us–take care of you.”

I can tell he doesn’t want to include Simeon, but does for my sake. They take me to the infirmary to get a little sleep. I let them, too tired and relieved to be past the panic attack to feel a need to take charge of the situation. I trust the two of them to take care of me.

I fall asleep in an infirmary bed with Satan sitting behind me with a hand gently rubbing up and down my arm and Simeon sitting in front of me, gently stroking my hair.

I wake up vaguely to Lucifer’s voice, stirring slightly and taking a moment before I’m oriented enough to know what direction the voice is coming from. He and Simeon are talking in careful, quiet tones. I frown, hoping that Simeon won’t tell him what happened.

Lucifer catches my bleary gaze. “Next time you aren’t feeling well, just let me know and go rest, don’t try to push yourself too hard. Lord Diavolo wants the exchange students to stay happy and healthy.” I see the worried crease between his eyebrows, telling me he is a lot more concerned than he’s letting on. That his words are about more than Diavolo and his exchange program.

I smile slightly at him and give a barely-coherent, “Mhm,” before exhaustion weighs my eyelids back closed and I’m asleep once more.

Later, when I’m ever so slightly more awake, Satan and Simeon help me home. Satan makes me dinner, Simeon makes me tea, and then I go back to sleep. The next day I wake up feeling relaxed and happy in a way I haven’t for a long, long time.

~End~

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this and found it comforting! If you suffer from anxiety attacks, I hope you are getting the help you need both from a doctor and a therapist, it makes a huge difference in recovery.

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[heartfulofsighs]

Nice Things…

Hello All! Coming back with little writings here and there as my inspiration comes along. A little episode inside of the Something to do with Jackson sphere (1, 2) 

Let me know what you think! @negrowhat you know I gotta tag you in everything lol

Jackson decides you both are in need of a little rest and relaxation. Nothing is better then a nice beach house complete with a gigantic bath tub. 

About 4k words; Warnings: Very light smut like its super light, but I’m obligated to say it includes fingering a praise kink and a bathtub. 

Laundry shouldn’t be difficult. Well in retrospect it wasn’t difficult at your old apartment. The laundry room there was stocked with 5 very old very worn washing and drying machines. They were faithful and predictable. They only had about 3 options and 2 dials. Simplicity at its best. You missed them every time you had a load to wash and dry. You had been living in Jackson’s apartment for months and you still couldn’t figure out his machines. For one thing they were sleek and black, very modern, apparently super efficient. They worked via a touch screen and the breath of options that appeared every time you fired them up made you nervous. Twice you had shrunk a favorite article of clothing. You had also ruined your running shoes, the washing machine seemed incredibly aggressive to you. But today was going to be different. This was your only task. You could do this. The touch screen lit up, you took a breath, the beeping started and an array of options appeared. Water temperatures, agitation speeds, your finger hovered over the first option- “BABY, THIS IS WHERE YOU WERE!?” Jackson’s voice boomed in the laundry room. You turned, frantic that all his noise would upset whatever fragile understanding you had. “Jackson!” You hissed, “shush!”

  His hands snapped to cover his mouth. He looked around his brows knitted, “what’s going on?” He whispered. “I’ just,” you turned back to the machine but you didn’t feel the same confidence, “I’m trying to figure out your stupid space aged washing machine.” You confessed, “everytime I put something in here I ruin it.” “Maybe you’re thinking about it too hard.” He walked up behind you and looked down at the same screen. “Baby?” He began slowly, he touched the screen flicking left twice until he got to a place that said ‘presets’.  “Why don’t you just use these instead of trying to pick through all those other settings? This is what I use.” “You’ve got to be kidding me.” You muttered softly. There were easy to understand presets displayed proudly.   “You didn’t know about these?” He asked, “I could have sworn I showed you the last time you shrunk your sweater?” You rubbed your face in continued disbelief. All this time. “The dryer has presets too, did I show you those?” He kept talking because of course to him this wasn’t a big deal. You had made it one, once again, something tiny had become huge to you.   “You want me to help you with your laundry? Since I’m home today I wanna spend it with you ok?” When you took your hands away from your face he was beaming like the sun at you. You wondered how he could look so worry free. His job was so stressful, he barely got time for himself or you yet he was always beaming. You wanted to be a bit more like him. Just enough so that inanimate objects stopped irritating you for no reason.            “If you want to help sure, but this stuff is kinda boring. You sure you don’t want to nap? Or I could make you something to eat?” You offered.          “We can do that after, this won’t take long.” He pointed out. He wasn’t wrong. You selected the ‘delicates’ option since you wanted to wash your undies and bras first.          “Ok, delicates first then.” You looked in his direction expectantly. The two baskets of laundry were already separated.            “Just pass me the stuff in the blue basket.”  You instructed, “I’ll do them first.”   He dutifully began to hand you clothes. Some things he stopped to look at. “When did you get this bra?” He asked holding up a flowery bra that you had bought a few weeks ago.   “Like two weeks ago?” You guessed, maybe three. Your hand was outstretched waiting for it. “Oh,” was all he said before he handed it over, “I haven’t see you wear it.” He said softer. “Well, it’s a bra Jackson…” You tried. He handed you a few pairs of underwear which you put in. He was a touch less cheerful as you finished loading. He helped with the detergent and softner before he got the machine started. “I feel so dumb,” when you turned to him he frowned. “I really wish I had remembered about the presets. I’ve been having a battle with this machine since I got here.” You confessed. “Baby...I really don’t think it’s a big deal.” He leaned down and pecked you. “You can ask me questions you know? Before you make a mountain out of a molehill.” “But I’m so good at that.”  You pointed out. He kissed you again. His hands trailing down your arms. When you pulled away he pouted. “Let me at least finish the chores, I have a few things more I wanna clean.” You complained. He accepted this and let you go, “I’m gonna have two weeks off...do you have a lot of work?” He asked. It took you a moment to think about what you had to do, some things could wait and really only one required you to finish immediately. “I just have to finish one job then I think I can take some time off.” You stretched and looked at him with curiosity. “What did you want to do?” He pushed some of your hair behind your ear, “can we go on vacation?” “Where did you want to go?” You spoke as you tied your hair up. “Someplace warm?” You asked. He nodded, “an island!” It seemed like a solid idea. You thought it over, Jackson in his usual fashion grew impatient. He tapped his feet and poked out his lip, “we can have a private beach house…” He edged closer. “That sounds...isn’t that a little extravagant?” You often wondered when you would be able to accept Jackson’s penchant for spending on you. There was something that always made you cringe. “I don’t want you to spend too much-” He frowned and you snapped your mouth closed, “you deserve…” He began. You sighed, “nice things.” He accepted you finishing his sentence quietly before he went back to trying to convince you. “It’ll be private...no cameras...just you and me.” He had basically backed you against the machine. He leaned forward and set his hands on it, caging you in. You couldn’t look away. “We live together but I always miss you,” he kissed you and it was mostly soft. “I’m gone a lot and I feel horrible about it,” he kissed you again nibbling on your bottom lip. “Do you miss me when I’m not here?” “Like crazy.” You whispered. His eyes were on yours, pupils wide. His breathing picked up as you snaked your arms around his neck. “So let me take you to the beach, let’s spend a week....please.” His kiss was less soft more insistent. He pushed until your back was pressed to the machine, the hum seemed to burn through your blood. You kissed him back, hands gripping the hair on the nap of his neck. The time apart always made the time together feel like a single point in the universe. There wasn’t a whole apartment, a whole city, there was just you and Jackson. Starved for each other, hungry to touch and feel. He was so good at making you melt, so good at making you desperate for him. You tasted him and whimpered. The beach was suddenly a fantastic idea, more time alone for more of this. He ground against you and his moan made your knees weak. “Ok,” you managed to say against his lips. He pulled away and beamed at you. The unmistakable look of getting his way. “So we’ll go the day after tomorrow...I actually may have set it up already.” “Jackson.”

You had never been swept away before. In past relationships you had lacked the time and your partners seemed to lack the motivation. It hadn’t bothered you truly because how can you miss something you didn’t have to begin with? You thought about it as you packed and he buzzed around the room with excitement. “Don’t forget bathing suites!” He warned, “and sunscreen!” “I have both.” You answered slowly, “and something nice for dinner...right?” When you looked up he was zipping his bag up. “Yes, and then...not much else…” He raised his eyebrows quickly suggestively and you giggled. He stopped to touch his hand to your leg, “I love you in anything.”   “If it was up to you, I’d just walk around naked all the time.” You said slowly. He considered this then said, “only if you want.” Then he was moving again, his energy nervous all throughout the room. “Are you almost done?” He asked. “The car will be here soon.” You just needed to decide on your one nice outfit. It had been a while since you had really gone out. He had seen you in just about everything you owned...except.... At the back of your closet you had hung a tropical print skirt and top set. It was out of your comfort zone but the print would really work. “Hurry hurry baby.” He chided. You had just enough time to grab it from the closet and stuff it into your bag. He took your hand and led you. The smile on his face relaxed yet you could feel the excitement bubbling out of him. He kissed you in the elevator before the doors opened, then led you to the long black car idling at the apartment building’s entrance. He opened the door for you and waited till you were settled before he put the bags in the trunk and got in next to you. Then his hand was back in yours like it belonged there. “Do you think you’ll get recognized at the airport?” You tried your best not to sound nervous but the thought of screaming fans made your stomach heavy. “I don’t think so, we’ll be in then out.” He brought your linked hands up for a kiss. “Don’t be nervous, it’ll be fine.” You settled into the seat and tried your best not to worry. The media in a way wasn’t very interested in you and Jackson’s story anymore. When they did happen to catch photos of you two together it wasn’t big news but most of the comments were still pretty awful. It was better for your mental health to not read them but every so often you saw yourself online and couldn’t stop yourself from looking. The general take was that you were literally a weight dragging him down. It never seemed like a good idea to comment back, better to just read it all in silence, and really it wasn’t all bad. There was a spattering of people who liked you. Who said nice things and said they were cheering on the relationship. People who pointed out that Jackson was happier with you in his life. You weren’t sure if you would give yourself that much credit but you hoped that he felt how you did. He leaned over, “what are you thinking about so hard?” He planted a kiss on your cheek startling you out of your own head. He had a way of knowing when you were thinking yourself down a rabbit hole. He redirected you gently and patiently. His hand squeezed yours again.   “Nothing, just the work I left...hopefully I did enough.” You said. He knew it wasn’t that, but he didn’t push.. He kissed you on the cheek again, “don’t worry about it, just try your best to relax.”  He whispered. It took you a moment of second guessing, but there was no real use in fighting with Jackson. Especially since you actually did need a relaxing vacation. There would be no worries on the beach, that’s all you had to tell yourself over and over and over again.  

There weren’t any cameras, no reporters, no mobs of fans. He had his mask pulled up and dark sunglasses on. You were wearing one of his caps and your own mask pulled up. The two of you looked like any couple on their way to a romantic trip. He only let go of you to pass through security. Once his hand was out of yours there were new worries. An airplane. The last time you had flown you were forced between a grumpy office worker and a woman who seemed to have bathed in perfume. You remember distinctly how the office worker had complained about her perfume and how she called him lonely and sad. It had been for the most part very unpleasant. Suddenly all you could think about were all your worse flights.  You fumbled through security, including the awkward second search. Taking his hand on the other side calmed you down a little bit. “You’re making a mountain again.” He said into your ear. “I can’t remember ever having a good flight,” you squeezed his hand and almost missed a step. “Every flight that lands safely is a good flight baby.” He chimed happily and just like that you relaxed a bit. He was right of course. Bad seatmates didn’t make a bad flight. Small things didn’t have to be big. Once again you tried to calm yourself, to convince yourself that you were on vacation. You were being swept away and it would be great if all your extra thoughts could be swept away too.

“This is the house?” After a flight you slept through, and an ok trip through the airport that involved a car rental associate who was star struck, here the two of you were. The house was directly on the beach. From the outside it didn’t look like much which made you feel a bit better. If he had rented a beach mansion or something along those lines you would have worried the whole trip about how much all of it had cost and...and if you were really worth all the trouble. But this,...this was so quaint and so cozy. “This is it.” He pulled into the driveway and then put the car into park. You got out admiring the house’s slightly cracked white paint, the green ivy underneath the two small windows on either side of the weathered wooden door. The waves sounded incredibly close and you guessed the beach was literally right in your backyard. Jackson was behind you with your bags. “Here,” when you turned he was holding the key towards you all smiles, “open her up.” He instructed. The key got stuck for a moment in the lock. You panicked per usual but it gave when you pushed your shoulder against the heavy wood. “Be careful,” he clucked his tongue at you but you ignored him. You were stuck looking at the inside. Everything was so bright. You sucked in a breath because of all the light. There were huge skylights all throughout. The entryway was neat, a small blue weathered table held a bowl where Jackson dropped the car keys. He pressed his hand to the small of your back and your feet automatically started to shuffle step forward. The entryway opened into a small kitchen with white tile and teal cabinets. The appliances didn’t look new aged or terrifying like Jackson’s. The big white well loved looking stove was comforting. Through the kitchen There was an open airy dinning room and living room. The living room ended in two gigantic glass doors that opened onto a hedge enclosed patio. The bricks were weathered but still a good red. There was a round picnic table with a few shelves, a rack with two surfboards, and what looked like a hot tub. He wrapped his arms around your waist and kissed your cheek, “let’s look at the bedroom.” It was through a doorway off the kitchen, past a half bathroom. The bedroom suite seemed to be all windows. There were three huge windows with breezy white curtains. The bed was gigantic four poster deal, piled high with pillows at the head. The comforter was white like everything else. “There’s one of those clawfoot tubs,” He led you a little further in, towards the doorway of the bathroom. The tub was huge. There was a shower head on the wall above it. Another two windows, more light. “This place is beautiful.” You finally got out. He squeezed your hand, “I know you like simple things and I thought this place would be nice. The beach is right down a back path and-” You tipped your chin up lips pursed asking for him to dip and kiss you. “Thank you so much for bringing me,” you spoke against his lips. He wrapped his arms around your waist. “You’re welcome.” His smile was triumphant. He only let you go to help unpack but beamed the entire time like a happy child. You knew this look, his eyes were centered on yours. He licked his lips before he kissed you. “I picked this house because it’s cozy and…” He trailed off to kiss you again. “And?” “And you never wanna have fun in my bathtub so I made sure that this house had one that was so big you couldn’t argue with me about soaking together.”  He explained. “Jackson.” He beamed again his face back to innocence, “don’t you want to soak with me?” He asked. “You don’t just want to soak,” you pointed out. He shrugged, “humor me.”  In truth he had begged to soak with you plenty of times but the tub in his apartment made you nervous. You had this vision of the two of you settling in and getting stuck or getting in and overflowing the tub in an embarrassing splash. Well maybe it wouldn’t be embarrassing to him but in your mind it was motifying.  You bit your bottom lip and considered the big claw foot tub in the house again. “I guess there’s no harm in a nice soak.” You said softly.  He could barely contain his excitement, he moved deliberately trailing his hands down your waist then squeezing. He searched your face before he broke out into a grin that made you laugh.   “Jackson,” it was hard not to laugh at him. “Jackson right now? You don’t want to eat first?” He cocked his head, “I do, but let’s do that later, my back hurts from the flight.” You made a ‘sure’ face but didn’t argue. It was better to humor him, he gave your bottom another not so gentle squeeze before kissing the top of your head. “So a nice bath, then I’ll make you food,...” he trailed off and took your hand.

The fragrance from the bubble bath he found was making your head feel dreamy and relaxed. His back was against one side of the tub and yours was on the other. He insisted on massaging your feet and there really wasn’t any huge point to arguing. He rubbed away while you sighed slowly to yourself. “You have the cutest little feet.” He murmured. “They’re so gross.” Your response was automatic, years of having being told they were flawed in some way meant that you were use to parroting back the words when you were complimented. “They’re perfect on you.” He dug deep into the sole of your foot and you couldn’t help but groan. “Always say nice things about yourself.” He murmured. “Yeah I know.” You sunk lower into the water and he took the invitation to work his hands up your leg. It was hard for you to say nice things about yourself all the time. You were use to your self deprecating jokes. But he was quick to redirect them, he always told you to make it nice instead. His hands were steady on your body focusing your mind back into the moment.  It was never gonna be just a soak, but you didn’t do anything to stop him. He felt the back of your knee and a shiver ran up your body. His eyes were focused on your skin, “you’ll let me do this at home now right?” He pulled himself a little closer so his hands could go further up, “a nice hot bath, foot massages.” “You’re very good at them,” your voice was barely above a whisper. His eyes seemed to darken. He leaned farther forward, upsetting the water and bubbles so he could kiss your forehead. Under the water his hand had made it all the way up which meant his fingers were in a prime position to rub you where you were most sensitive. He kept the pressure light, teasing you. A whine broke past your lips. He ducked his head and kissed you. “I want you to relax,” he said softly against your lips, he dipped his fingers inside of you. It was so hard not to squirm, he pulled them back and forth slowly before he stopped. You gripped the sides of the the tub and tried to urge him to move. His eyes were mischievous. “Jackson,” You tried to roll your hips to get him to do anything but tease you. He cocked his head, “say something nice about yourself.” The command confused you. Your brow furrowed and for a moment you were confused, “what?” He pulled his hand completely away and touched your face instead. “I read that it’s nice to hear compliments from others but reinforcing it with words you say to yourself is even better.” His voice was earnest his hand dipped into the water again and found your breast. “Something nice…” He played with your nipple and you whimpered. Your mind was reaching for something, any sort of compliment that would make sense. “I like my thighs.”   He beamed, triumphant, then pinched your nipple lightly, “what else baby? You’re so beautiful there’s a million things to compliment.” You were so use to his praise that it was hard to give yourself the same attention. He switched to your other nipple and kissed your forehead again. “One more.” He encouraged. You swallowed, his hands sending pleasure and want all throughout your body. You willed your brain and your mouth to talk, to say something so he would give you what you needed. “I have nice skin...the cream you gave me makes it so soft.” You admitted. He liked that, he kissed you harder. He had both hands involved now, tickling the sides of your tummy. The giggle that escaped your mouth made his smile even wider. “The most perfect skin.” He spent the rest of the bath praising you. Cooing all his favorite compliments while he played with your body. It didn’t take long before your hands gripped the side of the tub and you called his name. Your body locked and then the pleasure ripped through your limbs in what felt like a blaze. Dimly you knew you had splashed water and maybe that would have embarrassed you, but there were more important things. Like the way you still shook while he kissed you everywhere he could reach. If you felt dreamy before your mind was downright foggy now. “You liked that baby?” He asked, finally pulling away to look at you. Your bones felt like jelly, thank god the tub wasn’t too deep. There was no doubt in your mind you would have melted further into the water. It took you what felt like hours to barely nod your head and indicate that yes you had indeed liked it. “It’s so cute when you say my name like that.” he went back to sitting across the tub from you, a smug smile on his face. You didn’t know what face you were making but hopefully it was satisfied. “Let’s just spend the rest of the time here.” You finally got out. He didn’t argue with you, just rested his head on the rim of the tub, “as long as you’re happy that’s all I care about.” You sat up a little, “I’m the happiest I’ve been in forever.” “Perfect.” He spoke softly and maybe it was more to himself than you but he was right. The feeling was perfect.        

[beerecordings]

Werewolf AU - Part 8

By the third time Chase has expressed to him that his place is a mess, sorry, Henrik is braced for a rat's nest of a house held together with water-stained wallpaper and rotting support beams. He's witnessed poverty, bachelor pads, and the line in the middle where the two meet mostly as an outside observer, but he's determined that, no matter how it looks, he won't breathe a word of complaint.

He's happy to have someplace to stay. Walking home with Chase, he really does feel better already. He can do this a couple more weeks before fully having a breakdown, he thinks. Maybe Chase will even let him stay until he finishes rehab. That would be okay. That would be doable.

Still, he can't escape a surprised curse as Chase tells him “this one's mine.”

That's not poverty. This is the house of a man who has wealth – or at least, had it at some point.

“Fancy,” says Henrik.

“It's a little embarrassing,” mumbles Chase.

Henrik glances at him. “Because it's a nice house?”

“I... came into some money through work a couple years ago. I didn't spend it all that wisely. Didn't know how. So the house is paid off and all, and that's great, but now it's just me in this huge fucking house because my partner took the kids. I'm hoping to split custody once I get done with rehab, but until then, I just feel like a broke kid pretending he belongs with the other posh assholes who live around here.”

Posh asshole. That would be Henrik.

“You have a nice place growing up?” asks Chase innocently, heading towards a cherry red door beneath a covered porch.

“Um.” Henrik avoids his gaze. “Yeah... pretty nice.”

Very nice. But he's sick of the rejection he gets from other guys his age when they decide he's a no-fun rich kid who's objectively smarter than all of them. He'd eventually come to the conclusion that he had no need for friends, and no time, either, and he could be perfectly content focusing on his work. Stupid wolf instincts fucked that up for him too, though. He's been wanting a friend so bad since this happened. Maybe just this once?

Chase swings the door open and the mess inside shoves all thoughts aside. He's so astonished he nearly snorts out a laugh, reaching up quickly to cover his mouth.

“Yeah, yeah,” sighs Chase. “It's been a while since I cleaned.”

It's bizarre to see such a nice house so trashed. Henrik... kind of loves it. Forget all the over-polished places he spent his time in as a teenager. There's sure as hell no maid here. Dishes and take-out boxes litter the tables, and then they migrate to the floor too, empty cans and bottles filling in any empty spaces nearby. There's boxes beneath the TV for video games and controllers, but instead of being tucked away, all the cases and disks and wires are lying in heaps against the stained carpet. There's laundry all down the banister of the stairway, and Henrik doesn't know if it's dirty or clean. It stinks a little – but then again, beneath it all, the whole place smells like chocolate.

“I'm sorry, man,” mutters Chase. “Seriously, it's... I've been lazy.”

“Not lazy,” Henrik replies, with more warmth than he realized he'd be able to summon. “You have mental health issues.”

Chase barks out a laugh. “Mental health issues. You're definitely a doctor. You know you can just tell me I'm a slob, right?”

“Don't be so hard on yourself. You've been sober four months, turned into a werewolf, going through custody court, and so on. Who cares if you wrecked the place while handling all that? Besides, it will give me something to do.”

“Oh, no, dude, no way. This is my mess, I'll clean it.”

“No, it will be my thanks for letting me stay. I like to clean. Besides, the couch is a mess. I'll have to get started.”

“Schneep, there's six rooms in this house. You'll sleep in a guest room. Come on.”

“Oh?”

Chase takes him upstairs and leads him into a spare room with a flourish. “Ta-da!”

Okay, that does something weird to his brain.

There's a room here, just for him, with a door he can shut and a bed fully made up with blankets that only smell of laundry detergent and a little of Chase's scent. There's an empty closet. There's an untouched bathroom against the hall. There's... space for him.

There's territory for him.

The thrill is so intense he shivers from it, clapping his hands together, and he knows he must smell happy, because Chase begins to smell happy too. Chocolate and cheerful sugar. Fuck, that's a relief after such a shit day. He's so glad he agreed to come.

“It's late,” Chase tells him, patting him on the back. “Settle in, okay? I mean, I know you've just got the one backpack full of stuff, but... I can at least put you up.”

“Thank you, Chase,” says Henrik, and he means it.

“It's no problem at all, doc. Seriously. This place has been so damn quiet. I had never lived alone before Stacy left, and I don't think I'm cut out for it.”

Henrik hasn't lived with anyone since he was a kid. He doesn't remember what it's like, not being alone when you go home.

“Get some sleep, okay?”

“Okay. Good night, Chase.”

“Good night, Schneep.”

The second Chase leaves him alone, Henrik lets his inhibitions go, just for one moment, and he throws himself into the sheets and comforter of the bed and shoves his face into them, rolling around in his new blankets until they all smell just like him – with a little bit of chocolate mixed in.

Perfect.

.

The morning comes with a feeling of energy and optimism for the first time in a long time, pulling him out of bed without hesitating. There's a nice smell in the air, bloody and raw. Someone's cooking meat.

Henrik treads down the stairs, stepping uncertainly into the kitchen. There's music pouring out of a Bluetooth speaker, American rock vibrating through the room. There's turkey sizzling in the oven, fragrant in the air, and Chase is cooking at the stove – eggs, peppers, tomatoes, spinach, cheddar cheese and feta alike, salt, pepper, oregano, fuck, fresh food smells clear and wonderful. Henrik has a second to be surprised that Chase even has enough clean dishes to cook this, considering all the dirty ones piled in the sink and across the table and counters, but then he sees discarded plastic and zipties. Chase bought new ones just to cook this morning.

“Hi!” calls Chase. “You like omelets, right, man?”

“Uh-huh,” Henrik agrees. “It smells good.”

“Yeah, it really does. I didn't realize. I've been eating so much junk lately, I didn't realize it all has, like, this film of bad smells. A little worried that being a werewolf is going to turn me into one of those all-natural moms at the grocery store. Let me eat my donuts, werewolf nose!”

Henrik grins, stepping up to the sink and starting the water. “You cook, I'll wash dishes.”

“You're determined, huh? I will admit the dishes have been giving me real problems. Sometimes I think that if someone put a gun to my head and told me to clean up all this shit, I wouldn't be able to do it even if I did want to live.”

“Executive dysfunction is a normative symptom of depression.”

“Have you always spoken English, Schneep? I think you're better at it than me.”

Henrik scoffs, trying to locate the dish soap. Rot, old veggies, oil – ah, there's the smell of fake oranges, buried underneath some other dishes. He pulls the oozing bottle out and fills the sink with hot water and bubbles. “I know perfectly well my English is very technical. Yes, I learned English as a boy.” And Hebrew, and Polish, and Latin.

He washes dishes contentedly, watching out of the corner of his eye as Chase makes a ridiculous amount of food for two people. As he waits for the omelets to cook through, he's carving a heavy watermelon into sweet red slices. The tray he pulls out of the oven has both turkey bacon and several oily hashbrowns hissing inside, hot and fragrant.

“Brunch on a Friday morning, what could be better than that?” purrs Chase.

“Brunch?” Henrik glances at the clock. “Oh, no, I slept so late!”

“We got nowhere to be, do we?” asks Chase.

“I mean, I guess not. Nobody from work has called me since I got bit.”

“Is that nice of them or negligent?”

Henrik sighs. “I'm not sure yet. Guess it depends on if they automatically fired me or not.”

“Yikes.”

“What do you do for work?”

“Oh. I'm, um... on a hiatus, I guess you could say. Kind of hard to move on from where I've been, but do I leave it all in the past or start trying to rebuild? Not sure how my people would react to me getting bit either, so I don't know. Maybe I'll just have to find something new. Was thinking about making a change anyway.”

No further details. Henrik's not going to pry. He thinks they've probably both got shit they're not ready to talk about.

They eek out a couple clear spaces at the kitchen island and eat there, Chase chattering at him and asking him questions about everything from being a doctor to his musical preferences. It feels easy, between them. Henrik doesn't remember the last time he talked to anyone about anything other than the weather or the next surgery on the docket.

“Glad you're here. It's been too quiet. We should do something this weekend!”

Oh, boy. “Like what?”

“Get some food, maybe, check out the farmer's market, see a movie. I used to just hit the bars with my friends but can't do that now.”

Henrik picks at the last bits of cheese on his plate. “You have a lot of friends around here?”

Chase's laugh darkens. “Um... not so much, anymore. Between the alcohol problems and the, uh, work problems, I realized I had a lot of friends who weren't so good for me. And then the rest of them realized I wasn't so good for them, either.”

Henrik hums. “Well, I'd definitely be up for the farmer's market. I mean, if you don't think people will... you know, if we're allowed there.”

“Yeah,” sighs Chase. “I don't know what I'll do the first time somebody comes after me for being a werewolf. Like, I didn't even sign up for this. Maybe we could see how we feel about it tomorrow. Oh! Do you like video games?”

“I wasn't allowed them as a kid. Think I missed my period of development in terms of video games.”

Chase gapes. “Weren't allowed? Have you played now, as an adult?”

“Here and there, I guess. Not really.”

“Have you played Assassin's Creed? Bloodborne? PC games? Nintendo? Holy shit, tell me you've played a Mario game.”

Henrik can't help but chuckle. “No, I've just seen them.”

He's getting dragged out of the kitchen before he can say 'Luigi,' Chase clamoring for video games and shoving trash off the couch. Henrik laughs and forces him to actually get out the trash bags, and the promise of fighting turtles together is apparently enough of an incentive for Chase to be able to clean up his living room for the first time in, well, a while. Henrik carefully tucks disks into their cases, neatly lining them up in the cupboards of the TV stand, and they get rid of the stinkiest parts of the mess, cracking a window for good measure.

“Okay, now Mario. What do we start with? Mario Party's probably the easiest for a beginner – oh, but we need more people. How about Mario Kart? Come on, I'll show you!”

There are worse ways to spend a Friday afternoon. He picks a little red guy in a mask to play as, and Chase laughs without mockery as he shows him how to play, interspersing the experience with more conversation, easy and low-stakes between them. It's not too bad. Maybe even a little fun. He feels full, he feels safe... yeah. There are worse things.

“There is one other thing I'm planning to do this weekend,” Chase says, opening a bag of pretzels on the coffee table while the game's paused. “You can come with me if you want, but you don't have to. It's not my business, I know. But I really think someone needs to if Marvin can't, and Sean's got too much on his plate as is.”

Henrik blinks, pushing his glasses up on his nose. “What are you talking about?”

Chase sticks several mini-pretzels in his mouth at one time. “You don't have to come,” he repeats, voice muffled with his mouth full. “But I'm going to go check on Jackie.”

A string of curse words flashes behind Henrik's eyes. Is he joking?

No. Dead serious, actually. His mind's already set on it.

Well. It doesn't sound like the world's smartest idea to him, but maybe he's right. Maybe no one else is going to do it, and someone needs to. Like a surgery for someone who keeps telling you they'd rather take their chances beneath the knife than spend the last few months of their life with no hope.

And anyway – there's no way in hell he is letting Chase go alone.

“I'll go with you,” says Henrik. “Like you said. We have to have each other's backs.”

Chase smiles with his mouth still full of pretzels. “Thanks, man. Now let me see your remote, cause I can't watch you drive off the side of the road one more time in good conscience.”

That's fair.

.

He knows where Jackie lives because Jackie made sure he did, and that, he thinks, was pretty prophetic of him.

“You go down two streets and turn right,” Jackie had directed him with a certain intensity, walking him home the first time they met. “My house is the little one with red-brick stairs and white shutters, number 545. I might not hear you if you knock, because I get distracted by my coding and can't always hear everything else, but you can come in the backdoor anytime!”

“Jackie,” Marvin had said, audibly exasperated, but Chase had just smiled and nodded. Sure, it was pretty clear that Jackie wasn't exactly neurotypical, but it was a nice gesture no matter how your brain's wired. He never got creepy vibes from Jackie. He was genuine as a Stradivarius.

“There are protective orders and that sort of thing,” Chase tells Henrik, leading him down the sidewalk. They decided between the two of them that Jackie probably keeps hours like Marvin's, and the sun's lowering like a priest at the altar as they walk. Chase misses the silver light of the moon. “He doesn't have to deal with his dad if he doesn't want to.”

“Maybe he just needs a reminder of that. What do we do if his dad is there?”

“Well, somebody at least needs to figure it out for sure and check on Jackie. If I find out he's getting hit again, I swear I'll be letting the wolf instincts take the lead. These teeth haven't to be good for something, right?”

Henrik nods, humming, and Chase turns to grin at him. As soon as you stop talking about werewolves and all the werewolf-related bullshit they're going through, this doc is the most unflappable person he's ever met.

“There's 525,” he points out.

Chase bounds up the red-brick stairs on the side of a white house that can't be made for more than two people. The outside is weathered with faint cracks in the paint the same way an old man gets wrinkles, and the brick is chalky from old age. The plants pressing in a little too closely around the door circle the whole of the house in a fervent hug, blooming around a building that tilts slightly to the side. Chase sucks in a breath of flowering weeds and bug-chomped leaves against red brick. Jackie's scent is so faint he can't discern it from the actual summer smell around them, cigarette smoke undercutting the pleasantry of the tiny path that leads to the door.

That cigarettes give him his first moment of real doubt since the moment he helped Marvin into bed last night and decided he'd have to do something about this. Neither Jackie or Marvin have ever smelled like cigarettes to Chase.

“You going to knock?” asks Henrik. “Do people knock in the UK?”

Right, he should do that. Yeah. It's okay. He knocks on the door and steps back to stand beside Henrik, pressing their shoulders together for a second. Someone's got to do this, and just because they're new wolves doesn't mean they can't help.

If Chase has any doubt Jackie's dad was staying with him, it's gone the moment that door opens. The wolf who steps out onto the steps above them couldn't be anyone but Jackie's dad. Knowing what Marvin told him about Graham, it gives him a genuine, cold-handed shiver up his back to see how much this man looks like his son.

“Hi, there, boys,” says Graham, the same wide white smile Jackie has lighting up his whiskered face. “You must be friends with my Jack, is that right?”

Henrik and Chase exchange wild glances. Chase hopes their scent isn't alarmed.

“Um, yes,” he says, trying to smile back. “Is he home?”

“No, pup, sorry. He's always running off somewhere. Probably at the park or prowling downtown. Not very territorial of this place, I suppose. Doesn't really have the instinct. Glad to see he knows some kids his own age, even if you're so new. He's a special boy.”

“Ah,” says Chase, shifting on his feet. He still doesn't really get how every other wolf seems to know he and Henrik are freshly-turned. Do they smell different than long-time wolves? “Yeah, we've just met a couple times, but he's great. Well, maybe we'll go see if he's – ”

“You two must be in the same boat as him! Needing a good strong pack, that's what you are. I always feel bad for you new wolves. Who bit you then, pups? Didn't they have a pack ready for you? Irresponsible, that's what that is.”

“It's a long story, but no, no pack. Henrik's probably going back to Germany, though, so he might have to look there.”

Graham tsks his tongue against his teeth, blue eyes fixing on Henrik. “Having to go all the way back to Germany without a pack, that's a damn shame. You oughta have someone looking after you. I used to run a full-fledged pack in these parts, you know. Took care of a couple young families. Bit a couple young people myself when they asked. That's how you grow.”

Henrik steps back from Graham. Chase stands in front of him, trying to ignore Henrik's scent changing, filling up with something like mold, and Chase can't tell if it's anger or fear or something in between.

“Nervous around Alphas?” asks Graham unabashedly, still looking right at him. “That's a damn shame, too.”

Graham has a powerful smell, his smoking habit coating a natural smell of fall leaves and steak in nicotine and foul smoke. But he doesn't smell like an Alpha, wrapped in that loving conglomeration of packmate scents, and he isn't alluring the way the others they've encountered have been.

“It's too bad,” Chase says levelly. “We better head out. Sorry to bother you.”

Graham takes a step down the stairs that lead up to the door. As he comes to stand on the pavement with the pair of them, Chase sees that while Jackie got his looks from his father, he must have gotten his size from his mom. Graham's huge.

He reaches out and claps a hand down on Chase's shoulder, squeezing for a second, and Chase feels himself go stiff, his scent unstoppably nervous now, shot through with cayenne stress. Graham's wide hand is so close to his neck. Henrik's frigid beside him, both of them shocked silent by an influx of instinctual knowledge – the knowledge that this wolf is much, much bigger than them, and could absolutely hurt them both no matter what they did to stop him. Chase tries not to squirm, and then he tries not to whine, and his mouth falls open as he hears himself start to pant a little, tongue pressed up against his bottom row of teeth.

“Don't have to be nervous around a real Alpha,” chuckles Graham, reaching suddenly up to cluck his chin, making Chase wince, his eyes flinching shut. “That's the whole point of it. You trade obedience for protection, for care. A real Alpha looks after what's his.”

“Dad.”

Hot summer grass and melting gold butter have never smelled so good. Jackie stalks up the pavement towards them, bringing the smell of the park, wolf scents and plant life impressed in the air around him. He's wearing the same red coat he was the first and only time Chase met him, the hood drawn over his eyes. In the lowering sun and the rising moon, his blue eyes are cold and very clear.

“There's my Jack,” purrs Graham, hand pulling away from Chase's shoulder. Chase stumbles back, gripping Henrik's arm. “Your friends came to say hi.”

“Hi, guys!” Jackie's cheeriness is fake as styrofoam. “Did you come to share a run? It's good to see you.”

He throws his arms around both of their shoulders the second he's close enough, turning them around and pulling them away from his home. “I forgot you were coming! Let's go back to the park.”

“You've just come from the park,” laughs Graham.

“Bye, Dad.”

“Jackie,” calls Graham, voice hardening. “Come in and get some food first. Your friends can come too.”

“I'll be home late, Dad,” Jackie calls, stronger, and he doesn't look back as he leads Chase and Henrik down the street. Chase tries to turn and see if Graham is still watching them from the steps, but Jackie tightens his grip around his shoulders, pulling him close against his body. Chase is still panting, feeling shaky now that the adrenaline is coming back down, and on the other side of Jackie's body, he sees Henrik clinging to Jackie's hoodie with both hands. Chase looks up at Jackie's face. He's staring straight ahead, mouth pulled into a taut grimace, nostrils flaring as he works to breathe steady. This close, Chase can see that he's tanner than he was before, dark enough to reveal paint-flicks of pale vitiligo up his cheek and right eye.

As soon as they reach the corner, Jackie turns them onto the other street and pushes Chase up against somebody's chain link fence, grabbing his face in both hands. Chase stares at him, blinking, recovering his air.

Graham's hand so close to his neck felt like danger. Jackie's hands don't. Henrik is still clinging to his hoodie beside them, eyes huge.

Jackie lets out a slow breath. His hands fall away from Chase's face.

“You okay?” he asks thinly.

Chase puffs out a breath of air and nods halfway.

Jackie's eyes flutter closed and then open again. He turns to Henrik and does the same thing to him as he did to Chase, reaching out to cup his face for a moment, fingers dragging across Henrik's beard. Henrik shivers under his hands, the fear in his scent quieting.

“Why did you come?” Jackie asks, eyes darting between the two of them as he lets Henrik go and steps back. “What were you thinking?”

Chase swallows, stepping over to stand beside Schneep again. “Jackie, you stopped coming to class. And Marvin – ”

“Guys, I don't have to come to class, okay? I... had some other stuff come up.”

“Ja, clearly.” Henrik's shaking his head at Jackie, glasses slightly askew. “That's your father? He's nothing like you.”

Jackie groans, reaching up to tug at his hair for a second, his hood falling back. He's rocking on his heels, constantly in motion as he looks at them both with a sigh. “He's just staying with me while he finds an apartment. Won't be more than a couple weeks. What was I supposed to do? You can't kick your own dad out when he's homeless.”

“Um, you absolutely can,” Chase interjects. “Especially if he's an asshole.”

Jackie looks up at the both of them darkly, and for a second Chase thinks he'll snap at them. But a moment later, the tension seems to melt off him, leaving exhaustion in its place.

Jackie steps forward and hugs them both close, his arms wrapping around their ribs. Chase hugs him securely back around his stomach, his head finding its place on Jackie's shoulder. For just a second, he can't smell anything at except Henrik and Jackie and the places where their scents mingle, soothing as the smell of his own home. He squeezes Jackie closer, closing his eyes.

Fuck, he barely knows this guy. But there's something instinctual that came awake the second Jackie pulled them away from the big wolf with a hand at his throat, primed to hurt them, and he doesn't actually want Jackie to let go at all.

“Dude,” he mumbles. “Marvin told us about your dad, okay? We're worried about you.”

Jackie's scent spikes with something that Chase thinks he's smelled already. Actually, it's a lot like the smell Sean gave off as Marvin told Henrik he'd tried to get rid of him, something coppery and almost alcoholic. Jackie doesn't say anything, and when Chase pulls back a little to look at him he finds him with his eyes closed and his head low. Henrik lets out a soft whining sound Chase has never heard him make before and presses his face against Jackie's neck, rubbing his scent there for a moment.

Jackie's eyes snap open in surprise, and Chase waits to see what will happen, but Jackie just lets Henrik share his smell with him, hand still cupping his spine. A moment passes and Jackie tilts his head to the side, making space for Schneep against his throat.

Chase didn't know Henrik could let his guard down enough to do that, to scent like that. Maybe Jackie recognizes the significance too, because he's looking at Chase like he's trying to share a conversation with him, eyes sad.

“Come on,” Jackie says, clapping Henrik's shoulder. “Let's get you two home.”

“Marvin's stressed about something in the news,” Chase blurts out. “There was something with a vigilante attack. He's really upset.”

Jackie's breath flutters out of him again, in that same bone-deep weary sigh, leading them down the street. “Marv keeps up with all sorts of werewolf news. He's always stressing about the latest article.”

“Why haven't you called him or anything?” Chase demands. “You haven't answered Sean either.”

“I'm okay, Chase,” murmurs Jackie. “Really. It's just some family stuff.”

“Marvin is your family.”

“Marv and my dad don't get along. It's better to leave him out of this.”

“You protect him from your dad, but not yourself. That's not fair to you.”

“Chase.” There's still no anger there, no irritation. “You don't know my dad.”

“No, I don't but – but I know my dad, Jackie. And I know – I – I know what it's like to not want to get them in trouble. Even if they hurt you, you don't want them to get in trouble. You just want your dad. Maybe because you think you're the only one who still believes in him. So maybe he needs you more than you need him, and that means it's okay if he hurts you sometimes. He needs you. You can't say no.”

Jackie's scent doesn't change, and neither does his pace, but his breath does, picking up in speed. Chase walks beside him, staring up at his face, wishing for some hint of Jackie's real feelings about this whole damn mess, but Jackie doesn't let anything out, or maybe just doesn't emote the way Chase thought he might. He stares right ahead, leading them patiently down the street.

“Jackie?” asks Henrik.

“I'm fine,” Jackie tells both of them. “Let's get you home.”

And he does. He walks them all the way back home without another word, keeping Henrik tucked firmly beneath his arm. Chase doesn't bother to ask how Jackie seems to know he and Henrik are staying together without asking, or how he memorized the way to Chase's house after walking him home just once before. He deposits them on the porch of Chase's home, giving them this weird smile, fake and earnest at the same time, pained. Practiced. Masking.

“That was nice of you two to check on me,” he says gently. ���But please don't come by my place again. I need some time. Okay?”

Henrik's the one who catches his arm as he tries to turn to go, and Chase calls, “Jackie, come on, please. You're so – so numb, dude. Please give us something.”

Jackie's head hangs. He doesn't look at them.

“You don't have to, like, pretend you're okay,” Chase pleads. “But at least promise us your dad isn't hurting you, you know?”

“I'm grown now,” Jackie says, though he doesn't meet their eyes. “He can't push me around anymore. He knows I'd push him back.”

“But why put yourself in that situation?” Henrik presses. “How many hours a day are you spending outside of your home, Jackie, avoiding your own territory? Your father says you avoid the place, but you are avoiding him, right? It's your home.”

“He'll be gone soon.”

“You really believe that? Could you kick him out if he told you he was staying?”

Jackie hovers in place, a hint of uncertainty cutting through his facade. “I need to go.”

“What if your father becomes an Alpha again? Doesn't that change things? Can you get yourself free of him then? The man who was your Alpha before, your father whom you still love, can you tell him no?”

Jackie's won't look up. “I want to go home.”

“But will you? Your father is there. You'll wander tonight instead, won't you? He told us you're not being territorial of your own house, and your skin is dark with sun.”

Chase had guessed that Henrik was probably smart because he was a doctor and all, but now he's thinking Henrik might be, like... smart, smart.

“Jackie,” Henrik murmurs, stepping towards the born wolf who keeps trying to slink away from Chase's porch. “Call your cousin. Go stay with him, listen to him. You're right, and so is Chase – he's your dad, and that makes things hard. But you must get some perspective, yes? He's been cruel to you before.”

“Would you talk to Marvin?” asks Chase. “Please?”

Jackie makes a noise somewhere between a hum and a moan. “I have to leave Marvin out of this.”

“But he wants to support you!” Chase insists.

“No. He's mad at me. I've let him down too many times. I never know how to take care of him, all I ever do is make him yell. Marvin's always angry.”

Chase's heart deflates like a souffle. He doesn't know what to say. Based on the silence beside him, neither does Henrik.

“Thank you for checking on me,” Jackie repeats one more time, soft, that facade of calm coming back over his voice, his face, his smell. “I appreciate it. I'm glad you're together. Look after each other, okay? You seem like great guys. You'll be great wolves, too. I hope you fall in love with this part of yourself. I hope you learn to love to run. You deserve that.”

“No... Jackie, don't go,” Henrik protests, and Chase hears him whine again, a low sound pulled from the back of his throat. “Don't go. I don't want you to get hurt.”

It connects in Chase's brain, then, a realization he thinks he should have had the first time Jackie helped him and Henrik defer to each other and walked Chase home, that very first day they met. The protection. The guidance. It comes so easy to him, so instinctual. He's darting forward before Jackie can leave, grabbing his sleeve without thinking, demanding his attention.

“Jackie,” he says. “You – you've been an Alpha before. Haven't you?”

Jackie stares at him. An ache in his scent. Tired. He looks down at the pavement without a reply.

“Your pack left,” Chase says, and oh, he didn't realize – he didn't realize that that word could mean family until the second Jackie's grief smell rolled over him. “And you blame yourself, right?”

“It was my fault,” whispers Jackie.

Anger rocks against Chase in waves. “It doesn't matter what happened,” he says, not realizing he's almost shouting til the words come out. “I've only met you twice and I already know you'd be a good Alpha. That's what Marvin wants too, right? And you still have the instincts for it, I can tell! You have that pull, even now, enough to make Henrik and I trust you, and you always try to protect us. Why don't you become an Alpha again, for Marvin?”

“Marvin doesn't want me,” whispers Jackie. “He wants an idea of me, a version of me that's not real. He's always seen the best of me, no matter how many times I betray him. No matter how many times I fail him. All I do is make him scream, and then he still turns around and tells me he wants me, but he doesn't!”

Chase steps back with a flinch. “Jackie, that's not – ”

“I can't protect him, can't look after him. I'm a fucking coward. Now I've let Dad back into my life, and Marvin will finally realize I'm fucking hopeless, just like everyone else did, just like my pack did before they left, that I'm weird and broken and damaged and I'm never getting any better. It's an imagined version of me that he loves, and when he wakes up, he's going to look at me with the same disgust everyone else eventually does, the same way you would both look at me if I tried to take care of you, because I'd fail. And then you'd go too.”

The worst part is, Jackie doesn't seem to realize that he's saying something truly horrible about himself as he says it. His scent is heavy with misty grief, but his words come out with all the weight of facts. He really believes it.

It reminds Chase of the day after Stacy left. The house was so silent. The inevitability of his own loneliness tore him in half. That was the day he decided to kill himself.

He's pretty sure Henrik tries to keep talking to Jackie after that – your cousin loves you, he hears for a moment, but he can't really register it, can't take anything else in. Jackie's gone when he gets any awareness back at all, and Henrik is holding his shoulders, calling for him, but Chase feels far away from him. He wants his Alpha, wants his fabric scrap with that stormy smell. He tries to go get it, but Henrik's with him, trying to get him to respond, and he won't let Chase go.

“Hey,” he says. “Let's go lie down, okay? I texted Sean. We did what we could. We can't do anything else for Jackie right now. Let's get some rest.”

Henrik leads him up to his room, getting him into bed and taking his shoes off. Chase manages to grab at his shirt, trying to thank him or reassure him or something, but all Henrik does is shush him and rub his shoulder before leaving the room.

Chase lies down. He's overwhelmed, but the emotion isn't really sadness so much as self-hatred, cold and aching. He hates remembering the feeling of those days. The certainty – the horrible peace the night he decided it was time to go...

The door creaks open. Chase turns his head and his red eyes find Schneep in the doorway again, wearing his own pajamas now, and holding the blankets he's been sleeping in since he came to stay with him.

Henrik comes towards him, ocean salt and lemon washing over him. The doctor leans down and wipes at Chase's tear-dotted face, and this wonderful noise comes out of him, a low rumble like a purr. Chase closes his eyes.

“Alles wird gut,” rumbles Henrik, and Chase doesn't need to know what it means. Henrik smells so warm, so comforting. “Ich bin hier, maus.”

“Scoot,” he adds in English, grinning faintly. Chase blinks. He scoots moves on his bed, making room. Henrik climbs in with him.

And when he draws that blanket over him and settles down beside him, warm, with that familiar scent washing over them, mingling in the sheets – yeah. Okay. Pack instincts.

Chase has them too. So he doesn't question it when his body tells him to turn over, tuck his head against Henrik's shoulder, and let himself sink into the smell of his packmate, washing the rest of the world away.

.

He's barely out of sight of Chase's house when the smell of an unfamiliar wolf catches his attention.

"Hey!" Jackie barks at the bushes. "Why are you hiding back there?"

A pause. No one answers.

"I know there's someone back there." Jackie stalks towards the wolf. "You better not be watching those two. They're not up for grabs. Back off."

Something shuffles in the leaves. Jackie's hackles raise, baring his teeth.

Then a little black wolf jumps out of the bushes and snuffles in his direction, a fluffy tail wagging. His scent is sweet with caramel and a bookish, slightly dusty smell that reminds Jackie of a library.

"Oh," he laughs. "Sorry. They've had some problems with aggressive wolves. Hi, there."

The guy's totally under-sized, and not much more than an adolescent. Jackie steps towards him, reaching out open palms. The stranger sniffs warmly at his hands. Jackie pats his head, scratching behind the big black ears. "You got a pack, huh? I can smell your Alpha on you. Well, go on, then, you ought not be hanging around in this neighborhood so late at night. Fancy places like this, the humans will call the police on you just for being in your wolf form at night. Get home, then, and you tell your Alpha they're not allowed near the pups in that house either. Go on."

The wolf barks at him, wagging his tail warmly at him before turning and bounding away. Jackie grins after him, pleased to meet a young kid exploring.

There's an odd smell that he leaves behind, though, one that's not his. Spring water and chemicals alike, and a waft of electricity like a storm on the air.